Ethan extinguished the lamp.
Darkness swallowed the cabin.
Charlotte crouched beside the stone fireplace while Ethan moved toward the damaged door, rifle ready.
Another shot echoed somewhere below the ridge.
Then silence.
Minutes passed.
Nothing came.
Finally Ethan whispered, “They’re too far down.”
“You know who they are?”
“I can guess.”
“Harrow’s men?”
“Maybe.”
Charlotte felt anger rise through her fear.
“I was supposed to marry that man.”
Ethan turned.
“Not anymore.”
Again there was something in his voice—something protective and almost personal.
Charlotte noticed.
But this was not the time to examine it.
“Finish the story.”
Ethan hesitated.
“You need rest.”
“And you have a mountain lion wound in your side. Neither of us is getting what we need tonight.”
A faint smile touched his face.
Then he lowered himself carefully into the chair.
“The warehouse fire killed four men. Your uncle Thomas was one.”
“What happened to Samuel Pike?”
“He survived because I dragged him through a window.”
“And you?”
“Burned half my back doing it.”
Charlotte glanced at the scars she had seen.
“We tried to report what happened.”
“To whom?”
“Army command first. Then federal investigators.”
“And?”
“Our commanding officer suddenly claimed there had been an accident. Records disappeared. Witnesses changed their stories.”
“Harrow bribed them.”
“Harrow owned them.”
Charlotte thought of Nathaniel Harrow sitting in her father’s dining room, smiling politely while servants poured wine.
She felt sick.
“Why didn’t Samuel expose him?”
“He tried.”
Ethan’s expression darkened.
“His wife was attacked. His house burned. He had a young son.”
“Amos.”
“Yes.”
“So Samuel disappeared.”
“He changed his name for a while. I came here.”
“Why here?”
“Because Thomas told me something before he died.”
Charlotte leaned forward.
“What?”
“He said he had hidden copies.”
Her pulse quickened.
“Copies of the evidence?”
Ethan nodded.
“Where?”
“He never told me.”
Charlotte stared.
“For twenty-three years you have lived in these mountains because evidence might be hidden here?”
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
Ethan looked toward the fire.
“Cowardice.”
Charlotte frowned.
“You survived being burned alive. That hardly sounds cowardly.”
“I stopped trying.”
“You were threatened.”
“So was Thomas. He didn’t stop.”
“He died.”
“That doesn’t make quitting feel better.”
Charlotte studied him.
Ethan had punished himself for twenty-three years.
No family.
No friends.
No town.
No woman.
A life deliberately reduced until no one could be used against him.
“Is that why you never married?”
“Yes.”
“Because Harrow might find you?”
“Because anyone close to me became a target.”
The answer struck Charlotte more deeply than she expected.
“So when you said I was the first woman you touched…”
“I meant it.”
His gaze met hers.
“I stopped giving people reasons to matter.”
Charlotte’s breath caught.
Before she could respond, Ethan looked away.
By morning the gunshots had stopped.
The storm remained fierce, but the wind had weakened enough for Ethan to inspect the snow around the cabin.
Charlotte insisted on accompanying him.
“You’re injured.”
“So are you.”
“My leg has stitches.”
“My side has stitches.”
“Mine were done professionally.”
Ethan looked at her.
She smiled.
“I was the professional.”
They found tracks near the lower tree line.
Horse tracks.
Three animals.
“Someone came close,” Charlotte said.
“Not close enough.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait until the storm breaks.”
“And then?”
Ethan looked south.
“We find Amos Pike.”
The storm ended the following afternoon.
The world emerged transformed.
Snow glittered across Blackwood Ridge beneath a painfully blue sky.
Ethan saddled his two horses.
Charlotte changed back into her dried clothing, though Ethan persuaded her to replace her fashionable boots with a spare pair of his.
They rode downhill.
Five miles became nearly eight because of drifts.
By dusk they saw smoke rising from the town of Blackwood.
Charlotte expected Ethan to relax.
Instead, every muscle in his body tightened.
“You truly haven’t been here in years?”
“Eighteen.”
“People must think you’re dead.”
“Some probably hope so.”
They entered town after sunset.
Heads turned.
Men stopped outside the saloon.
A woman carrying groceries stared.
An elderly blacksmith dropped a horseshoe.
“Cole?”
Ethan kept riding.
Word traveled faster than they did.
By the time they reached the sheriff’s office, half a dozen townspeople watched from across the street.
Sheriff Benjamin Ross emerged.
He was gray-haired, heavyset, and visibly stunned.
“I’ll be damned.”
“Not tonight, Ben,” Ethan said.
Ross looked at Charlotte.
Then at Ethan.
“You brought company.”
“We need Amos Pike.”
Ross’s expression changed.
“That might be difficult.”
“Why?”
“He was found this morning.”
Charlotte’s heart stopped.
“Found where?”
“Creek road.”
“Alive?”
Ross looked at her.
“Barely.”
They hurried to the doctor’s office.
Amos Pike lay unconscious beneath blankets.
His face was badly bruised.
One arm was broken.
Charlotte moved beside him.
“Amos.”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Miss… Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
He began to cry.
“I’m sorry.”
“For leaving me?”
“No.”
His hand grabbed hers.
“For failing.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Amos.”
Pike saw him.
His eyes widened.
“Cole.”
“Your father sent you?”
Amos nodded weakly.
Charlotte stared between them.
“Sent him to do what?”
Amos struggled to speak.
“My father died… six months ago.”
Ethan looked stricken.
“He left me letters. Told me everything.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I had to find Miss Whitmore.”
Charlotte’s pulse raced.
“You deliberately took me across Blackwood Ridge.”
“Yes.”
“My father hired you.”
“Through an agency. I arranged it.”
“Why?”
Amos looked at her desperately.
“Because Nathaniel Harrow moved the wedding.”
Charlotte froze.
“What?”
“He knew somebody was searching old records. He planned to marry you quickly, get control of your inheritance, and use Whitmore Rail to bury the last evidence.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“What evidence?”
Amos swallowed.
“Thomas Whitmore’s journal.”
Charlotte stared.
“My uncle kept a journal?”
“Your father has it.”
She almost laughed from disbelief.
“My father?”
“Harrow doesn’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t my father expose him?”
“Because he doesn’t know what it is.”
Charlotte blinked.
Amos explained.
“Your uncle mailed a package to Charles before he died. It contained personal effects and a journal written in code. Your father kept it because it belonged to his brother. Samuel believed Thomas hid the key somewhere on Blackwood Ridge.”
Ethan whispered, “The cabin.”
Amos nodded.
“Thomas mentioned a hunting cabin in one letter.”
Charlotte looked at Ethan.
“Your cabin?”
“It belonged to Thomas before I bought the claim.”
The pieces locked together.
The photograph.
The mountain.
Ethan’s isolation.
Thomas’s hidden evidence.
Amos coughed.
“They followed us.”
“Harrow’s men?” Ethan asked.
“Yes. I left Miss Whitmore because I saw them behind us. I tried drawing them away.”
Charlotte’s anger vanished.
“You saved me.”
“Not well enough.”
“You did.”
Amos reached into his shirt.
He removed a small brass key.
“Samuel gave me this.”
Ethan took it.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
A crash sounded downstairs.
Sheriff Ross shouted.
Then came a gunshot.
Ethan drew his revolver.
Charlotte stood.
The office door burst open.
A masked man fired.
The bullet shattered a medicine bottle.
Ethan returned fire.
The attacker vanished.
More shots erupted outside.
“Back room!” Ethan shouted.
Charlotte helped Amos from the bed while the doctor opened a rear door.
They escaped into the alley.
Sheriff Ross appeared from the corner.
“Three men! Horses out front!”
Ethan handed Charlotte his revolver.
“You know how to use it?”
“My father believed women should learn piano.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Charlotte cocked the revolver.
“I disappointed him in several ways.”
Ethan smiled despite everything.
“Stay with Ross.”
“Where are you going?”
“Ending the argument.”
He disappeared around the building.
Thirty seconds later, gunfire erupted.
Then horses thundered down Main Street.
Ethan returned with blood on his sleeve—not his own.
“One escaped.”
“Where will he go?”
“Back to Harrow.”
Charlotte looked down at the brass key.
“We have to return to the cabin.”
Ethan nodded.
“No.”
Everyone turned toward Amos.
He struggled to remain standing.
“They know about the mountain now.”
“Then we get there first,” Charlotte said.
Amos shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
His frightened eyes settled on Charlotte.
“Harrow isn’t in Boston anymore.”
“Where is he?”
Amos swallowed.
“He’s coming here.”