Had given her a key.
Her father’s words did not absolve him.
They did something harder.
They forced Sadie to decide for herself what he was.
Morning arrived blue and cold.
Lucien woke first.
He cooked coffee.
Sadie sat at the table holding the letter.
Without looking at him she said, “My father trusted yours.”
“Yes.”
“Did he trust you?”
Lucien paused.
“He died before knowing me as man.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
Sadie looked at him.
“So you’ve carried this for ten years.”
“Yes.”
“And never thought perhaps I deserved it sooner?”
“I thought you were gone east.”
“Until October.”
“Yes.”
“Then you spent four months plotting.”
“Yes.”
“You are terrible at apologies.”
“I know.”
She sipped coffee.
It was awful.
Her face twisted.
Lucien frowned.
“What?”
“This coffee could strip paint.”
He looked offended.
“It’s coffee.”
“It’s punishment.”
“You drank boardinghouse coffee.”
“Mrs. Palmer believed in mercy.”
Lucien took her cup.
Added water.
She laughed.
The next three weeks became strange.
Snow trapped them in the mountains.
The pass closed after another storm.
Sadie could not return to Oak Haven even if she decided immediately.
At first she resented that.
Then she began noticing how much work survival required.
Lucien rose before dawn.
Fed mules.
Checked traps.
Split wood.
Carried water.
Repaired roof shingles.
Smoked meat.
Checked snow depth.
Sadie did not wait to be assigned chores.
She swept.
Cooked.
Mended.
Reorganized his pantry because his method consisted of “put it where there’s room.”
Lucien objected.
“You moved salt.”
“Because salt was beside lamp oil.”
“I knew where it was.”
“Only because you live alone.”
“I still know.”
“You won’t tomorrow.”
He found it tomorrow.
Because Sadie labeled shelf.
She discovered his handwriting was worse than his coffee.
He discovered she could keep ledgers faster than he could.
One afternoon she opened one of his account books.
“Lucien.”
He looked up from repairing a harness.
“What?”
“You’ve been undercharging Miller’s Store for hides.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“They pay what hides worth.”
“No, they pay what you ask.”
“That’s different.”
“You have no idea how to bargain.”
“I bargain.”
“You glare until people become nervous.”
“Works.”
“Not if you’re the one losing money.”
He stared.
She smiled.
For first time, he smiled back.
Barely.
It transformed his face.
Sadie looked away too quickly.
That night she hated herself for noticing.
On the fourth week, Lucien returned from checking lower trail carrying a piece of red cloth.
He placed it on table.
Sadie recognized Oak Haven general store wrapping.
“Someone came up?”
“Someone tried.”
“Who?”
“Deputy Crane.”
Sadie stood.
Elias Crane was Cobb’s nephew.
“Where is he?”
“Two miles down.”
“You left him?”
“He has horse.”