He had carried notes bearing James’s signature.
He had taken their plow.
Their milk cow.
Nearly everything.
Voss raised his voice.
“Mrs.
Foster!
You needn’t be frightened.
Patterson is wanted for robbery and murder.”
Natalie looked at Ryan.
He said nothing.
Voss continued.
“He killed one of our mine supervisors and stole company records.
Come outside and we’ll take you safely to Kelton.”
Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that true?”
Ryan kept watching the riders.
“I killed a man.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He was holding my head underwater at the time.”
That was not the answer she expected.
Ryan added, “He and two others caught me the night James died.
They wanted the copied ledgers.”
“So they jailed you?”
“After beating me half to death.
Charged me with the supervisor’s death.
I escaped six days ago.”
Natalie stared at the babies.
Everything James had written seemed suddenly insane.
Trust him even if he gives you reason not to.
Voss shouted again.
“Mrs.
Foster, Patterson is dangerous!”
Natalie almost laughed.
A dangerous man had spent the night warming stones beside a fire so her babies would not freeze.
A dangerous man had washed blood from the floor without embarrassing her.
A dangerous man had breathed life into her son.
She called through the door.
“Mr.
Voss?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You took my cow.”
Silence.
“What?”
“My milk cow.
Her name was Harriet.”
Ryan slowly looked at Natalie.
She continued.
“You told me my husband owed the company seventy-three dollars.”
“Mrs.
Foster—”
“Did he?”
Voss’s tone changed.
“Your husband owed considerably more than that.”
Natalie held up James’s letter.
“That’s strange.”
Ryan whispered, “Don’t show them—”
Too late.
Voss saw it.
His face hardened.
The politeness vanished.
“Bring me that letter.”
Natalie felt something settle inside her.
For months she had been grieving.
Frightened.
Displaced.
People had spoken to her as though widowhood had turned her helpless.
As though pregnancy had made her foolish.
As though James’s death had erased every right she possessed.
She looked at Ryan.
“How many cartridges?”
“Not enough.”
“That isn’t a number.”
“Eight.”
“Can you hit what you aim at?”
“Usually.”
“Good.”
Voss dismounted.
“Last chance!”
Ryan lifted the rifle.
Natalie said quietly, “Mr.
Patterson?”
“Yes?”
“I believe I would like my cow back.”
Ryan smiled.
It was the first true smile she had seen on his face.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The gunfight lasted less than thirty seconds.
Voss’s men expected Ryan to fire from the window.
Instead Ryan kicked open a rear board, slipped outside, and came around the shack through the sage.
His first shot struck the ground beside one man’s horse, sending it rearing.
The second shattered the stock of Voss’s rifle.
The third man fired wildly toward the shack.
Natalie threw herself over the babies.
Glass exploded.
Then came another shot.
Silence.
Natalie waited.
Her heart pounded.
A shadow crossed the doorway.
Ryan stepped inside.
Blood ran down his sleeve.
Natalie gasped.
“You’re hit.”
“Scratched.”
Outside, two riders were fleeing.
Voss lay beside the water trough, alive but holding his bleeding leg.
