"Let's go."
Eleanor watched them leave.
The door closed.
Wind struck the shutters.
For a moment, she stood listening.
Then she rolled up her sleeves and began preparing for their return.
By noon, the storm had grown worse.
The wind swept across the yard in violent gusts.
Snow drove against the windows so thickly that the barn appeared only as a dark shape beyond the fence.
Eleanor had finished preparing the blankets and food.
She had heated water.
Checked the pantry.
And made certain the kitchen fire was strong enough to warm several exhausted men.
Yet Silas hadn't returned.
She stood at the window.
One hand rested against the sill.
Her eyes searched the white pasture.
Nothing.
She tried to distract herself by reviewing the loan figures.
The plan required the sale of sixty head of cattle at a reasonable spring price, collection of outstanding payments from two buyers, and refinancing the remaining balance through a lender unconnected to Horace Whitmore.
The numbers worked.
Barely.
If they received the expected cattle price and no major losses occurred, they could satisfy the note without selling the entire breeding herd.
If the weather killed twenty animals, the plan became difficult.
If the main buyer withdrew, it might collapse.
And if Horace successfully persuaded other creditors to refuse them, April first could become the date everything Silas built began slipping away.
Eleanor closed the ledger.
She couldn't change the weather by staring at numbers.
Then she heard a horse whinny.
She looked up.
Through the snow, a rider appeared near the barn.
Not Silas.
Jonah Pierce.
The youngest ranch hand.
Nineteen years old, tall and thin, with a scattering of freckles and a habit of apologizing whenever he entered a room.
He dismounted awkwardly.
Eleanor hurried to the door.
"Jonah!"
He struggled onto the porch.
His hands were shaking.
"Mrs. Boone."
"What happened?"
He swallowed.
"The lower fence gave way."
Eleanor felt her heart tighten.
"Where's Silas?"
Jonah looked toward the pasture.
"Trying to bring the cattle around."
"Is he hurt?"
"No, ma'am. Not when I left."
She exhaled.
Then noticed Jonah could barely hold the reins.
"Come inside."
He shook his head.
"I need to take another rope back."
Eleanor studied him.
His lips were pale.
His fingers moved stiffly.
He looked dangerously cold.
She stepped closer.
"Jonah, you can barely stand."
"I'm all right."