The horses stamped and pulled sideways.
The stranger immediately moved beside the wagon, directing the driver and examining the ground before anyone tried to force the vehicle forward.
He didn't attempt to lift the enormous wagon by himself.
Instead, he called for the two hired hands to bring the spare boards from the rear and use them to improve the wheel's footing.
The men worked together.
Carefully.
Methodically.
After several tense minutes, the wagon returned to firm ground.
Evelyn's breathing was rapid.
Her hands trembled against the blankets.
The stranger approached the side of the wagon.
“Are you injured, ma'am?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Do you need a moment?”
Evelyn stared.
Most men would have ordered the driver to move before she could recover.
This one waited.
She swallowed.
“Yes, please.”
He nodded.
“Take your time.”
The lantern light illuminated his face.
Dark hair.
Gray-blue eyes.
A thick beard.
And a scar along his jaw.
Evelyn found herself staring.
He noticed.
For a moment, she felt embarrassed.
Then he gave a faint smile.
“It's an old scar.”
Her cheeks grew warm.
“I wasn't going to ask.”
“Most people do.”
She looked toward his eyes.
Then answered quietly.
“Most people ask questions they haven't earned the right to ask.”
The stranger became very still.
For several seconds, he simply looked at her.
Then his expression softened.
“I suppose they do.”
Evelyn looked away.
The wind rattled the canvas.
Finally, she whispered, “Thank you.”
He nodded.
“Caleb Mercer.”
She looked back.
“Evelyn Hart.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough that she noticed.
He studied her face.
Then looked toward the ranch in the distance.
For a moment, he seemed to recognize her.
Finally, he said quietly, “Welcome home, Miss Hart.”
Evelyn felt her throat tighten.
Nobody had called Willow Creek her home in years.
She looked toward the faint lights beyond the trees.
Then whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Mercer.”
He smiled.
“Caleb will do.”
And that was how she met the man who would risk everything to give her back the life she believed she'd lost.
Victor Harrow greeted Evelyn the following morning.
He was fifty-eight, with silver-gray hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes so pale that they sometimes looked colorless in winter light.