PART 2 — “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” THE CATTLE BARON ASKED, HOLDING THE BABY’S LITTLE YELLOW DRESS

Jackson Thorne had faced bank officers, angry ranchers, droughts, and men who threatened to take everything he owned.

But nothing had prepared him for the tiny yellow dress in his hands.

He looked at the bonnet again.

Then at the little booties.

Then slowly, very slowly, he turned toward Eliza.

“Whose are these?”

Eliza couldn’t answer.

Her fingers тιԍнтened around the edge of the basket.

Jackson’s eyes moved from the clothes to her face.

“Eliza?”

She lowered her gaze.

“They’re for my baby.”

The room became unbearably quiet.

Jackson set the little dress on the desk as though it were something precious.

“Your baby?”

Eliza nodded.

“How long?”

She swallowed.

“Since July.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Since July?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I should have told you.”

Jackson took one step closer.

“Is the child mine?”

Eliza finally looked up.

“Yes.”

The answer seemed to strike him harder than any blow.

He turned away and walked toward the window. Outside, the ranch hands were clearing snow from the barn roof, unaware that the world inside the study had just changed.

When Jackson spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“How long have you known?”

“Several weeks.”

“And you said nothing?”

Eliza’s eyes filled.

“I saw the bank letters. I knew the ranch was struggling. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to trap you into marriage or take something from you.”

Jackson turned around.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“No.”

“Then why did you believe I would think that of you?”

She struggled to find the words.

“Because I’m your cook, Jackson. I have no money, no land, and no family here. You’re a wealthy rancher with a name everyone knows. I thought you might believe I had planned this.”

He stared at her.

Then he looked down at the yellow dress.

“Did you really think I would look at my own child and call it a burden?”

Eliza’s tears finally fell.

“I didn’t know what you would call it.”

Jackson said nothing.

For a moment, she thought he was angry.

Then he picked up the tiny booties again and turned them over in his hands.

“You made these?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Every sтιтch.”

He looked at the little pieces of clothing.

“How long have you been planning to leave?”

Eliza’s silence answered him.

Jackson noticed the packed basket, the folded shawl, and the small leather purse.

His expression changed.

“You’re leaving today.”

“The roads are opening.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Eliza wiped her cheeks.

“I thought it would be easier if I went before the baby arrived.”

“Easier for whom?”

“For you.”

Jackson gave a short, disbelieving breath.

“Eliza, I have spent fifteen years building a ranch and telling myself I needed nothing beyond it. I thought keeping people at a distance made life simpler.”

He glanced toward the window.

“Then you came here, and somehow I began looking forward to coming home.”

Eliza stood motionless.

“I didn’t know how to say that,” he continued. “I still don’t know how to say it properly. But I know this: I don’t want you disappearing from my life without giving me a chance to stand beside you.”

She looked at him.

“Even with the ranch in trouble?”

“Especially now.”

“Jackson, I don’t want your money.”

“I didn’t offer you money.”

“I don’t want you to marry me out of duty.”

He put the booties down.

“Then don’t ask me to make a promise out of duty. Let me make one because I choose to.”

For the first time, Eliza saw the fear behind his steady expression.

He was afraid too.

Not of the baby.

Not of the gossip.

He was afraid she would leave before he could make things right.

Jackson walked to the desk and picked up the bank letter.

“There’s something else you should know.”

Eliza stiffened.

“What?”

“The bank isn’t just asking for the rail easement. They’re claiming my father pledged the northern acreage as security for an old railroad loan.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if I cannot produce the original agreement, they may take the land.”

Eliza looked at the open trunk.

“Is that why you were searching?”

“Yes. The original document could save the ranch.”

Jackson began moving the blankets aside.

Then he stopped.

A narrow envelope lay beneath the lining.

It was old, yellowed, and sealed with dark red wax.

Jackson frowned.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

Eliza stepped closer.

“Was it inside the trunk?”

“It must have been hidden beneath the lining.”

He turned the envelope over.

His father’s name was written across the front.

But beneath it was another name.

MARGARET HART.

Eliza went pale.

“That’s my mother’s name.”

Jackson looked at her.

“Your mother?”

Eliza nodded slowly.

“She died when I was twelve. I have only one pH๏τograph of her.”

Jackson carefully broke the seal.

Inside was a folded letter and a small document bearing the railroad company’s stamp.

He unfolded the letter and began reading.

At first, his expression showed confusion.

Then disbelief.

Finally, something close to shock.

“What does it say?” Eliza whispered.

Jackson looked up.

“Your mother knew my father.”

Eliza shook her head.

“That can’t be right.”

“She worked for him before I was born. And according to this letter, she helped him arrange something involving the northern acreage.”

He turned the page.

There was a line written in darker ink:

The land must never pᴀss into the hands of the railroad until the rightful heir comes forward.

Jackson read it twice.

Then he looked at Eliza.

“Do you know anything about your mother’s family?”

“Only that she came from somewhere near Cheyenne. She never spoke much about her childhood.”

Jackson examined the document.

At the bottom was a name that neither of them expected.

ELIZA HART.

Not her mother’s name.

Hers.

Eliza reached for the paper.

“Why is my name there?”

Jackson didn’t answer immediately.

He turned to the final page.

A second signature appeared beneath the first.

JONATHAN THORNE.

Jackson’s father.

Then, in a cramped handwritten note, the truth began to emerge:

If Margaret’s daughter ever comes to this house, tell her the northern land was never meant to belong to the Thorne family. It was held in trust for her.

Eliza stared at the words.

The land Jackson was about to lose might have belonged to her all along.

But before either could understand what it meant, someone knocked hard on the study door.

The foreman entered without waiting.

“Mr. Thorne, there’s a man at the gate.”

Jackson folded the letter.

“Who?”

The foreman looked uncomfortable.

“He says his name is Silas Whitcomb. Claims he represents the railroad.”

Jackson’s expression hardened.

“What does he want?”

The foreman glanced at Eliza.

“He says he’s come to collect the original deed.”

Jackson looked down at the document in his hand.

Then back at Eliza.

“How could he know we found it?”

The foreman hesitated.

“Because, sir… he says someone sent him a message from inside this house.”

Eliza’s face went white.

Jackson stepped between her and the doorway.

“Who sent it?”

The foreman swallowed.

Then he delivered the words that changed everything.

“He says your father promised him the land years ago. And he says the woman standing in this room was never supposed to discover she owned it.”

Jackson looked at Eliza.

Outside, a horse neighed sharply.

And from the front porch came a man’s voice.

“Mr. Thorne! I know you’ve found the letter. Bring me the deed—or I’ll tell Miss Hart what her mother did to your family.”

Eliza gripped the edge of the desk.

Because suddenly, she understood something.

Her mother hadn’t simply known Jackson’s father.

She had kept a secret for years.

And that secret might explain why Eliza had been sent to the very ranch where her future child’s father lived.

To be continued in PART 3…