Boon kicked the table over and dragged Cora down behind it.
A second shot struck the wall where she had been standing.
The cabin filled with splinters.
Cora covered her head.
“Who is shooting at us?”
Boon’s face had gone white beneath the fever.
He reached toward the Winchester.
Cora grabbed his wrist.
“You can barely sit upright.”
“Then you shoot.”
“I have never fired a rifle at a man.”
“Good.”
He pushed the Winchester toward her.
“Let’s keep it that way if we can.”
Another shot cracked outside.
Boon listened.
Not frightened.
Calculating.
“Horseman?”
Cora whispered.
“At least two.”
“How do you know?”
“One rifle from the ridge. Another farther west.”
She stared at him.
“You said your name was Boon.”
“It is.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
The shooting stopped.
That frightened Cora more.
Silence meant whoever was outside was thinking.
Boon crawled toward the rear wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Does this cabin have another way out?”
“The stove vent if you lose forty pounds.”
“Window?”
“Back one is nailed shut.”
“Why?”
“Hyram’s men broke the latch in October.”
Boon looked at her.
“They’ve been here before?”
Cora immediately regretted saying it.
He noticed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Cora.”
She stared.
“You have known my name four days.”
“And you wrapped me in the only warm blanket you owned.”
“That does not give you the right to interrogate me.”
Boon went quiet.
Then nodded.
“You’re right.”
That answer surprised her.
He turned back toward the window.
Outside, a man shouted:
“Hayes!”
Cora’s blood went cold.
She knew the voice.
Not Hyram.
His assistant.
Wade Mercer.
He had delivered the eviction notice.
“Mrs. Hayes!”
Boon looked at her.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Friend?”
“No.”
Wade called again.
“We’re looking for a thief.”
Boon’s jaw tightened.
Cora whispered:
“You?”
“Apparently.”
“What did you steal?”
“Nothing.”
“Convenient.”
“I was shot carrying my own papers.”
She stared.
“What papers?”
“Gone.”
That was not reassuring.
Wade shouted:
“We know he’s in there!”
Cora’s pulse hammered.
Boon whispered:
“Do not answer yet.”
“This is my cabin.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at him.
Then stood halfway behind the overturned table.
“Wade Mercer!”
“Mrs. Hayes.”
“What are you doing shooting through my window?”
Silence.
Then:
“We saw movement and thought it was him.”
“You thought shooting through a widow’s cabin was the sensible way to check?”
Boon almost smiled despite himself.
Wade answered:
“Send him outside.”
“No.”
Boon looked at her sharply.
Cora ignored him.
Wade’s voice hardened.
“That man robbed the syndicate.”
“Then bring the sheriff.”
“The roads are blocked.”
“So are mine.”
Another silence.
Then Wade said:
“Hyram says your extension is revoked.”
Cora’s stomach tightened.
“What extension?”
“The spring grace period.”
“My notice says spring thaw.”
“Not anymore.”
Boon became very still.
Wade continued:
“You shelter a fugitive, you leave now.”
Cora stared toward the shattered window.
Then she laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because she had finally reached the point where fear became absurd.
“There’s six feet of snow around my cabin.”
“Not my problem.”
“You want me to leave today?”
“That’s the instruction.”
Cora looked at Boon.
His face had changed.
The feverish stranger was gone.
Something much colder sat behind his eyes.
He whispered:
“Ask him under whose authority.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Ask.”
Cora called:
“Under whose authority?”
Wade answered immediately:
“Montana Land and Cattle Syndicate.”
Boon shut his eyes.
As if that confirmed something.
Then Wade added:
“Hyram Cole runs this valley. You know that.”
Boon looked at Cora.
“No,” he murmured. “
