Every step he took was one more sound that might give away his position. Clara was inside with the girls, all three of them positioned by the back window, where they could escape into the woods if things went badly. Eli had made Clara promise to run if he fell.
She’d promised. He didn’t believe her. The first rider appeared at eight o’clock, then a second, then a third.
By the time they’d all assembled at the fence line, Eli counted exactly seven men just as Rosie had predicted. They carried torches that flickered orange against the blue-white snow, and he could see rifles slung across their backs. They weren’t here to negotiate.
Cobb was among them. He sat his horse at the center of the line, grinning that tobacco-stained grin. Mercer, he called out.
You still in there? Eli didn’t answer. Mr. Burnett’s given you one last chance. Ride out now and nobody has to get hurt.
Stay and we burn that cabin to the ground with everyone inside. Silence. Suit yourself.
The riders began to spread out flanking the cabin on both sides. Standard intimidation formation. Surround the target, cut off escape routes, then close in.
Eli had seen it before. He’d also seen it fail. He raised his rifle, sighted on the torch-bearer farthest to the left, and fired.
The shot cracked through the frozen air like thunder. The man screamed, dropping his torch as he clutched his shoulder. The torch hissed as it hit the snow, extinguishing instantly.
Six torches left. Chaos erupted. The riders scattered their formation breaking as they sought cover that didn’t exist in the flat, open ground around the cabin.
Eli fired again, catching a second man in the thigh. The horse reared, throwing its rider into a snowbank. Five torches.
Return fire began bullets thudding into the cabin walls and whistling past Eli’s head. He dropped behind the porch railing, reloading with hands that had forgotten how to tremble. Inside! he shouted.
Stay down! Glass shattered somewhere behind him. Clara screamed. Then the crack of a rifle from inside the cabin, and another scream from outside.
Eli risked a glance. Clara had taken position at the shattered window. Thomas’s old rifle pressed against her shoulder.
Smoke curled from the barrel, and on the ground beyond the fence, a third man lay still. Four torches. Clara get back! Shut up and shoot! He almost laughed.
Almost. The remaining riders had regrouped behind the barn. Eli could see their torches flickering through the gaps in the wooden walls.
They were planning something. Organizing. Then he smelled smoke.
Not torch smoke. Building smoke. The barn! Clara’s voice was ragged with fear.
They’re burning the barn! Eli’s jaw tightened. Hope was in that barn. He was moving before he made the conscious decision, vaulting over the porch railing and sprinting through the snow toward the growing flames.
Bullets sang past him. One tugged at his coat sleeve. Another grazed his ear, leaving a line of fire across his skin.
He didn’t slow down. The barn door was already engulfed. He hit it with his shoulder, feeling the heat sear through his coat as the weakened wood gave way.
Smoke billowed around him, thick and choking. Hope, easy, girl! The horse screamed somewhere in the darkness. Eli followed the sound, his eyes streaming, his lungs burning.
He found her in the back stall, rearing and plunging against the ropes that held her. He cut the ropes with his knife and grabbed her halter. Come on! Come on! They burst through the side door, just as the roof collapsed behind them.
Outside gunfire still crackled. Clara was still shooting from the cabin. The remaining riders were circling looking for angles of attack.
Eli slapped Hope’s flank, sending her galloping toward the safety of the tree line. Then he turned and raised his rifle. Three torches left.
He fired. Two torches. Fired again.
One torch. The last rider Cobb charged toward the cabin with his torch held high and murder in his eyes. He was screaming something, words lost in the chaos of flame and gunshots.
Eli’s rifle clicked empty. He drew his pistol. Cobb was ten yards away.
Eli fired. The torch flew from Cobb’s hand as the bullet took him in the chest. He slid from his saddle and hit the snow without a sound.
Silence fell. Eli stood in the churning snow, his pistol still raised his chest heaving. The barn was fully engulfed now, flames leaping toward the black sky.
Seven bodies littered the ground around the cabin, some still, some groaning. The cabin door burst open. Clara ran toward him, the rifle still clutched in her hands, her face wild with terror and relief.
Eli, Eli, are you? He caught her as she reached him, pulling her against his chest. I’m okay. I’m okay.
The barn you went into the fire, I thought. Had to save the horse. His voice was rough with smoke and exhaustion.
Couldn’t let them take everything from you. Clara pulled back to look at his face. You stupid, brave, impossible man.
I know. You could have died. I know.
She kissed him. It happened before either of them could think about it. Her lips against his, cold and chapped and desperate.
His arms tightening around her, pulling her closer, as if he could protect her from everything that had happened and everything that was still coming. When they finally broke apart, both of them were shaking. That was… Eli started.
Necessary. Clara finished. I’ve wanted to do that since you faced down those men this morning.
Clara. Don’t. She pressed her fingers to his lips.
Don’t tell me it’s complicated. Don’t tell me we barely know each other. I know.
But I also know that you just walked through fire for my family, and I know that tomorrow might not come. So if you’re going to tell me not to feel what I’m feeling, save your breath. Eli looked at her.
This woman who’d buried her husband and raised her daughters alone and stood at a broken window shooting at armed men while her home burned around her. I wasn’t going to tell you that, he said quietly. What were you going to tell me? That I don’t deserve this.
Don’t deserve you or those girls or any of it. That I failed my own family, and I might fail yours too. Clara’s hands cupped his face.
Then we’ll fail together. But tonight we won. Tonight we’re alive.
And that’s enough. Behind them, Lily and Rosie emerged from the cabin, their faces pale in the firelight. Mama? Lily’s voice was small.
Is it over? Clara turned, holding out her arms. For tonight, baby. For tonight, it’s over.
The girls ran to their mother, wrapping themselves around her like small anchors seeking harbor. And Eli Mercer stood in the snow, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, watching the family he’d sworn to protect hold each other in the light of their burning barn. Not over, he thought, not even close.
But for now, for this moment, they were alive, and that would have to be enough. They buried the dead before dawn, not out of respect, out of necessity. Seven bodies frozen in the snow would bring questions from anyone passing by, and questions were dangerous until Marshal Dawkins arrived.
Eli dug the graves alone, while Clara tended to the girls inside. His shoulders burned with each shovel stroke, his lungs still raw from the smoke he’d breathed the night before. But the work felt right.
Honest. The kind of labor that emptied the mind and exhausted the body, until there was nothing left but muscle and breath. He was patting down the last mound of frozen earth, when Clara appeared with coffee.
You should rest. Can’t. Eli accepted the cup, wrapping his fingers around the warmth.
Burnett will know by now. His men didn’t come back. That means he’s either running or planning something worse.
You think he’ll run? Men like Burnett don’t run. They’ve got too much to lose. Eli drained the coffee in three swallows.
He’ll try something else, something legal, something that makes us look like the criminals. Clara’s face tightened. The sheriff? That’s my guess.
Burnett will spin a story about his men coming to negotiate peacefully and getting ambushed by a crazy drifter. Eli handed back the empty cup. By noon, there’ll be a posse forming.
By nightfall, they’ll be here with a warrant. For what? Murder, seven counts. He paused.
Maybe more if Burnett decides to get creative. Clara’s hand went to her throat. They can’t.
You were defending us. They attacked first. That’s our word against a dead man’s, and dead men don’t talk.
Eli started toward the cabin. We need to move, get the girls somewhere safe before Colton shows up. Where everyone in town is afraid of Burnett, nobody will take us in.
Eli stopped. She was right. The network of fear Burnett had built over years meant there was nowhere within 50 miles that would shelter a family marked for destruction.
Churches turned away sinners. Neighbors locked their doors. Even blood relatives suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.
He’d seen it before. The isolation was part of the strategy. Agnes Miller, he said slowly.
Clara blinked. What? The woman at the general store. She warned me about Burnett.
Tried to help without being obvious about it. Eli turned to face Clara. She’s scared but she’s not broken.
There’s a difference. Agnes has a family. A husband who owes money to Burnett’s bank.
She can’t. She can choose. Everyone can choose…
