Then Harlan said, “We have a legal claim.”
“Show it to the sheriff.”
“You're making a serious mistake.”
“No,” Naya said, finding a little more strength in her voice. “I made a mistake when I believed you.”
Calder's gaze shifted toward her. Something like pride passed briefly across his face, though he said nothing.
Outside, one of the other men muttered something Naya could not hear. Harlan answered in a low voice, then returned to the door.
“Calder, this is your last warning. Hand her over, and nobody needs to get hurt.”
Calder lifted the rifle from the table but did not aim it through the door.
“You've been told she isn't leaving with you.”
“Then we'll come in.”
“You'll be trespassing.”
“Voss won't care.”
“Perhaps the sheriff will.”
Harlan laughed again, but the sound was strained. “You think a badge will save you? Voss owns half the businesses in the territory.”
“Then he'll have plenty of money to pay for a lawyer.”
The porch boards creaked.
Naya's breathing quickened as she heard footsteps shifting outside. Calder glanced toward the rear of the cabin, then back to the entrance. He was calculating distances, exits, and the time it would take to reach the door if the men tried to break through.
She could see the decision forming in his face.
“Calder,” she whispered.
He looked at her.
“Don't let them take me.”
His expression softened, but his voice remained steady. “I won't.”
The answer was not a boast. It was a promise made in the middle of a dangerous morning, with no certainty that the storm would end soon or that the men outside would leave peacefully.
Naya believed him anyway.
A heavy thud struck the door. The latch shuddered, but the thick timber held.
Calder stepped forward, placing himself between the entrance and Naya. He kept the rifle ready and called through the wood.
“One more attempt, and I'll send for the sheriff myself.”
Harlan's voice came back, furious now. “You can't hide behind that door forever!”
“I'm not hiding.”
“Open it!”
“No.”
A second impact rattled the frame.
Naya took a step backward, her eyes fixed on the door. The old fear rose within her, familiar and overwhelming. She could almost feel the rough rope around her wrists again, hear the wagon wheels turning over frozen ground, and smell the stale canvas of the transport cover.
Then she remembered the hand that had covered hers only moments earlier.