Montana Territory, 1884.

The fire was dying when Ayana finally spoke the words Jacob Carter had been dreading without ever admitting to himself that he feared them.

“This is my last night with you.”

Jacob stopped turning the iron poker through the coals.

For several seconds, the only sound inside the cabin was the soft crackle of a log collapsing into the embers.

He looked across the fire.

Ayana sat on the other side of the hearth, wrapped in the dark wool blanket he had bought for her at the trading post the previous winter. The firelight painted one side of her face gold and left the other in shadow.

She looked calm.

Too calm.

Jacob knew that expression by then.

It was the expression she wore whenever she had already made a decision and was simply waiting for the right moment to announce it.

“What did you say?”

Ayana lowered her eyes.

“I said this is my last night here.”

Jacob's hand tightened around the poker.

Outside, wind moved through the pine trees surrounding the ranch. A horse shifted in the corral, and the loose chain on the well bucket struck the wooden post with a faint metallic sound.

Everything seemed ordinary.

That was what made it worse.

“Why?”

Ayana did not answer immediately.

Jacob waited.

He had learned to wait for her.

Months earlier, when he first found her beside the river, she could barely speak. Questions frightened her. Sudden movements made her flinch. She would wake from nightmares with her hand searching for a knife that was no longer there.

So Jacob had learned patience.

Now he wished he had never learned it.

“Because I have to go,” she finally said.

“That isn't an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give.”

Jacob leaned forward.

“You're leaving because of the riders.”

Her eyes lifted.

For the first time that night, he saw fear.

Not for herself.

For him.

That frightened him more than anything.

Three days earlier, Ayana had seen riders near the eastern ridge.

Yesterday she had discovered four sets of tracks beside the creek.

That afternoon there had been six.

Jacob had spent most of the day checking his rifle, repairing the back gate, and studying the hills beyond the ranch.

He knew someone was looking for her.

What he didn't know was how close they had come.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

Ayana stared into the fire.

“I already told you.”

“No. You told me enough to keep me from asking questions. That's different.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.

Jacob softened his voice.

“Ayana, if those men are coming here, I need to know who they are.”

“They are men who don't know when to stop.”

“That describes half the men in Montana.”

“These ones are worse.”

“Then tell me why.”

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the warmth had disappeared.

“They believe my father hid gold.”

Jacob said nothing.

Ayana continued.

“Years ago, a group of men robbed a military payroll wagon. They stole gold and disappeared into the mountains. One of them later claimed my father helped them hide part of it.”

“Did he?”

“No.”

Jacob believed her immediately.

“But they believed he did.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was killed.”

Jacob's jaw tightened.

“By those men?”

“We never knew.”

She looked down.

“My father refused to tell them where the gold was. They tortured him. They threatened my mother. They burned our winter storehouse. Then one night they came back.”

Her voice became quieter.

“My father was gone the next morning.”

Jacob stared at her.

“Dead?”

“We found his body three days later.”

The cabin seemed colder.

“What about your mother?”

“She died the winter after.”

Jacob lowered his gaze.

He knew something about losing parents.

He had been twenty when his father died under a wagon wheel. His mother lasted another two winters before illness took her.

After that, the ranch had become his entire world.

Until Ayana arrived.

“What happened after your mother died?” he asked.

“I moved between relatives. Then friends. Then people who were afraid to keep me because they thought the men would find me.”

“And eventually they did.”

“Yes.”

“How did you escape?”

Ayana looked toward the window.

“The camp was attacked.”

Jacob remembered finding her.

The blood.

The torn dress.

The broken arrow shaft near the river.

He had assumed she had been caught in a fight between rival groups.

He had been wrong.

“You were being hunted before I found you.”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me.”

“I didn't want you involved.”

“You've been involving me every day since you came here.”

“I know.”

Jacob stood.

Ayana's eyes followed him.

He walked to the window.

Outside, moonlight lay across the pasture.

The ranch was small by Montana standards.

A cabin.

A barn.

A stable.

A corral.

Two sheds.

A vegetable patch that survived more through stubbornness than skill.

Beyond that lay miles of open country and mountains.

Jacob had always liked the isolation.

Tonight, for the first time, it felt like a trap.

“How many men?”

“I don't know.”

“You said six today.”

“I saw six.”

“Armed?”

“Yes.”

Jacob nodded slowly.

“Then we don't wait for them.”

Ayana rose.

“No.”

“We ride to Fort Benton.”

“No.”

“Then Helena.”

“No.”

“The sheriff?”

“They could reach us before we reach him.”

“Then we stay here.”

“That is exactly what I won't allow.”

Jacob turned.

“You don't get to decide that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don't.”

Her voice sharpened.

“If I stay, they will come here.”

“Then I'll deal with them.”

“You don't understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“No, Jacob.”

She stepped closer.

“You think six men are a problem because you have a rifle and a strong horse. But they aren't coming to arrest me. They are coming because they believe they have nothing to lose.”

“So do I.”

Ayana stared at him.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then her expression changed.

“You shouldn't say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I might believe you.”

Jacob's anger faded.

“Ayana…”

She shook her head.

“No.”

She moved toward the door.

Jacob caught himself before reaching for her.

That was one lesson he had learned.

You couldn't hold someone against their will and call it love.

So he let her walk past.

At the door, she stopped.

“Jacob?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He looked at her.

“For what?”

“For giving me a place where I didn't have to be afraid.”

Then she walked outside.

Jacob remained standing in the cabin.

He didn't know that those would be the last words she would speak to him before disappearing into the night.

Not yet.

Much later, when the fire had burned lower, Ayana returned.

Jacob was sitting beside the hearth.

She lowered herself across from him.

The silence between them was no longer angry.

It was heavy.

“I don't want to leave,” she whispered.

Jacob looked at her.

“Then don't.”

“You know I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because if I stay, they may kill you.”

“They may kill me if you leave.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“That is not supposed to happen.”

“Nothing about this is supposed to happen.”

She smiled faintly.

It was a sad smile.

“You always say things like that.”

“Because they're true.”

She looked down.

“I thought I knew what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

“To disappear.”

“And now?”

Ayana looked directly at him.

“Now I want to stay.”

Jacob felt something inside him break.

“Then stay.”

She shook her head.

“I can't.”

He swallowed.

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

The words were almost too quiet to hear.

Jacob froze.

Ayana immediately looked away.

She seemed embarrassed by having said it.

Jacob rose slowly.

“You shouldn't have told me that.”

“I know.”

“Because now I can't pretend I don't care.”

“I know.”

He crossed the space between them.

He stopped before touching her.

“Look at me.”

She did.

Jacob's voice was barely above a whisper.

“You are not a burden.”

“I never said I was.”

“You've been thinking it.”

She looked away.

“You saved my life,” he continued. “You fixed half my fences. You taught my horses more manners than I ever could. You burned my biscuits for three straight weeks.”

A tiny laugh escaped her.

“I did not burn them.”

“You turned them into stones.”

“You ate them.”

“I was being polite.”

“You ate all of them.”

“Because I was hungry.”

She laughed again.

The sound broke the tension.

Jacob smiled.

Then the smile disappeared.

“I don't want you to go.”

“I know.”

“I don't want to wake up tomorrow and find this place empty.”

“I know.”

“I don't want the last thing I remember about you to be you riding away.”

Ayana reached for his hand.

Her fingers were warm.

“I don't want that either.”

They remained there until the fire was almost dead.

Neither knew what to say after that.

Near midnight, Jacob finally fell asleep in the chair.

Ayana stayed awake.

She looked around the cabin.

The wooden table Jacob had built himself.

The cracked cup she had repaired.

The blanket hanging over the chair.

The rifle resting near the door.

The small shelf where Jacob kept the few books he owned.

This was not her home.

But somehow it had become the closest thing she had known to one.

She stood.

She walked to the bedroom.

Jacob was asleep.

For several seconds, she watched him.

Then she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

She packed only what she could carry.

A knife.

A blanket.

Some dried meat.

A small water pouch.

Her father's wooden eagle.

Before leaving, she sat at the table and wrote four words.

Forgive me. Live well.

She placed the note beneath the coffee cup.