Forced Into a Marriage With a Feared Mountain Man at Nineteen—Then He Handed Her the One Thing She Never Expected
His pleasantness dropped away. “Heard about the wife. Man down in Caldwell Creek said there was a woman up here and the place was worth visiting. Said the man who lives here has something valuable, and that he might be persuaded to share.”
*Croft.* She didn’t say the name aloud. She didn’t need to. She thought, very fast: fire first, then water, then food, then see what’s broken. Only the next thing.
“Leave this property,” she said, level and flat, and walked to the cabin door without running, pulled the Winchester off its wall mount, checked the chamber by feel, and walked back out onto the porch. They had spread out slightly — one man eyeing the barn, another edging toward the cabin. She raised the rifle, settled it against her shoulder, aimed at the thin-faced man. “Last time.”
“Lady,” he said, the pleasantness gone entirely now, something more honest in its place. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I’m not doing anything yet,” she said. “Leaving is also an option. A considerably better one.”
One of the riders shifted, beginning to dismount. She swung the rifle to cover him too, without taking it fully off the leader. “Don’t.”
He stopped.
A sharp whistle came from the treeline. Rhett came out of the spruce above the clearing, moving downhill fast, rifle already up, and he was not alone — a broad man in a dark coat spread wide behind him to cover the riders’ exit.
“Eliza. You all right?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes.”
