By sunrise, Jacob had torn the cabin door off its hinges.
Benjamin watched from beside the fire with an expression somewhere between confusion and alarm.
“You know we need that.”
“Not where we’re going.”
Jacob laid the door flat across two long pine poles he had cut behind the cabin.
“With runners under it, this becomes a sled.”
Samuel frowned.
“That looks like a door.”
“It is a door.”
“You think eight people fit on a door?”
Jacob glanced at him.
“No. Which is why some of us walk.”
Samuel stopped smiling.
Clara crawled closer.
“I can walk.”
Everyone looked at her.
She lifted her chin.
“With help.”
Jacob studied the twisted leg.
“How far?”
“As far as I have to.”
“No.”
Anger appeared instantly.
“You said we weren’t splitting up.”
“We’re not.”
“Then I walk.”
“You’ll freeze before we make three miles.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re thinking it.”
Jacob put the axe down.
“Clara, helpless people don’t threaten armed ranchers with firewood.”
Oliver laughed.
Clara shot him a look, and he stopped.
Jacob continued.
“But being brave doesn’t make your leg less injured.”
“It isn’t injured.”
“What is it?”
She hesitated.
“I was born that way.”
Her left leg was shorter and rotated inward at the knee. Years without proper medical care had made walking painful, and long distances nearly impossible.
“My father made a brace once,” she said. “It broke after he died.”
Jacob’s expression softened.
“When?”
“Last spring.”
“And you’ve been moving like this since?”
“Yes.”
Jacob looked away.
Something furious stirred inside him—not at her, but at every adult who had watched a ten-year-old child crawl through the world and decided it was not their problem.
“You ride my horse.”
Clara’s jaw tightened.
“I’ve never ridden.”
“Then today you learn.”
“What about Mary and Elsie?”
“They ride too.”
“And Hugh?”
“On the sled.”
“What about—”
Jacob raised one eyebrow.
“You planning to organize my entire rescue?”
Clara didn’t blink.
“Yes.”
Jacob almost smiled.
“Good. Then help me.”
That stopped her.
She had expected resistance.
Instead Jacob knelt beside the rough map he had drawn into the dirt with a stick.
“My ranch is south. There’s a creek here.”
He marked a line.
“Frozen?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Nothing in Montana is entirely trustworthy.”
Benjamin moved closer.
“There’s a ridge?”
“Yes. Worst part of the trip. Wind cuts across it.”
Clara studied the map.
“Then we put the smallest children in the center.”
Jacob nodded.
“And?”
“The strongest walk on the windward side.”
Benjamin stared at her.
“You’ve never been there.”
“No, but wind is wind.”
Jacob hid his approval.
“We leave in one hour.”
The children prepared with astonishing efficiency.
They had learned to survive.
That thought bothered Jacob more than chaos would have.
Rose wrapped Mary’s feet in strips of cloth.
Benjamin divided blankets.
Samuel filled tin cups with snow to melt.
Hugh gathered scraps of food.
Clara checked everyone twice.
Only Elsie sat motionless.
Jacob approached slowly.
“Elsie?”
No response.
The girl’s blond hair hung in dirty strands around her face.
Her eyes were open, but distant.
Clara crawled beside her.
“She does that.”
“For how long?”
“Since her mother died.”
Jacob crouched several feet away.
“What happened?”
Clara whispered.
“Her mother froze while holding her.”
Jacob closed his eyes briefly.
“She woke up in her arms.”
That explained everything.
Jacob removed one glove.
From his coat pocket, he pulled a small wooden horse.
The edges were worn smooth.
He had carried it for seven years.
Thomas’s.
The boy had carved lines into its side pretending they were saddle straps.
Jacob had never understood why he kept it.
Perhaps because throwing it away felt like burying his son twice.
He placed the horse on the floor near Elsie.
Her eyes shifted.
Just slightly.
Jacob backed away.
Five minutes later, when he looked again, the toy was in her hands.
They left shortly after.
Jacob buried Mrs. Henderson and the other two adults as best he could beneath frozen earth and stones.
There was no time for proper graves.
He promised himself he would return in spring.
Then the children gathered outside.
The world was blinding.
Snow covered the forest in silent white.
Clara stared at Jacob’s horse, Moses, as though it were a mountain she had been ordered to climb.
“You said you wouldn’t pick me up.”
“I won’t without asking.”
She swallowed.
“You can.”
Jacob waited.
“Can what?”
“Pick me up.”
He understood the importance of making her say it.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He lifted her carefully.
Clara went rigid, but she did not fight.
Jacob settled her into the saddle, then placed Mary in front and Elsie behind.
“Hold on to Clara,” he told Elsie.
Elsie wrapped one arm loosely around Clara’s waist.
Clara glanced back.
Then tightened Elsie’s small hands around her coat.
“You don’t let go.”
Elsie looked at her.
Clara repeated.
“Understand?”
A tiny nod.
Jacob led the horse.
The second horse pulled the makeshift sled carrying Hugh, Oliver, supplies, and blankets.
Benjamin, Rose, and Samuel walked.
The first mile passed slowly.
The second nearly broke them.
Snowdrifts swallowed their legs.
Wind returned.
Samuel fell repeatedly.
Rose’s lips began turning blue.
Jacob called a stop beneath pine trees.
“No sleeping,” he warned.
Hugh groaned.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“My feet hurt.”
“I know.”
“You say that a lot.”
Jacob gave him a piece of dried apple.
“Comes with age.”
Hugh chewed.
“You’re not that old.”
Jacob looked offended.
“Thank you.”
“You just look tired.”
Benjamin laughed for the first time.
Jacob smiled despite himself.
They continued.
At the creek, disaster nearly found them.
The ice looked solid.
Jacob tested it with his rifle.
Nothing.
He stepped onto the surface.
Still nothing.
The children followed.
Halfway across, the horse pulling the sled slipped.
Ice cracked beneath one hoof.
“Move!” Jacob shouted.
The horse panicked.
The sled swung sideways.
Oliver screamed.
Benjamin grabbed the rope.
Samuel slipped.
A jagged line spread across the ice.
“Get off the creek!”
Jacob pulled Moses toward the far bank.
Clara clung to Mary.
Elsie buried her face against Clara’s back.
The second horse kicked desperately.
One leg broke through.
The sled tilted.
Hugh began sliding toward the water.
Clara saw him.
“Hugh!”
She moved without thinking.
She threw herself sideways from the saddle.
Jacob shouted her name.
Clara hit the ice hard.
Pain exploded through her hip.
But she caught the edge of the sled.
Hugh slid toward the broken section.
Clara grabbed his coat.
“Hold on!”
The ice beneath her elbows cracked.
Jacob released Moses and sprinted back.
Benjamin crawled toward Clara.
“Don’t stand!” Jacob yelled.
He flattened himself and spread his weight.
Water churned around the trapped horse.
Jacob reached Hugh.
“Give me your hand!”
The boy sobbed.
Clara still held his coat.
Jacob caught him by the wrist.
Benjamin grabbed Jacob’s boot.
Samuel grabbed Benjamin.
Together they pulled.
Hugh slid across the ice.
Clara tried to move.
Her twisted leg would not cooperate.
Another crack split beneath her.
Jacob lunged.
He caught the back of Clara’s coat and dragged her toward him.
A second later, the section where she had been lying collapsed into black water.
Clara stared at the hole.
Jacob stared at her.
Neither spoke.
Then his anger erupted.
“What were you thinking?”
Clara flinched.
“I was saving Hugh.”
“You could have died!”
“So could he!”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Jacob stopped.
The fear in his own voice shocked him.
For one terrible second, he had seen Daniel.
Small hand slipping from his.
Body burning with fever.
Life leaving while Jacob could do nothing.
He gripped Clara’s shoulders.
Then remembered.
He released her immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Clara breathed hard.
“No. I’m sorry.”
Jacob shook his head.
“You saved him.”
Hugh crawled toward her and wrapped both arms around her neck.
Clara closed her eyes.
Behind them, the horse finally pulled its leg free.
The ice held long enough for everyone to reach shore.
Afterward, Jacob wrapped Clara in his own coat.
“You’re riding with me now.”
“I can ride alone.”
“I didn’t ask.”
She glared.
He glared back.
Benjamin whispered to Rose, “They’re exactly the same.”
Rose covered a smile.
The ridge appeared by late afternoon.
Wind struck with terrifying force.
Jacob tied ropes between everyone.
No one would be separated.
One step.
Another.
Another.
The ranch remained invisible beyond blowing snow.
Clara began shivering uncontrollably.
Jacob felt it through the saddle.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
“What’s my name?”
“Jacob.”
“How many cows do you think I own?”
“How should I know?”
“Guess.”
“Fifty.”
“I’m insulted.”
“One hundred.”
“Worse.”
“Two hundred?”
“Closer.”
She leaned against him.
“Why are we talking about cows?”
“To keep you awake.”
“I’m awake.”
“Then count.”
“What?”
“Count steps.”
Clara started.
“One.”
Jacob walked.
“Two.”
The wind howled.
“Three.”
Mary whimpered beneath Jacob’s coat.
“Four.”
Elsie clung behind Clara.
“Five.”
The numbers continued.
At two hundred and seventeen, Clara stopped.
Jacob looked down.
Her eyes had closed.
“Clara.”
No answer.
“Clara!”
He slapped the side of the saddle.
Her eyes fluttered.
“Don’t you dare sleep.”
“I’m tired.”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s rude.”
“Good.”
She almost smiled.
“What number?”
“Two hundred eighteen.”
“You remembered?”
“I remember everything.”
Clara whispered, “Then remember you promised.”
Jacob’s chest tightened.
“All eight.”
“Yes.”
“All eight.”
At sunset, Benjamin shouted.
“There!”
Through the storm appeared a roof.
Then a barn.
Then fencing.
Mallister Ranch.
Jacob had never seen it look so beautiful.
He shouted toward the house.
No one answered.
Of course no one answered.
He lived alone.
That reality struck him differently now.
Jacob kicked open the front door.
Warmth had long since died inside, but the house blocked the wind.
He carried Mary in first.
Then Elsie.
Then Hugh.
When he returned for Clara, she opened her eyes.
“Ask.”
Jacob frowned.
“What?”
“You said you’d ask.”
Understanding dawned.
“May I carry you?”
Clara nodded.
“Yes.”
He lifted her.
The ranch house smelled of cold wood and dust.
Jacob set Clara near the fireplace.
The children stared around.
There was a table built for six.
Three chairs.
Two rooms at the end of the hall that hadn’t been opened in years.
Jacob noticed them staring.
“You can sleep anywhere tonight.”
Rose pointed.
“What’s in those rooms?”
Jacob’s throat tightened.
“My sons’ rooms.”
Silence.
Clara watched him.
“You had children.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Fever.”
“How old?”
“Six.”
She looked toward the closed doors.
Jacob crossed the hallway.
For seven years, he had walked past those doors.
For seven years, he had refused to touch the handles.
Now eight freezing children stood behind him.
Jacob opened the first room.
Dust moved in the air.
Two small beds.
Wooden soldiers.
Blankets Martha had sewn.
A shelf with children’s books.
Jacob couldn’t breathe for a moment.
Clara saw his hand tremble.
“You don’t have to.”
Jacob looked at her.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”
He opened the second door.
It had been used for storage after the boys grew old enough to share.
Old trunks.
Extra quilts.
Martha’s rocking chair.
Jacob swallowed.
“Benjamin, help me clear this.”
Together they worked.
Within an hour, blankets covered floors and beds.
The fireplace roared.
Jacob cooked beans, potatoes, and salted beef.
This time he gave them larger portions.
The children ate until their movements slowed.
Mary fell asleep at the table.
Hugh curled beneath it.
Samuel leaned against the wall.
Rose brushed Elsie’s hair.
Benjamin stared into the fire.
Clara watched Jacob.
“You really live here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jacob wiped a pot.
“Because sometimes being alone seems easier.”
“Is it?”
He stopped.
“No.”
Clara looked down.
“Being together isn’t always easier either.”
Jacob nodded.
“No.”
“But it’s warmer.”
He looked around the room.
Eight children.
Wet boots.
Dirty blankets.
Bowls everywhere.
A broken chair.
Samuel snoring loudly.
For seven years, Jacob’s house had been clean.
Quiet.
Empty.
Now it was none of those things.
And somehow it felt more like home than it had since Martha died.
Later, Jacob walked past the room where the children slept.
Clara was awake.
“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“What happens tomorrow?”
He leaned against the doorway.
“I send word to town.”
Her face tightened.
“For what?”
“Food. Doctor. Supplies.”
“And the law?”
“Yes.”
She sat up.
“They’ll split us.”
Jacob had expected this.
“I won’t let them.”
“You can’t stop them.”
“I can try.”
“You said adults always make promises when children are scared.”
Jacob crouched.
“I’m not promising you something I know I can’t control.”
Clara’s expression changed.
“But I am promising this: nobody takes any of you without going through me first.”
She stared at him.
“How?”
“I own this land. I have money enough. I have a house.”
“You’re one man.”
“I noticed.”
Clara almost smiled.
“What if they say no?”
Jacob glanced toward his rifle leaning by the door.
Clara followed his gaze.
His mouth twitched.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She smiled fully for the first time.
It transformed her face.
Jacob felt something inside him break open.
Not pain.
Something warmer.
“Sleep,” he said.
She lay back.
“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for coming back.”
He stood very still.
“You mean when I got the food?”
“No.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“I mean coming back for yourself.”
Jacob left the room quietly.
He sat alone beside the fireplace until dawn.
And for the first time in seven years, he allowed himself to wonder whether losing a family meant a man was forbidden from ever having another one.