Hannah opened the leather satchel and checked the folded map again. The old trapper's cabin sat below the western slope near a feed cache. At least it had once. Which way? Walter looked toward the trees.
If the cabin still standing west, they pushed on. The light faded quickly. By the time Walter saw smoke, Hannah had begun to fear they had been wrong. A thin gray thread rose between the pines. There, Walter spurred ahead.
The cabin was smaller than Hannah expected. One room, a sagging porch, half the roof covered in old shingles, the other half patched with canvas and split boards. Grant's horse stood tied beneath a leanto, head low. Hannah was off her mare before Walter finished dismounting the cabin door opened. Samuel Dean appeared first, one hand braced against the frame.
His face was pale. Hannah, where is he? Samuel stepped aside. Grant sat on the floor near the fire with his back against the wall. His coat had been folded beneath his injured arm.
His hat was gone. Snowmelt darkened his hair. His face looked drawn with cold and pain. But he was awake. Very awake.
The moment he saw Hannah, his expression changed from relief to anger so fast she nearly stopped in the doorway. What are you doing here? Hannah stared at him. Of all the things she expected, that had not been one. Walter pushed in behind her.
Good to see you, too, boss. Grant ignored him. His eyes stayed on Hannah. You had no business riding up here. Hannah closed the door behind her.
Apparently, neither did you. Samuel coughed to hide a laugh. Grant's eyes narrowed. Hannah, no. She pulled off her gloves.
I rode half a mountain through snow because Walter brought home your horse empty, and the first thing you do is scold me. Grant tried to stand. His injured arm betrayed him immediately. He sat back hard. Hannah crossed the room.
Don't. I'm fine. You look terrible. I've looked worse. I'm sure you're very proud.
Walter moved towards Samuel and began checking the man's ankle. Hannah knelt beside Grant. Up close, she could see the shivering he was trying to hide. His skin was cold. His lips had gone pale.
She touched the back of her fingers to his forehead. Grant pulled away. I said I'm fine. You also said you'd be home before supper. Something flickered across his face.
Hannah regretted the sharpness. Then Grant said quietly. I tried. The anger went out of her. She opened the satchel.
Let me see your shoulder. He did not move. Grant. That stopped him. She had called him Grant before, but rarely, never like that.