The mountain man approached.
“Nobody here can promise what a court will decide, boy.”
Felix swallowed.
Harlon continued.
“But hiding behind a liar won't make you innocent.”
The young man lowered his eyes.
Then nodded.
“I'll tell them.”
Amily studied his face.
“Everything?”
Felix took a shaky breath.
“Everything I know.”
She nodded.
Then rose.
“That's a beginning.”
An hour later, a small sleigh appeared between the snow-covered trees.
The woman driving it was nearly sixty, with a weathered face, intelligent blue eyes, and silver hair tucked beneath a heavy wool scarf.
She stopped beside the cabin.
Harlon stepped onto the porch.
“Morning, Ruth.”
The widow looked toward the damaged door.
Then the snow-covered ground.
Her expression tightened.
“What have you gotten yourself into now, Boone?”
Harlon smiled faintly.
“Long story.”
She snorted.
“They usually are.”
Then Amily appeared behind him.
The widow's expression softened.
“Well, hello there.”
Amily smiled nervously.
“Good morning.”
Harlon introduced them.
Ruth Calder shook Amily's hand firmly.
Then looked toward the cabin.
“Where's the injured boy?”
Harlon stepped aside.
Ruth entered, examined Felix, and quickly understood that he needed continued care and safer transport rather than another desperate ride through the mountains.
She had brought extra blankets and a sturdy sleigh.
The plan was to take him to her home and arrange medical attention and official questioning once conditions permitted.
Amily watched the older woman work.
There was no unnecessary drama.
No grand declaration.
Ruth simply assessed what needed doing and began doing it.
Before leaving, she pulled Harlon aside.
“Tell me the truth.”
He looked toward her.
“What truth?”
“Are those Blackstone men involved?”
Harlon's expression changed.
Ruth sighed.
“Thought so.”
He nodded.
She studied him.
“You planning to do something foolish?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
Ruth gave him a hard look.
“That's not a very reassuring answer.”
Then she glanced toward Amily.
The young woman stood near the fireplace examining her mother's letter one final time.
Ruth looked back at Harlon.
“Don't go getting yourself killed because you think grief gives you permission.”
Harlon became still.
The widow's voice softened.
“Thomas wouldn't want that.”
For several seconds, he couldn't answer.
Then he nodded.
“I know.”
Ruth touched his arm.
“Bring her back safe.”
Harlon looked toward Amily.
His expression changed.
“I intend to.”