Three knocks echoed through the cabin.

Nora stared at Brace Rusk.

“You said your wife was dead.”

“She is.”

“Then who’s outside?”

Brace didn’t answer. He placed the knife on the table and approached the door with a rifle.

“Who is it?”

A woman’s trembling voice answered.

“Please, Brace. Don’t let him find me.”

The rifle nearly slipped from his hands.

Nora watched his face drain of color.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered.

He opened the door.

A young woman stood outside, barefoot in the snow, wearing a torn blue dress. Her face was pale, and she clutched a small leather satchel.

Brace stumbled backward.

“Emily?”

The woman shook her head.

“Emily was my mother.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Brace stared at her.

“Your mother died fifteen years ago.”

“That’s what they told you.”

Before he could speak, the stranger collapsed.

Despite the pain in her wounded leg, Nora reached toward her.

“Help her!”

Brace carried the young woman toward the fire.

Inside her satchel, he discovered an old photograph, a silver wedding ring, and a letter addressed to him.

His hands trembled as he unfolded the paper.

Nora watched him read.

“What does it say?”

Brace remained silent.

Then he handed her the letter.

“My dearest Brace, if our daughter ever reaches you, believe her. The man who told you I died is the same man who tried to destroy our family.”

Nora’s heart pounded.

“You have a daughter?”

Brace looked toward the unconscious stranger.

“I never knew.”

Suddenly, the young woman opened her eyes.

“He’s coming,” she gasped.

“Who?” Brace demanded.

“The man who sent your new bride here.”

Nora froze.

“My marriage advertisement?”

The young woman nodded.

“It wasn’t written by Brace.”

A horse whinnied outside.

Then another.

Heavy footsteps crunched through the snow.

Brace extinguished the lantern and grabbed his rifle.

Nora could barely breathe.

Through the frosted window, she saw three armed men approaching the cabin.

One stepped into the firelight.

She recognized him instantly.

Earl Slade.

The stagecoach driver who had abandoned her at the mountain station.

He smiled through the glass and raised a folded document.

“Evening, Rusk! I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

Nora looked at the paper in his hand.

Across the top, in unmistakable black lettering, were the words:

Marriage Certificate.

And beneath them was Nora Mills’s signature.