PART 2: THE MOUNTAIN MAN REMOVED HER HOOD—BUT THE HORSE SHE SAVED REVEALED A SECRET THAT COULD GET THEM BOTH KILLED

“Is anyone else there?”

Cole Mercer stopped beside the frozen creek.

For several seconds, the only sound was the wind moving through the pines.

“No,” he answered. “Just me, my cabin, and a few animals stubborn enough to survive the winter.”

Hannah’s fingers тιԍнтened around the tin cup.

“Not even a stable boy? A hired hand? Anyone who might come and go?”

Cole studied the sack covering her face.

“Why are you asking?”

She hesitated.

“Because if someone sees me, they might recognize me.”

That answer made the mountain man go still.

He had bought a woman whom an entire town had been desperate to get rid of. He had ᴀssumed she was a victim of some ordinary cruelty, the kind Bitter Creek produced every day.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Who would recognize you?”

Hannah lowered her head.

“Please. Not here.”

Cole could have demanded an explanation.

Instead, he took the empty cup.

“All right. But when we reach my cabin, you’re going to tell me whether someone is likely to follow us.”

She nodded.

They continued upward.

By the time the cabin appeared between the pines, darkness had settled over the mountain.

It was a sturdy log structure with a stone chimney, a small woodshed, and a lean-to stable built against the eastern wall. Smoke curled from the chimney, a thin gray ribbon disappearing into the snow.

Cole helped Hannah down from the mule.

Her legs nearly gave way.

He caught her before she hit the ground.

“Easy.”

She stiffened at his touch.

Cole immediately released her.

“The door is three steps ahead. There’s a fire inside.”

He walked slowly, describing the obstacles so she wouldn’t stumble.

When they entered, warmth brushed Hannah’s face.

She heard the soft crackle of burning pine, the creak of a rocking chair, and the faint rustling of something small near the hearth.

A cat, perhaps.

Cole closed the door against the storm.

Then he stood a few feet away.

“There’s a washbasin, clean water, and a blanket. I’m going to set them beside you.”

Hannah waited.

She heard him move around the room.

Finally, she whispered, “Will you untie it?”

Cole glanced at the dirty sack.

“Only if you want me to.”

For the first time that evening, Hannah seemed genuinely surprised.

After a long silence, she lifted both hands to the twine.

Her fingers fumbled against the knot.

Cole stepped forward, then stopped when she flinched.

“May I?”

A barely audible yes escaped her lips.

He loosened the twine carefully.

The sack slipped from her head.

And Cole Mercer forgot to breathe.

The woman standing before him had a pale, delicate face, a small scar above her left eyebrow, and extraordinary gray eyes.

But it wasn’t her beauty that shocked him.

It was the mark beneath her ear.

A crescent-shaped birthmark, dark as a drop of ink, resting just above the angry red burns around her neck.

Cole stared at it.

Then his expression changed.

“Where did you get that mark?”

Hannah immediately covered it with her hand.

“Why?”

“Answer me.”

She stepped backward.

For the first time, his voice frightened her.

Cole turned away and dragged a hand across his beard.

He had seen that mark once before.

Years ago.

On a little girl standing beside a bloodstained carriage outside Fort Benton.

A girl whose mother had begged him to take a sealed letter to the territorial authorities.

A girl who had disappeared after a terrible fire.

Cole had always believed she died.

“What was your mother’s name?” he asked.

Hannah’s lips parted.

“Eleanor Whitmore.”

The tin cup slipped from Cole’s hand.

It struck the floor and rolled beneath the table.

He looked at her as though the ᴅᴇᴀᴅ had just walked through his door.

“Eleanor had a daughter,” he whispered.

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears.

“I was that daughter.”

Before Cole could answer, a horse screamed outside.

Not a whinny.

A scream of terror.

The sound came from the stable, followed by frantic pounding against the wooden stall.

Cole seized his rifle.

“Stay here.”

But Hannah was already moving toward the door.

“Wait!” she cried. “Which horse?”

“The chestnut mule.”

“No!”

She rushed past him.

Cole caught her arm just before she stumbled into the darkness.

“What is it?”

“Not the mule. The horse. The black horse you brought from Bitter Creek.”

Cole frowned.

He hadn’t brought a black horse from town.

Then he remembered.

The animal had been standing beside the ᴀssayer’s office when he bought Hannah. A magnificent black stallion, tethered to a hitching post, with a white streak down its forehead.

When Cole had approached, the horse had nearly torn its reins apart.

Hannah had turned toward it beneath the sack.

And whispered something.

He remembered now.

She had whispered, “Easy, Captain.”

The animal had immediately gone quiet.

Cole had ᴀssumed she knew horses.

Now Hannah was trembling.

“Please,” she said. “We have to get to him.”

They hurried into the stable.

The black stallion stood in the far stall, sweating despite the freezing air. His ears were pinned back, and his front hoof struck the boards repeatedly.

A narrow leather pouch hung beneath his saddle.

Cole reached for the stall door.

Hannah grabbed his sleeve.

“Don’t touch that pouch.”

He turned toward her.

“Why?”

“Because that’s why they hid my face.”

Before Cole could ask another question, the stallion suddenly lowered his head.

He pressed his muzzle against Hannah’s shoulder.

A soft, broken sound escaped her.

She buried her fingers in his mane.

“Captain,” she whispered. “You found me.”

Cole stared at the horse.

Then he looked at Hannah.

“You know this animal.”

“He belonged to my father.”

“Your father is ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

“That’s what they told me.”

The stable seemed to grow colder.

Hannah drew a shaky breath.

“My father didn’t die in an accident. He discovered that men were stealing government money meant for army supplies. He kept copies of their accounts.”

She glanced at the leather pouch.

“He hid the originals with Captain before they burned our house.”

Cole’s face hardened.

“Who burned it?”

“Silas Vane.”

The name struck him like a rifle sH๏τ.

Silas Vane was the richest man in Bitter Creek, the owner of its largest freight company, and a man who had enough money to make lawmen forget what justice looked like.

Cole had crossed paths with him once.

He remembered a polished silver watch, expensive boots, and a smile that never reached the man’s eyes.

Hannah continued.

“My father was supposed to meet a federal investigator. The night before the meeting, our house caught fire. My mother died trying to get me out.”

Her voice faltered.

“I survived. A woman who worked for us hid me in an abandoned smokehouse. But someone found me days later.”

Cole’s hands curled into fists.

“Who?”

“Hyram Pike.”

The same man who had sold her in Bitter Creek.

“He took me to a mining camp and told everyone I was an orphan. Years later, I learned the truth. My father had left land, money, and documents in my name.”

She swallowed.

“My fiancé, Daniel Rusk, was helping Vane claim the estate. When I discovered what they were doing, he tried to force me to sign papers surrendering everything.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed.

“And when you refused?”

“They burned my letters. They threatened me. Then they covered my face and took me to Bitter Creek.”

She touched the burns around her neck.

“Hyram said if anyone recognized me, I would never live to see another sunrise.”

Cole stared at the pouch.

Three beaver pelts.

That was the price they had paid to make a witness disappear.

A terrible silence settled between them.

Then Captain suddenly stamped his hoof.

Hannah turned.

The horse was staring at the stable’s rear wall.

A moment later, someone knocked on the cabin door.

Three slow knocks.

Cole raised his rifle.

A man’s voice drifted through the storm.

“Mercer! Open up. We know you’ve got the girl.”

Hannah went white.

She knew that voice.

Daniel Rusk.

The man who had once promised to marry her.

The man who had handed her over to Hyram Pike.

Cole motioned for her to stay behind him.

Then Daniel spoke again.

“Bring Hannah out, and we’ll make this easy. Vane only wants the papers.”

Cole’s finger тιԍнтened around the rifle.

“What papers?”

A short laugh came from the other side of the door.

“The ones inside that horse’s saddle.”

Hannah’s breath caught.

Cole glanced toward Captain.

The stallion had stopped moving.

Then a second voice spoke from the darkness.

An older voice.

A voice Hannah had spent seven years dreaming she would hear again.

“Please, Cole. Don’t let them take my daughter.”

Hannah froze.

The rifle lowered a fraction.

Cole’s face drained of color.

Because the voice outside belonged to a man everyone in Bitter Creek had buried.

Hannah’s father.

And before Cole could reach the door, a gunsH๏τ shattered the cabin window.

Glᴀss exploded across the floor.

Captain reared in the stable.

Hannah screamed.

Cole dragged her behind a stack of firewood as another bullet punched through the log wall.

Then came a voice from outside.

“Last chance, Mercer!”

Cole checked his rifle.

Only two cartridges remained.

Hannah looked toward the stable.

“The pouch,” she whispered. “You have to get it.”

“Not while they’re shooting.”

“They don’t know what’s inside.”

“What is it?”

She looked at him with desperate gray eyes.

“My father’s ledger isn’t the only thing in there.”

Her voice broke.

“There’s a pH๏τograph.”

“Of whom?”

Hannah shook her head.

“A pH๏τograph taken the night our house burned. My father told me that if I ever found it, I would finally understand why my mother died.”

Another sH๏τ struck the cabin door.

Cole made his decision.

He shoved his spare ammunition into Hannah’s palm.

“There’s a narrow pᴀssage behind the woodpile. It leads into the stable. Take the pouch and get out through the rear fence.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll keep them busy.”

She stared at him.

“Why would you risk your life for me?”

Cole’s expression softened.

“Because somebody should have done it years ago.”

Hannah ran.

Behind the cabin, the wind tore at her clothes as she crawled through the narrow pᴀssage. Snow soaked her knees. Her hands shook so badly she could barely open the stable latch.

Captain greeted her with a desperate nicker.

She reached beneath the saddle and pulled the leather pouch free.

It was heavier than she expected.

Something metallic shifted inside.

Then she noticed a folded scrap of paper tucked into the sтιтching.

Her name was written across it.

Not Hannah Whitmore.

A different name.

The name her mother had whispered during the last moments of her life.

Hannah unfolded the paper.

Four words were written in faded ink.

YOUR FATHER IS NOT ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.

A terrible realization spread through her.

If her father was alive, why had he stayed away?

Why had he allowed her to be sold?

And why was someone outside using his voice?

Then she heard footsteps behind her.

A shadow filled the stable entrance.

“Give me the pouch, Hannah.”

She turned.

Daniel Rusk stood in the doorway, his revolver aimed directly at her heart.

He was smiling.

But it was the next thing he said that made her blood run cold.

“You really should have stayed hidden. Because the man you think is your father…”

He stepped closer.

“…is the reason your mother died.”

Outside, Cole’s rifle fired once.

And inside the pouch, something began ticking.

To be continued in Part 3…