PART 2 — THE SECRET BENEATH THE CABIN

The warmth of the spring slowly returned feeling to Amily’s hands.

For several minutes, she simply sat in the steaming water, listening to the storm howl above the cabin. The stone walls surrounding the pool were old, but carefully fitted together. Someone had built this place with patience and extraordinary skill.

When she finally climbed out, she wrapped herself in the enormous flannel shirt Harlon had left behind. It hung loosely on her, reaching almost to her knees.

She was still fastening the ʙuттons when the cabin door opened.

Harlon stepped inside, carrying a bundle of firewood.

He stopped when he saw her.

“Warmer?”

“Much.”

“Good.”

He set the wood beside the fireplace and turned away while she settled into the cedar chair.

Amily studied him.

“How long have you had that spring?”

“Since I was a boy. My father found it.”

“Your father built the pool?”

Harlon nodded.

“He built the cabin, too. Said a man ought to have somewhere warm to return to when the mountain turns against him.”

There was something different in his voice when he spoke about his father.

“Is he still alive?”

Harlon stared at the fire.

“No.”

Amily immediately regretted asking.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t know.”

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Harlon placed a bowl of H๏τ stew on the table.

“Eat.”

She looked at the generous portion.

“You always feed strangers this much?”

“Only the ones who look like they’ve been chased through a snowstorm.”

Despite herself, Amily laughed.

It was the first time she had laughed without feeling embarrᴀssed in a very long while.

But their peaceful evening did not last.

A loud knock struck the cabin door.

Harlon immediately stood.

“Stay here.”

He opened the door only a few inches.

A man stood outside, his hat covered in snow. He was middle-aged, with a narrow face and a scar running along his chin.

“Harlon.”

“Silas.”

The visitor glanced past him and noticed Amily.

“Didn’t know you had company.”

“Now you do.”

Silas stepped closer.

“Three men came through Bitter Creek this afternoon. Asking about a woman who escaped a stagecoach robbery.”

Amily’s stomach тιԍнтened.

“What did they look like?” she asked.

Silas removed his hat.

“One had a broken nose. Said the woman stole something from them before running.”

Harlon’s expression hardened.

Amily shook her head.

“I didn’t steal anything.”

Silas looked at her carefully.

“Then what are they looking for?”

She hesitated.

The truth was that she had been carrying a small leather satchel belonging to her late father. It contained letters, a family pH๏τograph, and an old brᴀss key. During the attack, one of the robbers had seen the key and demanded that she hand it over.

She had refused.

They had called it a debt.

She had no idea what that meant.

Harlon noticed the way her hands тιԍнтened around the bowl.

“What’s in the satchel?”

Amily looked down.

“Something my father left me.”

“Does it belong to those men?”

“No.”

“Then they won’t get it.”

Silas shifted uneasily.

“You should know something else. Those fellows weren’t ordinary highway thieves. They’re working for a man named Calder Voss.”

At the name, Harlon went completely still.

Amily noticed.

“You know him?”

Harlon walked to the fireplace and stared into the flames.

“Unfortunately.”

Silas lowered his voice.

“Voss has been buying old properties around these mountains. He’s especially interested in land with underground water.”

Amily looked toward the trapdoor.

The H๏τ spring.

Suddenly, the reason for the robbery seemed much larger than she had imagined.

After Silas left, Harlon bolted the door.

Then he turned toward her.

“Show me the key.”

Amily hesitated before reaching into her satchel.

The brᴀss key was small, darkened with age, and engraved with a symbol resembling a mountain surrounded by three stars.

Harlon took one look at it.

His face changed.

“Where did your father get this?”

“I don’t know. He told me never to lose it.”

Harlon walked toward the trapdoor.

“Then we’d better find out what it opens.”

He lifted the iron ring again and descended into the darkness beneath the cabin.

Amily followed him.

At the far end of the stone chamber stood a narrow wooden door she hadn’t noticed before. Its surface was nearly black with age.

Three stars had been carved above its lock.

Harlon looked at the key in her hand.

“Your father knew about this place.”

Amily slowly inserted the key.

It turned.

The door opened with a long, tired creak.

Inside stood a wooden chest.

And on top of it lay a pH๏τograph.

Amily picked it up.

Her father was standing beside a much younger Harlon.

Between them was a third man.

On the back, written in faded ink, were six words:

THE SPRING MUST NEVER BE SOLD.

Harlon stared at the pH๏τograph.

Then he whispered something Amily would never forget.

“Your father didn’t die in an accident.”