The first knock came just after sunrise.

Three hard blows against my cabin door.

I was already awake, sitting beside the fireplace with my rifle across my knees.

Outside, the wind was pushing snow through the pine trees.

I glanced toward the spare bedroom.

The girl was still asleep.

At least, I hoped she was.

I stood, picked up my rifle, and opened the door just enough to see who was outside.

Three men stood on my porch.

The one in front wore a black wool coat, polished boots, and a silver pocket watch. He was in his late forties, with a thick mustache and eyes that looked permanently amused.

Vernon Hayes.

I recognized him immediately.

Behind him stood two men carrying rifles.

“Well,” Vernon said, looking me up and down. “You’re Rowan Creed.”

“Depends who’s asking.”

He smiled.

“Vernon Hayes.”

“I know.”

His eyes moved past my shoulder, scanning the cabin.

“I’m here for a girl.”

I rested one hand against the doorframe.

“Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”

His smile disappeared.

“I was told she was brought up this mountain yesterday.”

“Who told you?”

“Her father.”

I almost laughed.

“That worthless drunk would sell his own shadow if somebody offered him enough whiskey.”

Vernon stepped closer.

“Her name is Abigail Carter. Twenty years old. Her father agreed to a fifty-dollar arrangement with me.”

I felt my jaw тιԍнтen.

“He sold her to me for fifty dollars.”

Vernon stared.

Then he laughed.

“You think this is funny?”

“No. I think you’re both disgusting.”

His two men shifted their rifles.

Vernon slowly removed his gloves.

“Listen carefully, Creed. I don’t care what arrangement you made with her father. That girl has been promised to me.”

“She’s not property.”

“Everything has a price.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“Not everything.”

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then Vernon tilted his head.

“Perhaps you don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”

“I understand perfectly.”

He smiled again.

“Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m giving you until noon to bring her down.”

“And if I don’t?”

His smile vanished.

“Then I’ll come back with enough men to burn this cabin to the ground.”

I leaned slightly toward him.

“Bring as many as you want.”

He studied my face.

Something in my expression must have convinced him I wasn’t bluffing.

He stepped backward.

“This isn’t finished, Creed.”

“No. It isn’t.”

He turned and walked toward his horse.

Before mounting, he looked back.

“Tell Abigail I’ll be seeing her soon.”

Then the three men disappeared down the mountain trail.

I closed the door.

Behind me, I heard a quiet voice.

“Is that him?”

I turned.

Abigail stood in the hallway, wearing the same faded brown dress from yesterday.

Her face had gone completely white.

“Vernon?”

I nodded.

She gripped the doorframe.

“He came.”

“Not inside.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Mr. Creed, you don’t understand. He won’t stop.”

I placed the rifle against the wall.

“Then tell me what I need to know.”

She looked toward the window.

Then she whispered something that changed everything.

“He didn’t come to marry me.”

I frowned.

“What?”

Abigail swallowed.

“He has been buying girls from desperate families for years.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

“How many?”

“I don’t know. But I know about three.”

She began trembling.

“One was my friend. Her name was Mary. She disappeared last winter.”

I stepped closer.

“What happened to her?”

Abigail shook her head.

“I don’t know. But before she disappeared, she told me Vernon had taken her to a house beyond the river. She said there were other girls there.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff?”

She looked at me as if I had asked the most foolish question in the world.

“Because the sheriff works for him.”

I said nothing.

Abigail continued.

“Vernon owns half the businesses in Blackthorn Ridge. He lends money to farmers, buys their land when they can’t repay him, and makes sure nobody speaks against him.”

She looked at me.

“My father owed him money. When he couldn’t pay, Vernon told him I could settle the debt.”

I clenched my fists.

“Your father knew what he was doing?”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“He knew enough.”

For a moment, I couldn’t find the words.

Then I looked toward the window.

“Finish your breakfast. We’re going into town.”

Her eyes widened.

“What?”

“We’re going to find out where those girls went.”

THE SECRET IN THE OLD CHURCH

We reached Blackthorn Ridge shortly before noon.

I left Abigail at the general store with Mrs. Whitcomb, an elderly woman who had known me since I first settled in the mountains.

“Keep her here,” I told her.

Mrs. Whitcomb looked at Abigail.

“Of course.”

Then she turned toward me.

“Rowan, you’ve got trouble coming.”

“I know.”

She lowered her voice.

“Vernon was asking about you at the saloon last night. He said you were an old soldier with nothing to lose.”

I gave a dry laugh.

“He isn’t entirely wrong.”

I crossed the street toward the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Thomas Miller was sitting behind his desk when I entered.

He looked up.

“Rowan Creed. What brings you down from your mountain?”

“Vernon Hayes.”

His expression changed.

“What’s he done now?”

“He’s trying to claim a twenty-year-old girl as payment for her father’s debt.”

The sheriff sighed.

“That’s a family matter.”

“No. It’s kidnapping.”

“Do you have proof?”

“I have the girl.”

He leaned back.

“Then perhaps you should take her home and stay out of Vernon Hayes’s business.”

I stared at him.

“You know what he’s doing.”

His eyes shifted toward the window.

“Careful, Creed.”

“Three women have disappeared.”

He stood.

“Get out.”

I didn’t move.

“Where are they?”

His face hardened.

“I’m warning you.”

I slowly walked toward the door.

But before leaving, I turned.

“One day, Sheriff, you’re going to have to explain why you spent so many years looking the other way.”

He said nothing.

I stepped outside.

Across the street, a little boy was carrying a newspaper.

The headline caught my attention.

LOCAL FARMER FOUND ᴅᴇᴀᴅ — AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATING.

I bought the newspaper.

The ᴅᴇᴀᴅ man was named Samuel Price.

He had reportedly drowned in the river three days earlier.

But the article mentioned something else.

His daughter, Mary Price, was still missing.

I folded the paper.

Abigail had been right.

And Vernon was getting more dangerous.

THE LETTER

That evening, we returned to the cabin.

Abigail had barely touched her supper.

I placed the newspaper on the table.

She read the headline.

Then her hand flew to her mouth.

“That’s Mary’s father.”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

She stared at the pH๏τograph.

“They said he was sick.”

“Did you know him?”

“He came to our farm last month. He was looking for Mary.”

Her voice trembled.

“He told my father that Vernon had taken her.”

I sat down.

“What happened next?”

“My father threw him off our property.”

She looked up.

“Two days later, Mr. Price was ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

The room fell silent.

I studied her face.

“Abigail, did your friend leave anything with you?”

She hesitated.

Then she reached inside her canvas bag and removed a small folded piece of paper.

“I’ve been carrying this for months.”

I opened it carefully.

The handwriting was faint, but readable.

Abigail, if you’re reading this, I couldn’t get away.

Don’t trust the sheriff.

Vernon keeps the girls in the old mill beyond the river.

There is a cellar beneath the flour room.

Please tell someone.

Mary.

I read the message twice.

Then I looked at Abigail.

“Why didn’t you show me this yesterday?”

She lowered her head.

“I was afraid you’d send me away.”

Something тιԍнтened in my chest.

I folded the letter.

“I’m not sending you anywhere.”

She looked at me.

“Promise?”

I held her gaze.

“I promise.”

For the first time, she allowed herself to cry.

Not quietly.

Not the way someone cries when they are trying not to be noticed.

She cried like a person who had been holding her fear inside for far too long.

I waited until she was ready.

Then I placed another log on the fire.

THE OLD MILL

I left before midnight.

Abigail wanted to come, but I refused.

“You stay here.”

“But Mary—”

“I know.”

“I can’t just sit here while she’s trapped.”

I looked at her.

“You’re not going to help her by getting yourself captured too.”

She clenched her fists.

“I’m tired of being afraid.”

I softened my voice.

“I know. And I’m going to make sure you don’t have to be afraid of him again.”

I took my rifle and disappeared into the darkness.

The old mill stood beside the river, nearly two miles outside town.

Its windows were boarded.

A single lantern burned near the entrance.

I approached from the tree line.

Two men stood beside the loading dock.

I waited.

When one disappeared inside, I moved closer.

Through a crack in the wooden wall, I heard a woman’s voice.

“Please. I haven’t done anything.”

A man answered.

“Your father should have paid his debts.”

I felt my blood run cold.

Then another voice.

“Where is Abigail Carter?”

My entire body stiffened.

A man laughed.

“Vernon wants her brought here by tomorrow night. He says the old soldier won’t be a problem.”

I тιԍнтened my grip on the rifle.

They knew exactly where she was.

I moved toward the back of the building.

There, beneath the flour room, I found a narrow staircase leading into a cellar.

I heard coughing.

Then crying.

I descended slowly.

At the bottom stood a heavy wooden door.

Behind it, someone whispered.

“Who’s there?”

I leaned closer.

“I’m Rowan Creed.”

Silence.

Then a frightened voice answered.

“Abigail?”

“No. I’m here to get you out.”

A woman began sobbing.

“Mary?”

I froze.

“Is that you?”

“My name is Mary Price.”

I looked at the lock.

Then I heard footsteps above me.

Someone had discovered the open cellar door.

A voice shouted.

“HEY! WHO’S DOWN THERE?”

I raised my rifle.

And at that exact moment, a gunsH๏τ exploded through the mill.

The bullet struck the wooden wall inches from my head.

I had been discovered.

THE MAN WHO HAD NOTHING LEFT TO FEAR

I managed to get Mary out of the cellar, but two men blocked the staircase.

One carried a sH๏τgun.

The other held a revolver.

“Drop the rifle!”

I pushed Mary behind me.

“Get down!”

The sH๏τgun fired.

Wood splintered around us.

I fired once, striking the lantern hanging above them.

Darkness swallowed the room.

I heard shouting.

Footsteps.

A body hitting the floor.

Then I grabbed Mary’s hand.

“Run!”

We escaped through the rear entrance and disappeared into the woods.

By dawn, we reached the cabin.

Abigail opened the door.

The moment she saw Mary, she screamed.

“MARY!”

The two women collapsed into each other’s arms.

For several minutes, neither could speak.

I stood near the fireplace, watching them.

Then Abigail turned toward me.

“You found her.”

I nodded.

She wiped her tears.

“Thank you.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t over.

But I didn’t have the heart.

Because just then, I heard horses approaching.

Not one.

Not two.

At least ten.

I stepped onto the porch.

Vernon Hayes was riding at the front.

Beside him was Sheriff Miller.

And behind them were armed men carrying rifles.

Vernon smiled when he saw me.

“Good morning, Creed.”

I raised my rifle.

“Turn around.”

He laughed.

“I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Then he lifted a folded document.

“Your little friend Abigail is coming with me. And this time, I have the law on my side.”

I looked at the sheriff.

“Is that true, Miller?”

The sheriff avoided my eyes.

Vernon smiled wider.

“Now, Rowan, let’s be reasonable.”

He pointed toward my cabin.

“Hand over the girls.”

I didn’t move.

Then Vernon said something that made my blood turn to ice.

“Or I’ll tell everyone what really happened to your commanding officer during the war.”

My rifle lowered slightly.

Because there was one secret I had buried deeper than any other.

And Vernon Hayes had just proved he knew it.

TO BE CONTINUED…