Not Thomas Avery, one of his hired men from before, the one with the scarred face and dead eyes. He stopped 20 ft from the porch and dismounted slowly, hands visible, making a show of being unarmed. "Mrs. Hawthorne," he called out, his voice carrying in the still night air. "I'm here to talk." "Then talk from where you are," Mara shouted back, keeping the rifle trained on him.
"Mr. Avery wants to make a deal." "I'm not interested in any deals." "You sure about that? Because he's willing to be very generous. He'll drop all legal action regarding the children. He'll leave you alone.
All he wants is the deed to that Montana property your late husband left you. So that was it. Thomas had finally shown his hand. Tell Mr. Avery, Mara said, her voice ringing clear across the yard.
That he can go straight to hell. The man's expression didn't change. That's unfortunate because Mr. Avery was really hoping you'd be reasonable. I'm done being reasonable.
Now get off my land. Can't do that, ma'am. See, Mr. Avery gave me specific instructions. If you won't negotiate, I'm to make things uncomfortable for you until you change your mind.
Behind Mara, Marcus cocked his rifle. The sound was loud in the tense silence. The hired man smiled. "That's a lot of firepower for a woman and a boy. You really think you can hold us off?" "I guess we'll find out," Mara said.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then the man shook his head almost sadly. "Your choice, ma'am." He turned and walked back to his horse, swung up into the saddle, and then, without warning, he and his companions opened fire. Not at the cabin, at the ground in front of it, at the trees, at the sky. Just noise and chaos and the terrible thunder of gunfire in the dark.
The children screamed. Mara ducked instinctively, heart hammering as bullets tore through the night. Marcus fired back once, twice, but the riders were already pulling back, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as they'd appeared. The silence that followed was worse than the gunfire. Mara's ears rang, her hands shook so badly she could barely hold the rifle.
Behind her, the children were crying, and Marcus was reloading with fumbling fingers, his face white as chalk. "They're gone," he said, his voice cracking. They just they wanted to scare us. It worked. Mara set the rifle down carefully before she dropped it.
Jonah, is everyone all right? We're okay, Ma. Jonah's voice came from the loft, steadier than she'd expected. Nobody's hurt. Thank God.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. Mara forced herself to breathe, to think. Marcus, fire three shots.
We need help. Marcus moved to the door, opened it carefully, and fired three times into the air. The reports echoed across the valley, sharp and desperate. Then they waited. 20 minutes later, they heard the thunder of approaching horses. Mara's hand went to the rifle again, but then John Miller's voice cut through the darkness.