Mabel saw his hand move toward the inside pocket containing the vial.
The servant said:
“Mr. Abernathy asked that you toast.”
“Tell him we will later.”
The young man hesitated.
“He specifically requested—”
Gideon looked at him.
The servant left.
Mabel exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“Now tell me.”
“Not here.”
“Then we leave.”
“My stepfather expects us to stay.”
“That makes leaving more attractive.”
Mabel almost smiled.
Before she answered, Jonah appeared.
He was fifty-eight, clean-shaven except for a gray mustache, dressed in a formal black suit too expensive for a rancher supposedly struggling through poor silver prices.
He smiled.
“Mabel.”
She stiffened.
Jonah noticed.
Then looked at Gideon.
“Son.”
Gideon’s expression cooled.
“Don’t call me that.”
Jonah laughed.
“Fair enough.”
He held a glass of whiskey toward Gideon.
“To cleared debts and new beginnings.”
Gideon looked at the glass.
Then at Jonah.
“No.”
Jonah’s smile remained.
“It’s your wedding.”
“I noticed.”
“One drink.”
“No.”
Jonah’s eyes shifted toward Mabel.
She looked down quickly.
The pause lasted half a second.
Too long.
He knew something was wrong.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
Mabel forced a smile.
“Just tired.”
Jonah touched her shoulder.
She flinched.
Gideon saw.
His body went still.
Jonah withdrew his hand.
“Of course. Large day.”
Mabel hated the double meaning.
Gideon did too.
His voice became quiet.
“We’re leaving.”
Jonah frowned.
“The supper has hardly begun.”
“My wife is tired.”
The word wife sounded strange.
Protective.
Real.
Jonah’s eyes sharpened at it.
“You have a long mountain road.”
“That’s why we should start.”
“In darkness?”
“I know the road.”
Jonah tried one more smile.
“Surely Mabel deserves one proper celebration before becoming a mountain hermit.”
Gideon stepped closer.
“Mabel decides what Mabel deserves.”
Silence.
Jonah looked at her.
Years of conditioning pressed downward.
Agree.
Obey.
Do not embarrass him.
Mabel felt the old instinct rise.
Then Gideon’s hand appeared beside hers.
Open.
Not taking.
Offering.
Mabel placed her hand into it.
“We’re leaving.”
Jonah’s eyes changed.
There.
The hatred beneath civility.
Gone quickly.
But visible.
“Very well.”
He lifted the whiskey glass.
“Safe journey.”
Gideon looked at it.
“Drink it yourself.”
Jonah’s smile disappeared.
Mabel stopped breathing.
Gideon waited.
Jonah did not drink.
That was the first proof beyond Mabel’s bottle.
Not enough for a court.
Enough for Gideon.
His fingers tightened around hers.
“We’re leaving now.”
The road into the San Juan Mountains climbed for hours.
By the time Ridge Creek disappeared behind them, snow had begun falling lightly across the higher slopes.
Mabel sat beside Gideon in the wagon.
Her wedding dress filled most of the bench.
The train had been pinned up to keep it from dragging through mud.
Her veil lay folded in her lap.
Gideon drove.
Neither spoke for the first mile.