PART 2 — THE FIFTY DOLLARS HE PAID WOULD CHANGE BOTH THEIR LIVES

“If nobody owned you, what would you choose for yourself?”

Lydia sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floorboards.

No man had ever asked her that question.

Her father had told her what to wear, where to work, when to speak, and whom to obey. When money ran short, he had reminded her that she was another mouth to feed. When she disagreed, he called her ungrateful.

Now Rowan Creed, a man she had known for less than a day, was asking what she wanted.

“I don’t know,” she finally whispered.

“Then you don’t have to decide tonight.”

His footsteps moved away from the door.

Lydia listened until she heard him settle beside the fireplace.

For the first time in years, she slept without wondering whether someone would enter her room before morning.

But the next day brought a discovery that neither of them expected.

Rowan was preparing breakfast when he noticed Lydia standing in the doorway, holding a small wooden box.

“Where did you find that?”

“In my bag. It belonged to my mother.”

The box was old, with a brᴀss clasp and a faded flower carved into its lid. Lydia explained that her mother had given it to her shortly before she died.

“She told me never to let my father sell it.”

Rowan put down his coffee.

“Did she tell you why?”

“No. She said there was something inside that belonged to me. But I could never open it. The clasp is stuck.”

Rowan examined the box without forcing it.

“May I?”

Lydia nodded.

He worked carefully at the old clasp until it clicked.

Inside lay a folded piece of paper, a small silver locket, and a pH๏τograph of a young woman standing beside a handsome man in front of a ranch house.

Lydia picked up the pH๏τograph.

“That’s my mother.”

Rowan studied the man beside her.

His expression changed.

“Do you know him?” Lydia asked.

Rowan turned the pH๏τograph over.

Written on the back were five words:

For Lydia, when she is ready.

Below them was a name.

THOMAS CREED.

Lydia looked up sharply.

“Creed? Like your name?”

Rowan went very still.

“Thomas Creed was my father.”

The silence between them seemed to stretch.

“My father?” Lydia asked.

“I don’t know. But I can tell you that my father had a younger sister named Margaret. She left home when she was seventeen. He searched for her for years, but no one ever knew where she went.”

Lydia stared at the pH๏τograph again.

“My mother’s name was Margaret.”

Rowan sat down slowly.

For a moment, the lonely cowboy who had faced down storms and cattle thieves looked completely unprepared for what lay before him.

“Your mother may have been my aunt,” he said.

Lydia’s fingers тιԍнтened around the pH๏τograph.

“Then you might be my cousin?”

“Possibly. But we shouldn’t ᴀssume anything until we know the truth.”

He opened the folded paper.

It was a letter in a delicate handwriting.

My dearest Lydia,

If you are reading this, I hope you have grown old enough to understand why I kept certain things from you.

Your father is not the man who raised you. His name is Amos Bell, and he promised me he would protect you. I wanted to believe him.

Your real father was Thomas Creed. He loved you before he ever saw your face. He wanted to bring us both home, but circumstances kept us apart.

I am sorry I could not give you the family you deserved.

There is a small inheritance waiting for you in Blackthorn Ridge. Your father arranged it before he died. The papers are held by the town solicitor.

Never let anyone convince you that you were born without a place in this world.

All my love,

Mother.

Lydia read the letter once.

Then again.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Amos knew?”

Rowan nodded slowly.

“If this letter is true, he knew exactly who you were.”

“He sold me for fifty dollars.”

Rowan looked toward the window, his jaw тιԍнтening.

“Then we have more than one reason to visit Blackthorn Ridge.”

Lydia folded the letter carefully.

“I’m not going back.”

“We don’t have to go today.”

“He’ll be angry when he realizes I have this.”

“Then he can be angry from a distance.”

For the first time, a faint smile appeared on Lydia’s face.

But Rowan’s expression remained troubled.

That afternoon, while he repaired a loose hinge on the barn door, a rider appeared on the trail.

The man wore an expensive black coat and carried a silver-tipped walking stick.

He dismounted without asking permission.

“Rowan Creed?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“My name is Vernon Hayes.”

Rowan straightened.

The name was enough to change the atmosphere around the cabin.

Hayes glanced toward the house.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Rowan placed the hammer on the fence.

“Nothing here belongs to you.”

Hayes smiled.

“Your guest does.”

Lydia appeared in the doorway.

She went pale.

Hayes tipped his hat.

“Miss Bell. Your father is looking for you.”

“I have nothing to say to him.”

“Perhaps not. But he has signed an agreement, and I intend to honor it.”

Rowan stepped between them.

“There’s no agreement that gives you ownership of a woman.”

Hayes’s smile vanished.

“You paid fifty dollars for her yourself, Creed. Don’t pretend you’re a better man simply because you have a nicer cabin.”

The words struck harder than Rowan expected.

Lydia looked at him.

For a moment, she seemed to see the truth she had been afraid to admit: Rowan had rescued her, but he had still handed money to the man who claimed to own her.

Rowan did not look away.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said. “I shouldn’t have paid him as if she were his to sell.”

Then he turned to Lydia.

“You owe me nothing. Not your labor, not your graтιтude, and certainly not your future.”

Hayes laughed.

“You think saying pretty words changes anything?”

“No,” Rowan replied. “But what I do next might.”

Hayes climbed onto his horse.

“This isn’t finished. Tomorrow, I’ll return with the sheriff.”

He rode away.

Lydia stood motionless.

“Will he really come back?”

“Probably.”

“Will you send me away?”

Rowan looked at her.

“Only if that’s what you choose.”

She glanced at the letter in her hands.

“I think I want to find out who my mother really was.”

Rowan nodded.

“Then we’ll go to Blackthorn Ridge together.”

But neither noticed the small figure watching from the trees.

A boy had been hiding beyond the fence, listening to every word.

And when Rowan disappeared into the barn, the boy hurried toward the road, carrying a message that would reach Vernon Hayes before sunset.