PART 2 — THE SECRET HIDDEN INSIDE HER WOUND

Jack Boone stared at Claire’s injured thigh as though he had just discovered something impossible.

The storm battered the cabin.

Snow pressed against the windows, and the fire crackled in the hearth, but neither seemed to exist for him anymore.

“Jack?” Claire whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he brought the lantern closer and carefully examined the wound again.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to lift herself onto her elbows.

“Don’t move.”

His voice was unusually tense.

“Is it a piece of the branch?”

“No.”

He swallowed.

“It’s metal.”

Claire stared at him.

“Metal?”

Jack nodded slowly.

Something small and dark was lodged beneath the torn skin, partly concealed by blood and splintered wood.

He placed the knife on the table and reached for a pair of forceps from his medical kit.

“I’m going to need to remove it,” he explained. “But I need you to stay still.”

Claire gripped the edge of the mattress.

“Will I be all right?”

Jack looked directly into her eyes.

“I didn’t bring you all this way to let you die in my cabin.”

There was something in his voice that made her believe him.

He worked carefully, using the lantern to see what had been hidden inside the wound.

After several tense minutes, a small object came free.

Jack dropped it into a metal dish.

It made a distinct clicking sound.

Claire looked down.

It wasn’t a bullet.

It wasn’t an ordinary piece of metal.

It was a tiny brᴀss key.

And attached to it was a narrow strip of paper, folded so тιԍнтly that it had almost disappeared beneath the dirt.

Jack went completely pale.

“Where did that come from?” Claire whispered.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He picked up the key with trembling fingers and turned it toward the firelight.

On its handle were two engraved letters.

J.B.

Jack Boone.

Claire looked from the key to his face.

“That’s yours?”

He shook his head.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Jack walked to the window and stared into the darkness.

“My father owned a silver mine in these mountains. He disappeared fifteen years ago, and before he vanished, he told me he’d hidden something that could destroy several powerful men in Colorado.”

He turned the key over.

“This belonged to the lock on his private strongbox.”

Claire felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Why would it be inside that branch?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

He carefully unfolded the tiny paper.

There were only six handwritten words.

Trust no one from Blackridge.

Jack read them twice.

Then he looked at Claire.

“Where did you get that branch?”

She blinked.

“Jack, it fell from the tree that struck me.”

“I know. But look at the cut.”

He held the lantern toward the object.

The branch had a strange, clean mark near its broken end.

It hadn’t simply fallen.

Someone had cut it.

And the storm had hidden the tracks of whoever had done it.

Claire tried to sit up.

“Are you telling me someone wanted that branch to fall on me?”

“I don’t know.”

“But the key was inside it.”

Jack’s expression darkened.

“Someone knew I would recognize it.”

He returned to her bedside and checked the dressing.

“You need to rest. We can investigate when the weather clears.”

Claire looked at him.

“You’re not going to tell me to leave?”

His eyebrows drew together.

“Leave? In this storm?”

“No. I mean after this. If whatever happened to your father is dangerous, I don’t want to become a burden.”

Jack pulled a chair beside the bed.

“Claire Phillips, listen carefully. You crossed half a country to marry a stranger who promised you a home. You climbed a mountain in freezing weather, suffered an injury, and somehow still worry about inconveniencing me.”

He paused.

“You are not a burden.”

For a moment, Claire couldn’t speak.

Then she whispered:

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Jack looked genuinely surprised.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because we barely know each other. Because I’m not the kind of woman most men choose. Because you’ve already had to carry me into your house on our first day.”

Jack leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

She did.

“I wrote those eleven letters because I wanted a wife who would tell me the truth. A woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Someone who could stand beside me when life became difficult.”

His gaze softened.

“I didn’t ask for a perfect woman, Claire. I asked for you.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Jack reached for her hand.

And for the first time since stepping off the stagecoach, Claire stopped wondering whether she had made a terrible mistake.

An hour later, the storm became even worse.

Jack had just finished preparing a warm broth when three heavy knocks sounded against the cabin door.

He froze.

Nobody came up the mountain during a blizzard.

Nobody.

He placed the bowl on the table and reached for his rifle.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

Claire nodded.

Jack approached the door.

“Who’s there?”

A man’s voice answered.

“Open up, Boone. It’s Sheriff Miller.”

Jack hesitated.

Then he opened the door just enough to see the visitor.

Sheriff Miller stood beneath the porch roof, his hat covered in snow. Behind him was a younger man holding a lantern.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the sheriff said. “We found something down near the old trail.”

Jack kept one hand on the door.

“What?”

The sheriff glanced toward the cabin interior.

“A ᴅᴇᴀᴅ horse. An overturned wagon. And a woman’s trunk.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“What kind of trunk?”

“Large. Dark leather. Had a name painted on the side.”

The sheriff took a folded piece of paper from his coat.

“Claire Phillips.”

Inside the cabin, Claire heard her name.

Her heart began pounding.

Jack turned toward her.

She slowly shook her head.

“That can’t be mine,” she whispered.

But then she remembered something.

Before leaving the East, she had packed a small leather case containing her mother’s belongings. It had been strapped to the back of the stagecoach.

She had ᴀssumed it was still with the driver.

Jack looked back at the sheriff.

“Where is the trunk now?”

“Down at the settlement. But there’s something you ought to know.”

The sheriff lowered his voice.

“We found a letter inside it. Addressed to Jack Boone.”

Jack’s expression hardened.

“Give it to me.”

The sheriff hesitated.

“There’s a problem. The letter was already opened.”

When Jack returned to the bedroom, he carried a yellowed envelope.

Claire recognized the handwriting immediately.

It belonged to her mother.

She reached for it with trembling fingers.

“That’s impossible.”

Jack sat beside her.

“What is it?”

“My mother died when I was seventeen. She never knew you existed.”

Claire opened the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

My dearest Claire,

If you have reached Colorado, then the truth has finally found its way to you.

There is something I kept from you for twenty years. Your father did not abandon us, as I once told you. He was involved with a man named Jonathan Boone, and together they discovered something hidden beneath the Blackridge Mine.

I was promised that the secret would remain buried.

But if you are reading this, someone has broken that promise.

Claire stopped reading.

Her hands trembled.

Jack stared at the page.

“Jonathan Boone was my father.”

Claire looked at him.

“Then our families knew each other?”

“Apparently.”

She continued reading.

Your father left something in my keeping. I hid it where nobody would think to look. The key is the beginning, but the truth is in the book.

Whatever happens, do not let anyone take the blue book.

Forgive me for waiting so long.

Mother.

Claire lowered the letter.

“My father…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Jack placed a hand over hers.

“Claire, we will find out what happened.”

But his expression had changed.

He was no longer simply worried about the mystery of the key.

He was beginning to understand that Claire’s arrival at his cabin might not have been an accident at all.

Someone had known she was coming.

Someone had known about the key.

And someone had gone to considerable lengths to make sure it reached Jack.

Near midnight, the wind finally began to weaken.

Jack went to check the horses.

Claire remained in bed, unable to sleep.

She kept thinking about her mother.

About the blue book.

About a father she had spent her entire life believing had abandoned her.

Then she heard something.

A faint scratching sound.

It came from beneath the floor.

At first, she thought it was a mouse.

Then three deliberate taps followed.

Claire sat upright.

“Jack?”

No answer.

She looked toward the door.

It was closed.

The scratching came again.

This time, she noticed it was coming from the corner beside the fireplace.

She slowly pushed aside the small rug.

Beneath it was a narrow wooden floorboard that looked slightly different from the others.

There was a tiny iron ring attached to it.

Claire pulled.

The board lifted.

A small compartment lay beneath the floor.

Inside was a blue leather book.

Her breath caught.

The exact book her mother had described.

She reached for it.

But before her fingers touched the cover, she noticed something tucked underneath.

A pH๏τograph.

Two young men stood beside a silver mine entrance.

One was clearly Jack’s father.

The other was a man Claire had never seen.

She turned the pH๏τograph over.

Written on the back were two names.

JONATHAN BOONE AND EDWARD PHILLIPS.

Her father.

But there was a third line beneath the names.

A date.

And a message written in a different hand:

The child must never learn what happened that night.

Claire felt the room tilt.

Footsteps sounded outside.

Jack was returning.

She quickly placed the pH๏τograph and book on the table.

When he entered, he immediately noticed her expression.

“Claire? What’s wrong?”

She pointed toward the open floor compartment.

Jack looked down.

The moment he saw the blue book, he stopped breathing for a second.

Then he noticed the pH๏τograph.

His face became completely unreadable.

“Where did you find this?”

“Under the floor.”

Jack picked up the pH๏τograph.

His fingers тιԍнтened around its edges.

“That’s my father,” he whispered.

“And that’s mine.”

He looked at her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Jack slowly turned the pH๏τograph over again.

His eyes fixed on the final handwritten sentence.

And suddenly, he seemed more frightened than he had been when he discovered the key.

“Claire…”

“What?”

He looked toward the door.

“There’s something I never told you about my father’s disappearance.”

He placed the pH๏τograph on the table.

“My father didn’t disappear alone.”

Claire felt her stomach тιԍнтen.

“What do you mean?”

Jack swallowed.

“Your father was with him the night the mine collapsed.”

A long silence followed.

Then Jack opened the blue book.

The first page contained a list of names.

Most were unfamiliar.

But one name was written in large, unmistakable letters.

SHERIFF MILLER.

The same sheriff who had visited their cabin only hours earlier.

Jack slowly closed the book.

Outside, a horse whinnied.

Then came the unmistakable sound of someone stepping onto the porch.

A man’s voice called through the door.

“Boone! I know you found the book.”

Jack reached for his rifle.

Clara clutched the pH๏τograph against her chest.

The stranger spoke again.

“Open the door, Jack. We need to talk about what really happened to your father.”

Then he added five words that made Claire’s blood run cold.

“And what happened to hers.”

END OF PART 2.

PART 3 WILL REVEAL THE SHOCKING CONNECTION BETWEEN THE TWO FAMILIES — AND WHY SOMEONE WAS DESPERATE TO STOP CLAIRE FROM REACHING COLORADO.