Henderson will send word if Charles returns to the ranch. They loaded their supplies onto copper and a gentle mayor Lillian had learned to ride during the summer. With a last look at the cabin that had become their home, they set off toward the mountains, taking a little used trail that would be difficult to follow. The line cabin was simple but sturdy, built to shelter cowboys during the worst weather when they were working the far boundaries of the ranch. It consisted of a single room with a stone fireplace, a rough table and chairs, two bunks built into the wall, and basic supplies stored in crates and hanging from the rafters.
It's not much, Wyatt apologized as he lit the fire, the familiar echo of his words when he'd first brought Lillian to their cabin not lost on either of them. "It's enough," Lillian replied, settling Emma on a blanket near the growing warmth. "As long as we're together," the simplicity of her statement and the trust it implied strengthened Wyatt's resolve. They would weather this storm as they had others together. As night fell, they ate a simple meal and prepared for bed, arranging the bunks so that Emma could sleep safely between them.
"The baby, sensing the tension, was fussier than usual, and it took longer than normal for her to settle. "What will we do if he finds us?" Lillian asked softly after Emma had finally fallen asleep, her small face peaceful in the firelight. Wyatt's hand found hers in the darkness. He won't take you from me, either of you. But legally, he might have a claim.
Not anymore, Wyatt interrupted firmly. You're my wife now, and Emma is my daughter in every way that matters. The law out here is simpler than back east. A man protects what's his. The fierce protectiveness in his voice both comforted and concerned Lillian.
"I don't want you to have to kill for us, Wyatt. I pray it doesn't come to that," he replied honestly. "But I can't promise it won't." They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts as the fire crackled and wind whistled around the cabin's sturdy walls. Eventually, Lillian's breathing deepened in sleep, her hands still clasped in watts. He remained awake, listening to the night sounds and planning for all possibilities.
Three days passed in tense waiting. Wyatt ventured out only to check on the horses and gather more firewood, always with his rifle at the ready. On the fourth morning, as they were finishing a breakfast of cornmeal mush and dried apples, the sound of approaching hooves brought them both to alert stillness. "Stay inside," Wyatt ordered, checking his revolver before moving to the window. Through the small grimy pain, he could make out two riders approaching one on the familiar dappled mare ridden by Billy, the youngest ranch hand, and the other on Charles Montgomery's sleek black horse.
"It's Billy," Wyatt reported, his stomach tightening. "And Montgomery?" Lillian gasped, instinctively gathering Emma closer. "How did they find us? I don't know." Wyatt positioned himself by the door, revolver ready. But Billy wouldn't have led him here willingly.
Stay back away from the windows. As the riders drew closer, Wyatt could see that Billy's face was bruised, one eye swollen shut. The young cowboys hands were tied to the saddle horn, and Montgomery held the reinss of both horses. "Harman," Montgomery called out, halting about 20 yards from the cabin. I know you're in there with my wife and child.