“I Haven’t Seen A Woman In 10 Years” — The Mountain Man Said, Then Kissed The Bride And Married Her

Chapter 10

They had one night to prepare.

Silas worked through the dark, moving the wagon into the trees, scattering the fire, laying the cabin as if it had been abandoned in a hurry. Clara packed a small bag — the recipe book, the quilt, the locket — and hid it in the cold cellar beneath the floorboards. In the predawn dark, they went over the plan one final time.

“You stay hidden,” Silas said. “No matter what you hear. No matter how long it takes. You stay in the cellar until I come for you.”

“And if they find the cellar?”

“They won’t. The floorboard’s hidden under the rug. And you’ll have the rifle.”

Clara nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had never been so terrified in her life, and she had also never been so certain of anything as she was certain that she would not let this man face the world alone.

They heard the horses first — a sound like distant thunder, growing closer. Silas pressed a kiss to Clara’s forehead, the kind of kiss a man gives when he isn’t sure he’ll come back, and then he was gone, slipping into the tree line like a shadow.

She hid in the cellar, the rifle cold in her hands, and listened to the chaos unfold above her.

Men’s voices. Boots on the porch. The door slamming open. Fitzgerald’s voice, high and venomous, demanding to know where she was. Furniture overturning. The sound of his men pulling the cabin apart in search of her.

And then, from the edge of the clearing, a voice that cut through the noise like a blade:

“You’re looking for my wife.”

The men poured out of the cabin. Through the crack between the floorboards, Clara watched Silas step into the yard, his grandfather’s rifle held loose and easy across his chest — ten years of solitude standing between six armed men and the door to his home.

“Silas Boon.” Fitzgerald’s voice dripped contempt. “The murderer. The beast of the mountain. I’ve got a warrant for you, and I’ve got a claim on that woman, and I’m leaving here with both.”

“You’re leaving here with nothing.” Silas’s voice was flat, calm, utterly unafraid. “That woman’s my wife. Legally married, in your church, by your preacher, in front of half your town. There’s no warrant in the world that changes that.”

“Legally?” Fitzgerald laughed, and it was an ugly sound. “Who do you think writes the laws in this county, Boon? I am the law. I am the bank. I own the sheriff and half the judges. Your little ceremony is a piece of paper I can burn.”

“You can try.” Silas’s finger moved to the trigger. “But we both know what happened to the last men who tried to take something of mine.”

The standoff stretched into an eternity. Clara counted her heartbeats, willing her trembling hands to be still. She could see Fitzgerald’s face clearly now — pale, furious, and beneath the bluster, something she hadn’t expected: fear. The man was afraid of Silas. He had been afraid since the moment that gold spilled across the altar.

And then a voice rang out from the trees, and everything changed.

“That’s far enough, all of you.”

The sheriff stepped into the clearing, revolver drawn, with a dozen armed townsmen behind him. And in that moment, Clara understood — the boy with the letter hadn’t just been a messenger. He’d been a conscience, sent ahead to gather the only army that mattered.

“Sheriff,” Fitzgerald sputtered. “Arrest this man. He’s a murderer, a thief —”

“Hush, Harold.” The sheriff’s voice was tired and final. “I’ve had your bribes for twenty years, and I’m done. I’ve been digging into your ledgers since Tuesday, and I’ve found enough to hang you a dozen times over. You’ve been stealing from this town since before that girl was born, and I’m done looking the other way.”

Fitzgerald’s face went gray.

“You’re out of men and out of time,” the sheriff said. “Drop the guns, or we’ll drop them for you.”

One by one, the hired men lowered their weapons. Fitzgerald stood alone in the yard, a spider suddenly without a web, and watched everything he’d built crumble to dust around his feet.

The sheriff turned to Silas. “Mr. Boon. I owe you an apology, and I reckon I owe you a dozen more. We’ll settle that later. First, let’s get your wife out of wherever she’s hiding.”

Clara pushed open the root cellar door and climbed out into the sunlight — and the look on Silas’s face when he saw her, alive, unhurt, whole, was worth more than all the gold that had ever crossed that altar.