Chapter 2 - Five Hours Into the Mountains
Gideon did not ask who the man was.
Not then.
He loaded his supplies into the wagon and helped Clara climb onto the seat without touching her until she accepted his offered hand.
The stranger remained beneath the saloon awning.
Watching.
Gideon memorized him.
Medium height.
Dark wool coat.
Narrow face.
A pale line of scar tissue near his left ear.
The man made no move to approach.
That bothered Gideon more than if he had.
Men who intended nothing rarely worked so hard to appear uninterested.
Gideon climbed onto the wagon.
“Blanket’s behind you.”
Clara found it.
She pulled the heavy wool around her shoulders.
The new boots rested awkwardly against the floorboards.
“Are they hurting?”
“No.”
Another lie.
Gideon clicked his tongue to the horses.
The wagon rolled forward.
He never looked back toward the stranger.
But when they reached the northern edge of town, he caught Clara twisting around beneath the blanket.
“Still there?” he asked.
She looked at him sharply.
Then back.
“No.”
Gideon nodded.
The road narrowed as Bitter Creek disappeared behind them.
For the first hour, Clara barely spoke.
Gideon did not mind silence.
He was good at it.
The mountains rose darker ahead, their tops disappearing inside low clouds. Pine trees crowded the road. Snow collected on branches and dropped in soft crashes when the wind shook them.
Clara kept both hands beneath the blanket.
Every few minutes, Gideon noticed her touching one wrist.
Finally he said, “You hungry?”
“No.”
Her stomach answered loudly.
Gideon reached beneath the seat and handed her a paper-wrapped biscuit and a strip of smoked venison.
Clara stared.
“You planned that?”
“I planned on getting hungry.”
A faint expression moved across her face.
Not quite a smile.
She ate slowly at first.
Then faster.
She caught herself and slowed again.
Gideon looked forward.
He made certain she could eat without feeling watched.
After another mile she asked, “How far?”
“Cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Four hours if the road holds.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We annoy the mountain until it lets us through.”
That time she almost smiled.
The expression vanished quickly.
Still, Gideon noticed.
They crossed Wolf Creek before dusk.
By then the snow had thickened.
The wagon wheels slipped twice.
Clara gripped the seat.
“You can turn back.”
Gideon looked at her.
“To town.”
“You wanted me out of town.”
“I don’t want you stranded because of me.”
“I’ve been stranded because of worse things.”
Her gaze dropped.
Gideon regretted the sentence the moment it left him.
He kept his voice quiet.
“We’ll make it.”
They stopped at an abandoned trapping shelter when darkness fell.
Not to stay.
Only to give the horses water and check the road ahead.
Gideon built a small lantern flame.
Clara stood beneath the roof, arms tight around herself.
“You married before?” she asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He understood.
Why order a bride?
Gideon looked toward the horses.
“My place needs two people.”
“That isn’t the same as needing a wife.”
“No.”
“Then why a wife?”
He took his time.
“Because I was tired of eating alone.”
She blinked.
“That’s your reason?”
“Part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“My cabin gets too quiet.”
Something in her expression changed.
She understood loneliness.
Perhaps too well.
Gideon added, “But you don’t owe me conversation either.”
Clara studied him.
“You keep saying that.”
“What?”
“That I don’t owe you.”
“You don’t.”
Her laugh was small and bitter.
“You paid fifty dollars.”
So she knew.
Gideon’s eyes narrowed.
“The agency told you?”
“They tell us what men pay.”
Us.
He filed the word away.
“They said if a man pays enough, he expects obedience.”
Gideon’s jaw hardened.
“What exactly did they tell you about me?”
Clara’s gaze shifted.
“That you were thirty-nine. Owned land. No children. No living parents. Protestant. Didn’t drink heavily. Had never been arrested.”
“That last part feels oddly specific.”
Again, that flicker of almost amusement.
Then it disappeared.
“They said you wanted a quiet wife who understood duty.”
Gideon frowned.
“I never wrote that.”
Her eyes met his.
“What did you write?”
“That I wanted someone capable who didn’t mind mountains.”
Clara seemed almost disappointed by the simplicity of it.
“And agreeable temperament?”
“That was their wording.”
For the first time, she gave him a real smile.
It lasted maybe a second.
But it transformed her face.
Then a gust shook the shelter.
The horses moved nervously.
Gideon looked north.
“We need to go.”
An hour later the storm became serious.
Snow covered the road faster than the horses could break it.
The temperature dropped.
Clara began shivering hard.
Gideon stopped the wagon.
“What are you doing?”
“Changing places.”
He climbed down.
She stared.
“You’ll freeze.”
“I’ve got a coat.”
“And I don’t?”
“You’ve got a shawl.”
She knew what he meant.
He climbed into the rear, rearranged the supply sacks, and pulled out an old buffalo robe.
“Back here. Lie down.”
“I’m not—”
“Clara.”
She stiffened.
Gideon softened his voice immediately.
“It’s warmer between the sacks. Wind won’t hit you.”
She hesitated.
He climbed back to the driver’s seat.
“I won’t come back there.”
That decided it.
She moved into the wagon bed and curled beneath the robe.
For another two hours, Gideon drove through darkness.
His beard froze.
His hands went numb.
The road vanished completely more than once.
But near midnight, he saw a yellow square of light through the trees.
Home.
The cabin stood in a clearing beneath a granite ridge.
Larger than Clara expected.
Two stories in front, though the upper level was mostly loft. A barn sat thirty yards away. Smoke had long since gone cold in the chimney.
Gideon jumped down.
He lit a lantern.
When he pulled back the buffalo robe, Clara was asleep.
Or unconscious.
His heart kicked.
“Clara.”
Her eyes opened.
He exhaled.
“We’re here.”
She tried to sit.
Pain crossed her face as her feet shifted inside the boots.
Gideon held out his arms, then stopped.
“Can I carry you?”
Her eyes widened.
Fear.
Calculation.
Then exhaustion won.
She nodded once.
Gideon lifted her carefully.
She weighed almost nothing.
That angered him in a way he did not understand.
Inside the cabin he set her in a chair near the hearth.
Then he built the fire.
Clara watched everything.
Doors.
Windows.
Staircase.
His rifle above the mantle.
The back entrance.
Gideon noticed.
He removed his gun belt and hung it beside the front door.
Then he took the rifle down from the mantle.
Clara tensed.
He carried it into a storage room and shut the door.
When he returned, her eyes were wet.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
He heated soup.
She ate two bowls.
When she finished, he led her upstairs.
There were two bedrooms.
His.
And the room his brother had once used.
Gideon opened the second.
Fresh blankets covered the bed.
A washstand sat in the corner.
A small window looked toward the pine ridge.
Clara remained in the doorway.
“This is mine?”
“If you want it.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Across the hall.”
She looked at the door.
Then at him.
Gideon reached into his pocket.
For one terrible second she thought he was going to pull out the marriage contract.
Instead, he took a brass key from a ring.
He placed it on the dresser.
“That lock works from inside.”
She stared.
“You’re giving me the key?”
“It’s your room.”
Her chin trembled.
Gideon pretended not to see.
He turned to leave.
“Gideon.”
He stopped.
Clara looked down at her new boots.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Asked what?”
“If I’m still willing to marry you.”
The marriage contract burned against his chest.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you look tired enough to fall through the floor.”
Despite herself, Clara almost laughed.
Gideon continued.
“Sleep first.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you can tell me whatever you want.”
“And if I say no?”
He looked at her.
“Then you say no.”
No anger.
No threat.
No reminder of the fifty dollars.
Just fact.
Gideon walked into his own room.
Clara remained standing in the hallway.
After several seconds she closed her door.
Then turned the key.
The click echoed through the cabin.
Gideon stood on the other side listening.
Not offended.
Relieved.
Because locks were useless unless the person behind them believed they had the right to turn the key.
He removed his coat.
The folded marriage contract dropped from the inner pocket and landed on the floor.
Gideon picked it up.
He stared at the words.
Then he heard something.
Not from Clara’s room.
Outside.
A horse.
Far below the ridge.
One short whinny carried through the storm.
Gideon moved toward the window.
No traveler had reason to be on that road after midnight.
He pushed the curtain aside.
Deep among the trees, almost swallowed by snow, a light flickered.
A lantern.
Moving slowly toward his property.
And Gideon suddenly remembered the stranger beneath the saloon awning.
Someone else had left Bitter Creek tonight.
May you like
Someone who knew exactly which road Clara had taken.
---
