“The man said his name was Matthew.”
Gideon stopped breathing.
For several seconds, the only sounds were the crackling fireplace and the rain striking the cabin windows.
Then Gideon whispered, “That's impossible.”
Elena's eyes filled.
“He said you'd think so.”
Gideon opened the watch.
Inside, beneath the scratched glass, was a small photograph of two young men standing beside a chestnut horse.
Gideon recognized himself.
Twenty-nine years old.
Smiling.
His face unscarred.
Beside him stood Matthew.
Nineteen.
Laughing.
Alive.
Gideon's fingers shook so violently that he nearly dropped the watch.
He looked toward Elena.
“Where is he?”
She swallowed.
“He wouldn't tell me.”
Gideon's expression hardened.
“What did he look like?”
Elena hesitated.
“Thin. Tired. Dark hair. Gray eyes like yours.”
Gideon slowly stood.
His enormous body rose above her, casting a shadow across the firelit floor.
He reached for his coat.
“Elena, where did he go?”
She caught his arm.
“Please listen.”
“WHERE?”
His voice thundered.
Elena's eyes filled, but she didn't release him.
“He said someone was watching the bakery.”
Gideon froze.
She continued.
“He told me not to trust the man who organized the search ten years ago.”
The rancher's face changed.
Elena's voice trembled.
“And he said the storm wasn't what took him away from you.”
For several seconds, Gideon stared.
Then he whispered a name that made the entire room seem colder.
“Elias Rusk.”
Elena nodded.
The wealthy cattle broker who controlled much of Cedar Hollow's freight business.
The man who had led the search for Matthew.
And the man who had spent ten years telling Gideon that his brother's death was his own fault.
Gideon looked down at the watch.
His hands were shaking.
Then Elena revealed the stranger's final words.
“He said, ‘Tell Gideon the north pass didn't kill me. The men who sent us there tried to.’”
Gideon staggered backward.
For the first time in ten years, the strongest man in Cedar Hollow looked as though his own legs could no longer hold him.
He lowered himself into the oak chair.
Stared at the photograph.
And began to cry.
Not quietly.
Not with the restrained grief he'd carried alone through a decade of winters.
He covered his face with both enormous hands as everything he'd believed about his brother's death began collapsing around him.
Elena remained beside him.
She didn't tell him to stop crying.
Didn't insist he be strong.