Evangeline, being afraid of horses, might have demurred, except that Abigail was beside herself with joy at the mere prospect—and then there was that happy glint of challenge in Scully’s blue-green eyes.

“All right,” she said, with some reluctance, removing her flour-sack apron. She’d been baking bread all morning, and the cabin, the delicious scent notwithstanding, felt hot and close.

Abigail cheered and jumped up and down, scaring poor Hortense into her customary hiding place under the bed. Scully got Abigail’s coat and Evangeline’s cloak and helped them into the garments, elegant as a footman about to escort two grand ladies to their carriage.

The air, though dryly cold, was exhilarating. Scully led the way to the barn, where he saddled the Appaloosa but merely put a bridle on the sorrel mare. He had told Evangeline privately that the little girl wasn’t ready for a saddle quite yet, and he’d apparently concluded that she wasn’t, either.

He lifted Abigail onto the mare’s back with gusty fanfare, as though it were an enormous effort, and then made a stirrup of his hands so that Evangeline could mount. Holding her breath, resisting the impulse to squeeze her eyes shut and brace herself for certain disaster, she stepped into his interlaced fingers and landed astride the horse with a force that resounded through her bones.

“This is—wonderful,” she said, with purposeful conviction.

Scully handed up the reins and Evangeline took them, Abigail tucked within the circle of her arms. “You’re doing fine,” he said. “Just fine.” He might have been speaking to Abigail, but he was looking at Evangeline. The November wind ruffled his hair, which had darkened slightly with the onset of winter, and needed barbering. His flesh was tanned, and he’d lost the gaunt look he’d had after taking that arrow, though Evangeline knew the wound still pained him sometimes.

“Where are we going?” Abigail asked eagerly, when Scully had mounted the Appaloosa with a creak of leather and a jingling of bridle fittings.

He pointed toward the timbered land above and beyond the young orchard. “Up there. On top of that hill. It’ll make a good ride, and the view is worth seeing.”

Evangeline wanted to ask how far it was, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t an enthusiastic rider, or even particularly adventurous, but she wasn’t about to spoil the outing for Scully and Abigail. There were several months of winter still ahead, and she knew well enough that they might all be trapped in the house for days or even weeks at a time. Scully had told tales about drifts so deep a man had to wear snowshoes just to get to the livestock, and when there was a blizzard coming on, it was common practice to run a rope between the house and barn, in order to find the way to and from. Folks had frozen to death, he said, within a few yards of their own door, with the wind screeching so loud that the people inside couldn’t hear their cries for help.