Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Timber
By morning, the blizzard had exhausted itself, leaving behind a pristine, blinding white world where the snow reached the eaves of the cabin. The silence of the high mountains was absolute—heavy, muffled, and profound.
Rowan spent the early hours clearing the drift from the front door with a heavy wooden shovel, carving a deep trench through the crust. When he came back inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans and warm lard filled the small room. Mara had managed to stoke the kitchen stove and was frying a small batch of cornmeal cakes using the last of the winter stores.
Her injured shoulder was stiff—she winced every time she lifted her left arm—but she moved with a quiet efficiency that made the cabin feel less like a tomb and more like a home for the first time since Sarah died.
"How is he?" Rowan asked, nodding toward the cradle where Eli was sleeping with a healthy flush in his cheeks.
"Sleeping like he hasn't got a care in the world," Mara said without turning around. "He's going to be a big boy. Strong shoulders. He'll give you plenty of trouble once he starts walking."
Rowan walked over to the root cellar hatch, lifting the heavy corn sack. He pulled the wooden door open and peered down into the darkness.
Silas Vance was huddled near the back wall, shivering violently in the sub-zero air of the cellar. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and full of venom, his face bruised purple from the previous night's beating.
"You can't keep me down here, Blackthorne," Silas rasped, his voice hoarse from the cold. "The marshal in Iron Ridge knows I was tracking that woman. When I don't check in by Saturday, he’ll send a posse up this ridge. You're harboring a runaway and kidnapping a man's legal ward."
Rowan didn't raise his voice. "The only thing down here is a trespasser who broke into my home with a loaded firearm. Eat your snow, Vance. The trail won't be clear enough for a horse until Thursday anyway."
He slammed the hatch down and dropped the sack back into place.
When he turned back around, Mara was watching him, her expression troubled. "He's right about one thing, Rowan."
It was the first time she had used his Christian name. It felt natural, settling into the small room like it had always belonged there.
"About the marshal?" Rowan asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.
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"About people coming," Mara said softly, walking over to the window and wiping a circle clear of frost to look out at the endless expanse of white timber. "Silas isn't the type to travel alone. He had a partner down in the valley—a man named Gilly. If Silas doesn't meet him at the stage station by now, Gilly will come looking for the bounty."
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