She stared.
“I should strike you.”
“You may.”
That made her furious.
“Stop being agreeable!”
Silas almost smiled.
Did not.
“I expected Price to challenge deed legally.”
“I did not expect kidnapping.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“Yes.”
Clara paced awkwardly, the wool blanket wrapped around her.
“Why was I traveling here?”
Silas looked confused.
“You tell me.”
She stopped.
“I received a letter.”
“What letter?”
“Unsigned.”
“It said my mother left property near Cedar Ridge and I had to appear before December first or rights would revert.”
Silas went still.
“I did not send that.”
Clara stared.
“Then who did?”
Silas reached for his coat.
“The men on road may not have been trying to stop you from reaching here.”
Clara felt cold despite the spring.
“What?”
“They may have been bringing you somewhere else.”
“For what?”
“To sign.”
Clara looked at table.
The deed.
Trust.
Her thirtieth birthday.
If Price needed her signature to transfer...
“They wanted me alive.”
“Probably.”
“Then why attack stagecoach with guns?”
“To make it look like robbery.”
Clara whispered:
“Driver.”
“The driver?”
“He didn't fight.”
Silas froze.
“He stopped before they stepped into road.”
“What?”
“He was already slowing.”
Silas swore softly.
Clara’s fear sharpened.
“The driver was part of it.”
“Yes.”
Silas moved toward window.
“We have to leave.”
Clara looked around.
“Leave?”
“If they know this cabin—”
“You said no one knows it.”
“Price may.”
“How?”
“My father is dead.”
“Your mother is dead.”
“Charles is dead.”
“But Price has spent thirty years looking.”
Silas pulled back curtain slightly.
Nothing outside but snow.
Clara said:
“I cannot run through snow again.”
“You won't.”
“How?”
Silas looked at her.
“I have horses in lower stable.”
“I cannot ride.”
“I have a wagon.”
“In this storm?”
“No.”
“We wait until first light.”
“You just said leave.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Storm is worsening.”
He pointed toward roof.
“If I take you out now, cold may kill you faster than Price.”
Clara looked toward trapdoor.
“Can we hide below?”
“Yes.”
Silas began moving furniture.
Clara watched.
“You knew I might come.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“The shirt.”
Silas looked at oversized flannel she wore.
She tugged the front.
“This isn’t yours.”
Silas’s face changed.
Clara’s voice softened despite anger.
“Whose?”