PART 2 — THE SECRET BENEATH THE PEAR TREES

Abigail knelt in the yellow grᴀss and brushed away the weeds.

At first, she thought she had stumbled over an old tree root. But beneath the tangled grᴀss lay something that made her stop breathing.

A leather boot.

Not an abandoned boot.

A boot still attached to a human leg.

Abigail dropped the pears and scrambled backward, her heart pounding.

“Good heavens…”

She looked around the orchard. The wind moved through the branches, but there was no other sound.

Then she noticed the earth nearby had been disturbed. Someone had tried to cover the place in a hurry, leaving behind a patch of freshly turned soil.

Abigail hurried down the ridge as fast as her legs would carry her.

She found Nathaniel near the stable, arguing with Jebidiah over the missing supply wagon.

“Mr. Rawlings!” she called.

Nathaniel turned immediately.

“What happened?”

“You need to come with me. Now.”

Something in her expression made him forget the argument. He grabbed his coat and followed her up the northern trail.

When they reached the orchard, Abigail pointed toward the disturbed ground.

Nathaniel went pale.

He recognized the boot.

It belonged to Thomas Bell, one of the ranch hands who had disappeared three weeks earlier.

Nathaniel crouched near the ground, studying the remains of an old camp nearby. A broken lantern lay beside a tree. There were scraps of rope, a rusted tin cup, and something else half buried beneath the leaves.

A brᴀss pocket watch.

Nathaniel picked it up.

His face changed.

“My brother carried this.”

Abigail looked at him.

“You said your brother pᴀssed away.”

“I did.”

He turned the watch over in his hand. On the back were two initials: E.R.

“Elias Rawlings,” he whispered. “He vanished five years ago. They told me he had gone south after a fight with a business partner.”

Abigail looked toward the mine.

“Perhaps he never left this mountain.”

Before Nathaniel could answer, a branch snapped behind them.

He turned sharply.

A figure stood between the trees.

It was Jebidiah Rustin.

“What in blazes are you two doing up here?” the foreman demanded.

Nathaniel stood, holding the pocket watch.

“Finding out why my men disappear.”

For one brief moment, Jebidiah’s face lost its usual confidence.

Then he laughed.

“You’ve been listening to ghost stories, boss. That old mine has been abandoned for years.”

“Thomas Bell’s boot says otherwise.”

Jebidiah’s eyes flickered toward Abigail.

“You should have stayed in the kitchen, woman.”

Abigail lifted her chin.

“And you should have learned that a good cook knows exactly what belongs in her pantry—and what doesn’t.”

Nathaniel stepped forward.

“Get back to the ranch. You’re relieved of your duties until I find out what happened here.”

Jebidiah’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“You can’t afford to lose me, Rawlings.”

“Try me.”

The foreman turned and descended the trail without another word.

But Abigail noticed something he had left behind.

A small scrap of paper caught beneath a stone.

She picked it up.

There were only a few words written on it:

THE COOK KNOWS TOO MUCH.

Her fingers тιԍнтened around the paper.

Someone had been watching her.

And whoever it was knew she had found something.

That evening, Nathaniel sent two trusted ranch hands to guard the northern ridge while he rode into town to contact the sheriff.

Abigail returned to the cookhouse, determined to finish supper despite the fear settling in her chest.

She prepared the beef stew with wild pears, onions, and a handful of herbs she had gathered that morning.

The sweet scent filled the room.

When the men arrived, they ate quietly.

Then Nathaniel took one spoonful.

He stopped.

He took another.

“Miss Mayweather,” he said slowly, “where did you learn to make stew like this?”

Abigail looked up from the stove.

“My grandmother taught me. Why?”

Nathaniel set down his spoon.

“My mother made it exactly this way.”

The room grew quiet.

“Your mother?” Abigail asked.

He nodded.

“She used to say the recipe came from a woman who lived near the old silver mine. A woman named Clara Bell.”

Abigail’s hand froze.

“Thomas Bell’s family?”

“I believe so.”

Nathaniel stared at the stew as though it had brought back a memory he had spent years trying to bury.

“My mother kept an old cookbook. It disappeared after she died. I haven’t seen it in fifteen years.”

Abigail slowly reached beneath the counter and brought out her battered wooden recipe box.

“I found this in the kitchen cupboard when I arrived. It was hidden behind a loose board.”

Nathaniel leaned forward.

“May I see it?”

She handed him the box.

Inside lay a small, weathered cookbook with a faded leather cover.

On the first page, written in elegant handwriting, were the words:

For Clara, from Margaret Rawlings. May this kitchen always be a place of safety.

Nathaniel stared at the inscription.

Then Abigail turned to the pear stew recipe.

A small piece of paper slipped from between the pages.

It was folded twice and yellow with age.

Nathaniel opened it.

His face drained of color.

The note read:

If you are reading this, then the men who came looking for the silver have returned. Do not trust the foreman. He knows where the missing workers are buried. The original ledger is hidden beneath the third stone in the old smokehouse.

At the bottom was a name.

Margaret Rawlings.

Nathaniel slowly raised his eyes.

“My mother knew.”

Abigail looked toward the dark window.

“And someone has been trying to keep that secret.”

A sudden crash came from outside.

The kitchen door swung open.

One of the ranch hands stumbled inside, his hat missing and his face pale.

“Mr. Rawlings! The smokehouse is on fire!”

Nathaniel jumped to his feet.

Abigail grabbed her shawl.

But as they rushed toward the yard, a second ranch hand came running from the opposite direction.

“It’s not just the smokehouse!” he shouted. “Someone’s taken the horses!”

Nathaniel stopped.

And then, from somewhere beyond the barn, a gunsH๏τ echoed through the darkness.