You’ll Satisfy Us Both, The Mountain Men Whispered to the Terrified Virgin Mail Order Bride

Chapter 9

They rode through the night, following a trail that was barely visible in the darkness. The horses moved slowly, picking their way across rocky ground, the loose stones clattering down the slopes behind them. Eleanor’s body ached with every step, but she didn’t ask to stop.

The receipt was still in her coat. She checked it every hour, her fingers finding the folded paper, assuring herself it was still there.

By the second day, they had crossed the first ridge. The landscape changed — the pine forests gave way to barren slopes, the wind howling across exposed rock like a living thing. They saw no one. The trail was as empty as Ezra had promised.

By the third day, Silas’s wound had worsened. The gash on his cheek had turned angry and red, and he rode slumped in his saddle, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Ezra found a sheltered canyon and made camp early, forcing his brother to rest.

“He needs a doctor,” Eleanor said.

“He’ll survive.” Ezra’s voice was flat, but his hands trembled as he worked over the wound. “He’s survived worse.”

They built a small fire in the shelter of the canyon walls. The flames cast dancing shadows across the rock. Eleanor sat with her back to the stone, the receipt in her hands, reading it for the hundredth time.

“What happens after?” she asked.

Ezra looked up. “After what?”

“After we deliver this. After Vane is arrested. What happens to the mine?”

“The mine belongs to the three of us.” Ezra’s eyes met hers. “Nathaniel put it in writing. If anything happened to him, the claim passed to me and Silas — and to his bride.”

“I wasn’t his bride. We never married.”

“You came here to marry him.” Ezra’s voice was quiet but firm. “You crossed two thousand miles of wilderness to become his wife. You traveled alone through cities where a woman alone was prey. You made it here. That makes you family in the eyes of the law.” He paused. “In my eyes, too.”

Eleanor looked down at the receipt. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I had a plan. I had a future. And then he died, and I —”

“You found the truth.” Ezra’s voice was quiet. “You did what he couldn’t. You found the evidence that will put the men who killed him in prison.”

“It doesn’t bring him back.”

“No.” Ezra stared into the fire. “But it means he didn’t die for nothing.”

They sat in silence as the fire burned down to embers. The wind whistled through the canyon. The stars wheeled overhead. Eleanor thought of all the letters she had written to Nathaniel, all the dreams she had folded into each page. She thought of the man she had never met, whose face she knew only from a photograph. She thought of the way his handwriting had grown smaller and more urgent in his final letters, as if he had been running out of time.

On the fourth day, they reached the foothills. The trail widened, the terrain softening. They passed a farm, then another. The road to Denver lay ahead, a ribbon of brown winding through golden grass.

And on the road, waiting for them, was a group of riders.

Eleanor’s heart stopped. She counted them. Six men. All armed. All watching the trail with the patience of wolves. They sat motionless on their horses, their breath forming clouds in the cold morning air.

At their head, sitting on a black horse with a silver-studded saddle, was Sheriff Hollis Vane.

He had found them.

“Ezra,” Eleanor whispered.

“I see him.”

Vane kicked his horse forward. The animal walked slowly, deliberately, its hooves striking the hard-packed earth. Vane’s hand rested on his revolver. His face was calm, almost pleasant.

“Miss Cross,” he said. “I was hoping you’d made it out.”

“You knew I did.”

“I was counting on it.” He smiled. “You saved me the trouble of digging through that collapsed mine.”

Eleanor’s hand moved to her coat. The receipt. She could feel it through the fabric.

“Give me the papers,” Vane said, “and I’ll let the brothers live.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am. But you don’t have a choice.”

Eleanor looked at Ezra. His face was hard, his hand on his rifle. Silas was too weak to fight. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped. The road stretched empty in both directions.

“The receipt is in my coat,” she said. “If you want it, come get it.”

Vane’s eyes narrowed. “You think I won’t?”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of the truth.” Eleanor pulled out the receipt. She held it up, letting the wind catch it. “One piece of paper. That’s all it took to destroy you.”

Vane’s hand moved toward his gun.

And then, from behind him, a voice rang out.

“Hold it right there.”

Everyone turned.

A column of horsemen had crested the ridge behind Vane’s men. They were dressed in blue uniforms, their rifles raised, their brass buttons gleaming in the morning light. The United States Cavalry. At least twenty men.

And at their head, riding with his arm in a sling and a bandage wrapped around his head, was Marshal James Whitfield.

“You’re under arrest, Sheriff,” Whitfield said. His voice carried across the distance like a blade. “For murder, theft, conspiracy against the United States government, and attempting to kill a federal officer.”

Vane’s face went white. He looked at the receipt in Eleanor’s hand. He looked at the cavalry. He looked at the mountains that had been his kingdom.

Then he dropped his revolver.