PART 2: THE FIVE-DOLLAR BET THAT BROKE HER HEART

Frieda Haas did not cry.

She had buried her father, survived four winters alone on Snowbird Pᴀss, and learned to mend a roof in a blizzard. She had never seen much use in crying over things a woman could not change.

But that afternoon, standing beside the woodshed with Gus Eckberg’s words still ringing in her ears, she felt something inside her go terribly quiet.

Five dollars.

Earl Jessup had ridden up the mountain because a man in a saloon thought it would be amusing to see whether somebody could make the old maid smile.

And she had given him her bed.

She had fed him, washed his wounds, stayed awake through his fever, and knitted him a Christmas sock.

She had even begun imagining what the cabin might sound like with another person in it.

Apparently, she had been the joke all along.

“Miss Haas?” Gus asked cautiously.

Frieda picked up the coffee pot.

“Your coffee is getting cold.”

“Frida, I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant. Now, unless you’ve brought something useful besides gossip, I have work.”

Gus left ten minutes later, looking as though he wished the mountain had swallowed him.

Frieda returned to the cabin.

Earl was sitting near the stove, attempting to carve another wooden spoon. His injured leg rested on a chair, and his hair stood up in several directions.

He looked up when she entered.

“You’re back. Did Gus bring anything interesting?”

“Yes.”

She removed her shawl.

“Apparently, you owe Clem Petty five dollars.”

The knife stopped moving.

Earl’s face changed.

“Frieda—”

“Five dollars, Mr. Jessup. That’s quite a sum for a woman to earn in one afternoon, isn’t it?”

He put the carving knife down.

“Let me explain.”

“Please don’t.”

“Just hear me out.”

She turned toward him.

“Did you come up here because of a bet?”

He stared at the floor.

That was answer enough.

Frieda gave a short, humorless laugh.

“Well, I’ll be.”

“At first, yes.”

“At first?”

“I didn’t know you’d fall in love with the old books. Or that your goat would try to kill me. Or that you’d sit beside me every night when my leg was hurting.”

“How touching.”

“Frieda, I was an idiot.”

“That much is becoming perfectly clear.”

He tried to rise, but his injured leg wouldn’t support him.

She watched him struggle without moving.

For the first time since he had arrived, she did not offer her hand.

“Do you know what the worst part is, Earl?”

He looked at her.

“I actually started looking forward to you waking up in the morning.”

His face fell.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No. You merely meant to amuse your friends.”

She walked to the bedroom, took his remaining clean clothes from the chest, and placed them on a chair.

“When the thaw comes, you’ll be leaving.”

“Frieda—”

“And until then, we will be civil. I’ll tend your leg because I’m not an animal. But don’t mistake that for forgiveness.”

She turned down the lamp.

“Good night, Mr. Jessup.”

For the first time in weeks, Earl had nothing clever to say.

The following days were miserable.

Frieda spoke only when necessary.

Breakfast appeared on the table. His medicine remained beside the stove. His bandages were changed every morning.

But the little things disappeared.

No more teasing about Duchess.

No more stories about Bavaria.

No more laughter when Earl attempted to milk the goats.

The cabin became painfully quiet.

Earl tried everything.

He carved her a new wooden spoon.

She used it without comment.

He repaired the loose hinge on the cupboard.

She thanked him politely.

He even attempted to sing while chopping wood, but she simply closed the window.

By the end of January, he understood that the five-dollar bet had cost him something worth considerably more.

One evening, while Frieda was preparing supper, Earl spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“Did you ever wonder why I kept asking you about your father’s books?”

She continued stirring the pot.

“No.”

“Because I wanted to know what kind of man raised you.”

Her hand slowed.

“My father was a good man.”

“I know.”

“You never met him.”

“I know that, too. But I read the letters he left in those books. The ones you keep tucked between the pages.”

Frieda turned.

“You read my father’s letters?”

“Only the ones that fell out. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“What did they say?”

Earl looked down.

“That he was proud of you. That he worried you would spend your whole life taking care of everybody else and never let anybody take care of you.”

Frieda’s expression тιԍнтened.

“He shouldn’t have written that.”

“Why?”

“Because he was right.”

Earl was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “I think I came up here looking for a five-dollar victory. But somewhere along the way, I found something I hadn’t been looking for.”

Frieda turned back to the stove.

“Don’t.”

“I care about you.”

The spoon slipped from her fingers and struck the pot.

She stood very still.

Then she answered softly.

“You don’t get to say that just because you’re lonely.”

Earl nodded.

“You’re right.”

February arrived with a storm unlike anything Frieda had seen in years.

The wind tore branches from the pines, and snow piled against the cabin windows.

Earl had finally begun walking with a stick. His leg was healing, though Doc Leland’s warnings still worried Frieda.

That afternoon, she noticed Biscuit behaving strangely in the shed.

The horse had been restless all morning, pawing at the floor and refusing his hay.

Frieda went to investigate.

There was a strange smell in the stable.

She knelt beside Biscuit’s stall and examined the animal’s leg.

Then she saw something that made her blood run cold.

A small piece of wire had been wrapped тιԍнтly around the horse’s fetlock, hidden beneath the hair.

It had cut into the skin.

“Good Lord.”

She carefully removed it and examined the wound.

This wasn’t an ordinary injury from a bad trail.

Someone had deliberately harmed the horse.

She hurried back to the cabin.

“Earl!”

He was sitting beside the stove.

“What happened?”

“Someone has been in the stable.”

His expression sharpened.

“What do you mean?”

“Biscuit has wire around his leg. Somebody put it there.”

Earl pushed himself upright.

“Where?”

“Don’t you dare put weight on that leg!”

But he was already reaching for his coat.

“Frieda, stay inside.”

She stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Please. Just this once.”

There was something in his voice she had never heard before.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

They found the tracks twenty yards behind the stable.

Two sets of boot prints led from the tree line to the shed. One was narrow, the other broad.

Earl crouched beside them, studying the snow.

“These aren’t old.”

“Who would come all the way up here?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked toward the ridge.

Then Frieda noticed something half-buried beneath a pine branch.

A small tin tobacco box.

Earl picked it up.

His face turned pale.

“What is it?”

He opened the lid.

Inside was a folded piece of paper.

Frieda recognized the handwriting immediately.

It belonged to Clem Petty.

The note contained only one sentence:

You won your bet, Jessup. Now come down and collect your money.

Frieda looked at Earl.

“You told him about us?”

“No.”

“Then how did he know?”

Earl folded the note and put it in his pocket.

“Because somebody has been watching this cabin.”

Before Frieda could respond, a distant sound echoed through the trees.

A horse whinnied.

Then came the unmistakable crack of a rifle.

Earl grabbed Frieda’s arm and pulled her behind the stable wall.

“Get down!”

She stared at him.

“What in heaven’s name is happening?”

He looked toward the ridge again.

A dark figure was standing between two pine trees.

And then the figure raised one hand.

Not holding a weapon.

Holding a lantern.

Three flashes.

A pause.

Three more flashes.

Earl’s face drained of color.

Frieda had never seen him look so frightened.

“Who is that?” she whispered.

He swallowed.

“My brother.”

“Your brother? I thought you said you had no family.”

“I told you I had no one left.”

“Is there a difference?”

Earl looked at her.

“Yes. Because the last time I saw that man, he swore he’d never come looking for me again.”

The figure began walking toward them.

Earl stepped forward, putting himself between Frieda and the approaching stranger.

Then a voice called through the trees.

“Earl! You’d better tell that woman the truth before she makes another mistake trusting you!”

Frieda slowly turned toward Earl.

“What truth?”

He closed his eyes.

For several seconds, the wind was the only thing moving between them.

Then he spoke.

“The five-dollar bet wasn’t the only reason I came up this mountain.”

Frieda felt her stomach тιԍнтen.

“What else?”

Earl looked toward the approaching figure.

“I came here because I was running from something. And I thought nobody would ever find me in your cabin.”

The stranger stopped a few feet away.

He was older than Earl, with a scar running along his cheek and a dark leather coat.

He looked at Frieda, then at his brother.

“Well, Earl,” he said coldly. “Looks like you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded newspaper.

“There’s a man ᴅᴇᴀᴅ in Larkin. And the sheriff wants you back.”

Frieda’s heart began pounding.

Earl had gone completely still.

The stranger placed the newspaper in her hands.

The headline was unmistakable:

RANCH HAND FOUND ᴅᴇᴀᴅ — EARL JESSUP NAMED AS PERSON OF INTEREST.

Frieda looked at the man she had nursed through the winter.

The man who had made her laugh.

The man whose wooden goat still sat on her windowsill.

And suddenly, she wondered whether she had ever truly known him.

“Earl,” she whispered. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

He looked directly into her eyes.

“I didn’t kill him, Frieda.”

Then his brother spoke again.

“Maybe not. But you certainly know who did.”

And before Earl could answer, the stranger revealed the name of the ᴅᴇᴀᴅ man.

It was Clem Petty.

To be continued in PART 3…