As they walked away from the grave, Faith cast one last glance over her shoulder. It seemed impossible that her life with Thomas had been reduced to that small mound of mud and a wooden marker. She stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, and Colton's free hand caught her elbow, strong and sure. "Careful now," he murmured. Grounds treacherous after the rain.
They made their way through the cemetery and onto the muddy main street of Silver Gulch. The mining town was a collection of hastily constructed buildings, with the saloon being the most solid structure. Men eyed them as they passed, their gazes lingering on Faith in a way that made her uncomfortable. "Ignore them," Colton said quietly. Most are just sorry they didn't have the decency to stay for the whole service.
Faith's small cabin sat on the outskirts of town, a modest dwelling that Thomas had built with his own hands when they'd first arrived from Pennsylvania 2 years ago. The sight of it now, knowing he would never again cross its threshold, nearly broke her. "Would you like me to start a fire for you?" Colton asked as they reached the door. It'll be damp inside. Faith hesitated.
Propriety dictated that she shouldn't allow a man she barely knew into her home, especially now that she was a widow. But Emma was fussing more persistently, and the thought of entering the cold, empty cabin alone was almost unbearable. "Yes, please," she said finally, "if it's not too much trouble." "No trouble at all, madam." Colton waited on the small porch while Faith unlocked the door, then followed her inside. The cabin was indeed cold and damp, with a mustiness that spoke of grief's neglect. While Faith settled in the rocking chair to nurse Emma, Colton efficiently set about building a fire in the small stone hearth.
His movements were practiced and sure, and soon a warm glow filled the room. I should be going," he said once the fire was crackling steadily. He placed his hat back on his head and moved toward the door. "Mr. Reed," Faith called, making him pause.
"Thank you for the umbrella and for not walking away." Colton nodded, his expression solemn. "I'll check on you tomorrow if that's all right. Might be able to bring some firewood." Before Faith could respond, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. She looked down at Emma, now contentedly nursing, and felt the first tears since the funeral begin to fall. "What are we going to do now, little one?" she whispered.
"What are we going to do without your papa?" The next morning dawned clear and bright, a stark contrast to the previous day's gloom. Faith had slept poorly, Emma waking frequently as if sensing her mother's distress. The fire had died during the night, and the cabin was once again cold. Faith was trying to rekindle it with one hand while holding Emma with the other when a knock came at the door. Startled, she called out, "Who is it, Colton Reed?
Madam, I've brought some firewood like I promised." Faith smoothed her hair and adjusted Emma on her hip before opening the door. Colton stood there, a substantial pile of split logs in his arms and more stacked neatly beside him. "Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan," he said, his hat already removed and held respectfully at his side. "Hope I'm not calling too early." "Not at all, Mr.