Chapter Two

Elkhorn, Colorado

May, 1878

Caleb approached the woman cautiously. Right now, he was trying to ignore the hollow feeling that always followed violence. The shooting was over, but the tension still clung to him like gun smoke. And even though his instincts told him this rider meant no harm, he had no assurance she wasn’t carrying a firearm beneath that canvas duster.

“You are Mr. Marlowe, aren’t you?”

“I am. What’s your connection with those fellas, ma’am?”

The rider tilted her head slightly. “Oh, I have no connection with them whatsoever. I was coming to find you when I saw them leaving Elkhorn ahead of me.”

“And you followed?” His tone sharpened despite himself. Following six strangers through mountain country in the middle of the night was reckless enough to get a person killed.

“I heard one of them mention your name.” She matched his tone easily enough. “I assumed following them would be the quickest way to find your ranch. Though I’ll admit they looked rather dangerous, so I stayed well behind.”

There was intelligence in her voice. Determination, too. But not much caution.

He studied her a moment longer. The moonlight silvered the brim of the borrowed bowler and softened the sharp edges of her expression. She sat straight in the saddle despite the late hour and rough country, as though she’d spent her life riding through dangerous mountain passes. But something about her told Caleb that she was a newcomer from back East.

And too proud to show fear, he thought.

“I must admit,” she continued, “when they left the road and entered the forest, I became rather lost. Then I heard the gunfire.” Her gaze drifted toward the meadow. “I hope there was no serious trouble.”

Caleb nearly laughed at that.

“Depends on who you ask.” He nodded toward the horse beneath her. “Ain’t that Doc Burnett’s gelding?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Who are you, ma’am, and what are you doing with his horse?”

She removed the bowler, and a thick braid tumbled over one shoulder in the moonlight.

“I’m Sheila Burnett. Dr. Burnett is my father. From his letters, I understand you’re a friend of his.”

Caleb blinked in surprise.

Doc Burnett was one of the few men in Elkhorn Caleb trusted completely. But from the way the doctor spoke of his daughter, Caleb had pictured someone much younger. A girl still safely back East with civilized manners and civilized problems.

Not a woman riding alone through the Rockies at midnight.

And certainly not one with eyes that clear and steady.

“Why the devil are you riding around the mountains alone at this hour, Miss Burnett?” Caleb demanded.

Perhaps his tone came out harsher than intended because Bear gave him a brief look before trotting off toward the trees.

“That’s precisely the problem, Mr. Marlowe. My father didn’t send me.” Her composure faltered for the first time. “I arrived from Denver yesterday and discovered he’s gone missing.”

The edge in her voice softened slightly on the final words, and Caleb suddenly heard the worry beneath the stubbornness.

“I need your help finding him.”

Caleb frowned.

He’d seen Doc only two days ago, and the man was just fine. The doctor often disappeared into the mountains for days tending miners, ranchers, and whoever else needed patching together.

Still…

Doc had said nothing about his daughter arriving.

Caleb rested the rifle in the crook of his arm. “Your father can generally take care of himself, Miss Burnett.” He glanced at her again. “Are you armed?”

“Of course not.”

That answered that.

Back East, maybe a woman could afford to trust the world not to harm her. Out here, the mountains taught different lessons.

“Was Doc expecting you?”

“In our letters, I mentioned I hoped to visit him.”

“Was he expecting you?” Caleb repeated patiently.

She hesitated. “Not exactly. Once I decided to come, a letter would have arrived too late. And as you know, Elkhorn doesn’t yet have telegraph service.”

Impetuous.

Brave.

And entirely unaware how dangerous this country could be.

Caleb exhaled slowly. He still had bodies to gather before dawn.

“If you wouldn’t mind moving out into the field there a ways, I’ll follow shortly. After I finish a few chores, I’ll take you back into town.”

“But what about finding my father?”

“We’ll discuss that once I get you safely back to Elkhorn.” He hoped his tone left little room for argument.

She folded her arms. “You seem remarkably calm for a man who was just ambushed.”

That caught him off guard enough that the corner of his mouth almost moved.

“Calm ain’t the same thing as careless, ma’am.”

Her gaze shifted toward the dark meadow. “And is this sort of thing common here?”

“More common than it ought to be.”

As Caleb turned toward the horses and the dead men lashed across the saddles, he heard Bear trot back toward them.

“And what’s your name, fellow?” Sheila asked softly, crouching slightly toward the dog.

“That good boy is Bear,” Caleb called over his shoulder. “Though usually he ain’t one to introduce himself too quick.”

Bear leaned against her skirts as though they were already acquainted.

Caleb frowned faintly at that.

Not many people earned the dog’s trust so quickly.

A few minutes later Caleb led the horses from the trees and found Miss Burnett standing quietly beside her mount while Bear rested against her leg. She turned toward him—and went pale the instant she saw what the horses carried.

“These men are dead?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You killed them?”

“I did.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at the bodies.

“You took their lives.”

The words weren’t accusing so much as stunned now.

“They came aiming to take mine first.”

She looked away briefly, clearly struggling with the sight before her.

“You couldn’t stop them without killing them?”

Caleb bit back his irritation.

Where she came from, maybe folks imagined gunfights happened slow enough for careful decisions and neat endings. Out here, hesitation got a man buried.

“When somebody starts firing at you in the dark,” he said evenly, “you don’t get much time for careful thinking.”

She swallowed hard and looked again toward the bodies. Caleb saw not judgment in her face, but shock. Fear. Sadness.

“This is how people live here?” she asked quietly.

“Sometimes,” Caleb answered. “Though most folks spend their lives hoping it won’t come to this.”

That seemed to settle over her differently.

Not approval.

But understanding.

“Take a step back, Miss Burnett,” Caleb said more gently. “I need to finish up here.”

As he led the horses forward, she moved aside quickly, though not before he noticed her hands trembling slightly in the moonlight.

She was trying hard not to let him see it.

Four bodies lay scattered between the pines and the cabin. When Caleb approached the nearest one, a low groan drifted from the man sprawled in the grass.

Bear immediately growled.

“It’s all right, boy,” Caleb said quietly. “He ain’t going nowhere.”

The rustler lay curled on his side, hat and rifle on the ground nearby. Caleb carefully nudged the fallen revolver farther away before kneeling.

“He’s alive?” Sheila’s voice came softly behind him.

“For now.”

She moved closer.

The bullet had struck the man below the ribs. Even in the dim light, Caleb could tell the wound was bad.

“But these others…” Sheila looked around the meadow. “They’re all dead.”

Her voice held sorrow now more than outrage.

“Would you mind helping me here, Miss Burnett?”

She looked startled by the request. “Of course. What can I do?”

There was something of her father in that — the instinct toward help rather than away from it. And for the first time since meeting her, the sharp edge between them eased slightly.

“There’s a lantern hanging beside the hearth inside the cabin. Could you light it and bring it back?”

She nodded immediately and hurried toward the cabin.

Caleb gently rolled the wounded rustler onto his back.

“I’m sorry for coming after you,” the man rasped weakly. “We only meant to take the cattle.”

Caleb glanced toward the dark silhouette of his unfinished cabin.

His home.

“Save your strength, fella.”

“Ain’t much point now.” The man coughed painfully. “Listen. I got a ma back in Michigan…”

Caleb studied him a moment. Late twenties, maybe. Young enough that life should’ve stretched farther ahead than this lonely Colorado meadow.

“You’ll see her again,” Caleb said quietly, though he doubted it himself.

The man clutched weakly at Caleb’s sleeve.

“Letter…inside pocket…”

“I’ll see she gets it.”

Footsteps approached through the grass as Sheila returned carrying the lantern.

The rustler’s breathing hitched once. Then stopped.

Caleb lowered his eyes briefly before reaching into the man’s coat for the letter.

Sheila came closer holding the lantern high.

“Is he…?”

“Gone.”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Finally she whispered, “Six men.”

She looked around the moonlit meadow, visibly shaken. But there was no longer any shock in her voice. She simply sounded...well, heartsick.

Suddenly, Caleb regretted that this was the first thing Doc Burnett’s daughter had seen of Colorado.

“If you could gather the horses,” he said quietly, “I’ll get these men loaded up, and we’ll head back to town.”

“Of course,” she answered softly.

Then she looked up at him again.

“I still don’t understand how a man survives with this much violence around him.”

That landed differently than before. No condemnation in it. Just honest confusion — the kind that deserved an honest answer.

Caleb looked away toward the dark mountains.

“Most days,” he admitted quietly, “you just keep moving and hope the next stretch of road’s a little better.”

Something in her expression softened then.

Not trust exactly. But the place where trust might take root, given time.

A cold breeze swept across the meadow.

Sheila shivered. That canvas duster she had on wasn’t enough in the mountains.

Without really thinking about it, Caleb shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. “You’ll freeze before we make Elkhorn otherwise.”

She hesitated. “And what about you?”

“I’ve had colder nights.”

For a moment she simply stared at him, surprised.

Then slowly, she accepted the coat. “Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.”

Caleb gave a brief nod and turned toward the bodies lying beneath the silver moon, uneasy with the thought that Doc Burnett's sharp-eyed daughter had already gotten further past his guard than six, armed rustlers ever had. 

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Beyond the Silver moon