“Simon Boone! We know you’ve got Abigail Prescott in there. Hand her over, and we’ll leave you breathing!”

Abigail felt every drop of warmth drain from her body.

Simon stood beside the window, his Sharps rifle raised, his broad shoulders blocking her from view.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

“Men who think a woman is something that can be bought and sold.”

“Simon—”

“Stay behind me, Abigail.”

A second rifle sH๏τ exploded against the cabin wall. Wood splintered beside the door.

Abigail gasped.

The bounty hunter laughed outside.

“You’ve got until the count of ten, Boone! After that, we come in!”

Simon didn’t move.

“One,” the man shouted.

Abigail grabbed Simon’s sleeve.

“Please. You don’t understand. Josiah will destroy you. He has men everywhere. He owns half the silver interests in Montana, and the other half owes him money.”

Simon glanced down at her hand.

“Does he own these mountains?”

“No.”

“Then he’s already got a problem.”

Despite the terror gripping her, Abigail almost laughed.

Almost.

“Two!”

Simon reached for the lantern and turned it down until the cabin was nearly dark. Then he pointed toward a narrow opening beside the fireplace.

“See that?”

She nodded.

“Old storage crawlspace. Get inside and stay quiet.”

“I won’t leave you.”

His expression softened for one brief moment.

“Abigail, I spent two days keeping you alive. I ain’t about to let five hired guns finish what the blizzard started.”

“But—”

He gently squeezed her hand.

“Trust me.”

Those two words frightened her more than the rifles.

She had trusted her father to protect their home. She had trusted Josiah’s family when they offered to help with the mine debts. She had trusted promises that turned into chains.

Yet Simon had asked nothing from her.

Not her graтιтude.

Not her obedience.

Not even a kiss.

And somehow, that made trusting him feel possible.

She slipped into the crawlspace just as the bounty hunter began counting again.

“Three!”

Simon dragged a heavy table in front of the fireplace opening.

“Four!”

Then he walked to the door and shouted, “I’m giving you one chance to ride away.”

The answer came instantly.

A bullet tore through the door.

Simon fired back.

A horse screamed outside, followed by furious cursing.

Abigail clapped both hands over her mouth.

Footsteps crunched across the snow.

Then silence.

For several seconds, she heard nothing but the wind.

Suddenly, a voice called from the other side of the cabin.

“Boone! You’ve made your choice!”

A heavy thud struck the rear wall.

Then another.

They were trying to break in from behind.

Abigail crawled toward the opening, unable to remain hidden while Simon faced five men alone. Through a narrow crack, she saw him move toward the back door, rifle held firmly against his shoulder.

He was outnumbered.

He knew it.

And still he stood between her and the men who wanted to drag her back to Josiah Sterling.

Something inside Abigail hardened.

She could not spend the rest of her life waiting for a man to save her.

Not even Simon.

Her eyes fell upon a small revolver resting on a shelf inside the crawlspace. Beside it lay a leather pouch of ammunition.

She had never fired a gun in her life.

With trembling fingers, she picked it up.

“Five!” the bounty hunter shouted.

A crashing sound came from the back of the cabin.

Simon spun around.

The rear door burst inward, and a man lunged through the opening.

Simon struck him with the rifle stock, sending him sprawling into the snow. But another rider appeared behind him, raising his weapon.

Abigail saw the barrel aimed directly at Simon’s back.

“SIMON!”

She scrambled out of the crawlspace and raised the revolver.

The gunsH๏τ deafened her.

The attacker’s rifle flew from his hands as he stumbled backward, clutching his wounded arm.

Simon turned in disbelief.

“Abigail, get down!”

She dropped behind the table, shaking so badly she could barely hold the revolver.

Outside, the bounty hunter roared, “Nobody shoots again! You hear me? Nobody!”

Simon seized the moment, shoved the wounded man outside, and slammed the door. He dragged a wooden chest against it, then turned to Abigail.

His face was pale with anger and fear.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Did he hit you anywhere?”

“No.”

“Then why in God’s name did you come out of there?”

“Because he was going to kill you!”

Simon stared at her.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he crouched before her, his large hands hovering near her shoulders without touching her.

“Abigail, I need you to understand something. I don’t care what happens to me if you get hurt.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“That is exactly what frightens me.”

His anger vanished.

She looked down at the revolver in her hands.

“I’ve spent my whole life watching men decide what is best for me. My father made decisions for the family. Josiah made decisions for my future. Everyone tells me to be quiet, be grateful, and let them handle things.”

Her voice broke.

“But I won’t watch another person suffer because I was too afraid to act.”

Simon slowly took the revolver from her and placed it on the table.

Then he held out his hand.

“You’re braver than you think, little bird.”

Before she could answer, three sharp knocks sounded at the front door.

Everyone froze.

The bounty hunter spoke again, but his voice had changed. The mockery was gone.

“Miss Prescott, I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Simon let out a humorless laugh.

“Funny way of showing it.”

“We don’t want any more bloodshed,” the man continued. “Mr. Sterling has authorized us to offer you a choice.”

Abigail’s stomach twisted.

“What choice?” she called.

“Come out willingly, and we’ll pay Boone five hundred dollars for his trouble. Refuse, and we’ll tell the sheriff he kidnapped you.”

Simon looked at her.

There it was.

The same trick Josiah had used on her family: make the innocent appear guilty, then offer money to the person standing in the way.

Abigail stepped closer to the door.

“My father owes Josiah money. That doesn’t make me his property!”

The bounty hunter chuckled.

“Your father signed the papers, Miss Prescott. The wedding is arranged. Your absence is causing considerable embarrᴀssment.”

“My father signed a debt agreement, not a deed to his daughter!”

“Perhaps you should explain that to the judge.”

Simon raised his rifle again.

“That’s enough.”

But Abigail caught his arm.

“Wait.”

She moved toward the door, stopping well beyond reach.

“Tell Josiah something for me.”

The men outside went quiet.

“Tell him I would rather freeze to death in these mountains than become his wife.”

For a moment, only the wind answered.

Then the bounty hunter said something that made Simon’s expression turn ᴅᴇᴀᴅly serious.

“That’s unfortunate, Miss Prescott. Because Mr. Sterling isn’t the one who sent us.”

Abigail’s blood ran cold.

“What?”

“Sterling wants you alive and married by sunrise. The man who hired us wants something else.”

Simon lowered his rifle a fraction.

“Who hired you?”

The bounty hunter laughed softly.

“Ask your father, Miss Prescott. If he’s still alive.”

Abigail stumbled backward.

“No. That’s a lie.”

“Your father was found near the old Prescott mine yesterday morning. Someone put a bullet through his shoulder and left him in the snow.”

The room seemed to tilt around her.

“My father…”

“He’s alive,” the man continued. “For now. And if you want to see him again, you’ll come with us.”

Abigail’s knees nearly gave way.

Simon caught her before she fell.

“Don’t listen to him,” he murmured.

But the bounty hunter wasn’t finished.

“There’s one more thing, Boone. The girl doesn’t know what her father hid in that mine, does she?”

Simon went completely still.

Abigail looked up at him.

“What is he talking about?”

Simon didn’t answer.

Outside, the bounty hunter called, “Bring us the Prescott ledger, and we’ll leave the girl and her father alone. Keep it hidden, and by tomorrow morning, neither of them will be alive.”

Abigail stared at Simon.

“You know something.”

He looked away.

“Simon, please. What ledger?”

His silence was answer enough.

For the first time since he had carried her out of the snow, Abigail felt a flicker of doubt about the man she was beginning to love.

“Did you find me because of that ledger?”

Simon turned toward her immediately.

“No.”

“Then why do you look as though you know exactly what they’re talking about?”

He drew a slow breath.

“Because your father came to my cabin three weeks ago.”

Abigail’s lips parted.

“He was here?”

“He came in the middle of the night. He was hurt, frightened, and carrying a leather book wrapped in oilcloth. He asked me to keep it safe until he could come back for it.”

“Where is it?”

Simon hesitated.

Then he walked to the stove, reached behind a loose stone, and pulled out a small, weathered ledger.

Abigail recognized the initials burned into its cover.

E.P. — Edward Prescott. Her father’s name.

She reached for it, but Simon held it back.

“There’s something you need to know before you open it.”

“Tell me.”

“Your father believed Josiah Sterling was stealing from the mine workers. Not just their wages. He believed Sterling had been using the debt agreements to take their land, their water rights, and eventually the entire valley.”

Abigail stared at the book.

“And my father had proof?”

“He thought he did.”

“Then we take it to the sheriff.”

Simon gave a bitter shake of his head.

“The sheriff is Sterling’s cousin.”

The pounding began again.

This time, it came from every side of the cabin.

Simon tucked the ledger inside his coat.

“There’s an old trail behind the woodshed. It leads down to Miller’s Creek. If we move now, we can reach the settlement before sunrise.”

“What about the men outside?”

“I’ll draw them away.”

“No.”

“Abigail—”

“I will not leave you here to die.”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“And I won’t let you die trying to save me.”

They stared at each other, two stubborn people who had spent their lives being told what they could not have.

Then Abigail stepped closer.

“You asked me to share your bed forever,” she whispered. “You don’t get to ask me for forever and then send me away the first time things become dangerous.”

For the first time that night, Simon looked completely undone.

He lifted his hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

“I meant every word.”

“Then let me stand beside you.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, the decision had been made.

“All right,” he said. “But you do exactly as I tell you when the shooting starts.”

She almost smiled.

“Only if you do the same.”

A crash shook the cabin.

The front door began to splinter.

Simon handed Abigail the ledger.

“Whatever happens, keep this dry. It’s the only thing that might save your father.”

Then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against hers.

“Stay close to me, Abigail.”

“I will.”

He kissed her forehead—not as a claim, not as a promise she hadn’t agreed to, but as a quiet declaration that she would never again have to face the world alone.

Then he lifted his rifle.

“Ready?”

Abigail тιԍнтened her grip on the ledger.

“No,” she whispered. “But I’m coming anyway.”

Simon smiled faintly.

“That’s my girl.”

Together, they slipped through the rear exit into the blinding snow.

Neither noticed the dark figure waiting among the pines beyond the woodshed.

The figure watched them disappear down the trail, then raised a small brᴀss whistle to his lips.

One shrill note cut through the storm.

Far below, a lantern flickered beside Miller’s Creek.

A second whistle answered.

Simon stopped so abruptly that Abigail nearly collided with him.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He stared down the mountain.

His face had gone white.

“That’s not one of Sterling’s men.”

“Who is it?”

Simon slowly turned to her.

“Someone I buried fifteen years ago.”

Before Abigail could speak, a rifle cocked behind them.

A familiar voice emerged from the darkness.

“Good evening, Simon.”

Abigail knew that voice.

She had heard it at dinner tables, in drawing rooms, and in the mine office where her father had begged for mercy.

It was Josiah Sterling.

But he wasn’t alone.

Standing beside him, pale and bloodstained, was Abigail’s father.

And Josiah had a pistol pressed against his head.

“Now,” Josiah said with a pleasant smile, “shall we discuss your wedding, Miss Prescott?”

To be continued…