SHE WAS TOO BIG… “JUST SIT DOWN,” THE MOUNTAIN MAN SAID BEFORE SHE SAW WHAT WAS UNDERNEATH

PART 2 — THE SECRET BENEATH THE MOUNTAIN CABIN

Amily had never experienced warmth quite like that.

The water surrounded her, slowly easing the cold that had settled into her bones. Steam curled against the stone walls, and for the first time since the stagecoach attack, she could feel her fingers again.

She sat quietly for several minutes.

Then she noticed something strange.

The H๏τ spring wasn’t natural in the way she had imagined.

Someone had carefully shaped the stone basin. A narrow wooden platform ran along one side, and a small shelf held folded towels, soap, and several clean linen cloths.

Harlon had built this place for someone.

Perhaps for a wife.

Perhaps for a child.

The thought made her chest тιԍнтen.

When she finally emerged, she wrapped herself in the enormous flannel shirt he had left behind. It reached almost to her knees, and the sleeves covered most of her hands.

She looked ridiculous.

For the first time that evening, she laughed.

A small laugh.

But a real one.

Then she noticed the door.

It had been left slightly open.

Beyond it, Harlon was sitting on a wooden bench, facing the mountains. His rifle rested across his knees, and a lantern burned beside him.

He hadn’t gone far.

“Are you finished?” he called without turning.

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s stew on the stove.”

Amily stepped into the main room.

He glanced at her once, then returned his attention to the fire.

“Clothes are hanging beside the stove. They’ll be dry by morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You’ll owe me a bucket of water when you’re feeling stronger.”

She smiled.

“That seems fair.”

She sat at the table.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Harlon placed a bowl of stew in front of her.

“Eat.”

Amily looked at the generous portion.

“I can’t possibly finish all that.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

She picked up her spoon.

The stew was thick with potatoes, carrots, and tender pieces of venison.

She ate slowly.

Harlon watched the fire.

“How many were on the stagecoach?”

“Six pᴀssengers. Two drivers.”

“And the robbers?”

“Three.”

“How many got away?”

“I don’t know.”

He finally looked at her.

“What happened?”

Amily swallowed.

“They stopped us near a narrow pᴀss. One man climbed onto the coach and demanded the pᴀssengers’ money. Another started searching the luggage.”

“And you?”

“I refused to give him my purse.”

Harlon’s expression remained unreadable.

“He struck me. I hit him with a stone.”

A faint movement crossed Harlon’s face.

“Good.”

Amily blinked.

“Good?”

“Man who strikes an unarmed woman deserves a sore head.”

She almost smiled.

But then her expression changed.

“There was something else.”

Harlon waited.

“One of them knew my name.”

The room became very quiet.

“How?”

“I don’t know. He called me Miss Amily before I said a word.”

Harlon slowly put down his spoon.

“What was he carrying?”

“A black leather case.”

“Did you see what was inside?”

“No. But he kept asking about a letter.”

Harlon leaned back.

“What letter?”

Amily reached into the pocket of her dress, then remembered she had left her belongings beside the spring.

She stood and retrieved a small cloth bundle.

Inside was a folded envelope.

The paper was damp around the edges, but the writing remained visible.

Harlon’s eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that?”

“My father gave it to me before he died.”

He didn’t touch it.

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know. He told me not to open it until I reached a man named Elias.”

Harlon went completely still.

Amily noticed.

“Do you know him?”

Harlon looked toward the window.

For several seconds, the only sound was the wind pressing against the cabin walls.

Then he said something that made her blood run cold.

“Elias was my brother.”

Amily stared at him.

“Was?”

“He’s been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for eight years.”

She lowered the letter.

“Then why did my father send me to find him?”

Harlon stood.

“Because somebody lied to you.”

He walked toward an old wooden chest beneath the window.

After opening it, he removed a small leather journal.

He flipped through several pages until he found a name.

Amily leaned forward.

It was her father’s name.

Thomas Whitaker.

Beneath it was another entry.

Payment received. Final transfer postponed until the girl arrives.

Amily felt her stomach тιԍнтen.

“What is that?”

Harlon closed the journal.

“Something I hoped I’d never have to see again.”

Before she could ask another question, three heavy knocks sounded against the cabin door.

Harlon reached for his rifle.

“Stay behind me.”

He opened the door only a few inches.

A man stood outside, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

“Evening, Harlon.”

Harlon’s expression hardened.

“Calder.”

The stranger smiled.

“Long time.”

His eyes moved past Harlon.

Then he saw Amily.

“There she is.”

Harlon stepped into the doorway.

“You know this woman?”

Calder’s smile widened.

“Know her? I’ve been looking for her for six weeks.”

Amily felt her fingers go cold.

Calder removed his hat.

“Miss Whitaker, your father left something unfinished.”

He reached inside his coat.

“And I’m here to collect.”

Harlon raised the rifle slightly.

“You’re leaving.”

Calder looked at him.

“Not without the girl.”

Harlon didn’t blink.

“Then you’ll be leaving disappointed.”

But before Calder could answer, Amily noticed something hanging from his coat.

A small silver pocket watch.

The same watch her father had worn every day until the morning he died.

She took one step forward.

“Where did you get that?”

Calder smiled.

“From your father’s desk.”

Then he said the words that changed everything.

“Because, Miss Whitaker, your father didn’t die of an illness.”