PART 2 — WHAT ABIGAIL FOUND BENEATH THE SNOW

“ABIGAIL!”

Daniel Mercer threw open the ranch door.

The blizzard swallowed his shout.

He grabbed the rope hanging from the porch railing and began pulling, but Silas caught his arm.

“Don’t be a fool! If she’s near that old timber pit, you’ll both end up down there!”

Daniel turned on him.

“She’s out there alone!”

“And if you go charging into that snow without knowing where she is, we’ll have two people to rescue instead of one.”

The other cowboys were struggling to their feet.

Owen, still wrapped in his blanket, had managed to reach the doorway.

“Mr. Mercer,” he whispered, “we have to help her.”

Daniel looked at the young man, then at the exhausted faces behind him.

He hated the decision he had to make.

“Silas, bring me the long lantern. Tom, get the spare rope. The rest of you stay inside and keep that fire going.”

He pulled on his gloves.

“I’m bringing her back.”

Abigail Whitmore was not thinking about the danger.

She was thinking about the strange shape she had noticed from the window.

It had been half-covered by snow, just beyond the pine trees. At first, she had thought it was a fallen tree.

Then she had recognized the outline of an old wooden structure.

Her grandmother had once told her about abandoned logging camps in the mountains. Some had been built beside natural springs, where workers could find water even during the coldest months.

If that old camp still existed, there might be something useful nearby.

Abigail had no intention of wandering blindly into the wilderness. She had tied one end of the rope to a sturdy tree near the ranch and kept the other end secured around her waist. She moved carefully, checking the ground before each step.

Then she heard the cracking.

The snow beneath her left boot shifted.

She stopped immediately.

A dark opening appeared beneath a layer of powder.

The old timber pit.

Abigail stepped backward, but a section of frozen earth gave way. She dropped to one knee, catching herself against a buried log.

Her rope pulled тιԍнт.

For several frightening seconds, she couldn’t move.

Then she heard a voice.

“Abigail!”

“Daniel!”

“Don’t move!”

“I wasn’t planning to!”

Daniel’s lantern appeared between the trees.

He approached slowly, keeping to the firm ground. Silas followed with the spare rope.

When Daniel reached her, he secured the second rope around a nearby tree and helped her move away from the unstable edge.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then what in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

Abigail pointed toward the trees.

“Look.”

Daniel followed her gaze.

Beyond the timber pit stood a collapsed wooden shed, almost entirely hidden beneath snow.

“What is that?”

“An old logging camp, I think.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“Perhaps. But I noticed something beside it.”

Daniel stared at her.

“You nearly fell into a pit for something you thought you saw?”

“I didn’t nearly fall. I stopped when the ground shifted.”

“That’s not the point.”

Abigail brushed snow from her sleeves.

“Mr. Mercer, I didn’t come out here to prove anything. I came because twenty-one people are depending on us.”

Daniel looked at her for a long moment.

Then he followed her toward the shed, keeping several paces behind as they checked the ground.

The structure was in terrible condition. Its roof had partly collapsed, and one wall leaned against a pine tree.

But behind it stood a smaller stone building.

Daniel stopped.

“Good Lord.”

“What?”

“That’s the old springhouse.”

He pushed aside a curtain of snow-covered branches.

A wooden door appeared beneath the ice.

Daniel tried the handle.

Locked.

Abigail examined the frame.

“Could there be supplies inside?”

“Maybe. The logging company shut down years ago.”

“Then perhaps they left something behind.”

Daniel searched his coat for a small iron tool and managed to work the old latch loose.

The door opened.

Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and cold stone.

There were broken shelves, an overturned barrel, and a rusted stove.

But in the far corner stood three large wooden containers.

Daniel approached the first.

“Flour.”

Abigail hurried closer.

The lid was frozen shut. Together, they managed to lift it.

A layer of dust covered the top, but beneath it were several sealed sacks.

The second container held dried beans.

The third contained something even better.

Preserved apples.

Abigail stared.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

Then she laughed.

Not a polite laugh.

Not the nervous sound she had learned to use whenever someone insulted her.

A real, delighted laugh.

“Daniel!”

He was already checking the containers.

“Some of this may have spoiled.”

“Then we’ll inspect everything carefully.”

He looked at her.

“You knew this was here?”

“No. I suspected there might be an old camp. I hoped someone had stored provisions.”

Daniel shook his head in disbelief.

“You walked into that storm on a hope?”

Abigail smiled.

“My grandmother always said hope is worth carrying, provided you use your head while you’re carrying it.”

Getting the supplies back was harder than finding them.

They could not carry everything at once, and the weather was worsening.

Daniel insisted on taking the heaviest container while Abigail gathered the smaller sacks.

They secured the provisions carefully and began following the rope back toward the ranch.

Halfway there, Daniel stopped.

“Listen.”

A distant rumble rolled through the trees.

Snow was sliding from the upper slope.

“Move,” he said.

They continued toward the ranch, keeping to the safer ground.

When they finally reached the porch, Silas was waiting.

His eyes widened at the sight of the supplies.

“Where in the world did you find all that?”

Abigail removed her gloves.

“An old springhouse.”

Silas stared at the flour sacks.

“That’s the old logging storehouse. Nobody’s been there in twenty years.”

“Apparently, someone forgot to tell the provisions.”

For the first time in days, the cowboys laughed.

And this time, the laughter sounded almost cheerful.

The kitchen became a place of activity again.

Abigail examined every container, discarding anything questionable. She set the beans to soak, prepared the potatoes, and mixed the remaining flour with water and salt.

Daniel brought in more wood.

Silas cleaned the old cooking pots.

Even Owen insisted on helping, though Abigail ordered him to sit down before he exhausted himself.

By evening, the ranch house smelled of warm bread and simmering beans.

Twenty-one men gathered around the long table.

Abigail placed a steaming pot in the center.

“It’s not a feast,” she said. “But it’s a beginning.”

Daniel served the first bowls.

The cowboys ate quietly at first, as though they were afraid the food might disappear.

Then Owen looked up.

“Miss Whitmore?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do you think we’ll have enough tomorrow?”

Abigail rested a hand on his shoulder.

“We have enough for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll make another plan.”

Daniel watched her move around the table.

She had not simply found food.

She had brought something back into the room that had been missing long before the pantry emptied.

Hope.

Later that night, after the cowboys had settled down, Daniel found Abigail washing the cooking pots.

“You should be resting.”

“So should you.”

He leaned against the doorway.

“I owe you an apology.”

She looked up.

“For what?”

“For laughing when you said you could find something outside.”

“You didn’t laugh.”

“I thought you were reckless.”

“I was frightened, too.”

Daniel seemed surprised.

“You were?”

“Of course. Courage doesn’t mean you stop being afraid. It means you remember why you have to keep going.”

He looked toward the dining room.

“Owen asked me this morning whether we were all going to die here.”

Abigail’s hands slowed.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know.”

She dried her hands.

“Then tell him something different tomorrow.”

Daniel looked at her.

“What?”

“Tell him we have a cook now.”

A faint smile appeared on his face.

For a moment, the two stood in comfortable silence.

Then a loud knock interrupted them.

Three sharp blows against the front door.

Daniel reached for his coat.

“Stay here.”

He opened the door.

A man stood on the porch, accompanied by two riders.

His clothes were expensive, his boots polished, and his expression carried the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

“Daniel Mercer?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Caleb Rusk. I represent the company that owns the old logging property.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want?”

Rusk glanced past him toward the kitchen.

“I heard a woman has been taking supplies from our springhouse.”

Abigail stepped into view.

“I found abandoned provisions in an unlocked building.”

Rusk’s eyes moved over her.

“And you are?”

“Abigail Whitmore. The ranch cook.”

He gave a thin smile.

“Then perhaps you should learn that not everything you find belongs to you.”

Daniel stepped between them.

“She was trying to keep twenty-one people alive.”

“That’s unfortunate. But the springhouse and its contents are company property.”

Abigail folded her arms.

“Then perhaps your company should have remembered it existed before people started starving.”

Rusk’s smile disappeared.

He reached into his coat and produced a folded document.

“I have something more important than a discussion about flour.”

He placed it in Daniel’s hand.

“Your ranch sits on land covered by an old mining claim. The company intends to exercise its rights.”

Daniel read the paper.

His expression changed.

“This claim expired years ago.”

“Not according to our records.”

Rusk turned toward Abigail.

“And you, Miss Whitmore, should be careful about involving yourself in matters you don’t understand.”

Abigail met his gaze.

“I understand hungry people. I understand empty cupboards. And I understand that a man who arrives with legal papers after twenty-one people have gone without food probably isn’t here to offer help.”

One of the riders shifted uneasily.

Rusk folded his coat.

“Enjoy your supper, Miss Whitmore. It may be the last one you cook here.”

Then he mounted his horse.

Daniel watched the three riders disappear into the storm.

When he turned back, Abigail was looking at the document.

“What does it say?” she asked.

Daniel’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“It says the company has thirty days to take possession of this property.”

“But you said the claim expired.”

“It did.”

“Then why are you worried?”

He looked toward the window.

“Because the signature at the bottom belongs to the man who sold my father this ranch.”

Abigail frowned.

“Who was he?”

Daniel slowly lowered the paper.

“My father.”

Before Abigail could answer, Silas appeared from the dining room.

“Mercer?”

“What is it?”

Silas held up a small envelope.

“I found this underneath the door.”

Daniel took it.

There was no name on the front.

Only four words written in dark ink:

ASK YOUR COOK ABOUT CHICAGO.

Abigail went still.

Daniel looked at her.

“What’s this about?”

She stared at the envelope.

Then, very quietly, she said:

“I think someone followed me here for a reason.”

And suddenly, the food she had found in the old springhouse seemed like the smallest part of the mystery waiting at Black Pine Ranch.