Sweet Boundless by Kristen Heitzmann

start of an alpine winter. No, he had to satisfy her this once. After this, it would be obvious she couldn’t do it again. Even Carina had to see that.
    He reached the livery. “Alan!”
    “Aye.” Alan stood up in one of the stalls. “Ye don’t need to bellow. I’m not deaf yet.”
    “I need my team.”
    “They’ve hardly had their rest.” Alan let himself out of the stall.
    “It’s a short trip. Just to Fairplay.”
    Alan reached his side. “And then where?”
    “Back here.”
    Alan’s stump-toothed smile stretched broadly. “Aye. Back by nightfall.” Alan gripped his shoulder. “Didn’t I say—”
    “Carina’s riding with me. I’ll return her tonight and head out in the morning.”
    “Ah, boyo.” Alan sighed and looked out the doors of the livery. “It smells like snow.”
    Quillan nodded. “She insists on riding along.”
    “To be near you.”
    “To buy at the Italian market.”
    Alan walked to the doors. “Would you risk . . .”
    “You don’t say no to Carina Maria DiGratia.”
    Alan turned, his face troubled. “Don’t ye, now.”
    “I’ll get the team myself.” He saw his wagon in its usual spot by the back. Alan came and worked beside him. While they hitched the horses, he was aware of Alan’s quiet scrutiny. It irked him, but he did his best not to show it. Carina had even spoiled this, the one good friendship he had left. She’d wheedled her way into Alan’s heart until he took her side every time.
    Quillan led the team out with a silent wave to Alan. He wasn’t stupid. He knew weather like this was chancy. But if anyone could take Mosquito Pass in a storm, he could. He had plenty of road experience, and he’d handled the pass in all kinds of weather.
    If it proved more than a snow shower, the worst of it would be at the summit. Once they’d started down the other side, it would lighten up again. And a fog like this could as easily lift to clear skies. If it got bad, they’d stay in Fairplay. That would show Carina just how dangerous her impulses were. That would keep her home next time.
    But it didn’t help at this time. He loaded the wagon with cured wood at twenty-five cents a foot. Scandalous as the price was, he wouldn’t be caught without the means of making a fire. Then he loaded a barrel of water, checked his box of hard biscuits and jerked beef, emergency provisions, and a crate of canned vegetables he got directly from Mrs. Barton’s larder.
    He threw in blankets and an extra tarp, then fastened the main tarp over the bed. The wagon was ready, the horses rested enough for a short, light haul. Now it only remained to fetch Carina. Quillan made a quick check that the rifle was under the box with plenty of loads. It was there, along with Cain’s shotgun. Well, that should cover everything.
    He released a hard breath. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Wasn’t that a woman’s prerogative? Maybe he’d get back there and she’d be all aflutter with reasons why she couldn’t go. He glanced up at the sky. Couldn’t a man wish?
    Before returning to the house, he went to find Svendsen. “Is the key ready?”
    “Ya, sure.” The Norwegian smiled broadly. “I didn’t have to make that one.”
    “Why not?”
    “When I saw which house you meant, I remembered. Berkley Beck ordered several for that place. I don’t stick my nose out; I don’t ask questions, eh? I only made the keys.”
    “How many more do you have?”
    Svendsen held out four on his large calloused palm. “This is the last of them. No one wants them, since the house is haunted, ya?”
    Quillan raised a brow, taking the keys. “Haunted?”
    “It stood open these two months. How many empty rooms are there in town? Much less a house, ya?”
    Quillan considered that. It was probably the best defense Carina had from harassment. Any other key holders would have jumped in before now, but for the superstitious mind of the prospector. As for any actual haunting, Quillan had slept well enough, the only