Matilda lifted her eyes.

For one terrible second, she forgot how to breathe.

Jedodiah Boon was even more imposing up close. His shoulders nearly filled the space between the table and the hearth, and his pale blue eyes seemed to look straight through her. A scar ran from beneath his left ear to the edge of his beard. His enormous hands rested on the table, their knuckles roughened by years of hard labor in the mountains.

Matilda braced herself for the familiar sneer.

She expected him to laugh at her size, make some cruel remark about her appearance, or demand that Abigail find someone else to cook his meals.

Instead, the giant trapper stared at her for several seconds and asked a question that made the entire dining room go silent.

“What’s your name, woman?”

“Matilda, sir.”

“Your full name.”

“Matilda Rose Bennett.”

He repeated it slowly, as though committing every syllable to memory.

“Matilda Rose Bennett.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jedodiah glanced down at his bowl.

“Did you make the bread, too?”

Matilda swallowed.

“Yes, sir. I baked it this morning.”

“And the stock?”

“I boiled the bones yesterday. There wasn’t much meat left on them, so I roasted them first to get more flavor.”

He looked at the bowl again.

“And you used thyme.”

Matilda blinked.

“Yes, sir. Just a little.”

“Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

The question was so unexpected that she nearly forgot to answer.

“My mother taught me. She ran a small inn in Missouri before she pᴀssed away.”

Jedodiah nodded once.

Then he pushed his chair back.

The wooden legs scraped loudly across the floor.

Matilda flinched.

“Mr. Boon, if there’s something wrong with the meal, I can—”

“Something wrong?”

He stared at her.

“Woman, I’ve eaten bear meat boiled in creek water, rancid bacon cooked over wet pine, and biscuits so hard I once used one to crack a frozen horseshoe loose.”

A few miners chuckled nervously.

Jedodiah ignored them.

“This stew is the first decent meal I’ve had in six months.”

Matilda stared at him.

She wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

He lifted the bowl and scraped up the last of the gravy with a piece of bread.

Then he looked toward Abigail.

“How much do you pay her?”

The boarding house owner stiffened.

“That is a private matter between myself and my employee.”

Jedodiah turned his head.

“How much?”

Abigail swallowed.

“Three dollars a month.”

The trapper’s expression darkened.

“Three dollars?”

“She receives her meals and a room in the back—”

“A room with a leaking roof,” Matilda murmured before she could stop herself.

Abigail spun around.

“What did you say?”

Matilda immediately lowered her eyes.

“Nothing, ma’am.”

But Jedodiah had heard.

He looked at the boarding house owner with an expression that made two miners suddenly find their boots fascinating.

“You make her work fourteen hours a day, feed half this town with her cooking, and pay her three dollars a month?”

Abigail’s face turned crimson.

“She should be grateful to have employment! Nobody else in Leadville would hire a woman of her size. She can barely move a flour sack without stopping to catch her breath.”

The words struck Matilda harder than she wanted to admit.

She had heard them so often that she had almost learned to believe them.

Almost.

Jedodiah slowly stood to his full height.

The room seemed to shrink around him.

“Listen carefully, Mrs. Thatcher. I don’t care how much a woman weighs. I care whether she works honestly, whether she keeps her word, and whether she knows how to make a meal that doesn’t taste like boiled boot leather.”

He glanced at Matilda.

“This woman has done more for this establishment in one evening than you’ve done for it in the last year.”

Abigail’s mouth fell open.

Nobody spoke.

Then Jedodiah reached into the inner pocket of his heavy coat and pulled out a small leather pouch.

He dropped it onto the table.

The sound of coins striking wood echoed through the room.

“I want to hire your cook.”

Abigail looked from the pouch to Matilda.

“You can’t simply take my employee!”

“I’m not taking anybody. I’m offering her a job.”

He turned toward Matilda.

“Twenty-five dollars a month. A private room. All the food she wants. No one will dock her wages because a man complains about the weather or because the cook used too much salt.”

Matilda stared at him.

Twenty-five dollars.

She could earn more in one month than she had earned in nearly a year under Abigail.

But she didn’t reach for the pouch.

“Why?” she asked.

Jedodiah’s brows drew together.

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering me all this?”

“Because I need a cook.”

“You could hire anyone.”

“Could I?”

His gaze moved toward the dining room.

“Half the women in this town wouldn’t come within ten feet of my cabin. The other half would leave before sunrise.”

One of the miners coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

Jedodiah’s eyes returned to Matilda.

“But you made something worth coming down a mountain for. That tells me enough to start with.”

Matilda looked at the leather pouch.

Then she looked at Abigail, who was practically vibrating with fury.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Boon, but I can’t accept money that isn’t mine.”

A flicker of something like respect crossed his face.

“Then earn it.”

He nudged the pouch toward her.

“Come to my cabin tomorrow. Cook me supper. If I don’t like it, you can come back here and I’ll never bother you again.”

“And if you do like it?”

“Then we’ll discuss a proper agreement.”

Matilda hesitated.

“Where exactly is your cabin?”

“Black Ridge. About twelve miles north of town.”

“Twelve miles?”

“Thirteen if you take the long trail.”

“Through the mountains?”

“Unless you plan to walk over them.”

A few men laughed outright.

For the first time that evening, Matilda almost smiled.

Then she remembered the winter storm, the freezing roads, and the stories people told about Jedodiah Boon’s isolated cabin.

“Mr. Boon, I don’t have a horse.”

“I do.”

“I don’t own proper winter clothes.”

“I have blankets.”

“And I don’t know you.”

At that, the trapper’s expression changed.

He seemed to consider her objection seriously.

Then he nodded.

“That’s fair.”

He reached for a scrap of paper and a pencil.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll come back with my wagon. You can inspect the cabin, meet the man you’ll be working for, and decide whether you want the job. No agreement until you’re satisfied.”

Matilda stared at him.

No threats.

No insults.

No demand that she be grateful for whatever scraps he offered.

It was so unlike anything she had experienced that she didn’t know what to say.

Finally, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Jedodiah picked up his empty bowl.

“Don’t thank me yet, Miss Bennett. I haven’t tasted your breakfast.”

And with that, the seven-foot trapper sat back down, called for another serving of stew, and left the entire boarding house wondering what on earth had just happened.

But Abigail Thatcher wasn’t wondering.

She was furious.

That night, Matilda lay awake in her cramped room above the cooper shop, staring at the water stain spreading across the ceiling.

The wind rattled the loose window frame.

Her feet ached. Her back throbbed. Her hands smelled of onions and wood smoke despite the scrubbing she had given them before bed.

But for the first time in months, her mind wasn’t occupied entirely by fear.

Twenty-five dollars a month.

A warm room.

A chance to work somewhere her labor might actually mean something.

She allowed herself to imagine it.

Then reality intruded.

What if Jedodiah changed his mind when he saw her struggle up the mountain trail? What if his kindness had been nothing more than a moment of appreciation for a good meal? What if the men in town were right, and she really was too slow, too heavy, too plain to be worth anything beyond the kitchen?

A knock sounded at her door.

Matilda sat upright.

“Who is it?”

“Abigail.”

Her stomach тιԍнтened.

She opened the door a few inches.

The boarding house owner stood in the hallway wearing a wool dressing gown and a thin smile.

“I hope you haven’t been entertaining any foolish ideas about leaving.”

Matilda held the door.

“Mr. Boon offered me a job.”

“And you think a man like that will keep you around once he’s had a proper look at you?”

Matilda felt her cheeks burn.

Abigail leaned closer.

“Men like Jedodiah Boon don’t want a woman like you. They want a servant who knows her place. He probably enjoyed the stew and thought he could frighten me into giving him a bargain.”

“He offered me fair wages.”

“He offered you a fantasy.”

Abigail straightened.

“Remember who gave you a roof when nobody else would. If you walk out of this house tomorrow, don’t expect me to take you back when he sends you packing.”

Matilda’s fingers тιԍнтened around the door.

“I understand.”

“Good.”

Abigail turned to leave.

Then she paused.

“And one more thing. If you take my pots, pans, or kitchen knives with you, I’ll have the sheriff arrest you for theft.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking anything that belongs to you.”

Abigail walked away without another word.

Matilda closed the door and leaned against it.

For several minutes, she simply stood there.

Then she looked around her tiny room.

A narrow bed.

A washbasin.

A cracked mirror.

One trunk containing two dresses and a pair of worn shoes.

That was everything she owned.

And suddenly, she realized she had very little left to lose.

At seven the next morning, the sound of wagon wheels on frozen ground woke half the street.

Matilda hurried to the window.

A broad, dark horse stood outside the cooper shop, harnessed to a sturdy wagon covered with canvas. The animal’s breath rose in white clouds.

Beside it stood Jedodiah Boon.

He wore a thick bearskin coat and a fur cap pulled low over his brow. His beard had been brushed, though it remained wild around the edges.

He looked up at her window.

“Morning, Miss Bennett!”

His voice carried halfway down the street.

Matilda hurried away from the window, mortified.

She packed her trunk, tied her few belongings into a bundle, and went downstairs.

By the time she reached the street, a small crowd had gathered.

Mrs. Thatcher stood in the boarding house doorway with her arms crossed.

“Well,” she announced loudly, “look who’s leaving town with the mountain giant.”

Matilda stopped.

Every face turned toward her.

A man near the general store snickered.

“Better make sure he doesn’t need a reinforced wagon!”

Another called, “Perhaps he’ll feed her enough to keep her occupied all winter!”

Laughter rolled down the street.

Matilda’s face burned.

For a moment, she wanted to turn around and climb back to her room.

Then Jedodiah stepped down from the wagon.

He crossed the snow-covered street in three enormous strides and stopped in front of the men.

“Which one of you said that?”

The laughter died instantly.

Nobody answered.

Jedodiah surveyed them with his pale blue eyes.

“Interesting. You were all brave enough to laugh when she was standing alone. Now you can’t seem to find your voices.”

He turned toward Matilda.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

He lifted her trunk as though it weighed no more than a sack of flour and placed it in the wagon.

Then he offered her his hand.

Matilda stared at it.

She had never been offered a hand in front of a crowd without someone expecting something in return.

“It’s a long ride,” he said. “The road gets rough beyond the timberline.”

She placed her hand in his.

His grip was warm and steady.

He helped her onto the wagon seat, tucked a thick blanket around her legs, and climbed up beside her.

Before he took the reins, he looked once more at the gathering crowd.

“There’s a difference between a woman who needs help and a woman who has nothing to offer. Most of you are too ignorant to know it.”

Then he snapped the reins.

The wagon rolled away.

Matilda didn’t look back until they reached the edge of town.

Abigail was still standing outside the boarding house.

But the expression on her face was no longer triumphant.

It was uncertain.

For the first time in her life, Matilda Bennett was leaving a place where people had already decided what she was worth.

She had no idea what awaited her on Black Ridge.

But she was determined to find out.

The journey took nearly four hours.

The road climbed steadily through dense pine forest, past frozen streams and rocky slopes where snow drifted deep enough to swallow the wagon wheels.

Jedodiah spoke little.

He pointed out dangerous bends, warned her when the wagon would jolt, and occasionally stopped to check the horses’ harness.

Matilda watched him work.

For such a mᴀssive man, he moved with surprising care. He handled the horses gently, spoke to them in a low voice, and never once lost his temper when the wagon became stuck in a drift.

“You’re good with animals,” she observed when he finally freed a wheel from the snow.

He shrugged.

“Animals don’t lie to you.”

“Neither do most people, if you ask the right questions.”

He glanced at her.

“Is that what teaching taught you?”

“Teaching taught me that children lie when they’re frightened, hungry, or afraid of disappointing someone.”

“And grown men?”

“They usually add pride to the list.”

For the first time, Jedodiah laughed.

It was a deep, rusty sound, as though he hadn’t used it in years.

“Maybe I’ll have to watch what I say around you.”

“Only if you have something to hide.”

He looked at her for a moment.

Then he turned back to the trail.

“You might be more trouble than I expected, Miss Bennett.”

Matilda smiled beneath her blanket.

“That’s what everyone says.”

By midafternoon, the trees began to thin.

A small cabin appeared on a rocky rise overlooking a broad valley. It was built from thick pine logs, with a stone chimney and a roof heavily laden with snow. A woodpile stood beneath a lean-to, and a barn sat farther down the slope.

Smoke curled from the chimney.

Matilda stared.

It was the largest private cabin she had ever seen.

“Is this yours?”

“Been mine eleven years.”

“You built it yourself?”

“Most of it.”

She looked at the mᴀssive timber walls.

“You built all this alone?”

“Had a friend help me with the roof. Nearly broke his neck getting the last beam into place.”

“Then I suppose I should be grateful you had a friend.”

Jedodiah looked at her.

For a moment, the expression in his eyes seemed almost lonely.

“Friends don’t always stay.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he jumped down from the wagon and lifted her trunk.

“Come inside. It’s warmer than it looks.”

The cabin was a revelation.

A great stone fireplace dominated the main room. A heavy wooden table stood near the windows, surrounded by sturdy chairs. Shelves held jars of preserved fruit, dried herbs, flour, beans, and smoked meat. Two rifles hung above the fireplace, and a row of animal pelts had been folded neatly beside a wooden chest.

Everything was clean.

Not merely swept, but carefully maintained.

Matilda looked around in disbelief.

“You keep a very tidy house.”

Jedodiah set her trunk near the stairs.

“I don’t like stepping over things.”

She glanced at the shelves.

“And you have enough food here to feed a small army.”

“Winter lasts a long time on Black Ridge.”

“Then you won’t mind if I inspect your pantry.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Already giving orders?”

“I’m a cook, Mr. Boon. I can’t promise you a good meal if I don’t know what ingredients I have.”

He considered her for a moment.

Then he stepped aside.

“Be my guest.”

Matilda inspected the pantry, making mental notes of what could be used and what needed replenishing.

There was dried venison, smoked pork, flour, beans, onions, potatoes, and a generous supply of salt and spices. The shelves were better stocked than she had expected.

But something else caught her attention.

On the top shelf sat a small tin box.

It was dusty and old, with a rusted latch.

“What’s in there?” she asked.

Jedodiah followed her gaze.

His expression changed.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

The answer was so abrupt that Matilda turned toward him.

“All right.”

She went back to inspecting the shelves.

But she noticed that he kept glancing at the tin box.

And when he thought she wasn’t looking, he quietly moved it to a locked cabinet.

That evening, Matilda prepared venison stew with potatoes, onions, and the last of the carrots in the pantry.

She worked carefully, tasting the broth, adjusting the seasoning, and making a small batch of biscuits to serve alongside it.

Jedodiah sat near the fireplace, sharpening a hunting knife.

He watched her from time to time, though he seemed determined not to make it obvious.

When she finally set a steaming bowl in front of him, he picked up his spoon.

Matilda waited.

He tasted the stew.

Then he took another spoonful.

Then another.

She folded her hands nervously.

“Well?”

Jedodiah looked up.

“It’s good.”

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Just good?”

He stared at her.

“Miss Bennett, if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll have to eat the entire pot to convince you.”

Matilda laughed.

A real laugh.

It surprised them both.

She sat opposite him with her own bowl, and for the first time in a very long while, she ate without worrying about whether someone would snatch the food away or accuse her of taking too much.

After supper, Jedodiah brought out a leather pouch.

He placed twenty-five dollars on the table.

“Your first month’s wages.”

Matilda stared at the money.

“But I haven’t worked a month.”

“You’ve cooked supper, inspected the pantry, and made me laugh twice. That’s more work than I expected to get out of you on the first day.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t take a whole month’s wages for one meal.”

“You can, and you will. We agreed on twenty-five dollars.”

He pushed the money toward her.

“You earned it.”

Matilda touched the coins with trembling fingers.

For months, she had worked until her body ached, only to be told she was fortunate to receive anything at all.

Now a man she had met less than twenty-four hours ago was paying her what he had promised.

She looked up.

“Thank you, Mr. Boon.”

“Jedodiah.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“If you’re going to live under my roof and cook my meals, you can call me Jedodiah.”

She smiled faintly.

“Then you may call me Matilda.”

He nodded.

“Matilda it is.”

He rose, gathered his bowl, and carried it to the washbasin.

Before leaving the room, he paused.

“There’s something else you should know.”

Matilda looked up.

“What is it?”

He stood with his broad back to the fire, his shadow stretching across the floor.

“I didn’t bring you up here only because of your cooking.”

Her smile faded.

“What do you mean?”

Jedodiah looked at her for a long moment.

Then he said, “I need someone I can trust.”

Matilda’s heart began to beat faster.

“Trust with what?”

He glanced toward the locked cabinet.

“That’s a conversation for another day.”

She didn’t press him.

But long after he had gone upstairs, Matilda sat beside the dying fire, thinking about the tin box, the locked cabinet, and the lonely man who had paid her more generously in one day than anyone else had paid her in months.

She had come to Black Ridge expecting a job.

She was beginning to suspect that Jedodiah Boon had brought her into his home for a reason he was afraid to explain.

And whatever that reason was, it had nothing to do with stew.

Three days later, Matilda discovered the truth about the locked cabinet.

She hadn’t been snooping.

At least, that was what she told herself when she found the cabinet door standing slightly ajar.

Jedodiah had left early that morning to check his traps along the northern ridge. He had warned her not to venture beyond the woodpile because another storm was coming.

She had promised to stay near the cabin.

Now, while sweeping the main room, she noticed a folded sheet of paper lying beneath the cabinet.

She picked it up.

It was a letter.

The handwriting was neat but hurried, and the paper had been folded so many times that the creases were beginning to tear.

At the top was a date from eleven years earlier.

Matilda read the first few lines.

Then she stopped.

Mr. Boon,

The matter concerning your late brother’s claim remains unresolved. If you intend to protect the property and the remaining evidence, you must keep the original documents secure. The men who came to your cabin last winter have not abandoned their search.

Matilda’s hands went cold.

She read the letter again.

They know the truth about the accident. They know you were there that night. If the original records are discovered, they will make certain you never have the opportunity to speak in court.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Matilda turned.

Jedodiah stood in the doorway.

Snow clung to his coat. His rifle rested against his shoulder, and his pale blue eyes had gone hard as ice.

“What are you doing with that letter?”

Matilda held it out immediately.

“I found it beneath the cabinet. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

He crossed the room and took the paper.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he looked at her.

“You’ve read it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

He folded the letter carefully.

“I see.”

“Jedodiah, I don’t know what happened to your brother, and I don’t intend to ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”

He stared at her.

“But I do know what it feels like when people decide you’re guilty before they’ve bothered to learn the truth.”

His expression shifted.

“What makes you think I’m being accused of something?”

Matilda glanced at the letter.

“Because whoever wrote this is afraid of what you know.”

The silence between them stretched.

Finally, Jedodiah set the letter on the table.

“Eleven years ago, my younger brother, Samuel, died in a mining accident.”

Matilda waited.

“He was working a claim near the western ridge. The company said the tunnel collapsed because Samuel ignored safety instructions.”

“Did he?”

“No.”

The answer came so quickly that Matilda knew he had been carrying it for years.

“He discovered that the owners were sending men into unstable tunnels to extract ore before the winter shutdown. He threatened to report them. Two days later, the tunnel collapsed.”

Matilda’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Were you there?”

“I arrived after the collapse. I helped dig him out.”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“He was still alive when I reached him. He told me what happened. He told me where he’d hidden the records proving the company had knowingly endangered its workers.”

“Did you find them?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you take them to the authorities?”

Jedodiah looked toward the window.

“Because the men who owned that mine also owned the sheriff, the judge, and half the businesses in Leadville. They threatened to charge me with murder if I spoke.”

Matilda felt sick.

“So you kept quiet?”

“I kept my brother’s records hidden until I could find someone willing to hear the truth.”

“Why now?”

He looked at her.

“Because the man who ordered that tunnel sealed is running for a seat in the territorial legislature. If he wins, he’ll have enough influence to bury the case forever.”

Matilda stared at him.

“And you need someone you can trust because—”

“Because someone has been searching this cabin for months. Someone knows I have the records, but they don’t know where I’ve hidden them.”

He paused.

“Until now, I’ve kept everyone at a distance. I thought that was the safest thing to do.”

Matilda’s chest тιԍнтened.

“And then you met me.”

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

Jedodiah studied her face.

“Because you looked me in the eye when I asked you to. Because you refused to take money you hadn’t earned. Because you stood in a room full of men who mocked you and didn’t let them decide what you were worth.”

He looked away.

“And because I have spent eleven years watching good people suffer while the guilty walk free. I wanted to know whether there was still someone in this world who would do the right thing when it cost them something.”

Matilda felt tears prick her eyes.

“You could have told me all this before I came here.”

“I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t know whether you would believe me.”

She looked at the letter in his hand.

“Do you believe me now?”

He met her eyes.

“Yes.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Matilda asked the question that had been forming in her mind since she read the letter.

“What happens if they find the records?”

Jedodiah’s expression darkened.

“They’ll come for them.”

“And what happens if they come here?”

He looked toward the rifle by the door.

“Then I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this house.”

Matilda stood straighter.

“And I’ll help you.”

His eyes widened.

“No.”

She blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve spent your life being treated as though you owe everyone something just because they let you stand in the same room with them. I won’t have you risking your life for my brother’s case.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“Matilda—”

“No, Jedodiah. You hired me because you needed someone you could trust. You told me that I had earned my place here. You cannot turn around and tell me that my place disappears the moment things become dangerous.”

He stared at her.

She continued, her voice shaking but determined.

“I am not a child. I know the risks. And if your brother was murdered because powerful men believed they could do whatever they pleased, then I won’t help them get away with it simply because I’m afraid.”

Jedodiah’s expression softened, then тιԍнтened again.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He looked at her for a long time.

Finally, he nodded.

“All right.”

He crossed to the locked cabinet, opened it, and removed the small tin box.

Inside were several folded papers, a worn leather ledger, and a pH๏τograph of two young men standing beside a mine entrance.

One was Jedodiah.

The other had the same pale blue eyes.

Samuel.

Matilda picked up the pH๏τograph.

“He looks like you.”

“He was the better-looking one.”

She smiled faintly.

“Was he kinder?”

Jedodiah considered the question.

“He was better at pretending to be.”

For the first time, there was warmth in his voice when he spoke of his brother.

Matilda carefully returned the pH๏τograph to the box.

Then she noticed something written on the back of the ledger.

A name.

Abigail Thatcher.

She looked up sharply.

“Jedodiah.”

He followed her gaze.

The color drained from his face.

“No,” he whispered.

Matilda turned the ledger toward him.

“Why is the woman who employed me listed in your brother’s records?”

Jedodiah took the book with trembling hands.

He read the entry once.

Then again.

Finally, he looked at Matilda.

“Because eleven years ago, Abigail Thatcher was the bookkeeper for the very mining company that killed my brother.”

Outside, the wind rose, rattling the cabin windows.

And somewhere far down the mountain, a horse whinnied in the gathering storm.

Jedodiah closed the tin box.

“Matilda, pack your things.”

She stared at him.

“What?”

“Now.”

“Why?”

He crossed to the window and peered through the frost-covered glᴀss.

A dark rider had appeared at the edge of the clearing.

Another horse emerged behind him.

Then a third.

Jedodiah reached for his rifle.

“Because if Abigail knows you’ve seen that ledger, she won’t wait for the sheriff to come looking for me.”

He turned toward Matilda, his eyes fierce and frightened.

“She’ll send the men who killed my brother.”

A fist hammered against the cabin door.

Then a voice called from outside.

“Jedodiah Boon! We know you’re in there!”

Jedodiah raised his rifle.

Matilda stood frozen beside the table.

The voice came again.

“We’ve come for Samuel’s papers. Hand them over, and nobody needs to get hurt.”

Jedodiah looked at Matilda.

For the first time since she had met him, the enormous trapper appeared uncertain.

Not because he was afraid of the men outside.

But because he was afraid of what they might do to her.

He lowered his voice.

“Whatever happens, stay behind me.”

Matilda lifted her chin.

“No.”

His eyes flashed.

“Matilda, this is not the time to argue.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to.”

A gunsH๏τ exploded outside.

The window shattered.

Jedodiah lunged toward her, throwing his mᴀssive body over hers as glᴀss sprayed across the room.

Matilda screamed.

And in the darkness that followed, she heard the cabin door splinter beneath a second blow.