He stepped down.
Then approached the wagon.
“Elena, stay here a moment.”
She nodded.
“Be careful.”
He smiled faintly.
“Always.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He laughed.
“All right. Usually.”
Then he walked toward the warehouse.
For several minutes, Elena watched him move between the buildings.
He examined the doors.
The tracks.
The old loading platform.
Then stopped beside a narrow side entrance.
He turned toward her.
Raised one hand.
A signal.
She waited.
Then he disappeared inside.
The minutes stretched.
Elena gripped the edge of the bench.
The cold air stung her cheeks.
She looked toward the road.
Nothing moved.
Then she heard a sound.
A sharp metallic crash from inside the warehouse.
Her stomach tightened.
“Gideon?”
No answer.
She waited.
Then another sound.
A man's voice.
Too distant to understand.
Elena reached toward the small horn Gideon had left beside the wagon for emergencies.
Before she could use it, the warehouse door opened.
Gideon stepped outside.
His expression was unreadable.
Then another man appeared behind him.
Thin.
Dark-haired.
Walking with difficulty.
His left leg moved stiffly.
And when he raised his face toward the light, Elena recognized him immediately.
The stranger from the bakery.
Matthew.
Gideon stood motionless beside him.
For several seconds, the brothers simply looked at each other.
Then Matthew whispered, “Gideon?”
The older man seemed unable to breathe.
His enormous shoulders began shaking.
“Matty?”
The younger man's eyes filled.
Nobody had called him that in ten years.
He took one step forward.
His injured leg nearly buckled.
Gideon caught him.
And the two men collapsed into an embrace that seemed to contain an entire decade of grief.
Gideon held his younger brother as though he were afraid the mountains might take him again.
Matthew buried his face against Gideon's shoulder.
Neither could speak.
For a long time, they simply cried.
Elena watched from the wagon, tears running down her cheeks.
She had seen Gideon frightened.
Angry.
Tender.
And overwhelmed by the return of the watch.
But nothing prepared her for the sound of him whispering his brother's name.
Again.
And again.
As though repeating it might prove Matthew was real.
Finally, Gideon drew back.
He held Matthew's face between his enormous hands.
Studied him.
The older features.
The scar near his chin.
The tired eyes.
The lines that ten difficult years had written across his face.
Then he whispered, “I searched for you.”