Silas glanced toward the small pocket of her dress.
“Do you still have it?”
Clara nodded.
“It’s in my valise.”
“Keep it there.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if he’s using your name in a property claim, that ring might be part of the story.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“He gave it to me as a promise.”
“Could be.”
“You think he lied about that too?”
Silas did not answer.
She looked down at the belt in her lap.
“I thought he loved me.”
Silas’s face softened.
“I’m sorry.”
The words were simple, but his voice carried a weight that made her look up.
“Were you married?”
“Yes.”
“Is your wife—”
“She died.”
Clara lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Silas nodded once.
“She was called Mary. We had a little boy, too.”
Clara looked at him with quiet surprise.
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t meant to.”
He returned to the stove and adjusted the damper.
For a moment, she wondered whether he had mentioned his family to comfort her or because the danger outside had loosened something he normally kept hidden.
“Did they die in a storm?” she asked.
“No. Fever.”
The answer was quiet.
Clara did not press.
The cabin settled around them, creaking as the wind pushed against the logs.
Then Silas spoke again.
“Bell’s not the sort of man who climbs a mountain in a blizzard for a simple conversation.”
Clara swallowed.
“What does he want?”
“To get you to sign something. Or to make sure you don’t speak to anyone who can check the truth.”
She stared at the door.
“Amos knows I’m here?”
“He sent Bell after you. That suggests he does.”
“But how?”
Silas’s eyes narrowed.
“Someone may have followed you from the depot.”
Clara thought of the wagon driver, the stationmaster, the men loading freight.
She had been watched without knowing it.
The realization made her skin crawl.
Silas fed another log into the stove.
“We’ll wait until daylight. If the storm eases, I’ll take you down to the sheriff.”
“What if Bell comes back?”
“He may.”
“What if Amos comes himself?”
Silas looked at the door.
“Then he’ll have to explain himself in front of the law.”