Maylin sank onto the floor.
Silas sat beside her.
Neither spoke.
Outside, the blizzard slowly began to weaken.
Gideon Pike survived his gunshot.
Maylin was glad.
Death would have been easier.
Three weeks later, federal marshals took him from a hospital bed in Helena and transported him east in chains.
The Black Ridge ledger brought down twelve men.
A federal judge.
Two bankers.
Three railroad officials.
A territorial senator resigned before he could be arrested.
The newspapers called Thomas Harrow a hero.
Maylin hated them for discovering his courage only after it became profitable to print it.
The sixty-two miners he had saved came to the cabin in spring.
Every one of them brought something.
Fence posts.
Seed.
Cattle.
Tools.
One elderly miner simply removed his hat, knelt before Shaw and Faun, and cried.
“Your daddy gave me twenty more years with my children.”
That was when Shaw finally understood.
She never let go of the blue wooden horse again.
Black Ridge reopened the following year under a cooperative agreement granting its workers a share of the profits.
Maylin insisted upon it.
“There has been enough wealth made by men who never went underground,” she told the lawyers.
Silas smiled when he heard that.
“You’re terrifying.”
“Good.”
He stayed through spring.
Then summer.
He repaired the barn.
Built Faun a swing.
Taught Shaw to ride.
Never once tried to become Thomas.
That mattered more than Maylin could explain.
Sometimes they spoke about him.
Sometimes they didn’t.
In October, Silas packed his horse.
Maylin found him beside the gate.
“Where are you going?”
“Wyoming.”
“Why?”
“There are warrants.”
“There will always be warrants.”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
“So that’s your reason?”
“No.”
“What is?”
His gray eyes shifted toward the cabin.
“I made a promise to Thomas.”
“To take care of us.”
“Yes.”
“We don’t need taking care of anymore.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
Silas looked suddenly afraid.
It was the first time Maylin had ever seen fear on his face.
“Because I don’t know which part of me stayed because of the promise and which part stayed because of you.”
Maylin walked toward him.
“Do you want to know?”
“Yes.”
She kissed him.
It was not dramatic.
There was no thunder.
No music.
No grand declaration.
It was simply warm.
Gentle.
And real.
When she stepped backward, Silas looked completely stunned.
Maylin smiled.
“That part.”
He never went to Wyoming.
One year after the blizzard, snow fell again on Christmas morning.
But the cabin was no longer silent.
A new room had been added.
Smoke rose thick and warm from the chimney.
Bread baked in the oven.
Three horses stood inside the rebuilt barn.
Faun raced across the floor carrying her red doll.
Shaw sat near the fire painting another wooden horse.
And beneath the tree were more presents than either child needed.
Maylin had insisted on that.
Silas stood beside the window holding two tin cups of coffee.
He handed one to her.
“You thinking about last Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“Bad memories?”
“Some.”
He slipped one arm around her.
“Good ones?”
Maylin leaned against him.
“Some.”
A knock sounded at the door.
