“Two hundred dollars!”
No one bid again.
The hammer fell.
And just like that, Abigail Hart belonged to the most feared man in the mountains.
Or so everyone believed.
Silas stepped onto the platform.
He removed the rope from Abigail's wrists.
“Come.”
She rubbed her wrists.
“Where?”
“My cabin.”
“I won't go.”
His eyes met hers.
“I didn't ask whether you wanted to.”
Abigail's temper flared.
“You bought me.”
“No.”
“You just paid two hundred dollars.”
“For the contract.”
“That's the same thing.”
“No.”
Silas looked toward Mayor Crowe.
“It isn't.”
Crowe smiled.
“Mr. Boone, I trust you understand the terms.”
Silas turned.
“I understand them better than you do.”
Crowe's smile disappeared.
Abigail noticed.
Something passed between the two men.
Something old.
Something dangerous.
Silas stepped closer to Abigail.
“You have five minutes.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you walk with me or ride.”
“What's the difference?”
“If you walk, I won't tie you to the saddle.”
Abigail almost laughed.
“You're not very good at making yourself sound kind.”
“I wasn't trying.”
She stared at him.
Then stepped off the platform.
The crowd parted.
Nobody stopped them.
Nobody followed.
Silas led Abigail toward the northern road.
Neither spoke for nearly a mile.
Finally, Abigail said, “Why me?”
Silas kept his eyes on the trail.
“Because someone wanted you dead.”
She stopped.
“What?”
He stopped too.
“You heard me.”
“Who?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
“Then why buy my contract?”
“Because the man who arranged the auction expected me to kill you.”
Abigail's face went cold.
“Why?”
Silas looked at her.
“Because he thinks I am exactly the monster everyone says I am.”
The mountains swallowed the road behind them.
By sunset, Red Hollow had disappeared.
Silas's cabin stood high above the valley.
It was smaller than Abigail expected.
One room.
A loft.
A stone fireplace.
A table.
Two chairs.
A bed.
There were no locked doors.
No chains.
No bars.
Silas opened the door.
“You'll sleep inside.”
“And you?”
“Outside.”
“In the snow?”
“I've slept in worse.”
Abigail stared at him.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“You've had a bad day.”
She almost smiled.
“That's an understatement.”
Silas placed a basket on the table.
“There's food.”
“I don't want your charity.”
“Good.”
He walked toward the door.
“It isn't charity.”
“What is it?”
“Payment.”
“For what?”
“For staying alive long enough to tell me the truth.”
Abigail frowned.
“What truth?”
Silas left.
She stood alone.
For several minutes she listened to his footsteps disappear.
Then she opened the basket.
Bread.
Cheese.
Dried meat.
Apples.
And a small jar of honey.
Abigail sat down.
She had not realized how hungry she was.
As she ate, she noticed something carved into the table.
Two words.
Evelyn Hart.
Abigail froze.
Her mother's name.
She touched the carving.
Her mother had died when Abigail was fifteen.
At least, that was what she had always been told.
Fever.
Three days.
Dead.
Buried.
Finished.
But now her mother's name was carved into the table of the most feared man in the mountains.
Abigail stood.
Silas returned an hour later.
She was waiting.
“What did you know about my mother?”
He stopped.
His eyes moved to the table.
Then back to her.
“Who told you about her?”
“No one.”
She pointed.
“You did.”
Silas said nothing.
“Why is her name here?”
He walked to the fireplace.
“Because she stayed here once.”
Abigail's heart stopped.
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“That is impossible.”
“You were not born yet.”
“Where was she?”
“Running.”
“From whom?”
Silas looked at the fire.
“Your father.”
Abigail's face hardened.
“My father loved my mother.”
“Sometimes love and fear live in the same house.”
She stepped closer.
“What are you talking about?”
Silas pulled a chair out.
“Sit.”