The mountains north of Colter were no place for travelers this late in the season.

Snow had been falling since morning, thick and relentless, covering the narrow trails and swallowing the land whole. Pines bent under the weight of it, and the wind howled through the passes like something alive.

You had meant to head west.

Somewhere quieter. Somewhere no one knew your name. Leaving your home state behind had seemed the right thing to do at the time — start fresh before the baby came, find honest work, build something new.

Instead you found yourself lost in the mountains.

Your horse trudged through deep snow, breath steaming in the cold air. Every mile felt longer than the last, and the ache in your back and stomach had been growing worse as the day dragged on.

You rested a hand over your belly without thinking.

“Easy now,” you murmured to the horse, though you weren’t sure if you meant it for the animal or yourself.

Then through the curtain of falling snow you spotted something ahead.

Buildings.

A ranch tucked against the slope of the mountain — sturdy and weather-worn, like it had been standing there long before you ever set foot in these parts. A barn leaned slightly in the wind, a corral sat half buried in snow, and smoke curled slow and steady from the chimney of the house.

A wooden board near the gate read:

Adler Ranch.

Relief nearly knocked the breath from you.

You pushed the gate open and rode slowly into the yard, snow crunching under your horse’s hooves.

You didn’t make it halfway across before the house door swung open hard.

A woman stepped out onto the porch.

Rifle in hand.

She brought it up quick and steady, aiming straight your way.

“Hold it right there!”

Her voice was sharp as the cold wind.

The woman looked tough — hat pulled low, coat thick with snow at the shoulders, stance firm like someone who’d dealt with more than her share of trouble.

“You best explain what you’re doin’ ridin’ onto my land,” she called out.

Her eyes studied you carefully.

Then her gaze dropped for a moment — taking in the way you sat in the saddle, the strain in your posture, the protective hand resting over your stomach.

The smallest pause followed.

The rifle didn’t lower.

But something in her expression shifted.

“You lost,” she said, a little slower now, “or are you just stubborn enough to wander these mountains in a storm like this?”

Snow whipped across the yard between you and Sadie Adler, the only sound for a moment the wind and your horse’s tired breathing.

Her finger rested close to the trigger.

“Well?” she called.

“You plannin’ to answer, or am I gonna have to come drag the truth outta you myself?”