Three weeks later, Lydia stood inside the federal courthouse in Fort Collins.

Gideon Vale had survived.

That pleased her.

Death would have been easier.

Instead, he would live long enough to watch every forged transaction exposed.

The documents from Lydia’s satchel led investigators to seventeen stolen farms, two mills, four timber claims, and nearly forty thousand dollars in illegal transfers.

Several officials were arrested.

The Hollow Creek sheriff fled before federal deputies arrived.

And something else happened.

Property began going back.

One farm at a time.

One signature at a time.

One family at a time.

Lydia’s mill was legally hers again.

And beneath it, geological surveyors confirmed a silver deposit significant enough to make her wealthy.

Very wealthy.

The news reached Silas while he was repairing the cabin roof.

Lydia watched him read the letter.

“Well?”

He handed it back.

“You’re rich.”

“Apparently.”

Silas returned to hammering.

Lydia crossed her arms.

“That’s all?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Congratulations?”

“Congratulations.”

“You sound miserable.”

Silas drove another nail.

Lydia studied him.

“You want me to leave.”

The hammer stopped.

Silas did not turn around.

“The pass is open.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You’ve got property.”

“Yes.”

“Money.”

“Apparently.”

“A child coming any day.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need a mountain cabin anymore.”

Lydia stared at his back.

For a man who could track elk across frozen rock, Silas Croft could be remarkably foolish.

“I came here because I needed somewhere to survive.”

He said nothing.

She stepped closer.

“I stayed because the pass was closed.”

Still nothing.

“And then I stayed because men were trying to kill us.”

Silas finally looked at her.

Lydia’s voice softened.

“But I’m not trapped anymore.”

“I know.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“I know.”

“I can go anywhere.”

His jaw tightened.

“I know.”

Lydia smiled.

“Then maybe you should ask why I’m still here.”

Silas stared at her.

The mountain wind moved through the pines.

He climbed slowly down the ladder.

“Why are you?”

Lydia suddenly found herself nervous.

Which seemed absurd after everything they had survived.

“Because somewhere between your terrible stew and people shooting through the windows, this became home.”

Silas said nothing.

“And because my child needs people who stay.”

His face changed.

Lydia stepped closer.

“And because I think maybe you do too.”

Silas looked toward the cabin.

“Lydia, I can’t replace Daniel.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“He was your husband.”

“Yes.”

“And my brother.”

“Yes.”

“Your child is his.”

“Yes.”

She reached for Silas’s hand.

“But a child can inherit blood from one man and learn what goodness looks like from another.”

Silas’s eyes filled.

He looked away sharply.

Lydia squeezed his fingers.

“You protected us when you didn’t know us.”

“You cooked.”

She laughed.

“That’s your answer?”

“Good food complicates a man’s judgment.”

“Silas.”

His expression softened.

Then he touched her cheek.

Carefully.

As though she were something breakable.

Lydia leaned into his palm.

The baby kicked between them.

Silas startled.

Lydia laughed and took his hand, placing it against her belly.

Another kick.

Silas stopped breathing.

His eyes closed.

For years, that sensation had belonged to the worst memory of his life.

A child he could not save.

A wife he could not keep.

A winter that had taken everything.

Now another tiny heartbeat was waiting beneath his palm.

Not replacing what he had lost.

Nothing could.

But reminding him that grief and life were capable of occupying the same body.

Silas opened his eyes.

“When are you due?”