Snow buried her tiny cabin freezing her hope.
When massive fists pounded on her splintered door pure terror seized young Abigail.
Standing outside was a giant cloaked in wolf skins bleeding out.
Letting him inside meant risking everything.
Turning him away guaranteed murder.
Her choice changed history forever.
The winter of 1883 hit the San Juan Mountains with a ferocity that local miners claimed was born of pure malice.
In a secluded draw 3 miles outside the fading silver camp of Animas Forks Colorado 19-year-old Abigail Miller was rapidly running out of time.
Her father a stubborn prospector named Thomas Miller had succumbed to a lung sickness 3 weeks prior leaving Abigail entirely alone in a one-room timber cabin.
Her provisions were down to half a sack of weevil-infested flour a few strips of hardened jerky and a dwindling pile of firewood.
Outside a whiteout blizzard raged howling through the pines like a choir of banshees.
Abigail sat huddled near the cast-iron stove a tattered wool blanket wrapped tightly around her frail shoulders.
She was a striking girl with sharp cheekbones and deep brown eyes that held a quiet resilience but starvation was beginning to hollow out her features.
She held her father’s loaded Colt Walker revolver in her lap a heavy comfort against the encroaching dread of the wilderness.
Then came the sound.
It wasn’t the wind.
It was a heavy rhythmic thud against the heavy oak planks of her front door.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Abigail’s heart leaped into her throat.
Bears were hibernating and wolves didn’t knock.
She cocked the hammer of the revolver the metallic click echoing loudly in the small room.
Who’s there she called out her voice trembling despite her desperate attempt to sound steady.
Only the wind answered.
Then another knock weaker this time followed by a hoarse ragged voice.
Shelter please.
We are freezing to death.
Abigail hesitated.
In these lawless mountains opening your door to strangers was a gamble with your life.
Desperados claim jumpers and ruthless outlaws roamed the high country hiding from the Pinkertons down in Denver.
But the voice sounded utterly broken.
Her Christian upbringing instilled by her late mother in Missouri warred with her survival instincts.
She cracked the door open an inch keeping the barrel of the Colt aimed straight ahead.
The wind ripped the door from her grasp slamming it against the interior wall and bringing with it a swirl of blinding snow.
Standing in the doorway was the largest man Abigail had ever seen.
He stood over 6 and 1/2 ft tall his broad shoulders practically filling the frame.
He was draped in heavy snow-caked timber wolf pelts.
A thick frost-covered beard obscured his jaw and a wide-brimmed felt hat was pulled low over pale striking blue eyes.
But it wasn’t his imposing size that made Abigail gasp.
It was the fact that he was carrying another man over his massive shoulder like a sack of grain.
Lower the gun miss the giant said his voice a low gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in her cheSt. If I wanted to harm you I wouldn’t have knocked.
Before she could respond the giant stepped inside kicking the door shut behind him with a heavy leather boot.
He gently lowered his burden onto Abigail’s small rag rug.
The second man was older perhaps in his 50s wearing a high-quality wool suit that was now torn and soaked in dark freezing blood.
A gunshot wound had shredded the side of his waiSt. He needs a fire and bandages the giant commanded shedding his heavy wolf skin coat to reveal a flannel shirt and suspenders.
A heavy gun belt hung around his waist holding a stag handled hunting knife and a pair of Remington revolvers.
I I don’t have medicine Abigail stammered backing away slightly.
Water and clean cloth will do he replied kneeling beside the bleeding man.
My name is Gideon.
Gideon Hayes.
This is Josiah Trent.
We were caught in an ambush near Engineer Pass.
Abigail scrambled to comply grabbing a tin basin and pouring water from the kettle simmering on the stove.
She tore a worn linen bedsheet into strips.
As she handed them to Gideon her fingers brushed against his.
His hands were calloused rough as pine bark yet surprisingly gentle as he worked to bind Josiah’s wound.
Who ambushed you she asked watching the dark blood soak through the fresh linen.
Gideon didn’t look up.
Men who wanted what we have.
And what is that Gideon finally met her gaze his icy blue eyes locking onto hers.
The intensity in his stare made her breath hitch.
There was a dangerous wildness in him a primal energy that belonged entirely to the mountains.
Their lives Gideon said simply.
For the next several hours the cabin was silent save for the crackling fire and Josiah’s labored breathing.
Gideon proved to be a relentless worker recognizing Abigail’s dire situation without her having to speak a word of it.
He ventured out into the blinding storm three times.
He returned with massive armfuls of chopped wood doing in minutes what would have taken Abigail an hour and a canvas sack he had retrieved from his horse which he had miraculously managed to stable in Abigail’s dilapidated lean-to.
From the sack Gideon produced a frozen flank of elk meat coffee beans and a small tin of peaches.
That night Abigail ate her first full meal in a month.
She watched Gideon from across the room.
He sat by the fire whittling a piece of kindling with his hunting knife his massive frame casting a long dancing shadow against the log walls.
He was a terrifying presence yet paradoxically Abigail felt safer than she had since her father died.
Who was this mountain man.
And why was a rough frontiersman risking his life to drag a well-dressed city man through a deadly blizzard.
The blizzard did not break the next morning.
It intensified burying the cabin under 4 ft of fresh powder.
They were entirely snowed in cut off from Animas Forks Silverton and the rest of the world.
In the tight confines of the cabin an unspoken domestic rhythm developed.
Gideon took over the physical labor keeping the fire blazing and patching a drafty hole in the roof with pine pitch and scrap wood.
Abigail tended to Josiah changing his bandages and forcing warm broth past his pale lips.
During the quiet hours Abigail and Gideon began to talk.
She learned he was a trapper who spent his winters deep in the Weminuche Wilderness hunting game and avoiding the settlements.
He spoke little of his past but Abigail noticed the intricate scars lacing his forearms and the calculated way he positioned himself facing the door whenever he sat down.
He was a hunted man or at least a man used to being hunted.
You’re too young to be surviving up here alone Miss Miller.
Gideon said softly one evening watching her mend a hole in her father’s old wool socks.
The mountains don’t care how old you are Mr. Hayes.
Abigail replied biting off the end of her thread.
They only care if you’re prepared.
My father thought we were.
Gideon leaned forward resting his elbows on his massive knees.
Your father was a fool to bring a girl like you to a mining camp.
Anger flared in Abigail’s cheSt. My father was a good man.
He brought us here to build a future.
A good man can still be a fool Gideon countered calmly.
This country ain’t meant for building futures.
It’s meant for burying pasts.
The sorrow in his voice caught her off guard.
She looked up expecting to see a hardened killer but instead saw a profound weary sadness in his eyes.
Without thinking she reached out and placed her small hand over his large scarred knuckles.
Gideon stiffened but he didn’t pull away.
The warmth of his skin against hers sent a strange electric jolt up her arm.
For a fleeting moment the rough mountain man and the desperately lonely girl shared a silent piercing connection.
What past are you trying to bury Gideon.
She whispered.
Before he could answer a violent coughing fit erupted from the bed.
Josiah Trent had finally awakened.
Abigail rushed to his side propping him up as he gasped for air.
Josiah’s eyes were bloodshot darting frantically around the room until they landed on Gideon.
A look of pure unadulterated hatred washed over the older man’s face.
You.
Josiah rasped pointing a trembling finger at the giant.
You devil.
Abigail stepped between them her hands raised.
Mr. Trent please.
You need to reSt. You’ve been shot.
Josiah grabbed Abigail’s wrist with surprising strength pulling her close.
His breath smelled of fever and copper.
Girl listen to me he wheezed.
Get away from him.
Do you know who that man is.
Abigail glanced back at Gideon.
The mountain man had slowly stood up his hand resting casually near the grip of his Remington revolver.
His face had drained of all emotion returning to a mask of cold hard stone.
He’s Gideon Hayes Abigail said defensively.
He saved your life.
He brought you here.
A dark humorless laugh sputtered from Josiah’s lips ending in another wet cough.
Saved my life.
He’s the one who shot me.
Abigail froze.
The blood drained from her face as she slowly turned to look at Gideon.
Is it true she demanded her voice barely a whisper.
Gideon didn’t blink.
I shot him.
Yes.
Why Abigail backed away her hand instinctively reaching toward the table where she had left her Colt Walker only to realize Gideon was standing right next to it.
Because he’s not a poor victim of an ambush Miss Miller Gideon said his voice dropping an octave.
Josiah Trent is a Pinkerton detective and he’s been tracking me for 6 months.
Josiah spat onto the floorboards.
He’s an outlaw girl a train robber and a murderer.
He’s the butcher of the Denver Pacific line.
The government put a $5,000 bounty on his head dead or alive.
Abigail’s mind reeled.
The man who had chopped her wood fed her and looked at her with such gentle sorrow was a notorious butcher.
Then why did you bring him here Abigail yelled at Gideon tears of betrayal stinging her eyes.
If you shot him why didn’t you just leave him to die in the snow.
Gideon took a slow step toward her.
The immense size of him previously a source of comfort now felt overwhelmingly threatening.
Because Gideon said his icy blue eyes fixed firmly on hers.
He knows where my younger brother is being held and I couldn’t let him freeze to death before he told me.
Now Josiah and I are going to have a little conversation.
Gideon drew the heavy stag-handled hunting knife from his belt.
The firelight glinted off the wicked 6-in steel blade as he walked slowly toward the bed.
Gideon no.
Abigail screamed throwing herself in front of Josiah shielding the Pinkerton agent with her own body.
Gideon stopped dead in his tracks.
The blade held loosely in his grip.
For a long breathless moment the three of them were frozen in a deadly standoff.
The howling wind outside serving as the only soundtrack to the sudden suffocating tension inside the tiny cabin.
The tension in the cabin was thick enough to choke on.
The howling winds of the San Juan Mountains battered the timber walls.
But inside the only sound was the heavy ragged breathing of three desperate souls.
Abigail stood her ground.
Her slight frame shielding the bleeding Pinkerton agent her chin tipped upward in defiance.
She was trembling terrified of the giant looming before her.
But she refused to step aside.
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
The veins in his massive neck bulged against his collar and the firelight danced menacingly off the 6-in steel of his hunting knife.
For a second Abigail thought he was going to strike right through her.
Instead the mountain man let out a long slow exhale.
His shoulders dropped.
With a deft flick of his wrist he buried the blade deep into the heavy oak of the dining table.
The wood splintered with a sharp thwack.
I am not a butcher Abigail.
Gideon said.
His gravelly voice thick with an exhaustion that went bone deep.
But I am a man out of time.
Josiah Trent let out a wet mocking wheeze from the bed.
Don’t listen to his silver tongue He derailed the Denver Pacific Midnight Express.
Two guards died in the crash.
He robbed the syndicate of $40,000 in gold bullion.
That’s a hanging offense in any territory.
Abigail kept her eyes locked on Gideon.
Is it true.
Did you derail that train.
Yes Gideon answered without flinching.
But Josiah is leaving out the reason why.
Gideon pulled a wooden chair backward and sat down leaning his heavy forearms across the top rung.
He looked at Abigail ignoring the Pinkerton entirely.
My family held a thousand acres of prime grazing land down in the Animas Valley.
We had water rights that predated the railroad’s arrival by 20 years.
When Jay Gould’s Eastern Syndicate decided they wanted to lay tracks straight through our valley they didn’t offer to buy us out.
They sent men like Josiah to burn us out.
Abigail’s breath hitched.
They burned your home.
In the dead of night Gideon said his icy blue eyes growing dark with the memory.
My mother didn’t make it out of the smoke.
My father was shot in the back trying to pull her from the porch.
The only family I have left is my younger brother Levi.
He’s 14.
Lies Josiah spat though his voice lacked conviction.
I went to the law in Durango Gideon continued his voice rising in quiet fury.
But the law is owned by the syndicate.
So I took justice into my own hands.
I derailed their payroll train.
Took the gold as payment for my father’s stolen land and hid it where they will never find it.
I became exactly what they made me an outlaw.
Gideon stood up his massive frame casting a shadow over Josiah.
But the Pinkertons didn’t just come looking for the gold.
They knew they couldn’t track me in the Weminuche Wilderness.
So a month ago they ambushed Levi while he was hauling supplies near Pagosa Springs.
They took a 14-year-old boy hostage to draw me out.
Abigail turned to look down at Josiah.
The well-dressed man suddenly looked much smaller much uglier beneath his tailored wool and bloody bandages.
Is he telling the truth Abigail demanded her voice shaking with a new kind of anger.
Did you kidnap a child.
Josiah scoffed a trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
The boy is leverage a necessary asset to retrieve stolen property for our clients.
Business is business Miss Miller.
Outlaws don’t have rights.
Abigail felt sick to her stomach.
She had spent her whole life believing that the men who wore badges and rode for the law were the righteous ones.
But looking at the callous cruelty in Josiah’s eyes she realized the frontier was not painted in black and white but in varying shades of blood and greed.
Before Abigail could process her shifting loyalties Josiah made his move.
Pretending to double over in a fit of coughing the Pinkerton agent’s hand darted beneath his blood-soaked veSt. In a flash of polished steel he produced a hidden double-barreled Remington derringer.
He didn’t aim it at Gideon.
He grabbed Abigail by the apron strings yanking her violently backward and pressed the cold muzzle directly against her temple.
Back away Hayes.
Josiah screamed his composure shattering into frantic desperation.
Back to the wall or the girl gets a hole in her pretty little head.
Gideon froze.
The mountain man’s eyes widened in sheer panic the mask of the hardened outlaw slipping completely to reveal the terrifying vulnerability of a man who refused to watch another innocent woman die.
Let her go Trent Gideon reasoned his voice a low dangerous growl.
She has nothing to do with this.
I’ll give you the gold.
I’ll tell you exactly where it’s buried.
I don’t give a damn about the gold anymore.
Josiah spat using Abigail as a human shield as he slowly tried to maneuver toward the cabin door.
I’m leaving and she’s coming with me until I can find a horse.
In a blizzard.
You’ll both freeze to death in a mile Gideon said his eyes darting frantically calculating the distance between himself and the Pinkerton.
Better than bleeding out in this shack Josiah hissed.
Abigail felt the cold steel of the gun pressing against her skin.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird but she was Thomas Miller’s daughter.
She was not going to die as a pawn for a corrupt railroad detective.
As Josiah took another step backward shifting his weight onto his wounded side Abigail felt him wince.
Seizing the momentary lapse she stomped her heavy leather boot down onto Josiah’s instep with all her remaining strength while simultaneously slamming her elbow backward into his shattered waiSt. Josiah shrieked in agony.
His grip loosened and the Derringer discharged into the ceiling with a deafening crack sending a shower of pine splinters raining down on them.
Abigail dove out of the way.
Gideon moved with terrifying explosive speed.
He cleared the distance in a single bound tackling the Pinkerton agent to the floorboards.
The giant’s massive hands wrapped around Josiah’s throat.
Gideon was ready to crush the life out of the man who had ordered the burning of his family and threatened the girl who had given him shelter.
Gideon stop.
Abigail screamed scrambling to her feet.
Don’t kill him.
If you kill him you’ll never find your brother.
Gideon’s muscles trembled.
He was fighting a war against his own rage.
Slowly agonizingly his grip loosened.
He hauled Josiah up by the lapels of his ruined suit slamming him against the cabin wall.
Where is Levi Gideon roared his face inches from the detective’s.
Josiah gasping for air his spirit utterly broken finally surrendered.
Silverton he choked out Blair Street.
They’re holding him in the cellar of the Imperial Saloon.
Three men guarding him.
Hired guns from Dodge City.
Gideon dropped Josiah to the floor like a sack of garbage.
He turned to Abigail his chest heaving.
The firelight caught the profound gratitude in his eyes.
She had saved his soul from crossing a line he could never uncross.
We need to move Gideon said his voice returning to its calm commanding rumble.
The blizzard is breaking.
By dawn the howling winds had reduced to a stiff bitter breeze and the blinding whiteout had settled into a crystal-clear freezing morning.
Gideon had tied Josiah Trent securely to a heavy iron bedpost leaving him with a canteen of water a bucket and enough firewood to keep the stove burning until the mountain patrols from Animas Forks eventually found him.
He’ll survive the week Gideon said strapping his heavy gun belt around his waiSt. Which is more mercy than he showed my father.
Abigail stood by the door bundled in her late father’s heavy sheepskin coat holding the loaded Colt Walker.
Gideon looked at her furrowing his brow.
What do you think you’re doing Miss Miller.
I’m coming with you Abigail stated firmly.
No you’re not.
Silverton is a two-day ride through deep snow.
Blair Street is a hornets’ nest of outlaws gamblers and hired guns.
You are staying here.
I have no food Mr. Hayes.
My father is dead.
The moment Josiah gets free or his men come looking for him I am a dead woman.
Abigail argued stepping closer to the giant.
You owe me your life.
You owe me his life.
She pointed to the bound Pinkerton.
I’m riding with you.
Gideon stared down at the fierce beautiful young woman.
He saw the fire in her brown eyes a spirit that matched the untamed wilderness around them.
A faint admiring smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
You ride behind me.
You do exactly as I say.
Understood.
Understood.
She nodded.
They rode out on Gideon’s massive black draft horse trudging through waste-deep snowdrifts leaving the isolated cabin and Abigail’s past behind forever.
The journey was brutal.
The cold chewed at their extremities and they had to huddle together for warmth under the wolf pelts during a frigid night camped beneath a rock overhang.
Pressed against Gideon’s broad chest Abigail felt a deep undeniable sense of belonging.
Beneath his fearsome exterior was a man of profound loyalty and quiet honor.
By dusk on the second day the smoky sulfurous haze of Silverton appeared in the valley below.
The mining town was a rugged scar on the landscape and Blair Street its notorious red-light and saloon district was a chaotic symphony of piano music drunken shouting and the occasional gunshot.
They left the horse tied behind an abandoned livery stable.
Gideon pulled his wide-brimmed hat low and checked the cylinders of his twin Remingtons.
The Imperial Saloon has a rear cellar door facing the alley Gideon whispered peering around the corner of a frozen mud street.
I’m going to breach it.
You stay out here.
If I don’t come out in 10 minutes take the horse and ride for Ouray.
I’m not leaving you.
Abigail whispered back gripping her colt.
Gideon reached out his rough calloused hand gently cupping her frozen cheek.
If we make it out of this Abigail I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to hold a gun again.
Before she could answer he slipped into the shadows of the alley.
Abigail followed silently at a distance her heart pounding in her ears.
The rear of the Imperial saloon was a dilapidated wooden addition.
A heavy iron padlock secured the cellar door.
Gideon didn’t waste time picking it.
He drew his Remington muffled the barrel with a folded piece of heavy canvas and fired point-blank into the lock.
It shattered.
Gideon kicked the door open and vanished down the dark stairs.
Abigail crept to the doorway peering into the gloom.
Down below the cellar was lit by a single kerosene lantern.
She heard the panicked shouts of men followed immediately by the deafening roar of gunfire in the enclosed space.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Wood splintered glass shattered a man screamed.
Abigail couldn’t stay back.
She rushed down the wooden stairs.
At the bottom of the cellar the air was thick with gray gunsmoke.
Two heavily armed thugs lay motionless on the dirt floor.
Gideon was pinned behind a stack of whiskey barrels his left shoulder blooming with fresh blood.
The third hired gun a scarred vicious-looking man was advancing on Gideon’s flank.
A repeating Winchester rifle raised to his shoulder.
Gideon was reloading his fingers slick with his own blood.
He wouldn’t be fast enough.
Hey.
Abigail shouted.
The thugs spun around startled by the female voice.
Abigail raised the heavy Colt Walker with both hands closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
The massive revolver bucked violently nearly flying out of her grip.
The thunderous boom echoed through the cellar.
When Abigail opened her eyes the thug was slumped against the brick wall the Winchester clattering harmlessly to the ground.
Gideon stood up staring at Abigail in sheer astonishment.
He quickly stepped over the bodies and rushed toward a heavy timber cage at the back of the room.
Inside huddled in the corner was a terrified bruised teenage boy.
Levi.
Gideon cried out using his hunting knife to pry the hinges off the crude cage door.
The boy launched himself into his older brother’s arms sobbing uncontrollably.
Gideon.
I thought they killed you.
I’m here kid.
I’ve got you Gideon murmured crushing the boy in a desperate hug.
Gideon turned back to Abigail his blue eyes shining with unshed tears.
He walked over to her putting his uninjured arm around her waist pulling her close.
Let’s go home he whispered.
Where is home Abigail asked leaning her head against his cheSt. Wherever the railroad ain’t Gideon replied.
They slipped out into the freezing alley three shadows blending into the bitter winter night.
They rode north leaving the corruption of Colorado behind them.
They didn’t stop until they reached the untamed sprawling plains of Wyoming.
Years later the legend of the butcher of the Denver Pacific faded into a ghost story told by Pinkertons around campfires.
But in a lush hidden valley in the Bighorn Mountains an entirely different story was lived.
It was the story of a giant mountain man who built a sprawling ranch for his younger brother and the fierce beautiful woman with brown eyes who ruled the homestead.
They built a family a legacy and a life born from a single fateful knock on a splintered door in the middle of a blizzard.
Abigail Miller had opened her door to a monster and in return she found the greatest love the West had ever known.
