Lydia’s fingers tightened around the rifle.

“Daniel?”

Her husband said nothing.

That silence was enough.

Lydia felt something die.

Not love.

That had been dying slowly for months.

Hope.

The foolish hope that somewhere beneath all these lies was a version of Daniel she could return to.

Vale spread his hands.

“He only turned on me when he learned I planned to sell the northern properties to the railroad. Suddenly our Daniel developed a conscience.”

“That isn’t why,” Daniel said.

“No?”

Vale smiled.

“Then tell her.”

Daniel looked at Lydia’s belly.

Vale followed his gaze.

And laughed softly.

“Oh.”

Lydia’s skin prickled.

“What?”

Daniel whispered, “Don’t.”

Vale ignored him.

“The northern properties include Marsh Mill.”

Lydia stared.

Vale continued.

“And beneath Marsh Mill runs the richest silver vein discovered in this territory in twenty years.”

Silas looked sharply at Daniel.

Lydia shook her head.

“No.”

“Your husband knew.”

Vale’s smile became cruel.

“He married you knowing.”

Daniel stepped between them.

“Enough.”

Lydia felt sick.

“Did you?”

Daniel said nothing.

She screamed.

“Did you know there was silver beneath my land when you married me?”

Finally:

“Yes.”

The word destroyed the last illusion.

Lydia almost dropped the rifle.

Daniel moved toward her.

“But that isn’t why I stayed.”

She backed away.

“Don’t.”

“Lydia—”

“Don’t you dare turn this into love.”

His face crumpled.

“I can’t change how it began.”

“No.”

Her voice became strangely calm.

“But I can decide how it ends.”

Vale began clapping slowly.

“How touching.”

Silas raised the rifle toward him.

Vale’s smile vanished.

“Give me the documents.”

“No.”

Vale nodded to one of his men.

A rifle cracked.

Daniel jerked.

For one horrible second, no one moved.

Then blood spread across his shirt.

Lydia screamed.

Daniel collapsed.

Silas fired.

Chaos exploded.

Gunshots tore through the porch rails.

Silas dragged Lydia behind the stone chimney.

Bullets slammed into logs.

Vale’s men scattered among the trees.

Daniel lay exposed in the snow.

Alive.

Barely.

Lydia tried to move toward him.

Silas caught her.

“No.”

“He’ll die.”

“So will you.”

“Silas!”

Another shot struck the cabin.

Then Daniel moved.

Somehow, impossibly, he rolled behind a chopping block.

He found his revolver.

Raised it.

Fired.

One of Vale’s men fell.

Silas shot another.

Lydia crouched behind the chimney, both hands protecting her belly.

Then Gideon Vale appeared from the side of the cabin.

His pistol pointed directly at Silas’s back.

Lydia saw him.

Silas didn’t.

“Silas!”

Vale fired.

Daniel lunged.

The bullet struck Daniel instead.

He stumbled into Silas.

Silas turned and fired once.

Gideon Vale fell backward into the snow.

Silence descended.

Not true silence.

Lydia could still hear herself screaming.

Could hear horses running.

Could hear Silas shouting something.

But the world had narrowed to Daniel lying in the snow.

She dropped beside him.

His eyes found hers.

Blood touched his lips.

“Lyd.”

She took his hand.

Despite everything.

Despite every lie.

Every betrayal.

Every terrible truth.

She took his hand.

Daniel looked toward her belly.

“I’m sorry.”

Tears ran down Lydia’s face.

“You should be.”

He laughed weakly.

“I always did choose difficult women.”

“You chose one.”

“I know.”

His gaze shifted toward Silas.

“Take care of her.”

Lydia tightened her grip.

“No.”

Daniel looked at her again.

“You don’t get to give me away.”

Something peaceful moved across his face.

“Still angry.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His breathing became shallow.

“Stay that way.”

Then his eyes closed.

Lydia bent over him.

Daniel Marsh had died once surrounded by lies.

Daniel Croft died the second time in his wife’s arms, having finally told enough truth to save her life.