PART 2 — THE SECRET BEHIND THE FIVE WEDDING RINGS

Ruth read the first line again.

Then she looked up at Callum.

“Why does this letter say the five women who came before me were warned not to marry you?”

Callum stared at the five rings resting inside the leather pouch.

For a long moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire.

“Because someone wanted them to leave,” he finally said.

“Someone?”

“My brother.”

Ruth lowered the letter.

“You have a brother?”

“Had one. His name was Gideon. He died six years ago.”

Callum picked up the smallest ring and turned it between his enormous fingers.

“He was younger than me. Cleverer, too. He could talk a farmer into selling his best horse and make the man thank him for the bargain.”

Ruth waited.

“He never liked the idea of me marrying. Said a wife would distract me from the land. He wanted the entire valley, including the timber ridge and the northern pasture, to remain under his control.”

“And the five women?”

Callum nodded.

“Each one received a letter before she arrived. The first was told I had a violent temper. The second was told I had been married before and that my former wife had disappeared. The third was promised money to leave before the wedding. The fourth was shown a pH๏τograph of me standing beside a grave.”

Ruth’s expression changed.

“And the fifth?”

Callum reached for the folded letter.

“She was told something different.”

He handed it to Ruth.

The paper was old, but the writing remained clear.

Miss Adelaide Moore,

You have been misled about Callum Brek. He is not a suitable husband. His property is under dispute, his finances are in danger, and he has a history he has concealed from you.

If you value your future, leave before you become trapped in his mountain home.

There are men in this valley who know the truth.

G.B.

Ruth looked at the initials.

“Gideon Brek?”

“Yes.”

“But you said he died six years ago.”

“He did.”

“Then who sent this?”

Callum looked toward the window.

“That is what I’ve never been able to discover.”

Ruth folded the letter and placed it on the table.

“Why didn’t you tell the women the truth?”

“Because I didn’t know the whole truth myself. And because I thought explaining would make me sound like a man making excuses.”

He looked down at his hands.

“After the fifth woman left, I stopped trying.”

Ruth studied him.

“Callum, I am going to say something, and I want you to listen.”

He raised his eyes.

“You cannot build a marriage by expecting someone to guess what happened to you. I may be new here, but I am not a mind reader.”

“I know.”

“And if someone is trying to frighten me away, I would rather hear the truth from you than from a stranger.”

Callum nodded slowly.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should.”

She pushed the pouch back toward him.

“But I didn’t come all this way to marry a perfect man. I came looking for an honest one.”

For the first time that evening, Callum looked as though he might believe her.

Then Ruth noticed something else inside the pouch.

A small brᴀss key.

“What does this open?”

Callum frowned.

“I don’t know. It was in Gideon’s desk when we cleared his belongings.”

“Why have you kept it?”

“Because I never knew what it belonged to.”

Ruth picked it up.

There was a tiny mark engraved near the handle.

A pine tree.

She turned it over.

On the reverse were three letters.

N.R.C.

“North Ridge Cabin?” she guessed.

Callum went still.

“There is an old cabin on the northern ridge. It belonged to our father. Nobody has used it in years.”

“Then perhaps we should find out what this key opens.”

He shook his head.

“Not tonight. The trail is difficult, and the weather is turning.”

Ruth glanced toward the darkening sky.

“Then tomorrow.”

Callum looked at her with something close to disbelief.

“You’re not frightened?”

“I am frightened of plenty of things. But an old cabin and a mysterious key are not among them.”

He gave a quiet laugh.

Ruth smiled.

“Besides, I have spent my entire life being told I should make myself smaller, quieter, and less noticeable. I am finished doing that.”

Callum looked at her as if those words had reached a place in him that nobody had touched.

“Then I suppose this mountain is in for a change.”

“It certainly is.”

The following morning, Ruth woke before sunrise.

She found Callum outside splitting wood. His dark hair was damp from the cold, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.

“Good morning,” she called.

He turned.

“Morning. I thought you might sleep longer.”

“I slept well. Your bed is more comfortable than it looks.”

Callum almost dropped the axe.

Ruth laughed.

“Don’t look so startled. I was complimenting the bed.”

He cleared his throat.

“Breakfast is nearly ready.”

“Then I’ll make the coffee.”

They ate together, and afterward Callum brought out two heavy coats and a pair of sturdy boots.

The northern ridge was several miles away.

As they climbed, Ruth noticed that Callum walked more slowly than he needed to, waiting whenever the trail became uneven.

“You don’t have to slow down for me,” she said.

“I know.”

“Then why do you?”

“Because I enjoy walking beside you.”

Ruth said nothing.

But she smiled the rest of the way.

When they reached the old cabin, Callum stopped at the door.

The building was weathered, its roof sagging slightly beneath years of snow. A rusted padlock hung from the latch.

He took the brᴀss key from his pocket.

It fitted.

The lock opened with a sharp click.

Inside, dust covered the furniture. A cold fireplace stood against the far wall, and an old writing desk sat beneath the window.

Ruth moved toward it.

“Callum, look.”

A small pine tree had been carved into the desk.

The same symbol as the key.

Callum pulled open the top drawer.

It was empty.

The second drawer contained old maps.

The third would not move.

Ruth examined its front.

“There’s a false bottom.”

Callum looked at her.

“How can you tell?”

“Because the wood grain doesn’t match.”

He found the hidden catch.

A narrow compartment opened.

Inside lay a stack of envelopes, a small account book, and a pH๏τograph.

Callum picked up the pH๏τograph.

It showed Gideon standing beside a man Ruth did not recognize.

On the back, someone had written:

The land is ours if Callum never marries.

Callum’s face grew pale.

Ruth opened the account book.

There were names, dates, and payments.

Five separate entries carried the same initials:

A.M.

“Adelaide Moore,” Ruth whispered.

Callum leaned over the page.

“She wasn’t the only one.”

Below the five entries was a sixth name.

Ruth Fairchild.

The date was from three months earlier.

Ruth stared at it.

Someone had been planning to stop her from coming long before she had ever met Callum.

And beside her name was a payment marked:

Final arrangement — complete before arrival.

Callum closed the book.

His voice was low.

“Someone knew you were coming.”

Before Ruth could answer, a horse whinnied outside.

They turned toward the door.

A rider was approaching the cabin.

And when he dismounted, Callum recognized the man immediately.

It was Gideon Brek’s former business partner.

A man who had been missing from the valley for six years.

His name was Silas Crowe.

And he was carrying a document bearing Callum’s signature.