“Needed Pike to cross federal land carrying that forged seizure order.”

Lydia’s mouth fell open.

“You knew?”

Potter nodded.

“Daniel came to me before he came to Silas.”

A shout sounded outside.

Then gunfire.

Potter drew his revolver.

“Looks like Mr.

Pike just made the last mistake we needed.”

The next ten minutes became chaos.

Men shouted.

Shots cracked through the trees.

Pike’s hired gunmen had expected one mountain hermit.

Instead, four federal deputies emerged from hiding along the ridge.

Sheriff Creed surrendered immediately.

Pike ran.

Silas followed.

Lydia climbed from the tunnel just in time to see Pike reaching the horse corral.

“Pike!”

He turned.

Silas was twenty yards behind him.

Pike pulled his gun.

Lydia screamed.

The shot came.

Silas staggered.

Lydia’s heart stopped.

Then Pike dropped his revolver.

Potter stood behind him, smoke rising from his own gun.

Pike clutched his shoulder.

Silas had only stumbled on ice.

Lydia almost collapsed from relief.

Then pain ripped through her abdomen.

She gasped.

Another followed.

Warm liquid ran down her legs.

Silas saw her face.

“No.”

Lydia grabbed the porch rail.

“I think…”

She breathed sharply.

“I think the baby is coming.”

The color drained completely from Silas’s face.

Of all the danger that night—

armed men,

murderers,

gunfire—

nothing terrified Silas Croft more than those six words.

“Silas.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I ain’t a doctor.”

“Neither am I!”

“Potter!”

The marshal appeared in the doorway.

“One of my men rode for Mrs.

Bell.”

“The midwife?”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

“Maybe three hours.”

Lydia cried out.

Silas stared at Potter.

“Three hours?”

Potter winced.

“Could be two.”

“She’s having the baby now!”

From the table Lydia said through clenched teeth—

“I am aware of that.”

Silas looked near death.

Lydia would have laughed if another contraction hadn’t nearly split her in half.

Eventually instinct replaced fear.

Silas boiled water.

Potter was banished outside after admitting he’d never delivered anything larger than a calf.

Silas stayed.

Hours blurred.

Pain.

Sweat.

Snow against the windows.

His hand in hers.

Lydia cursed Daniel, winter, mountains, men, babies, and finally Silas personally.

He accepted all of it.

Near dawn, Lydia screamed once more.

Then another sound filled the cabin.

Small.

Furious.

Alive.

A baby’s cry.

Silas froze.

Lydia began sobbing.

“Well?” she demanded.

Silas stared at the child in his hands as though someone had placed the entire world there.

“Silas?”

His eyes lifted.

“A girl.”

Lydia laughed through her tears.

“A girl?”

“A perfect little girl.”

He wrapped the baby carefully and brought her forward.

His hands were trembling.

Lydia took her daughter.

The child had dark hair plastered against her head.

Tiny fists.

Red cheeks.

She was furious about existence.

And beautiful beyond language.

Silas sat beside Lydia.

For a while neither spoke.

Then Lydia noticed tears sliding silently down his face.