PART 2 — THE SECRET BESIDE THE STOVE

Ethan Cole had seen death in a dozen forms.

He had watched men die in the dust of the Wyoming Territory, their last words swallowed by the wind. He had carried bodies from burned-out cabins and stood beside graves where no family came to mourn.

But nothing had prepared him for what lay beside the Harper family’s stove.

A man.

His body was half-hidden beneath a torn wool blanket. One arm stretched toward the hearth, fingers curled as though he had tried to pull himself closer to the dying fire. A dark stain spread across his shirt.

Ethan crouched.

The man’s face was unfamiliar.

Yet the sight of him made Ethan’s instincts flare.

“Emily,” he said without turning. “Get your brothers and sisters away from this room.”

The girl stiffened.

“Is he ᴅᴇᴀᴅ?”

Ethan checked the man’s pulse.

“Not yet.”

Emily swallowed.

“Who is he?”

“I intend to find out.”

Ethan rose and moved toward the woman lying on the narrow bed.

Their mother, Margaret Harper, was pale and unconscious. A bruise marked her temple. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.

The baby in Emily’s arms was another matter.

Ethan took Ruth carefully and placed her near the stove, wrapping another blanket around her tiny body. The child’s skin was cold, but there was a faint movement beneath the blanket.

“Get warm water,” he ordered Noah. “And clean cloths. Emily, stay with your mother. Clara, keep Ben away from the stove.”

The children obeyed.

They did not ask why a stranger suddenly seemed to know what to do.

They were simply grateful someone had taken charge.

Ethan knelt beside the injured man again.

A small leather pouch lay near his hand. Ethan opened it.

Inside was a folded paper, a silver pocket watch, and a pH๏τograph.

The pH๏τograph showed a woman and a little girl standing beside a wooden fence.

Ethan’s breath stopped.

The woman in the pH๏τograph was Clara.

His Clara.

The little girl was Rose.

His daughter.

For a moment, the cabin vanished.

He was back in 1884, riding through rain toward a home he had believed would still be waiting. He could almost hear Rose calling his name from the porch.

Then the memory broke.

Ethan turned the pH๏τograph over.

Written on the back were four words.

Give this to Ethan Cole.

His hands went cold.

The injured man stirred.

“Cole,” he rasped.

Ethan leaned closer.

“Who are you?”

The man’s eyes opened halfway.

“Too late,” he whispered. “I tried…”

“Who sent you?”

The man’s gaze shifted toward the children.

“Harper… children…”

His breathing grew uneven.

Ethan gripped his shoulder.

“Stay with me.”

But the man’s eyes closed again.

Outside, the wind howled against the cabin.

Ethan looked at the pH๏τograph once more.

Seven years of grief had taught him to avoid questions that might reopen old wounds.

Now the past had found him in a cabin full of freezing children.

And it had brought a stranger who knew his name.

By the time the water was warmed, Ethan had moved the injured man onto a narrow cot.

He worked with the calm precision of someone who had spent years dealing with emergencies. He cleaned the wound, wrapped it, and checked the man’s breathing.

The wound was serious.

But the stranger was still alive.

Margaret Harper began to stir near the stove.

Emily hurried to her mother’s side.

“Mama?”

Margaret’s eyelids fluttered.

“Emily?”

The girl’s composure shattered.

“Mama! You’re awake!”

Margaret tried to sit up, but Ethan gently stopped her.

“Easy, ma’am. You’ve had a hard fall.”

Her eyes searched the room.

“Ruth?”

Emily held the baby closer.

“She’s here. She’s breathing.”

Margaret’s face crumpled with relief.

Then she noticed Ethan.

“Who are you?”

“Ethan Cole.”

The color drained from her face.

She stared at him as though he had stepped out of a nightmare.

“Cole?”

“Yes.”

Margaret’s eyes shifted toward the injured stranger.

“Oh, Lord.”

Ethan straightened.

“You know him?”

Margaret’s lips trembled.

“He came here yesterday.”

“Who is he?”

“He said he was looking for you.”

Ethan felt the cabin grow smaller around him.

“Why?”

Margaret looked toward the children.

“Because of what happened to your wife.”

Ethan’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“My wife died of fever.”

Margaret closed her eyes.

“That’s what they told you.”

The words struck harder than any bullet.

Ethan stepped closer.

“What are you saying?”

Margaret began to cry.

“I don’t know all of it. I only know that the man beside your stove brought a letter. He said he had proof that Clara and Rose didn’t die the way you were told.”

Ethan stared at her.

Seven years.

Seven years of believing he had failed to return in time.

Seven years of carrying a guilt that had become as familiar as his own shadow.

And now a woman he barely knew was telling him that the truth might be different.

“Where is the letter?” he demanded.

Margaret looked toward the injured man.

“He had it.”

Ethan searched the stranger’s coat.

The letter was gone.

He turned toward the children.

“Did anyone see him take it?”

Noah shook his head.

Emily stood very still.

Then she whispered, “I did.”

Ethan looked at her.

“Who took it?”

Emily’s gaze moved toward the cabin door.

“Someone came while we were bringing Mama inside.”

A cold silence settled over the room.

“Who?”

Emily swallowed.

“I don’t know. But he said he would come back for us.”