He yelped.

Abernathy stared.

“Madam.”

“Move.”

He did.

The second strike dropped Pendleton to his knees.

Within minutes, both men were bound using rope found in the passage.

Caleb leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

Bee ripped open his shirt sleeve.

“The bullet passed through.”

“I know.”

“You’re bleeding badly.”

“I’ve bled before.”

“Yes, you have many impressive accomplishments.”

Despite the pain, his mouth twitched.

She pressed cloth against the wound.

He looked at her.

Lantern light caught the loose strands of dark hair around her face.

Her cheeks were flushed.

Her eyes were furious.

“Why did you follow me?” he asked.

“Someone had to prevent you from getting killed.”

“That is not an answer.”

She met his gaze.

For a heartbeat, the hidden passage, bound traitors and raging storm ceased to exist.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, “I did not want this house to become empty again.”

Caleb forgot to breathe.

Sheriff Daniel Hodge arrived at dawn with six deputies after the storm weakened enough to allow horses through.

Pendleton protested everything.

Martin said nothing.

Abernathy provided testimony.

The forged contract and conspiracy notes provided evidence.

And beneath Martin’s coat, the sheriff found something worse.

A diagram of the north mine ventilation tunnels.

Three explosive charges were marked in red.

The attack had already been planned.

Hodge stared at the paper.

“Good God.”

Caleb stood in his front hall with his arm bandaged beneath a clean shirt.

“Get men to the mine. Search every tunnel.”

“I will.”

Pendleton shouted while deputies dragged him outside.

“You think you’ve won, Whitmore? Your company is already failing!”

Caleb stepped onto the porch.

Snow covered the mountains in brilliant white beneath the newborn sun.

Pendleton twisted around.

“You still need a railway! Abernathy won’t finance the whole spur. You’ll be bankrupt by spring!”

Caleb looked at Abernathy.

The older businessman did not deny it.

Pendleton laughed.

“There! Ask him!”

The sheriff shoved Pendleton into a wagon.

Caleb said nothing.

But the truth followed him inside.

Pendleton had lied about many things.

Not that.

Caleb’s silver empire was rich underground and poor above it.

Without transportation, wealth trapped inside a mountain was only stone.

By nine in the morning, the deputies had departed.

Abernathy remained.

And Beatrice packed her knives.

Caleb found her in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

The word struck him harder than Martin’s bullet.

“There is still snow.”

“The road is passable.”

“I’ll have a driver take you.”

“That would be kind.”

Caleb stood there.

She continued packing rosemary.

Flour.

Two heavy skillets.

The battered wooden box containing her knives.

Everything that had brought life into his house was disappearing piece by piece.

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I will at home.”

“You should rest.”

“I can rest at home.”

He frowned.

She tied a cloth over a jar.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

Her hands stopped.

“I completed the work.”

“That cannot possibly be the reason.”

She resumed packing.

“You hired me for one evening.”

“I can hire you permanently.”

Silence.

Caleb immediately wished he had chosen different words.

Beatrice’s shoulders stiffened.

“As your cook.”

“If that’s what you want.”

She turned.

“What if it isn’t?”

He had no answer.

Her expression changed.

Not anger.

Disappointment.

That was worse.