Wanted: Outlaw’s Daughter

Rain had been falling since late afternoon, turning the streets of Blackwater Ridge into ribbons of mud and sending most sensible folk indoors before darkness settled over the town. By the time the first lamps were lit along Main Street, the rain had become little more than a steady drizzle, but the cold had settled deep into the wooden buildings, and the men inside the Silver Bell Saloon had gathered close to the iron stove with their coats hanging heavily from their shoulders.

Silas Blackwood sat alone at the far end of the bar.

At first glance, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. He was dressed in a weathered black coat, his boots were covered in mud from the trail, and a dark hat concealed most of his face beneath its broad brim. He looked like any other rancher who had ridden into town after a long day, although the Colt resting beneath his coat suggested otherwise.

The bartender had poured him whiskey nearly twenty minutes earlier.

Silas had barely touched it.

He wasn’t interested in drinking.

He was waiting.

There were certain places where a man could disappear without anyone paying much attention, and the Silver Bell was one of them. The room was crowded enough that nobody noticed a stranger sitting quietly in the corner, especially one who kept his back to the wall and his eyes on the mirror behind the bar.

Silas had learned long ago that the best way to hear something important was to make people believe you weren’t listening.

The three men sitting at the table near the stove had been whispering for the better part of an hour.

He’d noticed them when he’d entered.

The oldest of the three was dressed far too well for Blackwater Ridge. His charcoal-coloured coat was tailored perfectly, his boots were polished despite the weather, and a gold watch chain disappeared beneath his waistcoat. The other two men were dressed similarly, although neither possessed the older man’s confidence.

Silas recognised him.

Elias Whitlock.

A railroad investor.

A landowner.

And, if the rumours were true, one of the richest men in the territory.

Silas had heard his name before, usually from farmers who had suddenly discovered that the land their families had worked for generations was no longer theirs.

He hadn’t thought much of it.

Not until tonight.

Whitlock leaned closer to the men sitting beside him.

“The train leaves tomorrow night.”

Silas’s fingers stopped moving around his glass.

One of the younger men glanced toward the bar.

“And you’re certain the payroll will be aboard?”

“Of course I’m certain.”

“What about the ledger?”

Whitlock’s eyes immediately hardened.

Silas lowered his gaze.

That word had caught his attention.

Ledger.

The younger man leaned closer.

“You said it would be transported with the payroll.”

“It will.”

“And once it’s in our hands?”

Whitlock took a slow drink.

“Then the remaining objections disappear.”

Silas watched them through the mirror.

The third man shifted uncomfortably.

“There are still families refusing to sell.”

Whitlock smiled.

“Not for long.”

“And if they continue to refuse?”

Whitlock placed his glass down.

“The sheriff has already been spoken to.”

The younger man frowned.

“And the judge?”

“Taken care of.”

Silas felt something cold settle in his stomach.

Whitlock continued speaking in a voice barely loud enough to reach the men beside him.

“Once the railroad owns the land, those families will have nowhere to go. The banks will call in their debts, the courts will enforce the contracts, and anyone foolish enough to resist will discover exactly how quickly the law can become their enemy.”

The younger man gave a nervous laugh.

“And the ledger contains all of it?”

“Every payment.”

Whitlock smiled.

“Every name.”

Silas’s hand tightened around his glass.

He had robbed banks.

He had robbed trains.

He had threatened men who were richer than he would ever be.

But he’d never cared much about playing the hero, and he certainly wasn’t foolish enough to pretend his own hands were clean. There was blood behind his name, and there were families who had cursed him for taking what belonged to them.

Yet there were lines he had never crossed.

He had never taken a poor man’s last dollar simply because he could.

He had never burned a family’s home for refusing to surrender their land.

And he’d never used the law as a weapon against people who had done nothing wrong.

These men were doing exactly that.

Only they were clever enough to make it respectable.

Silas finished his whiskey and rose from his stool.

Dropping a few coins onto the bar and pulled his hat lower.

As he walked toward the door, he glanced once more at the three men.

Whitlock was laughing.

Silas stepped outside.

The rain struck his face.

He stood beneath the saloon’s awning for a moment, looking across the muddy street toward the dark outline of the railway station.

A ledger containing the names of every official they’d bribed.

Every family they’d forced from their land.

Every payment they’d made.

If Whitlock was telling the truth, that book was worth far more than the payroll.

Silas had just found his next target.

His horse was waiting behind the saloon.

Silas mounted and rode out of Silver Creek without looking back.

The journey to camp took nearly an hour, the rain following him through the darkness while the distant thunder rolled across the mountains.

By the time he reached the clearing, the fire had burned low.

Several men were gathered around it, including Coleman Rourke, who looked up when Silas approached.

“You’re late.”

Silas dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree.

“Had business.”

Rourke studied him.

“What kind?”

“The kind that pays.”

That earned a few smiles.

Wyatt Blackwood was sitting on a fallen log, sharpening a knife.

He didn’t look up.

“How much?”

Silas walked toward the fire.

“Enough.”

Wyatt finally raised his eyes.

“That’s what you always say.”

Silas crouched beside the flames.

“I heard about a payroll train.”

Now Wyatt was listening.

“How much?”

“I don’t know.”

Wyatt’s expression soured.

“You dragged us out into the rain for a job you don’t even know the value of?”

Silas looked at him.

“I’m not interested in the money.”

A few of the men exchanged glances.

Wyatt gave a humourless laugh.

“Of course you’re not.”

Silas reached inside his coat and pulled out a rough map he’d drawn on the ride back.

“The train carries something else.”

Rourke leaned forward.

“What?”

“A ledger.”

Wyatt’s knife stopped against the whetstone.

“What kind of ledger?”

“One that belongs to men who have been buying judges, sheriffs and railroad officials.”

The camp went quiet.

Silas explained what he’d overheard.

He told them about the families being driven from their land and the officials being paid to make certain nobody could stop it.

He told them about the ledger.

He did not tell them everything.

Some things were better kept close.

When he finished, Wyatt stared into the fire.

“So what?”

Silas looked at him.

“So we take it.”

Wyatt shook his head.

“You want us to rob a payroll train for a book?”

“I want the evidence.”

“And then what?”

Silas folded the map.

“We decide what to do with it.”

Wyatt stared at him for several seconds before looking away.

There was something almost resentful in his expression.

Silas noticed.

He simply didn’t understand it.

Not yet.

The following evening, several miles from Silver Creek, the same three men sat together in a private room above the Silver Bell Saloon. The rain had finally stopped, but water still ran from the eaves outside, tapping steadily against the window while Elias Whitlock stood with his back to the fire, staring down at the town below.

“The train leaves at eleven,” the younger man said, checking his pocket watch. “The payroll and the ledger will both be aboard.”

Whitlock’s expression remained calm.

“And Blackwood?”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“He’ll come.”

The third man looked uneasy.

“You sound certain.”

“I am.”

“How?”

Whitlock turned from the window.

“Because men like Silas Blackwood cannot resist believing they’re the ones choosing their battles.”

The younger man frowned.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

Whitlock walked toward the table and poured himself another drink, his movements unhurried.

“Make certain the guards are where we discussed. Blackwood must believe he’s walked into an opportunity, not a trap.”

“And the ledger?”

Whitlock’s smile disappeared.

“Let him take it.”

The younger man stared at him.

“You’re willing to let him have it?”

“For tonight.”

Whitlock lifted his glass.

“By tomorrow, the whole territory will believe Silas Blackwood murdered another lawman, and when they hang him for it, nobody will care what he claims to have found.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Whitlock glanced toward the window again, watching the last of the daylight disappear beyond the rooftops.

“Let Blackwood think he’s stealing from us.”

His voice lowered.

“He’s riding straight into our hands.”

Back at camp, Silas stood alone beside his horse, tightening the saddle straps while the others prepared for the journey.

Wyatt approached him.

“You really believe you’re doing something noble?”

Silas glanced at him.

“No.”

“Then why?”

Silas considered the question.

“Because somebody has to stop them.”

Wyatt gave a quiet laugh.

“You’ve always had a weakness for causes.”

Silas turned toward his brother.

“And you’ve always had a weakness for money.”

The smile disappeared from Wyatt’s face.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Then Wyatt stepped closer.

“You’d better be careful, Silas.”

Silas frowned.

“Of what?”

“Of believing you’re better than the men we’re robbing.”

Silas held his brother’s gaze.

“I’m not.”

Wyatt walked away.

Silas watched him disappear into the darkness.

Something about the conversation bothered him.

He couldn’t explain why.

Perhaps it was the bitterness in Wyatt’s voice.

Perhaps it was the way his brother had looked at him.

Or perhaps it was simply the feeling that had followed Silas since leaving the Silver Bell.

The feeling that tomorrow night’s robbery was going to change everything.

He just didn’t yet know how.

The next evening, Silas Blackwood and his men would ride toward the railroad tracks.

And waiting on that train would be Jesse Cole.

The night was almost completely dark by the time Silas Blackwood and his men reached the ridge overlooking the railway. The rain had finally passed, leaving the earth slick beneath the horses’ hooves. Below them, the tracks disappeared into the darkness between the mountains, following the narrow valley toward Denver, and every so often the wind carried the distant cry of an owl through the trees.

Silas sat quietly in his saddle, his black hat pulled low against the chill while he studied the stretch of railway below. He had ridden these mountains enough times to know every bend in the trail, every place where a horse could be hidden and every section of track where a train was forced to slow before entering the valley. Tonight, however, it wasn’t the money that occupied his thoughts. The payroll would be worth plenty, but the leather-bound ledger travelling inside the train mattered far more, because if the names and payments recorded inside it were as damning as he’d been led to believe, it could bring down men who had spent years convincing themselves they were untouchable.

Behind him, Wyatt Blackwood shifted impatiently in his saddle.

“You’ve been staring at that track for ten minutes.”

Silas didn’t turn.

“I’m waiting!”

“For what?”

“The train brother, what ever else could it be?”

Wyatt gave a quiet laugh, though there was little humour behind it. “You always were good at making a simple answer sound impossible .”

Silas finally looked over his shoulder at his brother. The two men had spent most of their lives riding together, yet lately Wyatt’s presence seemed to carry a tension that Silas couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t unusual for brothers to argue, especially brothers who had spent years living outside the law, but there were moments when Silas caught something in Wyatt’s expression that felt different from ordinary resentment.

“You could always ride home,” Silas said.

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

“And miss the money?”

Silas turned back toward the tracks.

“You know that’s not why we’re here.”

“No,” Wyatt replied, his voice quieter now. “I know why you’re here.”

Before Silas could answer, Coleman Rourke leaned forward from his saddle.

“Smoke.”

Everyone looked toward the horizon.

At first, Silas saw nothing but darkness, but then a faint glow appeared between the mountains, growing brighter with every passing second. A low rumble followed, so distant it could almost have been mistaken for thunder, yet Silas knew exactly what it was. The sound grew steadily louder until the ground beneath the horses seemed to tremble, and the great black locomotive emerged from the darkness with its headlamp cutting through the night.

Silas reached beneath his coat and checked the revolver resting against his hip.

“Remember the plan,” he said quietly. “We take the payroll, we take the ledger, and then we leave.”

Wyatt smiled.

“And if somebody gets in the way?”

Silas looked at him.

“ I don’t want No unnecessary blood!”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine, no unnecessary Blood!”

Silas raised his hand, ignoring his brother.

The men prepared themselves for his signal.

Silas lowered his hand, his sign to go.

The horses thundered down the slope as the train approached, their hooves throwing mud behind them while the locomotive’s whistle screamed through the valley. Silas urged his horse alongside the slowing train, reached for the iron ladder attached to the nearest carriage and caught it with one hand, hauling himself from the saddle before the train could gather speed again.

Gunfire erupted almost immediately.

A bullet struck the wooden carriage beside Silas’s head, splintering the frame, and he ducked instinctively before pulling himself onto the platform. Another shot rang out behind him, followed by the sound of men shouting as his gang forced their way toward the rear carriages.

Silas pushed through the door and found himself face-to-face with a railroad guard.

The man raised his rifle.

Before the man had chance to fire, Silas raised his revolver and fired.

The guard dropped, his body lying motionless on the floor.

For a moment, Silas stood completely still, staring at the man lying on the floor. He had told himself this robbery would be different, that they would frighten the guards and take what they needed without unnecessary deaths, but the West had a cruel way of reminding a man that plans rarely survived contact with a loaded gun.

A rifle being cocked behind him made Silas turn.

A lawman stood at the far end of the carriage.

He was broad through the shoulders, perhaps ten years older than Silas, with a weathered face and the steady expression of a man who had spent most of his life dealing with dangerous people.

“Drop your weapon, Blackwood.”

Silas recognised him immediately.

Jesse Cole.

He had heard the name before, and he’d seen the man’s face on wanted posters more than once.

“Jesse,” Silas said, keeping his revolver lowered but ready. “I don’t want this to end badly.”

Jesse’s eyes hardened.

“You should’ve thought about that before you boarded my train.”

“It’s not your train.”

“You know what I mean.”

Silas glanced toward the carriage behind him, where the sound of gunfire and shouting continued to echo.

“Move aside Deputy.”

Jesse raised his rifle.

“You know I can’t let you do that.”

For one brief moment, Silas considered lowering his weapon.

But then Jesse fired his weapon.

The bullet tore through the wooden frame beside Silas’s shoulder, and instinct took over before thought had a chance to intervene. Silas raised his revolver and fired once.

Jesse staggered.

The rifle slipped from his hands as he reached instinctively toward his chest, his eyes widening with disbelief before his knees gave way beneath him.

Silas caught him before Jesse struck the floor.

“Jesse.”

The lawman’s eyes found his.

Silas could see the life leaving them.

“I didn’t…”

The words caught in his throat.

He had no explanation that would make a difference now.

Jesse’s head fell against the carriage wall.

Silas slowly lowered him to the floor, his jaw clenched as guilt settled heavily across his chest. He wanted to stay, perhaps because some part of him believed that if he could somehow stop the bleeding, he could undo what had happened, but the shouting outside reminded him that the robbery was still unfolding and his men were waiting.

He forced himself to stand.

“God please forgive me.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the next carriage straight to his men.

Denver, Colorado

Three hundred miles away, Anne Cole was standing beside the kitchen window when the knock came at the door.

It was late enough that she hadn’t expected visitors, and the small house had already settled into its usual evening quiet. A lamp burned on the table beside an unfinished piece of sewing, while a kettle sat cooling beside the stove. Her son, Everett, had gone upstairs only moments earlier, and Anne had been looking forward to a few minutes of peace before bed.

The knock came again.

She frowned.

“Everett?”

There was no answer from upstairs.

Anne wiped her hands against her apron and crossed the room, though an inexplicable uneasiness had already begun to settle inside her. She opened the door and found two men standing on the porch, one wearing the uniform of a railroad official and the other dressed in the dark coat of a lawman.

Neither man spoke immediately.

Anne’s heart began to beat faster.

“Can I help you?”

The older man removed his hat.

“Mrs. Cole?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated.

Anne looked from him to the lawman beside him, and suddenly she knew they weren’t there to discuss the weather or ask directions.

She knew it was going to be about her husband.

Her heart was breaking before they even said it.

The railroad official lowered his eyes.

Anne’s fingers tightened around the door.

“Where is my husband?”

Before either man could answer, footsteps sounded on the staircase behind her.

Everett appeared in the doorway.

At twenty years old, he already carried much of his father’s presence in him, from his broad shoulders to the striking blue eyes that Anne had once joked were impossible to hide beneath any hat. His blond hair was untidy from sleep, and he had only just begun fastening his shirt when he saw the men on the porch.

“What happened Mama?”

Anne turned toward her son, she didn’t want him to hear the news.

“Go upstairs Son.”

Everett frowned.

“Mama…”

“Please.”

But he could hear something in her voice that made him stop.

The lawman looked at Everett.

“There was an attack on the payroll train.”

Everett’s expression changed.

“So, where’s my father?”

The man didn’t answer immediately.

Everett stepped closer to the lawman.

“Where is my father, i demand to know?”

The silence was enough.

Anne shook her head.

“No, I can’t be?”

The lawman finally forced himself to speak.

“Jesse was killed.”

Everett stared at him.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

It was as though his mind had refused to understand the words, and somewhere beneath the shock he was still waiting for the man to correct himself.

Anne made a broken sound behind him.

“No, he wasn’t.”

Her voice trembled.

“He was coming home.”

Everett turned toward his mother just as her knees began to buckle. He caught her and pulled her against him, his arms tightening around her as she buried her face against his chest.

He could feel her trembling.

He could feel his own heart pounding.

But beneath the grief, another emotion was beginning to take shape.

Rage for whoever thought they could take his father’s life away from them.

“Who did this?”

The lawman looked at him.

“Silas Blackwood.”

Everett’s face hardened.

He had heard that name all his life, but he had never imagined it would become part of his own family.

“Where is he?”

“They’re searching for him.”

Everett looked toward the dark street beyond the porch.

“Then they’d better find him.”

His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the lawman hesitate.

Everett tightened his arms around his mother.

“Because when I find him, I’ll make sure he answers for what he did. He will praying for God once I’m finished!”

Silas didn’t know how long he had been riding when the first sign of betrayal appeared.

The gang had scattered after the robbery, exactly as planned, with each man taking a different route through the mountains to avoid leading the authorities back to camp. Silas had kept the ledger hidden beneath his coat, though the weight of it seemed heavier now than it had when he’d taken it from the train.

He knew what was written inside.

He knew what it could do.

And he knew powerful men would kill to get it back.

By the third night, he had taken shelter inside an abandoned cabin several miles from the nearest settlement. A small fire burned in the stone hearth, but he had kept it deliberately low, unwilling to risk attracting attention.

He was exhausted.

His shoulder ached from the earlier wound, and the memory of Jesse Cole’s face kept returning whenever he closed his eyes.

Then he heard horses.

Silas reached for his revolver.

His body stiffened as he listened.

There were so many.

He looked toward the doorway.

“Wyatt.”

His brother emerged from the darkness.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Wyatt stopped.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Silas studied him.

Something didn’t feel right, his brother was acting different.

Before he could process his thoughts, the first gunshot tore through the cabin wall.

Silas threw himself sideways as splinters exploded across the room.

“Lawmen!”

He reached for the rear door, but Wyatt wasn’t moving.

Silas looked at him.

Their eyes meeting in the darkness.

And then is when Silas understood his own brother’s betrayal.

“You, but why?”

Wyatt’s expression remained strangely calm.

“You sold me. Your own brother!”

“I did what I had to.”

“You sold your own brother for money?”

Wyatt’s jaw tightened.

“You were going to get us all killed eventually. Always being careful, no unnecessary blood.”

More gunfire erupted outside.

Silas stared at him with hate now.

His own brother betrayed him for money.

Then that’s when he heard the lawmen approach the cabin, storming through the door.

Silas fought hard, but there were too many of them. He managed to break free once, then again, but eventually a rifle struck him across the back and sent him crashing to his knees.

Iron cuffs closed around his wrists.

As they dragged him outside, Silas looked toward Wyatt one last time.

“You’ll regret this. If i survive this, your a dead man Wyatt. You ain’t my blood no more!”

Wyatt looked away.

Silas was taken back Blackwater Ridge 35 miles from Silver Creek.

Bound in chains and walking toward his fate.

The Trial

The trial began two days later.

By then, the newspapers had already decided what Silas Blackwood was.

A murderer.

A thief.

A ruthless outlaw who had terrorised the territory for years.

The courtroom was packed when Silas was brought inside, and he could feel the hatred following him from every corner of the room. Families who had lost money during his robberies sat among the crowd, while railroad officials watched from the front rows with expressions that were far too calm for men who had supposedly lost so much.

Silas noticed them.

He noticed everything.

And they knew he knew everything.

The prosecutor stood before the judge and listed his crimes one after another, painting Silas as a man who had never possessed a conscience. When Jesse Cole’s name was spoken, however, the room seemed to become quieter.

“Blackwood, did you shoot Deputy Marshall Jesse Cole?” the prosecutor asked.

Silas stared straight ahead.

“Yes.”

A murmur passed through the courtroom.

“Do you deny that your bullet killed him?”

Silas lowered his eyes.

“No, but it wasn’t intentional.”

The prosecutor smiled.

“Then there is nothing more to discuss.”

Silas looked toward the railroad officials sitting near the front.

That’s when he noticed Elias Whitlock.

Their eyes met.

For the briefest moment, Whitlock smiled.

Silas understood everything now.

They weren’t afraid of him. They believed they had already won this fight.

He was a decoy, a pawn to be used in their little game.

Silas said nothing about the ledger.

He said nothing about what he’d overheard in the Silver Bell.

He knew that if he revealed the truth now, the ledger would disappear before anyone could examine it, and the people responsible would walk away untouched.

Whatever happened to him, he would not give them that victory.

The judge finally pronounced his sentence.

Silas Blackwood would hang for his crimes.

As the courtroom erupted in whispers, Silas remained perfectly still.

He had expected death.

What he hadn’t expected was the thought that came immediately afterward.

Eleanor.

His little girl.

And for the first time since the train robbery, Silas wondered whether he would ever see her again.

The morning of Silas Blackwood’s execution arrived beneath a colourless sky.

A cold wind moved through Blackwater Ridge, carrying the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke between the buildings. Long before the gallows came into view, the streets surrounding the courthouse had begun to fill with people. Men stood in groups with their hats pulled low against the wind, while women gathered near the edges of the crowd, some holding children by the hand and others whispering behind gloved fingers.

Silas could hear them as he was led from the jail.

They spoke his name with hatred.

Some called him a murderer and others a thief.

He kept his head raised as he walked between the two lawmen, his wrists bound tightly in front of him. His black coat was worn and dusty from the days he’d spent in captivity, and there was a bruise along his cheek that had darkened overnight, but he refused to give the crowd the satisfaction of seeing fear upon his face.

He didn’t fear the rope.

Death itself seemed almost simple compared with what he was leaving behind.

Eleanor.

The thought of his daughter followed him with every step.

He could still remember the last time he’d held her. She had been so small then, with her red hair tied back in a crooked ribbon and her little hands wrapped tightly around his fingers. She had asked him when he was coming home, and Silas had promised that he wouldn’t be gone long, but that was a lie.

Not because he wanted to, but men like him were always lying when they promised their families they would come home.

As he reached the gallows, Silas looked beyond the crowd toward the distant hills.

Somewhere beyond the hills, Maggie was waiting with their daughter in Red Hollow for his return.

The executioner approached and began preparing the rope, checking the knot with the cold efficiency of a man who had done it before.

Silas looked at him.

“Does it hurt?”

The executioner paused.

“Not for long.”

Silas gave the faintest smile.

“Good, make it quick.”

The man seemed surprised by the answer.

Silas turned his attention back toward the crowd.

He knew the crowd wanted him to look ashamed for his crimes.

Perhaps he should have

He had done things he regretted. There were men buried beneath the soil because of choices he’d made, families who had gone hungry because he’d taken money that wasn’t his, and now Jesse Cole’s face would remain with him for however many minutes remained

But the men who had truly set this whole thing in motion were standing among the respectable citizens of Blackwater Ridge, watching him die while their own secrets remained buried.

Silas’s gaze found Elias Whitlock.

The man’s expression was way too calm.

Silas stared at him for several seconds.

Whitlock gave the smallest smile.

Silas understood then.

They believed the ledger was gone.

They believed he had taken their secret to the grave, but they were wrong.

The executioner placed the hood over his head.

Darkness surrounded him then. And for the first time, Silas allowed himself to think only of Eleanor and his darling Maggie.

“Grow up kind,” he whispered beneath the hood, his voice barely audible. “Don’t become like me.”

The trapdoor opened.

His body dropped and the rope snapped tight against his throat.

The crowd fell silent in quiet whispers.

For several long moments, Silas Blackwood hung motionless above them while the lawmen watched to make certain there was no movement.

The sheriff gave a nod to the crowd, signaling he was dead.

That’s what people of Blackwater Ridge Believe.

Red Hollow

Maggie Blackwood didn’t attend the hanging in Blackwater Ridge.

She couldn’t watch her husband die.

Instead, she stood inside the small house she had once shared with Silas, hurriedly folding Eleanor’s clothes into a worn leather travelling case while her daughter sat quietly on the edge of the bed.

Eleanor was only six years old.

She didn’t understand why her mother was crying.

“Are we going somewhere Mama?”

Maggie stopped folding, and looked at her daughter and forced a smile.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“But Where?”

“Somewhere new. A fresh start.”

Eleanor looked toward the window.

“Is Papa coming?”

The question nearly broke her.

Maggie knelt in front of her and took both of her daughter’s hands.

“Your father can’t come with us.”

“Why?”

Maggie swallowed the ache in her throat.

“Because sometimes people have to leave the places where they are known.”

Eleanor frowned, clearly not understanding.

Maggie reached for the small wooden music box sitting on the dresser and placed it carefully inside the travelling case.

“This belongs to you.”

Eleanor looked at it and smiled innocently.

“Papa gave me that.”

“I know he did, sweetheart.”

“Will I ever see him again?”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears and pulled Eleanor into her arms.

“One day, you’ll understand.”

Outside, a wagon waited in the road.

Maggie carried the case downstairs, helped Eleanor into the wagon and climbed in beside her.

As Red Hollow slowly disappeared behind them, Eleanor turned in her seat and watched the only home she’d ever known grow smaller in the distance.

Maggie held her close.

Neither of them knew where the road would take them.

Neither knew what Silas had truly left behind.

And neither knew that, fifteen years later, the little girl sitting beside her would meet a man whose entire life had been shaped by the death of her father.

For now, Maggie had only one goal.

To give her daughter a life where nobody knew the name Blackwood.

And so she took Eleanor to Silver Creek and become the Whitmores.

And the world would believe Eleanor’s father was dead.