Sierra Blackwater had run so far that his body was no longer responding. The cold wind from the Wyoming hills pushed through the open land with a steady force that creaked fence boards and barn hinges. Boun Macade and Colt Mcade had lived through enough winters to know when a storm would stay for days and the way the clouds hung low over the top of the hill. He told Bun that night would be one of those.

He adjusted his coat, raised the lantern higher, and walked along the path between the barn and the corral, checking each door with slow, practiced movements that came from years living alone on that land. He was 39 years old, broad-shouldered, and worn in ways that weren’t visible unless someone looked closely.

After losing his younger brother, in a land dispute that turned violent, he had left life in the village behind and built that place for himself. No family member visited him, no neighbor stayed long. He preferred it to be that way. The work kept his mind busy, preventing him from going back to memories he didn’t want to relive.

As he walked to the barn to close it for the night, he tried to calm the usual pressure in his chest. The old feeling that something could go wrong even in silence. Just as he reached the latch of the door, he heard a faint sound carried by the wind. It was not the cry of an animal, nor the creaking of wood. He was sharper, thinner, almost swallowed by the storm. He stopped immediately.

Another sound followed, softly broken, like someone trying to breathe in pain. He lowered the flashlight and followed the noise to the back corner of the barn. The snow was deep there, untouched, except for a narrow jagged trail of footprints leading to the back wall. He crouched as soon as he saw her.

A young Apache girl lay lying in the snow, her body cowering against the cold. His skin had lost its heat. His lips were pale and his feet bare and scraped from running on the frozen ground. He saw instantly that he had gone through something violent. Her leather dress was torn at the chest.

The neckline had opened up due to rough handling, revealing the curve of her chest and the dark bruises on her shoulder. His breathing was shallow, short. Her hair was tangled with frost. It seemed that he had forced himself to keep going until he couldn’t take another step. Bun McCade felt a sudden jolt of worry that he hadn’t felt in years.

His first almost automatic instinct was to check if anyone else was around, but the hill was empty and the storm had swallowed all the footprints except his own. When he touched her arm, she shuddered so much that she almost fell on her side. “Relax,” she said, keeping her voice calm so she wouldn’t panic. She tried to walk away, but her strength was gone. His fingers trembled violently and his eyes opened just before closing again.

The fear on his face was crisp and clear. He was not afraid of the cold. She feared the one who had been chasing her. Kun McCate asked no questions. The cold would kill her long before she could explain herself. With slow, careful movements, he placed one arm behind his back and the other under his legs.

She was light, too light for a grown woman and the way she tensed against her chest indicated to her that she was not used to being touched without it being to hurt her. He adjusted his grip so that the torn neckline of her dress was covered under her coat and carried her toward the cabin with long, direct steps. Within the heat of the fire he softened the air.

The cabin was small with a bed, table, stove, and chair, but it was warm and safe. Buncate kicked the door, closed it behind him, and gently laid it on the bed, placing it near the center so it wouldn’t fall over if he panicked in his sleep. The quilt was thick and heavy, made of wool and old shirts he had sewn years ago, and he wrapped it tightly around his shoulders, leaving only his face exposed.

His eyes widened with difficulty. He tried to get up, but as soon as he looked at it, fear arose again. Her hand flew to the torn neckline of her dress, lifting the quilt to protect herself. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quietly. She watched him breathing fast and unsteadily, waiting for a sign that she had been wrong to trust him.

But Bun Mcate took a step back instead of moving closer. He moved to the fireplace and picked up another log to throw into the fire. With her back turned so that she wouldn’t feel watched and cornered, her mind was racing. I didn’t know where I was. She didn’t know if she had escaped from the man who tried to sell her. She didn’t know if that stranger would hand her over again. Every muscle in his body ached and hurt from running.

His throat burned from the cold air, he could barely feel his fingers. He scanned the cabin looking for every shadow waiting for something sudden. Buncate felt her eyes on him. He recognized that look or had seen that before in people who had lost more than they could say. He kept his movements slow and predictable.

He poured water into a tin cup and placed it on the edge of the table where she could reach it if she wished. He didn’t ask for his story, he didn’t demand answers, he just said, “Drink when you can.” Then he returned to the chair by the fire. The minutes passed with only the creak of the wood and the soft whistle of the wind outside.

She breathed irregularly at first, then slower. As his body warmed up. The quilt went up and down around her chest, completely covering the torn dress. Buncate remained alert. She did not allow her eyes to linger on her or her wounds. He kept his focus on the fire by listening to every change in his breathing.

The responsibility of another life fell upon him with a weight he had not felt since his brother’s death. He didn’t know her circumstances, but he understood enough to know that she had been on the run for her life. Eventually she spoke, her voice was weak and harsh. Sierra Blackwater whispered. Buncade raised his head slightly. Sierra Blackwater repeated, making sure to pronounce it correctly. She nodded once.

That was all I had the strength to do. Buncade said, “This is my place. You’re safe tonight.” The word safe surprised her. He stared at it longer this time. His eyes remained wary, but something in his expression softened enough to show that he wanted to believe him.

She wasn’t sure how she had ended up in that little cabin with a stranger. She only remembered freeing herself from a man who had held her running barefoot on icy ground until her legs gave. He thought he would die in the snow. Instead, she woke up in a bed with warmth around her and a man who hadn’t taken advantage of her vulnerability.

Buncade watched as the exhausted expression settled on his face. He didn’t try to talk anymore. He approached a power plug near the blind. Then he sat down again. He had managed to stay alive out here through discipline and habits. And that night he would keep a stranger alive in the same way by the time dawn filtered through the blinds.

Sierra Blackwater continued to breathe her cheeks evenly, returning to color. The storm had passed, leaving the land covered with a clean, heavy snow that reflected the pale morning light through the interior of the cabin. She opened her eyes again. This time he did not flinch.

He sat up slowly, holding the quilt to his chest, and looked at him with a clear gaze. Buncate was near the stove making coffee with slow movements giving it space. He looked tired, but firm, as if staying up all night was just another job. For the first time his Blackwater Sierra Escape felt his heart slow down enough to think beyond the next moment. She was alive. He was inside.

The man in the cabin had only touched her to carry her out of the cold and for reasons she still didn’t understand, she trusted him more than anyone she had met in months. In that small cabin surrounded by snow, two scarred strangers faced the same silent truth.

Neither of them expected company, neither of them had asked for it. The morning settled in the cabin with a silence that felt different from the night before. Not only because the storm had subsided, but because Sierra Blackwater was awake enough to notice every detail around her. She lifted the quilt slightly, checking her feet, her arms, and the torn edge of her dress, as if trying to confirm that she still had control over her own body. His eyes moved around the small room, watching the

rustic wooden walls, the single table, the firewood stacked neatly near the stove and the chair that boun Mcate had used while she slept. He noticed how each object had a clear purpose arranged by someone who lived alone and needed everything in its place. Boun McCade was by the stove heating water.

His back was turned to give him as much privacy as the cabin would allow. He didn’t look when she moved, though he clearly recorded every sound he made ready to help her if she struggled. He had spent the last decade staying away, creating routines that kept his life predictable. And now she found herself adjusting those routines without complaint, because her safety mattered more than the silence she had built.

Sierra Blackwater’s stomach tightened with hunger, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the day before his escape. She hesitated to speak unsure of what her voice would sound like after the cold, but she forced herself to try. Is there anyone else here? he asked softly. Bun.

Kate looked at her briefly, just us. She watched his face carefully trying to see if he was hiding anything, but his expression remained firm. He was not the kind of man who softened his words to give comfort. He simply gave a truth in a clear way. She swallowed with difficulty. Does he live alone? he asked.

For years, he responded by returning to the stove as the water began to boil. The certainty in his tone relieved. One of the questions that had been hovering in his mind all night was if other people would be able to enter the hut, if anyone else had a right over the space he had woken up in. Knowing that he was alone changed the tension in his shoulders. Still, I needed to understand something else before I fully relaxed.

How did you find me? Asked. “Were you next to the barn?” he said, stirring the pot on the stove. It seemed that you had forced yourself until you could no longer continue. Sierra Blackwater looked down. She remembered running, falling, crawling up because stopping meant being caught. She remembered voices behind her, screams muffled by the distance, the throbbing fear that someone would grab her again.

He remembered the moment when his legs could no longer support his weight, but he did not remember how close he had been to the shelter. “You could have left me there,” he whispered. “I wasn’t going to do it,” Bun Mcade replied, and the way he said it had no pride or expectation of gratitude. it was simply what he believed. Buncade poured water into a tin cup and brought it to the nearest table.

He kept a respectful distance, but made sure she saw where he was placing her. Bune Macad remained alert. She did not allow her eyes to linger on her or her wounds. He kept his attention on the fire listening to every change in his breathing. The responsibility of another life fell upon him with a weight he had not felt since his brother’s death.

He didn’t know her circumstances, but he understood enough to know that she had been on the run for her life. Finally, she spoke her weak and harsh voice. Sierra Blackwater whispered. Bunade raised his head slightly. Sierra Blackwater repeated, making sure to pronounce it correctly. She nodded once. That was all he had left of strength. Buncade said, “This is my place.

You’re safe tonight.” The word safe surprised her. He stared at it longer this time. His eyes remained wary, but something in his expression softened enough to show that he wanted to believe him. She wasn’t sure how she had ended up in that little cabin with a stranger.

She only remembered freeing herself from a man who had held her running barefoot on the frozen ground until her legs gave. He thought he would die in the snow. Instead, she woke up in a bed with warmth around her and a man who hadn’t taken advantage of her vulnerability. Bun. Mcade watched as fatigue settled on his face. He didn’t try to talk anymore. He approached a power plug near the blind.

Then he sat down again. He had managed to stay alive out here through discipline and habits. And that night he would keep a stranger alive in the same way. By the time dawn filtered through the blinds. Sierra Blackwater continued to breathe her cheeks evenly, returning to color.

The storm had passed, leaving the land covered with a clean, heavy snow that reflected the pale morning light through the interior of the cabin. She opened her eyes again. This time he did not flinch. She sat up slowly, holding the quilt to her chest, and looked at him with a clear gaze. Buncade was near the stove making coffee in slow motions giving it space.

He looked tired, but firm, as if staying up all night was just another job. For the first time since his Sierra escape, Blackwater felt his heart slow down enough to think beyond the next moment. She was alive. He was inside.

The man in the cabin had only touched her to carry her out of the cold, and for reasons she didn’t yet understand, she trusted him more than anyone she’d met in months. In that small cabin surrounded by snow, two scarred strangers faced the same silent truth. Neither of them expected company, neither of them had asked for it.

The morning settled in the cabin with a silence that felt different from the night before. Not only because the storm had subsided, but because Blackwater Sierra was awake enough to notice every detail around her. She lifted the quilt slightly, checking her feet, her arms, and the torn edge of her dress, as if trying to confirm that she still had control over her own body.

His eyes moved around the small room, staring at the rustic wooden walls. The single table, the firewood stacked neatly near the stove, and the chair Bun Mcate had used while she slept. He noticed how each object had a clear purpose arranged by someone who lived alone and needed everything in its place.

Buncate was by the stove heating water. His back was turned to give him as much privacy as the cabin would allow. He didn’t look when she moved, though he clearly recorded every sound he made ready to help her if she struggled. He had spent the last decade staying away, creating routines that kept his life predictable.

And now she found herself adjusting those routines without complaint, because her safety mattered more than the silence she had built. Sierra Blackwater’s stomach tightened with hunger, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the day before his escape. She hesitated to speak unsure of what her voice would sound like after the cold, but she forced herself to try.

Is there anyone else here? he asked softly. Bun. Mcade looked at her briefly, only us. She watched his face carefully trying to see if he was hiding anything, but his expression remained firm. He was not the kind of man who softened his words to give comfort. He simply gave a truth in a clear way. She swallowed with difficulty. “He lives alone,” he asked.

For years he responded by returning to the stove as the water began to boil. The certainty in his tone eased one of the questions that had been hanging around in his mind all night, whether other people would be able to enter the cabin if anyone else had a claim on the space in which he had woken up.

Knowing that he was alone changed the tension in his shoulders. Still, I needed to understand something else before I fully relaxed. “How did you find me?” he asked. You were next to the barn,” he said, stirring the pot on the stove. “It seemed like you had forced yourself until you couldn’t go on anymore.” Sierra Blackwater looked down. She remembered running, falling, getting up, crawling, because to stop meant to be caught.

She remembered voices behind her, screams muffled by the distance. The throbbing fear that someone would grab her again. He remembered the moment when his legs could no longer support his weight, but he did not remember how close he had been to the shelter. “You could have left me there,” he whispered. “I wasn’t going to do it,” Bun McAde replied.

And the way he said it had no pride or expectation of gratitude. It was simply what he believed. Bunate poured water into a tin cup and brought it to the nearest table. He kept a respectful distance, but made sure she saw where he was placing her. The storm had wiped out almost everything, only footprints remaining in the fresh snow.

Boun MC Kate lowered the blinds again without letting the cold air in. If they’re following you, they’ll have trouble staying on the indoor track. His calmness calmed Sierra Blackwater’s nerves, but a new worry arose in his mind. If you come here and see the smoke, you’ll know someone lives nearby.

They would have no reason to look that far west, unless they had already seen where you went, he replied. You were going in the right direction without knowing it. This land empties the deeper you go. His explanation resolved a question that Blackwater might have been asking. Why was buncade so sure that danger wouldn’t break into the hut immediately? Sierra Blackwater took in his reasoning realizing that he hadn’t even been aware of the direction he was running.

She had been moving blindly, driven only by fear and instinct. “Do you think they’ll keep looking?” she asked. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, carefully considering his words. Men who traffic people don’t give up easily.

They see it as losing something they think belongs to them, but they don’t know who you’re with now or what ground they’re treading on. The protective certainty in his tone was not high, but he had a weight that made his heart beat more calmly. When the silence stretched, Bunma Mcate walked to the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it, pulling out one of his old flannel shirts. He paused for a moment, then put it on the chair closest to her without giving it to her directly.

“Your dress needs to be fixed,” she said. “You’ll be warmer about this for now.” She looked at the shirt in surprise. “Are you going to give me your clothes? You need something that’s not torn,” he said simply. His throat tightened unexpectedly. For weeks she had slept in fear, eating alongside strangers who expected any sign of weakness, and fleeing through the darkness with only the torn dress she was wearing.

Someone offering her clothes without expecting anything in return, it was so strange that her chest tightened. He reached in slowly, looking at his face for any sign of discomfort. “Can I put it on if you turn around?” He nodded and went across the room, looking down at the stove, giving it complete privacy.

That single act answered another silent question, whether he intended to take advantage of her vulnerability. The answer was clear. He wanted nothing from her except her safety. Sierra Blackwater pushed the quilt back just enough to pull his shirt over his head. The fabric was soft from the years of washing. It smelled of pine smoke and cold air. It was too big for her, covering what the torn dress could not.

She buttoned the front with trembling fingers, grateful for something whole on her skin. “You can go back,” she said when she was already covered. Buncate looked at her again and noticed the change immediately. That’s better, he said. Not in a way that commented on her appearance, but on the fact that she now seemed warmer, more stable, and less exposed.

She raised her knees slightly under the quilt. Why do you live here alone? Buncate breathed a sigh that carried the weight of memories that he did not usually relive. He sat down in the chair near the door, resting his hands on his knees. I lost my brother 10 winters ago. A fight over land went wrong.

The village didn’t seem like a place to stay after that. He did not look away or avert it. He simply told the truth, even the painful parts. I came here because I needed silence. Sierra Blackwater listened to him absorbing not only the words, but the way he said them firmly, not seeking sympathy.

His reason for living in isolation clarified the distance in his eyes, the way he moved his body with deliberate caution, and why he never approached too quickly. “So, your mission now is just to survive,” she asked. For a long time it was, he admitted, fixing what broke, cultivating what I could, keeping me alone. He didn’t plan anything different.

She looked down as an idea pressed against her chest. And now he said, looking at her seriously and without hesitation. Now someone has appeared in my land in need of help. That changes what I’ll do next. His breathing stopped. I didn’t expect him to take responsibility so openly.

Before they could speak again a distant sound, a muffled thump rose outside, almost as if something had hit the snow near the fence. Bun Mcade stood motionless, listening with the alert of a man who recognized danger only by sound. He lifted the rifle from the mount not in panic, but with focus, scanning the door frame out the window, as if he were mapping out possibilities in his mind.

Sierra Blackwater tightened the quilt around her shoulders, her entire body bracing herself for the possibility of being chased. It was coming from the north side,” he said quietly. “It could be an animal, it could be someone moving where it shouldn’t.” His heart raced. “We hide.” “Stay here,” he said firmly. “I’ll see who’s nearby.” Sierra Blackwater nodded trusting him without hesitation.

He opened the door, put on his coat, and checked the rifle one more time before opening the door just enough to get out. The cold came in briefly, then disappeared as he closed it behind him. Inside Sierra Blackwater. She remained perfectly still listening to the silence that followed.

Every breath I took was careful and tense, but beneath the fear was something new. She no longer faced danger alone. Outside, Bun Mcade was moving through the snow with quiet precision, following the sound toward the fence line. What he waited for out there would determine the path the two would take from that moment on.

And inside the Sierra Blackwater cabin he understood that his life had already changed the moment he collapsed in the snow. Boun McCade stepped out into the cold with his rifle down, but ready, the familiar weight in his hands as the wind pressed against his coat and the snow quietly compacted under his boots. The sound he had heard wasn’t loud, but it didn’t follow the natural rhythm of the earth.

He headed toward the fence watching any movement across the hills, looking for anything out of place. The footprints he had left before were still visible, but nothing else disturbed the snow near the barn or the corral.

His breath formed in short sighs in the air as he circled the fence scanning the line of trees where shadows moved among the pines. As I searched for a question that listeners might have been asking, it was left floating in the air. Why would the men who were chasing Sierra Blackwater come all the way to this part of Wyoming? Buncid had avoided villages for years and no one in the nearby settlements knew he lived this far west, except for a few ranchers who rarely visited him.

If anyone was following Sierra Blackwater, they wouldn’t know the terrain or where the cabin might be. But someone, desperate enough to follow a fleeing woman, might approach by mistake. That possibility pushed him to continue, running around the perimeter. He found the source of the noise near the western fence.

A heavy pine branch had broken under the weight of last night’s ice and fell on the bars. It had caused no damage, but the impact had been strong enough to echo against the barn wall. He bent down to check the fence posts and brushed the snow off his gloves relieved, but still alert.

Although the sound had a harmless cause, she knew a truth clearly. Sierra Blackwater’s fear was not unfounded where she came from. Danger always followed her. She returned to the cabin with slow, measured steps, giving herself time to think. Sierra Blackwater didn’t need panic on her part. She needed information and decisions made with a clear mind. Inside Sierra Blackwater.

She’d stood still on the bed, hugging the quilt around her shoulders as she listened to his footsteps. Her hands trembled from nerves more than cold, but she forced herself to stay composed because she didn’t want him to see her crumble. When the door opened, she inhaled deeply, only letting out the air when she recognized his silhouette.

He closed the door behind him and put the rifle aside before taking off his coat. “Just a fallen branch,” he said. “Nothing else.” His shoulders relaxed with relief so great that he had to close his eyes. “I thought it might be them. I checked both sides,” he said, waving a flashlight toward the table. “If there’s anyone out there, they’re not around.

She watched him silently, noticing a small detail she hadn’t noticed before, the frost on his beard, the slight tension in his jaw. To be alert the way he positioned himself so that the door was always in his field of vision. His caution didn’t come from fear, it was the fruit of experience. When he finally sat down in the single chair, Sierra Blackwater, he leaned forward on the bed, the large flannel shirt hanging over his dress.

Her voice trembled slightly. If they were around, what would you do, Bun Mcade? She replied without hesitation. Prevent them from getting close to you. She absorbed the meaning behind his words. Why? Asked. Not out of doubt, but out of confusion. He stared at her.

Because no one deserves what you ran and because you are now in my land, that makes it my responsibility to protect you from whatever comes. That explanation filled a void that had been left since the first night. Why had he taken it in? It wasn’t charity, it wasn’t pity, it was a silent code by which he lived. Something shaped by the loss of his brother and the promise he once made not to sit idly by when someone needed help.

Sierra Blackwater lowered her gaze, processing the weight behind her words. Her fear hadn’t disappeared, but something firmer replaced some of it. Small but growing confidence. She wanted to ask him another question, but uncertainty held her back. Buncate noticed the pause. Say. He encouraged her gently, without pressure, but giving her space. She hesitated before speaking.

When they searched the nearby villages, they will try the busiest routes first, he replied. The trading posts, the wagon roads, the hall roads will expect you to go towards the people not far from them. Why did you choose the opposite for yourself? She asked genuinely curious.

For the first time since he arrived, he looked away before answering. People cause trouble when they’re around. I learned that the hard way. I can control what happens out here. The only thing I can’t control is when the danger comes from somewhere else. His honesty revealed some of what listeners might have wondered. What had led him to isolate himself so much? Sierra Blackwater felt that the cabin wasn’t just a refuge, it was the place he’d sculpted out of pain and need. She moved again, raising the quilt higher before offering him the next question. A what

it weighed on his chest. You’ll let me stay long enough to recover. I don’t have a safe place to go. He didn’t need time to think. Stay as long as you need. Their breathing stopped even if it causes you trouble. The problem is already here, he said bluntly. But you’re not causing it. They are.

That line anchored her in a way that she had accomplished nothing since her escape. She stood still for a moment, her hands squeezing the quilt tightly as the heat stung behind her eyes. She never cried in front of men, not after what she had experienced.

However, something about Bun Mcade’s constant presence made her feel that breaking was allowed. He blinked to get rid of that feeling before it could surface and asked, “Do you think they’ll come all the way here?” “If they passed the wrong summit, maybe,” he said, “but we won’t wait to find out unprepared.” He got up and pulled a second blanket from the trunk, placing it at the foot of the bed.

You’ll need strength. We’ll talk about what’s next when you’re ready to get up. She understood the unspoken meaning behind those words. She wasn’t a prisoner there, she wasn’t powerless. She was someone he wanted to stand up, armed with information and able to make decisions. Sierra Blackwater nodded. I want to help with the danger cones.

He studied her face closely, assessing her determination. One step at a time, we will first make you strong. Night began to settle again outside, as the light faded through the blinds. The fire creaked gently, filling the small cabin with warmth.

Sierra Blackwater leaned back against the pillow, breathing his thoughts calmly, no longer speeding up like the day before. Buncate walked over to the stove to prepare a small meal for himself, occasionally glancing at her without flying overhead, but making sure she stayed centered. Inside the cabin, two people who had lived too long in isolation began to share the same silent space with the feeling that something new was beginning to form. Something cautious, firm and indisputable.

The storm outside had passed, but the storm inside Sierra Blackwater had not. And for the first time, since her escape, she was no longer facing everything alone. The snow had settled into a thick intact layer. When night fell completely over the hills and the cabin became quieter as the wind faded to a low murmur.

Sierra Blackwater lay against the pillows with Boun Macade’s flannel shirt hanging loosely over his figure. The quilt tossed close as she tried to process the changes that the past two days had imposed on her life. His body still ached, but the constant heat of the room calmed the trembling in his limbs.

He watched Bun Mcade prepare a small meal for himself on the stove, noticing how he worked with the same discipline and calmness, no matter how small the job. The way he moved posed another question that he had not yet asked.

Why was he constantly aware of every corner of the cabin? Almost as if protecting space is as natural as breathing. He finished cutting strips of leftover meat and put them on a tin plate before sitting down in the chair near the door. He ate unhurriedly, keeping his eyes more on the window than on his food. Sierra Blackwater acknowledged that behavior.

He had lived in danger long enough to understand when someone was guarding a perimeter even from the inside. What she didn’t know was whether she was worried about her presence or the threat that might follow her. After setting the plate aside, he finally asked, “How far away is the nearest settlement?” Bun McCade leaned back slightly thinking about the question.

Two days east weather permitting. Three. If the snow goes deep where on earth most people don’t even bother to travel unless they’re lost or hunting. Sierra Blackwater frowned. So why build a house here? He ran his thumb along the edge of the chair’s arm. He needed distance.

I didn’t want reminders of things I couldn’t fix. His tone remained the same, but Sierra Blackwater felt the weight of the words. Years of regret tied to a past that had never spoken out loud to fill the void listeners might have been wondering.

He continued, “My brother and I fought with men we shouldn’t have fought with. I survived. He didn’t.” After that, being around people started to feel like the wrong thing to do. She understood more of that single sentence than of anything he had said before. So, did you see here to disappear? Not disappearing, he corrected gently, just to stop hurting others by being close to them. That honesty tightened something in his chest.

He had not known that a man could choose solitude to protect others rather than himself. For the first time he wondered if the life he had built was something he had chosen or something he accepted because he saw no other option. Do you ever go to a village? She asked. Only when I need supplies, he replied. I don’t stay long.

Sierra Blackwater swallowed carefully, thinking carefully before asking his next question. If the men who persecute me appear in those villages, someone will tell them about you. He shook his head. Most people barely notice me when I arrive and even if they did, they wouldn’t link you to me unless they saw you for themselves.

Her words alleviated one of the greatest uncertainties that tormented her. You’re invisible to anyone out here except me. His eyes drifted toward the fire, recognizing the comfort that it was not easily traceable. She thought of something else that listeners might have wondered what she had been doing before the men captured her.

No one had asked him yet, not even Bun Mcate, but if he was going to stay there, he deserved to know the truth. He was traveling with a small group, he said quietly. There were four of us. We were trying to reach some relatives further south. We stopped to fetch water near a camp and the men there pretended to offer food. By the time we realized what they wanted, it was too late.

His voice tightened, but he didn’t look away. We disperse. I don’t know what happened to the others. Boun McAte’s jaw tightened. The reactions were subtle, but unmistakable. “I’m sorry that happened.” She nodded once, thankful that he didn’t offer empty words of comfort. Continued. “They kept me for two weeks. They tied my hands at night.

They tried to force me to walk with them. I watched every opportunity I could find until one night the cold caught up with them. They drank too much. They did not take care of the line as they should. I ran before they woke up. That truth filled the silence with a deep weight. Sierra Blackwater wasn’t just scared, she’d escaped something far more brutal than he’d imagined.

Buncade didn’t look at her with pity. Her expression changed to a contained anger directed not at her, but at the men who had caused her suffering. How far away do you think they were when the storm came, he asked. Less than a mile away, she said. But the snow came quickly. They lost sight of their campfires.

So they either turned around or got stuck trying to find footprints they can’t see. Bune McAte said. It gives us time. She wrote down the word us again. Every time she used it, something inside her stopped. Bun McCate got up and stoked the fire, making sure the cabin was still warm.

Sierra Blackwater watched him before changing positions and asking a question that had weighed her down since waking up in her bed. Where did you sleep last night? He looked over his shoulder at the chair by the fire. You didn’t have to, she said her soft voice. You could have taken the bed and left me covered near the stove. I wasn’t going to put you on the ground,” he replied, almost offended by the idea. “You were freezing.

You needed the warmest place.” A small unknown warmth stirred in his chest. She wasn’t used to men choosing their comfort over their own. She adjusted the blanket around herself. “And now? What will happen tomorrow?” Bun took a small piece of rope and began to tie knots as he thought about the question. Tomorrow we plan.

I’ll get you clothes that fit better and we should put something outside to let us know if someone is coming. He looked at her to make sure she understood. You won’t leave this cabin until you can walk the land without falling. She looked down from part of her. He hated feeling weak.

But another part recognized that it was no longer alone in the struggle. I can help with small things, he said. I am not useless. I never said you were,” he replied in a firm tone. “Healing is also work.” His breathing stopped for a moment. I didn’t expect him to recognize that survival itself took effort. A distant crack sounded outside, not close enough to cause panic, but loud enough to draw the attention of both of them. Buncate listened for several seconds.

His pulse sharpened. The ice was moving in the trees. Finally, he said reassuring her with the clarity of someone who knew the language of Earth only from sound. Sierra Blackwater exhaled slowly, holding the blanket tight with her soothing hands.

“You’ll teach me which sounds are safe and which aren’t.” Bun Mcate nodded. I can do that. She leaned back on the pillow in his eyes, following him as he prepared another piece of wood for the fire. The cabin felt different now.

Not just a refuge, but a place where knowledge, strength, and purpose were slowly beginning to be shared between two people who had been alone for too long. Buncate placed the new log in the flames and the fire lit up the room with a warm, steady glow. Sierra Black Water settled deeper into the blankets, no longer shaking. For the first time since her escape, the night didn’t feel like something to bear. It felt like the beginning of something that could survive.

The next morning came with a faded pale light that slowly slid across the roof of the cabin before landing on Sierra Blackwater’s face. She moved under the blankets. Her body still ached, but she was no longer cold or weak. The heat in the room came from a freshly planted log that burned firmly in the fireplace.

And she realized that Bun McAde had gotten up before her. The air carried the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee, and she heard the soft clinking of metal near the table. When she looked up, she saw him sharpening a small knife against a wet stone. His posture was relaxed, but alert.

Her eyes occasionally drifted to the window. Something inside her calmed at the sight of him. Not because he was armed, but because he seemed prepared. Listeners might wonder how a man who had lived alone for so long balanced caution with care, and the answer lay in the way he moved.

Every movement was slow, intentional, born of years of learning what to watch for in remote lands. He wasn’t restless; he was ready. “You slept through the coldest part,” he said without looking up. She brushed her hair away from her eyes. “You kept the fire going?” “I didn’t want the place to freeze,” he replied, moving the wet stone aside. She sat up with more strength than she had the day before.

The large, loose flannel shirt slipped down his collarbones as he adjusted it, and he noticed Bun Mcade looking away out of respect. That simple gesture confirmed something he’d sensed but hadn’t fully trusted. He protected his safety with strict boundaries of his own. “Can I get up today?” he asked, testing his weight by sliding one foot to the floor.

“You can try,” he said, slowly getting up from the chair. She threw back the blankets and placed both feet on the wooden floor. The cold surprised her, but it didn’t steal her breath like the day before. She stood up carefully, holding onto the edge of the bed. Her legs trembled at first, but she steadyed them with her hand against the wall. Boom.

Kate moved closer not to catch her, but to be within reach should she falter. How’s your balance? Better than I expected, she said, concentrating on taking one step after another. Good, he said, you need to keep it steady. We’ll make some changes today. His brows furrowed. What kind of changes? He gestured toward the window. The tracks show that animals came near last night.

A deer, maybe a stray coyote, nothing dangerous, but we need warning signs in case something else happens. She immediately understood that traps aren’t for catching animals, she clarified, but rather for alerting people—rattles and tin cans, things that will make noise if someone steps on them. Then she added something new, something that answered a question the listeners might have been asking. We don’t want to scare the animals, just the people, she explained. Not the other way around.

I can help you. You can help with the inside. She said in a tone that left no room for argument. Cut the rope and put the tin ones on the lines. Her pride wanted to resist, but she acknowledged practicality. Walking too far, too soon, might make her fall back into the snow.

She followed him to the table where he set aside a small roll of string. “Cut pieces this size,” he said, measuring with his hands. “We’ll tie them to the cans outside. They’ll rattle if something touches them.” As he worked, she asked him a question she’d been holding onto since yesterday. He said the nearest settlement was two days away.

People pass by, not much, he said, sometimes hunters, trappers in early winter. There aren’t any families that far west. You’re safe as long as we stay ahead of the problem. He cut another piece of rope. If those men come up the wrong ridge, they might ask around here. They’ll get vague answers, he said. Nobody knows about my land.

I don’t receive visitors, I don’t trade stories. Then, with a rare touch of dry humor, he added, “And I’m not exactly easy to find.” That detail filled a void that listeners might have been wondering about: how did he manage to stay hidden in territory where people used to cross?

The truth was, she didn’t avoid society because she hated it; she avoided it because she knew solitude protected everyone involved. Sierra Blackwater concentrated on cutting the rope until a sudden realization made her stop. Buncade said quietly, “Why didn’t you ask me if anyone in my own tribe is looking for me?” He looked up from the cans he was securing with wire. “It didn’t seem right to pressure you, but…” “But you should know,” she said, regaining her composure.

I’m not missing to them. I chose to leave. Mike didn’t want to go south. I wanted to stay near the mountains. We argued. I left alone, so no one’s looking for you from your side. He said no. She confirmed it. Only the men who took me. That information changed something about the situation.

A sense of completion, a clarity as to why he had run so far north and why he had nowhere to return to, even if he could safely walk. They worked in silence for a moment until Bun Mcate straightened up. “I’m going out to lay the first line. You stay inside. If you hear two knocks, that’s me. Any other sound, you grab the rifle and hide behind the table.”

The clarity of the instructions revealed another question the listeners might have been asking. Had Sierra Blackwater ever held a gun? She shook her head. “I don’t know how to shoot a rifle.” “I’ll teach you,” he said. “Not today.” But soon she grabbed her coat, checked the rifle, and left.

Sierra Blackwater waited inside, listening to the crunch of snow beneath her boots. She breathed slowly, steadying herself, feeling stronger than she had in days. Still, she was aware that this fragile sense of security depended on the man moving through the cold beyond the cabin. A few minutes passed, then she heard two deliberate knocks—her cue—and the door opened.

He came in with a light dusting of frost on his beard and a bundle of cables in his hands. “We’re going to put the second line in the back,” he said. “The ground dips there. Someone could get close without making much noise.” Sierra Blackwater watched him move. She noticed something she hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t just protecting her; he was protecting their home, their land, and the fragile balance she had built after years of isolation. But now that he had her inside the cabin, that balance

She was changing while he worked on the next set of cans. Sierra Blackwater tied the last pieces of rope and was surprised by the question that came out of her mouth. “Do you want me here, or are you helping me because you feel obligated?” Buncate looked at her slowly. “If I wanted you to leave, you’d know it by now.”

“But you want me here,” she repeated, her voice firm yet vulnerable. “Yes,” he said, without making a speech or softening the truth. “I want you here.” The simplicity of his answer hit harder than she expected. She felt breathless, not from fear, but from something warmer, something that frightened her in a different way. He moved closer to the door again.

Once the warning lines are up, it will be safe to leave. For now, stay close to the fire. I’ll be nearby. As he left again, Sierra Blackwater sat near the fireplace, the flames reflecting in her dark eyes. Something was changing between them, something neither of them had planned.

And there, deep on the summit, beyond the still snow and undisturbed earth, danger moved unseen, drawing near in a way neither of them could yet perceive. By midday, the light had shifted to a pale, clear glow that swept across the hills and reflected sharply off the snow. Sierra Blackwater went to the window, her hands resting on the sill, as she watched Bun Macade move about the yard, testing the tension of each of the warning lines he had strung between the fence posts.

The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of pine from the mountaintop. For the first time since arriving, she could see the land clearly, wide, calm, and untouched, except for the footprints Buon Macade had left behind. She kept one hand pressed against the flannel shirt he had given her, anchoring herself in the feeling of being warm and clothed.

She felt stronger that morning, able to stand without clinging to the bed. Even so, the thought of going outside caused her acute anxiety. What if I delay? What if danger arrives when I’m not ready to face it? These questions lingered in her mind until a new one arose, one that the listeners might also have wondered about.

Had anyone protected her before this? The painfully simple answer was no. When mcate reached the last post, she pulled the tin wire with a firm tug, and the soft metallic sound echoed through the yard, loud enough to alert, yet quiet enough not to attract attention outside.

Satisfied, he scanned the summit one last time before heading back to the cabin. Sierra Blackwater turned away from the window as he approached. She didn’t want him to think she was watching for danger all the time, even though she was. When she opened the door, a blast of cold air rushed in. “All the lines are in place,” she said, taking off her coat.

“If anything happens in that yard without my knowledge, we’ll listen.” Sierra Blackwater nodded, but her voice held concern. What if the men following me know how to move silently? The ones who brought me here made no noise. Buncate laid his rifle on the table. Quiet men make mistakes in deep snow, and they don’t know this land like I do. He pointed toward the window.

They’ll have to cross open terrain to get close. The confidence in his tone calmed her tension, but a deeper question arose. If they come, do we try to scare them off or fight them? It depends on how far they go, he said without drama. If they’re looking for trouble, they’ll find it.

It wasn’t boasting; it was the simple truth of a man who understood survival better than fear. She slid a hand along the edge of the table. “You said yesterday you’d teach me how to use the rifle. Well, that starts today.” “Not yet,” he replied. “You’re determined, but not ready.” He gestured toward the door. “But you can come out with me. Just a short walk. Stay close.”

That surprised her. “Out there, you need to know the ground,” he said. “If something happens, you can’t just freeze.” The thought frightened her, but she knew he was right. She nodded, gathering her hair and tying the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl before following him to the door. The air outside was crisp on her cheeks, but not unbearable.

Her feet sank into the snow with each step, but she didn’t fall. Bunate walked slightly ahead, adjusting her pace to match her careful movements. She pointed toward the nearest warning line. “See how the snow settles over that rope?” she asked. “If someone steps on it, the cans will make enough noise to wake anyone up.”

She bent down slightly, inspecting the line. “You’ve done this before, not for people,” he said. “For wolves, for vagrants who got too close in the past.” Then he added something new, something he hadn’t told her yet. “You had an intruder. Last year. It tried to steal from the smoker. The line scared it off. It straightened up.”

That detail answered a lingering question: had Mcate faced danger before she arrived? She had, and she’d handled it. They walked farther along the fence. Sierra Blackwater moved cautiously, testing her balance with each step as her breathing began to rattle. Buncade slowed his pace even further.

“You’re doing well,” he said softly. “It’s harder out here.” “Don’t push yourself too hard,” he replied. “I need to,” she said, her voice rising with determination. “If they come, I don’t want to be someone you have to carry.” His expression tightened at her words. No one carries anyone unless it’s a matter of life or death. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“You mean you expect me to fight?” “I expect you to survive,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “Those men took your power once. They won’t do it again.” Her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify, something between fear and a growing sense of strength. She followed him to the barn wall where he paused to show her a narrow strip of packed snow.

“If you ever need to hide,” he said, pointing with his boot, “this spot keeps you covered from the road and the tree line. You won’t be seen unless someone’s right above you.” Sierra Blackwater crouched down slightly, inspecting the angle. “Why are you showing me this?” “Because hiding isn’t the same as hearing,” he said.

If you stay here long enough, you’ll know this land as I do. Long enough to make your own decisions. Her breath came slowly, sustained by the trust he had in her. She hadn’t expected him to build a defense plan around her, not as a burden, but as someone with a role to play.

A distant rustling sound drew her attention toward the trees. Bunade raised his hand, signaling her to stay still. The noise repeated itself—branches trembling beneath something moving just beyond the fence. He instinctively moved forward, not touching her, but forming a barrier between her and the outside world. Sierra Blackwater’s heart pounded, anticipating danger, but after several seconds, a deer emerged from the tree line, sniffing the snow. Bunade exhaled through his nose.

They’re just grazing. She let out a shaky breath. Everything sounds dangerous out here. It won’t be. Once you learn the difference, he said. He waited until she had studied him. Then he gestured toward the cabin. As she walked in Sierra Blackwater, she watched him, noticing how he kept scanning the ground even when nothing was visible.

That vigilance wasn’t paranoia. It was what years of survival had taught her. When they went back inside, Sierra Blackwater sat up in bed, breathing heavily, but proud that she hadn’t needed help. Boun McAte hung up his coat and checked his rifle one last time before leaving it by the door.

“You handled it well,” he said. “Better than I expected. Because I didn’t panic?” she asked. “Because you watched?” he replied. “Watching keeps you alive.” She pulled the blanket around her tighter. “Do you think the men who took me are anywhere near this part of Woming?” “Not yet,” he said, “but they’ll try every direction if they think you’re still alive. That’s why we prepared.”

Her voice softened. “And you’ll keep helping me as long as I need you,” he replied. That phrase struck her differently than before, not as long as she needed him, but as long as he needed her, as if she weren’t a burden, as if keeping her safe had become something he chose, not something he endured.

The fire crackled softly between them, filling the room with a warm, steady rhythm that made the cabin feel less like a hiding place and more like a small, fragile beginning, and beyond the summit, somewhere far enough away not to hear, but close enough to matter. Danger was still moving in their direction.

Slow, persistent, and unaware of the man who waited for them. By the time evening came, the sky had changed to a pale blue that stretched cleanly over the summit, and the sunlight reflected off the snow and its thin, sharp lines. Sierra Blackwater sat near the table cutting pieces of rope exactly as Boun McCate had shown her earlier, her fingers firmer than before.

From time to time she glanced toward the door, listening for Bun McCade’s footsteps as he patrolled the perimeter again, testing the warning lines in case anything had shifted with the wind. Occasionally she paused, feeling the faint echo of danger still linger on her skin. The memory of being locked never faded, even as she tried to breathe normally. When McCade finally returned inside, he closed the door behind him with a practical motion that kept the cold out.

Sierra Blackwater straightened slightly. Her face showed no alarm, but she wore the same quiet disposition she had begun to recognize as her natural state. “The lines are working,” he said, brushing the snow from his gloves. “No one has crossed since we left.” She laid the rope on the table.

“How far can you see from the top?” “Enough to know if someone is coming from the east trail,” he replied, placing his gloves on the table. “The tracks from that direction show a rider passed by three days ago. He didn’t stay long.” Her eyes widened. “You saw the tracks before, didn’t you?” “You didn’t say so.” “I wanted to be sure,” he said. “And he wasn’t following you.”

Hope Marx pointed north. That detail answered a question listeners might have been asking: whether there were other travelers nearby since Sierra Blackwater arrived. There was one, but the distance and direction proved he had nothing to do with her pursuers.

Sierra Blackwater nodded slowly, relieved, but aware that the wild land around them wasn’t as empty as it seemed. She clasped her hands on the table. “And if more riders come, then we’ll keep an eye on them,” he replied. “Not all strangers are a problem, but we don’t trust any of them.” He walked over to the fireplace and stirred the fire, sending sparks flying.

Sierra Blackwater watched him with growing understanding. His entire life had been shaped by the need to detect danger before it reached him. She wondered how he had borne that burden for so long. Only Bun McDate said gently, “You told me where you hid when danger came before, but what did you do after your brother died?” I mean, right after the question caught him off guard. He paused for a heartbeat before straightening up.

His hands were still warm from the fire. “I left town before dawn,” he said. “I walked until I couldn’t hold the reins anymore.” He took a slow breath. He didn’t want to see the people who knew what had happened. “I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me.” “Guilt?” she asked. Some admitted it, others felt sorry for him. None of them helped. Sierra Blackwater absorbed this silently.

She realized she only knew parts of the man who had saved her—the silent, controlled pieces he allowed her to see. His decision to share something personal answered another question that had been nagging at her: Why did he feel comfortable protecting a stranger? Because once, someone should have protected him, and they didn’t.

“Do you ever miss having someone here?” she asked, her voice low but firm. He didn’t avoid the question. “Sometimes,” he said, “but I didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone. This land kept me from making mistakes.” The honesty of her answer stirred something in her chest. She leaned in slightly, watching him. “I don’t think helping me was a mistake.”

His eyes met hers, and he nodded once, a small but deliberate gesture. “Me neither,” he said. The cabin grew quiet, warm and close around them. Sierra Blackwater shifted her feet under the blanket that fell over her legs, feeling the lingering ache in her muscles. “Bo McAte noticed.”

“You’re walking better,” he said. “I feel different,” she replied, gently touching her ribs. Stronger, I think. The food helped. “We’ll keep at it,” he said. Returning to the table, he took a wooden box from the shelf above his tools and opened it.

She felt several small pieces of metal, a roll of wire, and a pair of pliers. Sierra Blackwater leaned forward. “What’s all this for?” She began carefully arranging the pieces. “We’re making a different kind of warning, something louder. If someone tries to approach the windows,” she raised an eyebrow. “Louder than the cans.”

Louder, he confirmed, loud enough to wake us both. It was then that he noticed something else, something he hadn’t fully considered before. “You’re not planning for a moment,” she said. “You’re planning for the nights to come,” he said simply. “Trouble rarely comes just once.”

The truth of that statement sank deep within her. She hugged herself. “Do you think they’ll eventually find their way here? I think men like that search until they stop breathing,” he said. “But the snow slows people down. The distance confuses them. Don’t they know these hills? We do.” That word again each time he said it.

She felt the shape of her life shift. While working at Sierra Blackwater, she asked a question she had avoided until now. “What are you going to do with them? If they all come?” Buncate didn’t rush his answer. He tightened a small piece of metal around the wire and finally spoke. “I’ll want them first.”

I’ll tell them to turn around, and if she didn’t push, then they won’t get past the yard. His tone wasn’t boastful, just the firm certainty of a man who knew exactly what it took to keep someone alive. She wasn’t afraid of his determination. She trusted it more than her own escape skills. As he worked on the Sierra Blackwater metal trap, she watched his shoulders move, the calm focus in his eyes, the steadyness of his hands.

She had built a life in solitude, not because she feared people, but because she feared losing them. “Bun Mid,” she said softly. “When you found me in the snow, what did you think I was?” He looked up from his work. Cold, pain, she needed help. He shrugged gently. I don’t care about anything else, Lucías, she admitted, remembering her torn dress, her bruised shoulder, her cracked lips. “Lucías alive,” he said. That was enough.

Her breathing slowed slightly. Her throat tightened. She clenched it with an emotion she didn’t show. She looked down, watching the rope in her hands stabilize. Before she could speak again, a faint metallic clang resonated from outside. A sharp sound pierced the still air. Buncate froze.

Sierra Blackwater’s heart leapt. He dropped the rope and walked to the door with quiet determination, reaching for the rifle. Sierra Blackwater. She rose slowly, gripping the edge of the table for balance. “Which line was that?” she whispered. “Near the south fence,” he said quietly. Something moved wrong.

Animal or man, neither of them knew yet. But they both felt a shift in the air. Sierra Blackwater steadyed herself despite the fear creeping up her spine. Buncate lifted the latch. He glanced back once, not to offer comfort, but to make sure she was steady.

Then he stepped out. The door closed behind him with a soft, controlled click. The cold hit Bun Maje hard as he stepped outside. The air was cold enough to sting the inside of his nose. The snow lay still and undisturbed beneath the sky, preparing for nightfall. He stopped just beyond the door, letting his eyes adjust. Rifle steady in both hands.

The warning line near the south fence shifted gently, still trembling from whatever had disturbed it. Sierra Blackwater stood just behind the gate, holding her breath as she listened. The silence pressed heavy and expectant against the cabin walls.

For a moment, she feared the men who had brought her had arrived, but the snow had brought them sooner than either of them expected. Listeners might have wondered the same thing. How dangerous were these men? How determined? How close had they come? What Blackwater didn’t yet know was that Bun McCate had anticipated this moment long before she woke up in her bed.

He moved toward the south fence with careful, controlled steps. His boots left deep indentations—the only new footprints in the yard. When he reached the line, he bent down, inspecting the snow. He saw no boot prints. He saw nothing to indicate the weight of a person moving across the yard. What he saw instead was a trail of small indentations leading from the tree line toward the fence.

Then they retreated into the thicket. A fox exhaled slowly and lowered the rifle slightly. Its tension eased, but didn’t disappear entirely. The animal had passed by out of curiosity, perhaps hunger, but was harmless. Still, the warning line had served its purpose. Anything larger would have made more noise.

Any human being would have left a mark. He stood there for a moment, scanning the tree line once more before heading back to the cabin. Inside, Sierra Blackwater waited, his hand pressed firmly against the door frame. When the latch clicked, he quickly stepped back, watching as he entered, his rifle low but ready if needed.

“Just a fox,” he said, closing the door behind him. Sierra Blackwater exhaled shakily, relief spreading across her shoulders. “I thought it was them. They’re not close yet,” he said. “The tracks would show it.” She glanced down at her hands, noticing she was still gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles were white.

When she released her fingers, they tingled with the lingering tension. “I don’t think I’ll stop waiting for them. You will,” he said, “when your mind finally creates what your eyes see. That takes time.” She looked up, absorbing the meaning behind his words. He wasn’t dismissing her fear. He was acknowledging it as real, something that needed patience, not correction.

Buncade hung the rifle on the hook on the wall and went to stoke the fire. Sierra Blackwater crossed the room slowly, feeling more grounded with each step, and sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, breathing through the lingering fear from the scare.

“Bun Mcade,” she said softly. “What will you do if the men find this place?” They really do find it. They don’t just pass by. This question also hung in the air for the listeners. What exactly was Bun Mcade planning? How far would he go to protect her? What if he had a plan beyond warnings and traps? He didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll finish it,” he said quickly. “They certainly won’t have another chance to hurt you.” She looked at him for a long moment, studying the man who had changed her destiny. And after that, after that, he said, “You decide how you want your life to be.” The answer surprised her. She had expected him to talk about rebuilding, hiding, or moving to a safer place.

Instead, he placed the decision entirely in her hands. “Do you think I’ll be able to decide anything?” she asked gently. “When they leave, you will,” he said firmly. “You’re stronger than you think.” She lowered her head. A wave of emotion surged unexpectedly. “I don’t know what I want yet.” “You don’t have to know,” he said. “Not today.”

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting a warm light throughout the room. Sierra Blackwater felt the warmth reach her bones, easing the tension that had gripped her since the sound on the warning line.

After a moment of silence, she asked a question she’d been afraid to utter. Before we met, what did you see in the snow that made you come running? Boom. Kate considered the question before answering, offering a detail that might have made listeners wonder why she arrived on time. “I followed you for something else,” she said, her steps hesitant, too light and too deep in the wrong places.

Someone injured or freezing walks like that. “I knew you didn’t have much time.” Sierra Blackwater swallowed hard. “So you followed the pattern. I followed the struggle,” he corrected gently. “You refused to stop. I recognized that.” She leaned back, understanding what he meant.

A person who gave up left a different trail than someone who pushed themselves to the point of collapse. Bun McCade had seen the difference long before she did. He walked over to the table and sat across from her. The room felt smaller, warmer, not tense, but with something new, something slowly growing between them in the space created by trust.

You’re staying here because this land is safer for you than any path that would lead you back to what you ran from. She carefully absorbed his words. “And are you sure?” “I am,” he said. “But I won’t close the door behind you. Whatever you choose, I’ll be by your side.” Her breath caught in a slight tremor, which she steadyed with a deep exhalation.

“I don’t want to leave,” she admitted. “No, not now, not after all.” Her jaw softened with the slightest, yet noticeable, movement. “Then you won’t leave.” Silence settled between them. Not fear or discomfort, but the silence that came from the understanding that something was changing as the firelight warmed the room.

Sierra Blackwater looked down at her hands and spoke the words she hadn’t thought she could say. “Bunate, I’m late.” He stood motionless, not out of fear, but in a way that told her he immediately understood what she meant. “How long?” he asked, his voice steady, but with a profound change beneath it.

Enough to know, she whispered before they took me away before everything. I didn’t know until yesterday. Bounate didn’t move for several seconds. His eyes locked onto hers, then he slowly stood up, walked over to her, and bent down so he could see her face clearly. “Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded. “Yes.” Her breath came slowly, stunned.

He sat beside her, placing a hand gently on the bed without touching her, but close enough for her to feel his warmth. “So, it’s not just you who’s going to protect yourself now,” he said softly. “No,” she whispered, “both of them.” He remained still, letting the truth settle in the room.

His small cabin, his isolated land, his fragile security. Everything had changed in a single shared moment. Finally, he spoke again, his tone firm but with a gentle weight. “Then we’ll do it together.” Fire crackled, filling the silence. Sierra Blackwater leaned toward him, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder.

He slowly raised an arm, letting it rest on her in a way that felt firm and real. Outside, the earth remained still. Inside, a future neither of them had expected was beginning to take shape—solid, warm, and free of fear. And for the first time since she had collapsed in the snow-covered Blackwater Mountains, she felt safe. She had found a home.