They Called 19-Year-Old Abigail a Liar and a Harlot—Then the Feared Mountain Man Walked In and Said, “That Child Is Mine.”

Chapter 4

The bullet struck the porch beam inches from Abigail’s head, and the world dissolved into chaos, with Morgan tackling her into the snow and rolling over her to shield her body with his own while horses reared and screamed and the seven riders scattered in every direction. Another shot tore through the cabin window, and Billy screamed that Morgan was shooting at them, but Abigail realized the truth even before Silas Reed shouted it, and so did the rest of the men. “Wait!” Silas called out. “That came from behind us!” Another shot rang out and one of the horses collapsed into the snow, throwing its rider hard, and Morgan finally fired once toward a flash of movement between the pine trees, and a figure ducked behind a trunk.

The ninth man. Morgan had known all along.

Billy’s face showed not surprise but fury at the shot that had not come from his own plan, and Morgan saw it, and suddenly everything became clear to him. “You brought a hidden shooter,” he said, and Billy pulled his pistol, and Morgan fired at the snow beside Billy’s horse, and the animal reared violently and Billy lost his grip and fell sprawling onto the ground. “He’s using you!” Morgan shouted to the other men, and a bullet struck the cabin roof, and Silas Reed dragged the injured rider behind a tree while another man yelled out, asking who was shooting. Billy scrambled upright and shouted that Montgomery had another man in the woods, and Morgan stared at him and said, “You really thought they’d believe that?” and Billy, desperate now, raised his pistol toward Abigail.

That was his mistake. Morgan fired, and the pistol flew from Billy’s hand, and Billy screamed and grabbed his bleeding fingers, because Morgan’s bullet had struck the weapon and not the man. The remaining riders stared at him, understanding in that instant that Morgan could have killed Billy where he stood, and that he had chosen not to, and that said more about him than any threat ever could. “Stop!” Silas shouted, and the gunfire ceased, and smoke drifted through the trees, and then one of the riders pointed and cried out that a man was running uphill through the pines.

Morgan sprinted after him, ignoring Abigail’s cry of his name, and he vanished into the forest while the others listened to shouting and crashes and a curse and then a single gunshot and then silence that seemed to last an hour. Abigail’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the tree line, and then she saw Billy crawling toward his dropped pistol, and so did Silas, who aimed his rifle at him and said, “Don’t,” and Billy froze, and for the first time in his life, Billy Hastings looked genuinely afraid. Ten minutes later Morgan emerged from the trees dragging a man by the back of his coat, and he threw the man into the snow, and a pistol slid from the man’s hand.

Abigail recognized him. Elias Crowe, Billy’s father’s private stable master.

Silas stared at the man who had been shooting at them, and Billy shouted that Elias worked for Montgomery, and Morgan laughed, and it was the first time Abigail had ever heard the sound, and it contained no humor at all. “He works for your father,” Morgan said, and Silas looked at Billy, whose face had gone gray. Morgan reached into Elias’s coat and removed a small leather pouch, and inside it were gold coins and a folded letter, and when Billy lunged for it, Morgan shoved him backward into the snow. Silas took the letter and read it, and his expression changed, and Abigail asked what it said, and Silas looked sick and told her it said that after Abigail was recovered, Morgan must not survive.

Nobody spoke, and Morgan asked if there was more, and Silas hesitated and said there was, and Billy screamed for him to give it back. Silas continued reading. “If confusion during the rescue should unfortunately result in the deaths of additional witnesses, compensation will be doubled.” The seven men stared at Billy, and they finally understood that they had not been a rescue party at all, that they had been intended casualties, dead witnesses who could conveniently be blamed on Morgan Montgomery when the bodies were counted. Silas walked toward Billy. “You brought us here to die,” he said, and Billy denied it, and Silas asked if he knew about Crowe, and Billy said he did not, and Silas said, “You looked toward the trees before the first shot,” and Billy backed away.

Silas raised his rifle, but Morgan stepped between them and said, “No,” and Silas stared at him and asked, “After what he did?” and Morgan said, “We take him alive.” Billy laughed desperately and asked to whom, to his mountain court, and Morgan told him there was a federal marshal in Fort Bridger, and Billy’s expression changed just slightly, and both Morgan and Abigail noticed. “Something you want to tell us?” Morgan asked, and Billy suddenly ran, and he made it three steps before Abigail spoke his name. “Billy.”

He stopped, perhaps because of the way she said it, without fear and without pleading and only with exhaustion, and he turned, and for the first time since the harvest night, Abigail looked directly into his eyes without trembling. “You told me no one would ever believe me,” she said, and he said nothing, and she touched the small swell of her stomach and said, “You were wrong.” His face twisted, and he said, “You think this is over?” and he smiled, and he told her that his father owned Bitter Creek, that he owned the sheriff and the bank and the freight contracts and half the land surrounding the town, and he asked what marshal was going to destroy all of that because a frightened girl told a story.

Morgan held up the silver cufflink, and Billy’s smile weakened, and he said, “One cufflink?” and Morgan said, “And a witness,” and when Billy asked if he meant himself, Morgan said no, and everyone looked at him. “I wasn’t the only one near the harvest tents that night,” Morgan said, and Abigail’s breath caught, because he had never told her that, and she asked who, and before he could answer, a horse appeared on the lower trail. One rider, in a black coat, on a gray horse, riding slowly through the snow, and Billy’s face suddenly became white, whiter than the snow around him, and he whispered, “No.”

Abigail watched the approaching rider, and an older man dismounted, tall and thin with silver hair and a black minister’s coat beneath a heavy wool cloak, and Abigail forgot how to breathe. “Father?” she said, and Reverend Preston looked up at his daughter with a face that seemed to have aged twenty years since the day he expelled her from his church, and Abigail instinctively stepped backward, and Morgan moved beside her. The reverend saw the gesture, and pain crossed his face. “I deserve that,” he said.

Billy shouted at him, telling him to say that Morgan had kidnapped her, but the reverend turned toward him, and Abigail saw something she had never expected to see in her father’s eyes, and it was hatred, and it was not directed at her, it was directed at Billy. “I heard you,” Reverend Preston said, his voice shaking. “That night behind the harvest tents.” Abigail stared at him, and the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. “You knew?” she whispered, and her father looked at her with tears filling his eyes and said, “I heard you crying. I heard Billy threaten the church.” Abigail could barely stand, and the words came out broken. “You knew.”

“I was afraid,” her father said, and Abigail laughed once, a terrible sound, and she asked if he was afraid, and he said yes, and she asked, “So you called me a liar?” and he closed his eyes and said he thought that if he forced her to name him publicly, the town would stand with them. “You raised your hand to me,” she said, and he said he knew, and she said, “You called me a harlot,” and his face crumpled and he said he knew, and Abigail’s tears came now, hot and unstoppable. “You knew.” Morgan’s jaw clenched, and if Reverend Preston had been anyone else, he might have struck him.