The assassin never noticed Evelyn’s hand disappear beneath the board.
His attention remained on Silas.
That was his mistake.
The gunman stepped closer, boots tracking snow across the cabin floor.
“Galt said Vance might be difficult.”
Evelyn’s fingers touched cold steel.
The hidden revolver.
She wrapped her hand around the grip.
The assassin raised his weapon toward Silas’s head.
“He’ll pay double when I tell him I finished the job.”
Evelyn pulled the revolver free.
“Then I suppose you’d better tell him yourself.”
The man turned.
Evelyn fired.
The shot thundered through the cabin.
The assassin’s weapon flew from his hand as the bullet struck the wooden doorframe beside him and splintered the grip.
He cursed and lunged toward her.
Evelyn fired again.
The second bullet struck the floor at his feet.
“Next one won’t miss.”
Something in her voice convinced him.
The assassin backed through the ruined doorway.
For several seconds he glared at her.
Then he disappeared into the storm.
Evelyn rushed outside far enough to see him struggling onto a horse before riding down the mountain.
She could have fired again.
She didn’t.
She returned to Silas.
His face had gone dangerously pale.
“Silas.”
No response.
Evelyn ripped his shirt at the shoulder and examined the wound.
The bullet had passed through.
That was the good news.
The bad news was the blood.
Too much.
She boiled water, cleaned the wound, and stitched it with hands that shook only when she allowed herself to think about what would happen if he died.
Hours passed.
Snow piled against the broken doorway.
Evelyn dragged furniture against the opening.
Near midnight Silas stirred.
His eyes opened.
“Evie?”
It was the first time he had called her that.
She leaned closer.
“I’m here.”
“Men?”
“Gone.”
His eyes moved toward the loose floorboard.
Then toward the revolver beside Evelyn.
Understanding appeared.
“You remembered.”
“Yes.”
His mouth moved faintly.
“Good.”
Then his eyes closed again.
“Silas?”
He was breathing.
Evelyn sat beside him until sunrise.
For the next four days, the man who had crossed a blizzard while giving her his coat could not lift a cup without help.
He hated it.
“I can feed myself.”
“You just dropped the spoon.”
“The spoon slipped.”
“The spoon surrendered.”
Silas looked at her.
Evelyn smiled.
That almost-smile returned.
“You remember everything.”
“Only useful things.”
On the fifth morning his fever broke.
By the seventh he could sit outside beneath a blanket.
But the attack had changed something.
Evelyn no longer believed the cabin was hidden.
Galt knew where they were.
And now he knew Silas still had the evidence.
“We have to leave,” she said.
Silas looked across the lake.
“Not yet.”
“Six men attacked this cabin.”
“Five rode away.”
“And one nearly finished you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Because I found a gun you hid fourteen years ago.”
Silas turned toward her.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m terrified.”
That stopped him.
Evelyn folded her arms.
“I watched my father die after Galt marked him ‘permanent.’ I nearly signed myself into that man’s house. Then I watched you get shot because you tried to protect me.”
“I didn’t—”
“Do not tell me you weren’t protecting me.”
Silas looked away.
Evelyn stepped closer.
“You don’t get to decide alone anymore.”
“Evelyn—”
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“I stayed because you told me staying had to be my choice.”
He looked at her again.
“So let me choose what happens next.”
Silence passed between them.
Finally Silas nodded.
“All right.”
It was a small word.
But Evelyn understood what it cost him.
For fourteen years Silas had survived by trusting nobody but himself.
Now he was making room for someone else inside decisions that could kill them both.
They opened the ledgers again.
For two days they examined every page.
Patterns emerged.
Farmers who borrowed fifty dollars somehow owed five hundred.
Widows signed deeds after husbands died unexpectedly.
Witnesses disappeared before trials.
Galt paid Judge Wilkins monthly.
Sheriff Norris received “security fees.”
Even the local newspaper publisher appeared in the books.
But Silas had collected more than financial records.
There were signed statements.
Letters.
Copies of property transfers.
A list of men who had helped ambush him fourteen years earlier.
One name had been violently scratched out.
Evelyn noticed.
“Who was this?”
Silas did not answer.
She looked closer.
Beneath the ink she could make out a surname.
Vance.
Evelyn’s eyes lifted.
“Family?”
Silas stood.
Pain immediately crossed his face, but he ignored it.
“My brother.”
Evelyn remained still.
“You had a brother?”
“Caleb.”
“What happened?”
Silas stared through the window.
“When I became marshal, Caleb was seventeen. Thought I could do anything.”
His jaw tightened.
“Galt noticed.”
“He used him?”
“He paid him for information.”
Silas gave a humorless laugh.
“A boy wanting boots and whiskey doesn’t ask many questions about where money comes from.”
“Did Caleb betray you?”
“He told Galt where I kept copies of the investigation.”
Evelyn’s chest tightened.
“Did he know they were going to shoot you?”
“No.”
Silas answered immediately.
“At least I don’t believe he did.”
“What happened to him?”
“They found him dead near the river two days after the ambush.”
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly.
Silas continued.
“Galt told everyone Caleb had stolen from him.”
“But you think Galt killed him.”
“I know he did.”
The bitterness in Silas’s voice made Evelyn finally understand the depth of his isolation.
Blackwood had not merely taken his leg.
The town had taken his badge.
His brother.
His reputation.
His belief that law alone could save people.
“Why didn’t you leave Wyoming?”
Silas glanced at her.
“Because Galt was still here.”
That evening Evelyn found him standing near the lake.
His wounded shoulder was bandaged beneath his shirt.
Moonlight turned the water silver.
“You should be resting.”
“So should you.”
“I’m not the one with a bullet hole.”
He almost smiled.
She stood beside him.
For several minutes they said nothing.
Then Silas spoke.
“When I walked into that saloon, I didn’t know it was you.”
“What?”
“I heard Galt was forcing Thomas Reed’s daughter into a contract.”
“So you rode down.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
Evelyn waited.
Silas finally sighed.
“Because I’d watched too many people get taken by him.”
She turned toward him.
“You hadn’t been back to Blackwood in fourteen years.”
“No.”
“And you went back for a woman you’d never met.”
He met her eyes.
“I went back because nobody came for Caleb.”
Evelyn understood.
He had spent fourteen years wishing somebody had stepped through a door when his brother needed help.
So when Evelyn needed someone, Silas became that person.
She reached for his hand.
He stiffened.
Not because he disliked her touch.
Because he wasn’t used to it.
Evelyn intertwined her fingers with his.
“You came for me.”
Silas swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m staying for you.”
His eyes dropped toward their hands.
“Don’t say things because you think you owe me.”
“I don’t.”
“You might.”
“I know the difference.”
Silas looked at her for a long time.
Then squeezed her hand gently.
Two mornings later, they heard bells.
Silas grabbed his rifle.
A wagon emerged through the trees.
Not Galt’s men.
The supply driver.
Evelyn ran outside.
The driver, Matthew Pike, looked exhausted.
“I came as fast as I could.”
“What happened to my letter?”
Matthew climbed down.
“I delivered it to the territorial station.”
“And?”
“Someone intercepted the answer.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
“Telegraph clerk in Blackwood.”
“Galt owns him,” Evelyn whispered.
Matthew nodded.
“But the federal office received your letter before Galt’s people knew about it.”
Hope rose in Evelyn’s chest.
“Are marshals coming?”
Matthew hesitated.
“One is.”
“One?”
“Deputy U.S. Marshal Aaron Hayes. He doesn’t trust the local authorities, so he’s traveling quietly.”
“When will he arrive?”
“Could be two days. Could be five.”
Silas frowned.
“Galt knows time is running out.”
Matthew handed him a folded note.
“Hayes said to keep the evidence alive.”
Silas read the note.
Then handed it to Evelyn.
Do not bring originals into Blackwood. Assume every local official is compromised. I will contact you. A.H.
Evelyn looked toward the mountain trail.
“So we wait?”
Silas shook his head.
“No.”
“What do we do?”
“We make copies.”
For three days, Evelyn copied every ledger entry by hand.
Silas separated documents into bundles.
One went beneath the cabin floor.
One was wrapped in oilcloth and hidden beneath rocks near the lake.
A third was placed in Matthew Pike’s wagon.
“If we die,” Silas told him, “take this east.”
Matthew paled.
Silas continued.
“Don’t go through Blackwood.”
Matthew nodded.
On the fourth night the cabin smelled of ink, coffee, and wood smoke.
Evelyn rubbed her aching hand.
Silas sat across from her.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You haven’t slept properly since the attack.”
“Neither have you.”
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“That’s because you snore.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Nobody ever told me.”
Evelyn’s smile faded.
Nobody.
Fourteen years alone.
The words suddenly felt too heavy.
She rose.
Walked around the table.
Silas watched her approach.
Evelyn stopped in front of him.
“You know something strange?”
“What?”
“I used to think strength looked like my father standing in a field during a thunderstorm.”
Silas waited.
“Now I think sometimes it looks like a man handing a frightened woman a key and sleeping by a cold wall so she knows she’s safe.”
His breathing changed.
“Evelyn.”
She touched the scar on his cheek.
He froze.
“No one has touched that in years,” he whispered.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
Her fingers remained there.
Silas slowly raised his hand to her wrist.
Not stopping her.
Simply holding on.
Evelyn leaned forward.
Their foreheads touched.
No urgency.
No demand.
Just two lonely people sharing the same breath beside a dying fire.
Then—
A horse screamed outside.
Silas was on his feet instantly.
Pain nearly dropped him.
Evelyn grabbed the rifle.
They rushed to the window.
One of Silas’s horses had been cut loose.
Another stumbled near the fence.
An arrow protruded from the post beside it.
A piece of paper was tied to the shaft.
Silas retrieved it.
Three words were written across the page.
COME TO BLACKWOOD.
Beneath them was another line.
OR PIKE DIES.
Evelyn’s stomach dropped.
Matthew.
Silas crushed the paper in his fist.
“He never made it east.”
Evelyn stared toward the black mountain road.
Galt had changed the game.
And for the first time since entering the saloon, Silas Vance looked afraid.
Not for himself.
For someone else.
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