PART 2 — THE LETTER THAT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND

Rosemary Caldwell stared at the signature at the bottom of the letter.

For several seconds, she could not breathe.

It was not the signature of a stranger. It belonged to someone she had trusted for nearly her entire life.

“Eleanor,” she whispered.

Wyatt Thorne leaned forward. “Who is Eleanor?”

“My older sister.”

The room became terribly quiet.

Rose looked down at the paper again, hoping she had somehow mistaken the handwriting. But there was no mistaking the elegant capital E, the long sweeping C, or the little flourish beneath the final letter.

Eleanor Caldwell had signed it.

“She knew I was coming here,” Rose said. “She helped me pack. She even paid for part of my train ticket.”

Wyatt folded his arms.

“What exactly did she write?”

Rose swallowed before reading aloud.

Dear Mr. Thorne,

I regret to inform you that my sister has reconsidered your arrangement. She has accepted another opportunity in Boston and wishes to end all correspondence. Please do not attempt to contact her again.

Eleanor Caldwell.

Rose lowered the letter.

“She knew I had nowhere else to go.”

Wyatt studied her expression.

“Did you and your sister have a disagreement?”

Rose hesitated.

There were things she had never mentioned in her letters to Wyatt. Things she had hoped to leave behind in Boston.

“My father died two years ago,” she finally said. “He owned a small bookshop. When he pᴀssed, he left the business to both of us. Eleanor believed she deserved everything because she was older. I wanted to keep the shop open, but she sold it without telling me.”

“And the money?”

“She said there wasn’t enough to divide.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

“Did you believe her?”

“I wanted to.”

Rose looked toward the window.

“After that, she arranged a position for me as a companion to an elderly woman. When the woman died, Eleanor told everyone I was difficult to employ. She said I had become a burden.”

Wyatt’s expression hardened.

“Yet you still trusted her enough to help arrange your journey.”

“She was my sister.”

Rose said those three words so quietly that Wyatt had no answer.

He rose and walked toward the fireplace.

“Someone paid that driver to leave you in the storm.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because the driver knew my name. He also knew you were expected here. And he had no reason to abandon a pᴀssenger unless someone gave him one.”

Wyatt reached for his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“To the telegraph office in town.”

“You cannot travel in this weather!”

“I’ve spent three months waiting for you, Rosemary. I’m not going to let someone decide whether you get to stay alive.”

He stopped beside the bed.

“But I’m not leaving you alone with questions. There’s something else you should know.”

He returned to the desk and opened a wooden drawer.

Inside lay a second envelope.

This one contained a small pH๏τograph of a woman standing beside an older gentleman outside a brick building.

Rose recognized the gentleman immediately.

Her father.

She looked at the woman.

“That’s Eleanor.”

Wyatt nodded.

“I found this pH๏τograph in the papers my solicitor sent last month. Your sister visited Montana last summer.”

Rose stared at him.

“That’s impossible. She has never been west of Chicago.”

“She was here.”

Wyatt pointed to the back of the pH๏τograph.

There was a date written in faded ink: August 14.

Below it were four words.

The Thorne property agreement.

Rose looked up.

“What agreement?”

Wyatt did not answer immediately.

Instead, he retrieved a thick folder from the desk and placed it beside her.

“My father owned land bordering the northern boundary of this ranch. When he died, I inherited it. But there was a dispute involving an old mining claim.”

He opened the folder.

“Your father’s name appears in these documents.”

Rose felt her stomach тιԍнтen.

“My father was a bookseller.”

“Apparently, he was also the owner of a small parcel of land in Montana.”

For the first time that evening, Rose forgot the cold.

Her father had never mentioned owning property in Montana. Not once.

Wyatt continued.

“According to these papers, he purchased the land in 1878. It contains a mineral claim that could be worth a considerable amount today.”

Rose shook her head.

“No. There must be some mistake.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Wyatt turned another page.

“Your sister came here three months before you were supposed to arrive. She wanted to know whether I intended to honor the original agreement.”

“What original agreement?”

Wyatt looked directly at her.

“Your father promised my father that the land would eventually pᴀss to his youngest daughter.”

Rose felt the room tilt.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

She stared at the papers.

For years, Eleanor had told her that their father had left nothing but debts. Rose had believed every word because she had been too busy grieving to question the details.

Now she wondered whether her sister had known something she had never been told.

“Why didn’t you mention this in your letters?”

“Because I didn’t know the full story until recently. I wanted to speak to you in person.”

He paused.

“And because I suspected someone was watching my correspondence.”

A sudden gust struck the shutters.

Rose flinched.

Wyatt immediately turned toward the door.

“Stay here.”

A moment later, three sharp knocks sounded from downstairs.

Both of them froze.

Wyatt took the lantern from the table.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Rose whispered.

“No.”

He descended the stairs.

Rose heard him open the door, followed by a man’s unfamiliar voice.

“Evening, Thorne. Sorry to disturb you.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m looking for a woman. Young, brown hair, traveling clothes. Came through the pᴀss today.”

Wyatt’s answer was immediate.

“Never seen her.”

“Funny. The stagecoach driver says she was headed this way.”

“Then perhaps you should ask him why he abandoned her.”

There was a pause.

“You found her?”

Wyatt said nothing.

The stranger shifted his weight.

“Listen, Thorne. I’m not interested in trouble. I’m here to collect something that belongs to my employer.”

“What might that be?”

“A document.”

Wyatt stepped farther into the doorway.

“You’re on private property. Leave.”

The stranger did not move.

“Your guest may not understand what she’s gotten herself into.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“It becomes my concern if she has something that belongs to the Caldwell family.”

Upstairs, Rose gripped the edge of the blanket.

The Caldwell family.

Her family.

The stranger finally backed away, but before mounting his horse, he called out one last warning.

“Tell her Eleanor sends her regards.”

The door slammed shut.

Wyatt returned upstairs with a face that had turned frighteningly serious.

“They know you’re here.”

Rose nodded slowly.

“And they know about the land.”

He looked at her.

“Rose, where are your father’s belongings?”

“My traveling bag.”

“Anything else?”

She thought for a moment.

Then she remembered.

Her father’s old pocket watch.

She had carried it everywhere since his death. It was one of the few things she had managed to keep when Eleanor sold the house.

Rose reached beneath her pillow and retrieved the small silver watch.

“I have this.”

Wyatt examined it.

“May I?”

She handed it to him.

He turned the watch over and noticed a tiny inscription beneath the scratched silver cover.

For Rosemary, who deserves to know the truth.

Wyatt pressed the little release.

The back compartment opened.

Inside was a narrow folded piece of paper.

Rose’s hands began trembling.

She carefully unfolded it.

There were only three lines.

The deed is not in Boston.

The original agreement is hidden where the first promise was made.

Trust the man who waited.

Rose looked up at Wyatt.

“What does it mean?”

Before he could answer, the sound of a horse galloping away echoed through the darkness.

Wyatt moved to the window.

The stranger was gone.

But something else caught his attention.

A second rider had appeared near the far fence.

This rider was not leaving.

He was heading toward the ranch house.

And in his raised hand, he carried a lantern with a red glᴀss covering.

Wyatt’s face changed.

“Get dressed, Rose.”

“Why?”

He grabbed his rifle from the wall, then reconsidered and placed it beside the door.

“Because whoever that is has come a long way to find you.”

Rose approached the window.

The rider stopped at the gate.

Then a woman’s voice carried through the storm.

“Wyatt Thorne! I know she’s in there!”

Rose’s blood turned cold.

She knew that voice.

It was Eleanor.

And her sister had not come alone.