“You reacted when I told you my name.”

His eyes met hers.

“I knew someone named Harlo once.”

“Nathan?”

“No.”

It was not quite a lie.

But it was not the whole truth.

Mabel knew it.

Still, her daughters were exhausted.

And outside waited darkness.

She folded Voss’s document.

“Your offer.”

Gideon waited.

“We stay until winter,” she said. “I work for wages. We are not charity.”

“Agreed.”

“And my girls are not servants.”

“Agreed.”

“And if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Gideon looked at her with such certainty that her breath caught.

“I don’t make promises I intend to break.”

Mabel held out her hand.

He took it.

Neither understood, then, how much would change because of that handshake.

They stayed.

Days became weeks.

Something gentle began growing in the Cross ranch house.

Mabel cooked real meals.

Gideon repaired the bedroom windows so winter drafts would not reach the girls.

Annie learned to ride a stubborn chestnut mare named Cricket.

Rose followed Gideon around asking questions about everything.

“How old is that tree?”

“Don’t know.”

“How many cows do you have?”

“Two hundred nineteen.”

“Why do you know cows but not trees?”

Gideon considered.

“Cows run away.”

Rose nodded solemnly.

“Trees are easier.”

Clara simply adored him.

She waited at the fence every evening for Gideon to ride in.

The first time she ran toward him shouting, “Gideon!” he nearly fell dismounting.

Mabel saw his face.

Saw the wonder there.

Saw the fear.

That night she asked him, “You’ve never been around children?”

He stared into his coffee.

“I had a brother.”

“Had?”

“He left when I was ten.”

Mabel waited.

Gideon rarely offered pieces of himself.

She had learned not to grab when he did.

“My father was difficult,” he said.

“Cruel?”

His jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

“Your brother escaped?”

“I suppose.”

“Did you?”

“Eventually.”

“What happened to him?”

Gideon looked toward the dark window.

“We heard he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded once.

“What was his name?”

Gideon’s expression shut immediately.

“Long time ago.”

Mabel let it go.

But that night, while lying awake, she remembered the strange look he had given her surname.

Abel Voss returned twice.

Mabel refused to sign.

Then strange things began happening.

A fence was cut.

Three cattle disappeared.

Someone poisoned the ranch well with a dead coyote, though Gideon caught it before anyone drank.

One night, a rock shattered the kitchen window.

Wrapped around it was a note.

SEND THE WIDOW AWAY.

Gideon saddled his horse.

Mabel blocked the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To town.”

“To do what?”

“Speak to Voss.”

“With the rifle?”

He looked down at the Winchester in his hand.

“Conversation aid.”

“No.”

“Mabel.”

“No.”

“He’s threatening you.”

“And if you shoot him, I’ll have three girls and one imprisoned fool to feed.”

His eyes flashed.

“One fool?”

“You heard me.”

He stared at her.

Then, unbelievably, Gideon laughed.

Not a restrained smile.

A real laugh.

It startled both of them.

Mabel started laughing too.

They stood in the lamplight laughing like people who had temporarily forgotten the world was dangerous.