PART 2 — THE COWBOY KNEW WHO HAD TAKEN HER BABY

“Clara, before I tell you, there’s something you need to know about why Victor chose your child.”

Ethan Ward kept his eyes on the dark road ahead.

Clara sat behind him on the chestnut horse, wrapped in his heavy coat. Her body still ached from childbirth, but the pain in her heart was worse.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just tell me where my daughter is.”

Ethan was silent for another moment.

“Her name is Margaret Whitcomb. She runs a private boarding house outside Laramie. But that’s not what worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because she has been buying newborn children from Victor Blackwell for nearly two years.”

Clara’s blood turned cold.

“Buying babies?”

Ethan nodded.

“I don’t know what she’s done with all of them. Some were supposedly sent to wealthy families who couldn’t have children. Others disappeared from the records entirely.”

Clara covered her mouth.

“My daughter isn’t something to be sold.”

“No,” Ethan replied. “She isn’t.”

His voice was quiet, but there was something fierce beneath it.

“And I intend to bring her home.”

Clara studied the scar along his jaw.

“Why are you helping me?”

Ethan тιԍнтened his grip on the reins.

“Because I made a promise to someone.”

“Who?”

“My sister.”

He said nothing more.

They traveled for nearly two hours before reaching a small ranch surrounded by tall pine trees. A woman in her fifties hurried from the porch as soon as she spotted them.

“Ethan! Good heavens, what happened?”

“Sarah, this is Clara Whitmore. She gave birth this morning. She needs a doctor.”

Sarah’s expression changed immediately.

“Bring her inside.”

Ethan helped Clara dismount, moving carefully when he noticed her struggling to stand.

Inside, the cabin smelled of wood smoke, dried herbs, and fresh bread.

Sarah prepared a warm bed and summoned the local physician, Dr. Harris, who lived a short distance away.

While Sarah examined Clara’s condition, Ethan stood outside the bedroom door.

“Is she going to be all right?” he asked.

Sarah looked at him seriously.

“She has lost a great deal of blood. She needs rest, food, and proper care. She shouldn’t be traveling again for several days.”

Ethan nodded.

“Then we’ll wait.”

Sarah glanced toward the bedroom.

“And the baby?”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“Taken.”

Sarah closed her eyes briefly.

“Not again.”

Ethan turned toward her.

“What did you say?”

Sarah hesitated.

“Nothing. I just wish these people would stop treating children like property.”

But Ethan knew there was something she wasn’t telling him.

By midnight, Clara was awake.

Sarah had brought her soup, clean clothes, and a small bottle of medicine.

Clara barely touched the food.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

“Call me Sarah, dear.”

“Do you know where my daughter is?”

Sarah sat beside her.

“I know Ethan has been trying to find her.”

“Why would a man like him care about a woman he just met?”

Sarah looked toward the window.

“Because three years ago, Ethan’s younger sister gave birth to a little girl.”

Clara listened carefully.

“Her husband had died before the child was born. She was alone, frightened, and unable to afford a doctor. Victor Blackwell offered to help her.”

Sarah paused.

“He took the baby.”

Clara’s eyes widened.

“What happened?”

“Ethan searched for months. When he finally found the place where his sister’s daughter had been taken, the house was empty.”

“Did he find the child?”

Sarah shook her head.

“His sister never recovered from losing her little girl. She pᴀssed away the following winter.”

Clara felt tears gathering.

“I’m sorry.”

Sarah gently covered her hand.

“Ethan has never forgiven himself for not being there sooner.”

At that moment, the bedroom door opened.

Ethan stood in the doorway.

“Sarah.”

She immediately rose.

“I’ll check the stove.”

When she left, Clara looked at him.

“Your sister’s daughter. Did you ever find her?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think you can find mine?”

Ethan approached the bed.

“Because this time, I have something I didn’t have before.”

He placed a small notebook on the table.

Inside were names, dates, payments, and locations.

Clara turned several pages.

There were twelve entries.

Twelve newborn children.

And beside the final entry was her daughter’s description.

Female infant. Born October 14. Mother: Clara Whitmore. Delivery arranged by Victor Blackwell.

Below it was a destination.

Whitcomb Residence — Laramie.

Clara began crying.

“That’s my baby.”

Ethan nodded.

“I know.”

“Then take me to her.”

“Not yet.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“She’s alone!”

“And you’re still recovering. If we rush into that house without a plan, they could move her before we get through the door.”

Clara gripped the blanket.

“I don’t care what happens to me.”

Ethan’s expression softened.

“Your daughter needs her mother alive, Clara.”

Those words silenced her.

He reached into his coat and placed another object on the table.

A tiny white ribbon.

Clara recognized it instantly.

She had tied it around her daughter’s wrist before Victor took her away.

“Where did you get that?”

“It was attached to the receipt Victor gave the buyer.”

Clara pressed the ribbon against her lips.

For the first time since giving birth, she allowed herself to believe she might hold her daughter again.

The following morning, Ethan prepared to leave.

Sarah packed food and medicine while Clara insisted on getting dressed.

“You’re not coming,” Ethan told her.

“She’s my daughter.”

“I know.”

“Then you cannot expect me to stay here while you go without me.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Finally, he pulled a chair beside her bed.

“Listen carefully. The woman holding your daughter is expecting me. She believes I’m bringing her something she wants.”

“What?”

Ethan removed a folded document from his saddlebag.

It was a certificate bearing his name.

A certificate claiming he was the legal guardian of an infant girl.

Clara stared at him.

“You’re going to pretend the baby is yours?”

“I’m going to make Margaret believe I have come to complete a private arrangement.”

“And when you get inside?”

“I’ll find your daughter.”

Clara shook her head.

“What if she refuses to give her to you?”

Ethan’s face became unreadable.

“Then she’ll have to explain to the sheriff why she’s holding a child whose mother was sold at an illegal auction.”

He stood.

“Rest today. I’ll return before sundown.”

Before leaving, he placed his old silver pocket watch in Clara’s hand.

“Keep this.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll know I intend to come back.”

Clara closed her fingers around it.

“Ethan?”

He turned.

“Thank you for buying me.”

His expression changed.

“I didn’t buy you, Clara.”

He glanced toward the window.

“I paid $150 because it was the only way I could get you away from Victor without giving him time to hurt you again.”

Then he walked out.

By late afternoon, Ethan reached the Whitcomb residence.

It was a large white house surrounded by iron fencing, with a carriage waiting beside the entrance.

A woman in a dark green dress greeted him.

“Mr. Ward?”

“Margaret Whitcomb?”

She smiled.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Ethan handed her the certificate.

“I’m here for the child.”

Margaret examined the document.

“She’s upstairs. A beautiful little thing.”

Ethan’s hands тιԍнтened.

“May I see her?”

“Of course.”

She led him up the staircase to a nursery.

A small cradle stood beside the window.

Inside lay a newborn girl wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.

Ethan approached slowly.

The baby stirred.

Her tiny fingers opened and closed.

He had seen hundreds of newborns before, but something about this child made his chest тιԍнтen.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

Margaret smiled.

“That’s being decided.”

Ethan looked at the child’s wrist.

There was a faint red mark where the ribbon had been tied.

It was her.

Clara’s daughter.

“She’s healthy?”

“Perfectly healthy.”

“Then I’ll take her.”

Margaret’s smile faded.

“Not so quickly, Mr. Ward. There are matters to settle.”

“What matters?”

She walked toward a desk and retrieved a thick ledger.

“Payment.”

Ethan stared at her.

“I thought Victor had already arranged everything.”

“Victor arranged the introduction. I handle the rest.”

She opened the ledger.

“Some families have already expressed interest.”

Ethan felt anger rising, but kept his voice steady.

“She isn’t going anywhere with anyone else.”

Margaret gave a small laugh.

“You seem rather attached to a child you’ve never met.”

Ethan looked down at the baby.

“Perhaps I am.”

Then Margaret said something that made his entire body go still.

“There’s another reason I wanted you to come personally, Mr. Ward.”

She closed the ledger.

“Your sister’s daughter is still alive.”

Ethan slowly lifted his eyes.

For three years, he had searched every town, every orphanage, and every family connected to Victor Blackwell.

“Where is she?”

Margaret smiled.

“Before I tell you, you’ll have to answer one question.”

“What?”

She leaned closer.

“Are you prepared to learn what your sister actually signed before she died?”

And from the nursery doorway came a small voice.

“Ethan?”

He turned.

A young girl stood there, holding a wooden doll.

She had the same gray eyes as his late sister.

Ethan dropped the document.

The child looked at him and whispered:

“Uncle Ethan?”