Evelyn grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t leave me.”
Miles stopped.
Fear crossed his face.
Not fear for himself.
He moved back.
“All right.”
Another shot.
Then silence.
Miles listened.
No hoofbeats.
No footsteps.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Twenty.
Eventually he whispered:
“They’re gone.”
Evelyn remained beside him.
Their shoulders touched.
She realized she was gripping his arm.
She released it.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vernon?”
“Maybe.”
Miles rose carefully.
Moved toward the broken window.
Evelyn watched.
The supposed cripple now stood with a revolver beside the wall, broad back tense, listening into darkness.
Nothing about him resembled the man she believed she had married hours earlier.
Yet something did.
The caution.
The restraint.
The way he asked permission before touching her.
Perhaps the chair had been false.
Not everything else.
Miles found one bullet embedded in the far wall.
He removed it with pliers.
Examined it.
“Rifle round.”
“That narrows Montana considerably.”
He looked at her.
A surprised laugh escaped him.
Evelyn almost smiled.
Then remembered herself.
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
“You should sit down.”
Miles raised an eyebrow.
“In the chair?”
Despite everything, she laughed.
One small, shocked sound.
Then covered her mouth.
Miles smiled.
For the first time.
It transformed his face.
Evelyn hated noticing.
By dawn, neither had slept.
Miles rebuilt the window with boards.
Evelyn sat at the table with her father’s photograph.
She studied it until every scratch became familiar.
Henry looked younger than she remembered.
Happy.
Miles joined her.
Not sitting in the wheelchair now.
An ordinary chair.
Evelyn noticed.
“You won’t pretend with me anymore?”
“No.”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
The answer irritated her.
Then she understood.
“You still need them to believe you cannot walk.”
“If last night’s men did not see me.”
“Do you think they did?”
“No.”
“How can you know?”
“Because if they had seen me standing, they would not have left after four shots.”
A chill ran through her.
“What would they have done?”
“Burned the cabin.”
Evelyn looked toward the stove.
Miles continued:
“We leave tomorrow.”
“For where?”
“The claim.”
She stared.
“You expect me to go underground with you after last night?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I expect to show you the entrance.”
“That sounds suspiciously similar.”
Miles rubbed his beard.
Evelyn almost laughed again.
Then her expression changed.
“What exactly did my father hide?”
Miles looked toward the map.
“I don’t know.”
“You said ledgers.”
“My father believed there were ledgers.”
“Did he see them?”
“Henry did.”
“Then why didn’t he take them?”
“The tunnel partially collapsed.”
“My father escaped.”
“Returned later.”
“Found the entrance sealed.”