"Where did you get this? Where is he?" The woman's eyelids fluttered. Her dark eyes rolled back in her head, and she went completely limp, slipping into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.
Panic, sharp and unfamiliar, seized Caleb's chest. But years of surviving the brutal frontier took over. Questions would have to wait. If she died in his bed, the truth of his brother's fate died with her.
Caleb sprang into action. He hauled the large copper kettle onto the hottest part of the iron stove. He stripped off his own heavy wool sweater and placed it over the buffalo robes. The woman, he had no name for her yet, was soaked.
Her wet clothes were pulling whatever heat she had left right out of her body. Respecting her dignity but prioritizing her life, Caleb quickly and methodically used his hunting knife to cut away the frozen, blood-stiffened buckskin from her arms and shoulders, replacing the damp layers with dry flannel shirts and heated wool blankets from his chest. As he worked, he discovered the source of the blood. It wasn't just the cold that was killing her.
Along her left ribcage, a deep grazing bullet wound had torn through her flesh. It wasn't fatal by itself, but the blood loss combined with the freezing temperatures had nearly done her in. Caleb cleaned the wound with boiled water and a splash of harsh whiskey, wincing in sympathy as her unconscious body twitched at the sting. He bound her ribs tightly with clean linen strips, wrapped her up like a cocoon in the furs, and pulled his cot closer to the radiating heat of the stove.
For the next 4 hours, Caleb did not sit down. He paced the floorboards of the cabin, his eyes darting between the silver pocket watch sitting on his wooden table and the pale face of the Apache woman. The watch was a ghost. It felt heavy with secrets.
Elias had promised to return for the spring cattle drive 3 years ago. Caleb had searched every saloon, every trail, and every sheriff's office from Cheyenne to Santa Fe. Now, the answer had literally walked through his front door in the middle of a killer storm. Dawn broke, though it brought no light.
The blizzard raged on, a whiteout of blinding snow and screaming wind. Inside, the cabin was stiflingly warm. A low moan broke the silence. Caleb turned sharply.
The woman was shifting under the heavy robes. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and disoriented. For a moment, she stared at the wooden rafters, confusion clouding her face. Then memory struck her like a physical blow.
She gasped, shooting upright, her hands frantically patting her chest. "It's right here," Caleb said, his voice a low, steady rumble to keep from spooking her. He sat in the wooden chair beside the bed, holding the silver watch by its broken chain. The woman's eyes locked onto him.
She pushed herself back against the log wall, wincing as the movement pulled at her bandaged ribs. She looked at Caleb, taking in his broad shoulders, his dark, unruly hair, and the intense, desperate look in his gray eyes. "You are Caleb," she said. Her English was flawless, carrying only a faint, rhythmic accent.