PART 2

THE SECRET BENEATH THE CABIN FLOOR

Grant Mercer had faced angry cattle, winter storms, and men who believed a gun made them powerful.

But nothing had prepared him for the look on Rebecca Dawson Hale’s face.

She was not afraid of him.

She was afraid of what might happen if he learned the truth.

“Your husband?” Grant asked quietly.

Rebecca looked down at the loose floorboard.

“My husband was named Thomas Hale. He died six months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was a good man.”

The words came quickly, almost defensively.

Grant removed his hat.

“Did Silas Crow have something to do with his death?”

Rebecca’s fingers тιԍнтened around the crutch.

“No.”

Then, after a long silence, she added, “Not directly.”

Grant studied her.

He had learned long ago that the most dangerous lies were often hidden inside the smallest truths.

“What is beneath the floor?”

Rebecca glanced toward the doorway.

“Documents.”

“What kind?”

“Documents that could destroy Silas Crow.”

Grant took one step closer.

“Then why haven’t you taken them to the sheriff?”

Rebecca gave a bitter laugh.

“Because the sheriff drinks at Crow’s table.”

“Then the county judge.”

“His brother-in-law owns the courthouse H๏τel.”

Grant’s expression darkened.

“That doesn’t mean every man in Wyoming is bought.”

“No,” Rebecca said. “But it means I cannot afford to choose the wrong one.”

She moved toward the cabin.

Grant followed, stopping when she raised her hand.

“Not yet.”

He waited.

Rebecca bent carefully, using the crutch to support herself. She reached beneath the edge of a worn rug and pulled out a small iron hook.

The loose floorboard lifted.

Beneath it was a narrow cavity.

Inside lay a tin box wrapped in oilcloth.

Rebecca drew it out and placed it on the table.

Grant noticed how carefully she handled it.

As though it contained something alive.

“Thomas found this before he died,” she said.

Grant looked at the box.

“Where?”

“At the old Crow Creek survey station.”

He frowned.

“I thought that station had burned down.”

“It did.”

“When?”

“Four years ago.”

Grant stared at her.

“Then how did your husband find anything there?”

Rebecca opened the box.

Inside were folded maps, handwritten notes, and several pages of legal documents. The paper had darkened with age, but the writing remained clear.

Grant leaned over the table.

The first document was a survey of the western valley.

The second showed a watercourse that did not appear on any of the maps he owned.

The third was a list of property transfers.

He recognized several names.

One belonged to Silas Crow.

Another belonged to a man who had been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for twelve years.

Grant slowly lifted the final paper.

It was a signed confession.

Not from Crow.

From a county surveyor.

The document stated that several boundary markers had been moved deliberately, allowing Crow to claim land that did not belong to him.

Grant’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“This is enough to challenge his claim.”

Rebecca shook her head.

“Not all of it.”

“Why?”

She pointed to the final paragraph.

The surveyor had written that he was acting under instructions from a man named Thomas Hale.

Grant looked at her.

“Your husband?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Thomas discovered that the original survey was wrong. He found evidence that Crow had paid the county surveyor to alter the records.”

“Then why would Thomas sign this?”

“Because he was trying to protect someone.”

“Who?”

Rebecca’s face went pale.

Before she could answer, a horse approached the cabin.

Both of them turned.

Grant stepped outside.

A rider was coming up the narrow path.

He wore a dark coat and carried a rifle across his saddle.

Grant recognized him immediately.

Silas Crow’s foreman.

Caleb Voss.

The man stopped several yards from the cabin.

“Mercer.”

“Voss.”

Caleb’s eyes moved toward Rebecca.

“Mrs. Hale.”

Rebecca stood in the doorway.

“What do you want?”

Caleb smiled.

“Mr. Crow sends his regards. He heard you have been discussing the western boundary with Mr. Mercer.”

Grant stepped forward.

“That is none of Crow’s business.”

“Everything along that creek is his business.”

“Not my land.”

Caleb’s smile disappeared.

“Mr. Crow says you should be careful. He has a claim that will be filed tomorrow.”

Grant folded his arms.

“Then he can explain it to the county judge.”

Caleb glanced at Rebecca.

“Some people should know when to leave a matter alone.”

Rebecca’s voice remained steady.

“Some people should know when to stop stealing land.”

Caleb’s hand moved toward his rifle.

Grant stepped between them.

“Get off my property.”

Caleb looked at him for a long moment.

Then he turned his horse.

“You have been warned.”

He rode away.

Grant watched until the rider disappeared.

Then he returned to the cabin.

Rebecca had closed the tin box.

“You should not have done that,” she said.

“Done what?”

“Provoked him.”

Grant removed his hat.

“Rebecca, he came here to threaten you.”

“That is what he wanted.”

Grant frowned.

“What?”

“To make you angry. To make you act without thinking. Crow knows that men like you will defend their land with their pride.”

Grant looked toward the table.

“And what does he want you to do?”

Rebecca’s eyes moved toward the floorboard.

“Leave.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows I have the documents.”

Grant was silent.

Then he asked, “How did your husband die?”

Rebecca’s face changed.

She looked toward the window.

“The official report said he fell from his horse.”

“And you don’t believe it?”

“I know he didn’t.”

Grant felt a coldness settle in his chest.

“Why?”

Rebecca opened the tin box again.

This time, she removed a folded letter.

It was written in Thomas Hale’s hand.

She placed it before Grant.

The letter was dated two days before his death.

Rebecca, if anything happens to me, do not trust the men who claim it was an accident. Crow has discovered what I found. The original map is not in the box. It is somewhere he will never think to look.

Grant read the final line.

And if he comes for you, tell him the child is gone.

Grant looked up.

“What child?”

Rebecca’s lips parted.

For several seconds, she could not speak.

Then she whispered:

“My son.”

Grant stared at her.

“You have a son?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“I had one.”

The room became very still.

“He was born three months before Thomas died. Crow’s men came to the cabin one night. They said Thomas had stolen something from them. They searched the house.”

Grant’s hands тιԍнтened.

“What happened?”

Rebecca looked toward the floor.

“They took my son.”

Grant felt the blood drain from his face.

“Who?”

“Caleb Voss. Two other men. They said the child would be returned when I gave them the documents.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Her voice broke.

“Because I didn’t have them then.”

Grant stared at the tin box.

The documents.

The maps.

The confession.

Everything Thomas had died protecting.

And somewhere beyond the valley, a child was being held by men who believed they could use him to force his mother into silence.

Grant took a slow breath.

“How old is your boy?”

“Seven months.”

He looked toward the door.

“Then we find him.”

Rebecca shook her head.

“You cannot.”

“Why?”

“Because Crow does not keep him at his ranch.”

Grant looked at her.

“Where does he keep him?”

Rebecca’s face was white.

“I don’t know.”

She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a small piece of cloth.

It was a baby’s blanket.

On its corner, someone had embroidered three words.

MERCER’S OLD MILL.

Grant recognized the place immediately.

It had been abandoned for years.

But it stood on the far side of Crow’s property.

And the road leading there crossed the very land Silas Crow was trying to steal.

Grant looked at Rebecca.

“When did you receive this?”

“Yesterday.”

“From whom?”

She shook her head.

“I found it outside the cabin.”

Grant folded the cloth carefully.

Then he looked at the tin box.

“We are going to the mill.”

Rebecca’s eyes filled with fear.

“Grant, if you go there, Crow will know you have discovered the truth.”

Grant put on his hat.

“Then he can finally stop pretending he owns the valley.”

But neither of them noticed the small figure standing beyond the trees.

A boy.

Watching the cabin.

And holding a second piece of cloth.