“Nothing.” Nate’s voice was flat. “They’re looking at me.”
“Why?”
“Because some of them think I killed my wife.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Margaret’s arms tightened around Bridget. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to grab her children and disappear into the snow and never look back. But run where? She had 11 cents, nine children, a baby with fever. There was nowhere to go.
“Did you?” She heard herself ask.
Nate met her eyes. No flinching. No looking away. “No, ma’am. I did not.”
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