“Doctor says any day.”

He immediately looked toward the road.

Lydia groaned.

“No.”

“I’m bringing the doctor up here.”

“Silas—”

“Today.”

“There’s no need.”

“I’ll pay him double.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ll pay triple.”

Lydia laughed until tears came.

Her son arrived six days later during a clear night beneath more stars than Lydia had ever seen.

The doctor arrived in time.

Barely.

Silas spent four hours pacing outside the cabin despite temperatures cold enough to freeze water inside a bucket.

When the door finally opened, the doctor smiled.

“You can come inside.”

Silas entered as if facing a firing squad.

Lydia lay exhausted beneath blankets.

A tiny bundle rested against her chest.

Silas stopped.

“He’s healthy,” Lydia whispered.

Silas nodded.

Couldn’t speak.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Fear crossed his face.

Real fear.

Lydia held out the child.

Silas approached.

She placed the baby into his massive arms.

The boy stirred.

Opened dark eyes.

Then wrapped one impossibly small hand around Silas’s finger.

Something inside Silas broke.

He lowered his head.

Lydia pretended not to see the tears.

“What are you naming him?” the doctor asked.

Lydia had thought about that for months.

Once, she intended to call him Daniel.

She no longer could.

Not because she wanted to erase his father.

But because the boy deserved a name that belonged to himself.

“Samuel,” she said.

Silas looked up.

“Samuel Marsh Croft.”

Silas stared at her.

Lydia smiled.

“If he’ll have it.”

The mountain man looked down at the child.

“I reckon that’s his decision when he’s old enough.”

The doctor laughed.

Lydia smiled.

But one mystery remained.

It revealed itself two months later.

Potter arrived with the spring supply wagon.

Snow was melting from the lower slopes.

Lydia stepped outside carrying Samuel.

Silas unloaded flour.

Potter stared at the baby.

“Well.”

He grinned.

“Looks like you folks survived.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes.

“I have a question for you.”

Potter’s smile faded.

“Figured you might.”

“Daniel paid you to bring me here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How much?”

Potter glanced at Silas.

Silas suddenly became very interested in a sack of coffee.

Lydia noticed.

“Mr. Potter.”

The old driver sighed.

“Daniel didn’t pay me.”

Lydia frowned.

“What?”

“He asked.”

Potter nodded toward Silas.

“Your mountain man paid.”

Lydia turned slowly.

Silas avoided her eyes.

Potter continued.

“Daniel sent Croft a letter back in June. Told him you might answer an advertisement someday. Said if you did, you’d probably be broke and too proud to accept charity.”

Silas muttered, “Potter.”

The driver ignored him.

“Croft gave me enough money to cover your fare from Hollow Creek whenever you arrived.”

Lydia stared.

“But Silas said he didn’t know about the advertisement.”

“He didn’t.”

Potter shrugged.

“Daniel said you’d come under some excuse. Didn’t tell us what kind.”

Lydia looked at Silas.

“You paid for me before you knew I was coming?”

Silas shifted uncomfortably.

“I owed Daniel a horse.”

“You told me he stole it.”

“He did.”

“Then why?”

Silas looked at Samuel.

Then at Lydia.

“Because the last thing my brother ever asked me before disappearing was to make sure his wife didn’t freeze.”

Potter climbed back onto the wagon.

“And for what it’s worth, Mrs. Marsh, Croft sold nearly every winter pelt he had stacked for market to pay me.”

Silas glared.

“You done?”

Potter grinned.

“Reckon so.”

He drove away.

Lydia remained on the porch.

Silas picked up the flour.

She blocked the door.

“You sold your winter pelts?”

“It wasn’t much.”

“Potter said nearly all.”