Chapter 22
Tracks at the Edge
Sam woke before the first light hit the ridge. He’d slept in his boots. He wasn’t proud of it, but he hadn’t taken them off since Pike mentioned the broken branch. Tessa stirred when he sat up, but he pressed a finger to his lips.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered.
She didn’t. She pulled her shawl tighter and followed him to the hallway while the boys slept in the loft above them.
“You’re heading out?”
“Just around the lower trail,” Sam said. “Won’t be long.”
She frowned. “You barely slept.”
“Didn’t need to.”
But she saw the faint exhaustion in his eyes—the kind born from listening to every creak of the house, every rustle outside.
Sam touched her arm lightly before stepping out into the cold. “Lock the door behind me.”
She did.
The morning stayed quiet while Tessa cooked breakfast. Eli bounced in first, hair wild, humming some song Jesse had taught him. Isaac trailed behind him, hugging Scout around the neck before climbing onto a chair.
Ben showed up a little later for coffee, which wasn’t unusual, but he didn’t sit on the porch like he usually did. He stood at the edge of the yard instead, mug in hand, gaze on the timberline.
“Everything all right?” Tessa asked him quietly.
Ben didn’t look away. “Morning fog’s hanging strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Like something walked through it a little before sunup. Saw the edges torn.” He sipped his coffee. “Could be a deer. Could be a man. Hard to say.”
Tessa’s fingers tightened around her apron. But Ben gave her a small, reassuring nod.
“Don’t borrow trouble yet,” he murmured. “Sam’s good at heading off what aims at him.”
Sam returned after breakfast, jaw tight. His coat sleeve was brushed with pine needles, and his knuckles were scraped.
“Find something?” Tessa asked the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
He hesitated, long enough for her pulse to jump.
“Tracks,” Sam said. “Fresh ones. Someone skirted the far fence near the creek and doubled back.”
She gripped the table. “Was it Boyd?”
Sam shook his head. “Didn’t see enough sign to say. But whoever it was, they’re watching.”
Isaac looked up, confused. “Someone was here?”
Sam forced his voice softer. “Just a rider passing through the valley. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Isaac nodded, but his eyes lingered on Sam a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to believe him.
Cal arrived before noon with Jesse riding behind him. Jesse slid off his horse, easy and bright as ever.
“Hey, Isaac!” he hollered. “Come see what I found down by the creek!”
Eli went running, Isaac close behind. Scout kept pace with both boys, protective as always.
Tessa watched the three men standing near the porch—Cal, Sam, Ben—speaking in low voices. Not fearful, not panicked—just organized.
“We’ll rotate the ridge,” Cal said. “I’ll take the north side. Pike can take the pass. Ben should stay close to the house.”
Sam nodded. “Keep it quiet. Don’t want the kids thinking something’s wrong.”
Jesse glanced their way but said nothing. He wasn’t part of the men’s council yet, but he listened closely.
Cal clapped him on the shoulder. “You stick with Isaac today.”
Jesse brightened. “Yes, sir.”
Tessa exhaled. They were building a net without ever saying the word.
After lunch, Jo appeared again, this time with a basket of mended shirts.
“Abby and I finished these last night,” Jo said cheerfully. “Thought the boys might tear through theirs faster than we can keep up.”
But there was a rifle slung across her back.
She greeted the boys, ruffled Isaac’s hair, checked on Tessa’s herbs, then wandered the yard as though she were admiring the weather. But her gaze drifted to the ridges over and over, like she was reading some silent message in the trees.
Finally, she approached Tessa where she stood shelling peas.
“Just keep Isaac close today,” Jo murmured softly enough that the boys couldn’t hear.
Tessa swallowed. “You think it’s him?”
“I think something’s circling,” Jo said. “Doesn’t have to be him.” She paused. “But Sam’s right to be cautious.”
Late in the afternoon, Pike returned from the pass. His horse was lathered, breath steaming.
Sam walked out to meet him even before Pike dismounted. Before Pike even spoke, Tessa felt her stomach drop.
Pike pulled something from his saddlebag—a torn scrap of cloth, dark gray and frayed at the edges.
“Found this snagged on a branch up by the cut ridge,” Pike said. “Fresh tear.”
Sam took it, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. “Carver wore gray last time.”
“Could be coincidence,” Pike said. “Could be him lookin’ where he shouldn’t.”
Tessa pressed a hand to her chest. She remembered that old gray coat Boyd used to wear. She remembered the sound of it brushing rough wood, the smell of it after long days on the trail.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “He’s close.”
Sam’s eyes lifted, meeting hers. “He’s near the valley. Not here.”
“Yet,” she said.
He didn’t disagree.
As dusk settled, Sam tightened the new lock on her door. He checked the hinges. He checked the windows. He paced the house twice before finally stopping near Tessa.
“You should get some rest,” he said.
“So should you.”
He exhaled through his nose—an almost-laugh. “Maybe tomorrow.”
She reached out, brushing her fingertips lightly against his sleeve. “Sam?”
He looked down at her.
“We’re not alone,” she whispered. “Whatever he’s planning, we’re not facing it by ourselves.”
Something softened in his expression—not relief exactly, but gratitude.
“No,” he said quietly. “We’re not.”
Outside, the valley dimmed into gray. A cold breeze swept across the yard, stirring the grass. Scout lifted his head, ears pricked, and growled low once—soft, uncertain.
Isaac pressed closer to Tessa’s leg.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Just a coyote,” Tessa said quickly, even though she wasn’t sure at all.
Sam stepped up beside them, hand on his pistol, eyes on the tree line.
Boyd was not in sight.
But tonight, he was finally, undeniably near.