They were crossing the street toward the wagon when Lydia heard a voice she recognized.
Not from Wyoming.
From St. Louis.
A smooth, cultivated voice that had once sounded reassuring to strangers and terrifying behind closed doors.
"Well."
Lydia stopped.
Gideon turned.
A man stood outside the hotel beneath the wooden awning.
He was tall and neatly dressed in a dark wool coat.
His hair was combed carefully.
A narrow mustache rested above his upper lip.
He held a walking cane with a silver handle.
He looked older than Lydia remembered.
But not much.
And the smile on his face was unmistakable.
Everett Bowman.
Alive.
Standing less than twenty feet away.
Lydia's breath caught.
For a moment, the street seemed to disappear.
She was back in the narrow St. Louis kitchen.
Hearing his footsteps.
Waiting for him to decide whether dinner was satisfactory.
Everett looked at her.
His smile widened.
"Lydia."
Gideon moved slightly closer.
Ruth's expression hardened.
Lydia stared at the man who was supposed to be dead.
Everett examined her.
Then glanced toward Gideon.
"So this is the mountain husband."
Gideon's jaw tightened.
Everett laughed softly.
"How charming."
Lydia's hands began to tremble.
But she forced herself to speak.
"Everett."
He smiled.
"Hello, wife."
The word struck like a slap.
Gideon looked toward Lydia.
She stared directly at Everett.
Then said quietly, "You let me bury you."
For the first time, Everett's smile weakened.
Only slightly.
Then it returned.
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding."
Lydia felt anger rising beneath the fear.
"An unfortunate misunderstanding?"
Everett glanced toward the passing wagons.
"Lower your voice."
She almost obeyed.
The old habit moved through her before she could stop it.
Then she remembered Gideon.
Ruth.
Miss Mercer.
And the new life she was beginning to build.
Lydia lifted her chin.
"No."
Everett stared.
She drew a slow breath.
"You let me believe you were dead."
His expression hardened.
"Lydia."
She did not lower her eyes.
"And now you want to tell me what voice I may use?"
Gideon stood beside her.
Silent.
Steady.
Everett looked toward him.
"Control your woman."
Gideon's face darkened.
But before he could speak, Lydia answered.
"He doesn't control me."
Everett stared.
For one remarkable moment, he seemed genuinely surprised.
Then he smiled coldly.
"We'll see about that."
He lifted his cane slightly.
"You have something that belongs to me."