By midnight, Jacob Mercer had learned three things about the baby.
She hated being laid flat.
She could scream louder than seemed physically possible for someone so small.
And she settled almost instantly when he carried her against his shoulder.
“You’ve created a problem,” Abigail said.
Jacob walked slow circles around the kitchen table.
“What problem?”
“She likes you.”
“That’s temporary.”
“Children are famous for respecting such arrangements.”
The baby made a soft sound.
Jacob looked down.
She had one fist wrapped around the edge of his shirt.
Abigail watched him.
“You’re holding her like dynamite.”
“I’ve never held a baby this long.”
“You were one once.”
“I don’t remember it.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
Jacob frowned.
“What do we call her?”
Abigail’s expression softened.
“You found nothing?”
“Only Eliza’s name.”
“Then until we know otherwise, we call her Little Miss.”
Jacob looked appalled.
“We’re not calling her Little Miss.”
“Then offer something better.”
He didn’t.
Abigail smiled.
“Little Miss it is.”
At dawn, Jacob saddled Copper.
“Where are you going?” Abigail asked.
“Town.”
“Because nothing improves a dangerous mystery like walking directly toward the dangerous people involved.”
“I need to know what that key opens.”
Abigail crossed her arms.
“What about Silas Creed?”
“I’d rather know what he wants before he decides I have it.”
“You do have it.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Abigail gave him a look.
Jacob adjusted the saddle.
“What?”
“You were never good at lying.”
“I’m not planning to lie.”
“You told me that when you were fourteen and came home without your father’s rifle.”
“That was different.”
“You had dropped it down a well.”
Jacob mounted.
“Watch the road.”
“I always do.”
“And if anybody comes—”
“I know where the shotgun is.”
He nodded.
Abigail’s voice stopped him.
“Jacob.”
He turned.
She had lost her teasing expression.
“Bring Eliza home if you can.”
Jacob looked toward the sleeping baby.
“I intend to.”
Dry Mesa consisted of two intersecting streets, one church, one bank, three saloons, a hotel, a general store, a newspaper office, a blacksmith, and enough stubborn people to believe civilization had arrived because someone painted numbers on the buildings.
Jacob rode past the sheriff’s office.
No sign of Bell.
He headed for the train depot.
If a key was stamped with a number, the depot seemed likely.
Freight lockers lined one wall inside the station.
Numbers 1 through 40.
Jacob’s pulse quickened.
He found 27.
The brass key slid into the lock.
Perfect fit.
He looked around.
The stationmaster was arguing with a farmer about a missing crate.
Nobody noticed Jacob.
He opened the compartment.
Inside sat a small leather satchel.
He took it.
Behind him, a floorboard creaked.
Jacob turned.
Nobody.
He walked outside without hurrying.
Only when he reached the alley beside the blacksmith shop did he open the satchel.
Papers.
Ledgers.
Receipts.
Land deeds.
Names.
Dozens of them.
Jacob recognized ranches that Silas Creed had acquired over the last decade.
Hollis.
Benton.
Ramirez.
Porter.
Harper.
He found a document bearing Samuel Harper’s signature.
Except Jacob had seen Samuel’s signature before.
His father had bought breeding cattle from the man.
Samuel Harper signed his surname with a long, sweeping H.
This signature looked cramped.
Wrong.
Forgery.
Another page contained a list of payment dates.
Sheriff Amos Bell.
Judge Walter Crane.
Deputy Travis Cole.
Bank manager Edwin Pike.
Amounts beside every name.
Jacob’s stomach tightened.
The documents were not just evidence of stolen land.
They were evidence that Silas Creed had bought half the town’s authority.
At the bottom of the satchel lay an envelope.
JACOB MERCER.
His name was written across it.
He stared.
Eliza had intended him to find this.
He opened the letter.
Jacob,
If you are reading this, I either reached your ranch or I failed to.
I am sorry to place this burden on you.
I chose you because eight years ago, I saw you looking back.
Everyone else watched our home burn.
You were the only person who looked ashamed.
I remembered that.
My father did not die because of debt.
Silas Creed forged notes against our land. When Father discovered it, Creed had his men burn the stable and threaten us into leaving. Father collected proof, but he disappeared before he could expose them.
For years I believed he was dead.
Three months ago, I learned he survived.
He had been imprisoned under another name in a labor camp connected to Creed’s mining interests.
He died two years ago.
Before his death, he gave evidence to a former bookkeeper named Nathan Vale.
Vale found me.
The papers in this bag can destroy Creed.
He knows I have them.
My daughters are Clara and Rose.
If I cannot protect them, please do what Dry Mesa once failed to do.
Please do not look away.
Jacob read the letter twice.
Rose.
He thought of the baby.
A daughter.
Eliza had named her Rose.
His throat tightened.
He folded the letter.
Something moved behind him.
Jacob spun.
A man stepped from the alley.
Deputy Travis Cole.
His hand rested near his revolver.
“You opened the locker.”
Jacob said nothing.
Cole looked at the satchel.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?”
“Because now I have to choose.”
“Choose what?”
Cole swallowed.
“Whether I’m still the man Creed thinks he bought.”
Jacob studied him.
Cole was twenty-eight, younger than Jacob by several years. His father had died in a cattle accident. His mother ran the town laundry.
“You’re in the ledger.”
“I know.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“For what?”
“My mother needed surgery.”
Jacob waited.
Cole’s voice turned bitter.
“Creed gave me money. Afterward he started asking favors. Telling him when warrants were being discussed. Looking away when his men carried weapons into town.”
“You took it.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Because Eliza Harper came to me six days ago.”
Jacob stiffened.
“She was alive?”
“She asked whether Bell could be trusted.”
“What did you tell her?”
Cole looked down.
“The truth.”
“Which is?”
“Bell isn’t clean.”
Jacob already knew from the ledger.
“Where is Eliza?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was chasing her?”
“Two of Creed’s men. Wade Tully and Frank Driscoll.”
“Were they in town today?”
“No.”
“Then we find them.”
Cole grabbed Jacob’s arm.
“No. Listen to me.”
Jacob pulled free.
“Don’t.”
“They’re killers.”
“That supposed to frighten me?”
“Yes.”
Cole’s answer was immediate.
“It should.”
Jacob stared at him.
Cole continued.
“Creed doesn’t just want those papers back. He thinks Samuel Harper hid something else.”
“What?”
“A second ledger.”
Jacob looked at the satchel.
“This isn’t enough?”
“It proves fraud and bribery. But the second book supposedly proves murder.”
A church bell rang.
Cole flinched.
“We shouldn’t stand here.”
Jacob closed the satchel.
“Where can we talk?”
“Nowhere.”
“Helpful.”
“Creed owns rooms, ears, and sometimes the people attached to them.”
Jacob thought.
“My ranch.”
Cole shook his head.
“He’ll watch it.”
“He already is.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
A rifle cracked.
The bullet struck the brick wall inches from Cole’s shoulder.
Jacob grabbed him and pulled him behind a water trough.
Another shot shattered a window.
People screamed.
Cole drew his revolver.
“Roof!”
Jacob saw movement above the hotel.
He fired.
The shooter disappeared.
Cole ran around the corner.
Jacob followed.
They reached the street in time to see a rider burst from behind the livery stable.
Wade Tully.
Jacob recognized him.
Tully had worked for Creed for years.
“Stop!” Cole shouted.
Tully fired backward.
A bullet struck Cole high in the arm.
He went down.
Jacob mounted Copper and chased.
Tully rode west.
Jacob gained on him.
At the edge of town, Tully pulled another pistol.
Jacob ducked as a shot passed near his head.
He drew his own Colt.
Could have fired.
Didn’t.
Too much distance.
Too much risk.
Tully disappeared into the mesquite flats.
Jacob stopped.
He hated retreating.
But he hated leaving Cole bleeding in the road more.
He returned.
By then Sheriff Bell had arrived.
Bell looked at Cole’s wound.
“What happened?”
“Tully shot him,” Jacob said.
Bell stared.
“You sure?”
“I saw him.”
Bell’s expression revealed nothing.
“Why would Wade shoot a deputy?”
“Why don’t you ask Silas?”
Bell’s jaw tightened.
“You need to be careful.”
Jacob laughed once.
“That warning’s getting popular.”
Dr. Eleanor Hayes treated Cole in the clinic.
The bullet had passed through without breaking bone.
When Bell left, Jacob leaned close.
“You’re coming to my ranch.”
Cole shook his head.
“That’ll bring trouble there.”
“Trouble already knows the way.”
An hour later, Jacob returned home with Cole hidden beneath blankets in the back of a wagon.
Abigail met them with a shotgun.
“You’re collecting people now?”
“Apparently.”
She saw the blood.
“Oh.”
Cole managed a weak smile.
“Ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Get inside.”
Jacob carried the satchel to his bedroom and hid it beneath a loose floorboard.
Then he checked on Rose.
The baby was awake.
Abigail had placed her in an old wooden cradle borrowed from a neighboring family.
Jacob approached.
Rose stared at him.
“You have a name,” he said.
The baby kicked once.
“Rose.”
Her mouth opened.
Jacob smiled.
“That’s better than Little Miss.”
From the doorway Abigail said, “Debatable.”
He turned.
Her expression was serious.
“Someone rode past twice while you were gone.”
“Who?”
“Couldn’t see his face.”
Jacob looked toward the window.
“Creed.”
“Likely.”
Cole appeared behind Abigail, his arm bandaged.
“Then we need to move the papers.”
Jacob nodded.
“Agreed.”
“To where?”
Jacob considered.
His father had built the Mercer barn with a hidden storage pit beneath the tack room during the Indian wars, convinced the family might one day need to hide weapons or food.
Jacob had never used it.
Until now.
That night, they wrapped the documents in oilcloth and placed them beneath the barn floor.
Jacob kept Eliza’s letter.
He could not bring himself to hide it.
At ten, everyone went quiet.
At midnight, the dogs began barking.
Jacob was awake instantly.
He reached the porch with his rifle.
Nothing moved.
Then a voice came from beyond the fence.
“Mercer!”
Silas Creed.
Jacob stepped into moonlight.
Creed stood beside the gate.
Alone.
Or appeared to be.
“You’re a long way from town.”
“I came to prevent bloodshed.”
Jacob almost laughed.
“How thoughtful.”
Creed gripped the fence.
“You found something at the depot.”
“Did I?”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
Creed’s eyes hardened.
“That woman dragged you into something she didn’t understand.”
“Seems to me she understood it better than anybody.”
“You know nothing about the Harpers.”
“I know you stole their land.”
Creed went still.
Jacob knew he had struck the truth.
Creed spoke carefully.
“Samuel Harper was a thief.”
“That story is eight years old. Try another.”
“He ruined good men.”
“Then you should be eager for those papers to become public.”
Creed smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
“You think papers matter?”
Jacob said nothing.
“You think Judge Crane will read them fairly? Bell will arrest me? Pike will testify?”
“Maybe not.”
“Then what exactly do you imagine you’ll accomplish?”
Jacob stepped closer.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Creed’s smile disappeared.
“You have something I want.”
“I know.”
“And I have something you want.”
Jacob froze.
Creed saw it.
“You found the photograph.”
Jacob tightened his grip on the rifle.
“Where are they?”
“Alive.”
“Eliza and Clara?”
“For now.”
Jacob’s blood went cold.
“You touch either one—”
“They’re not with me.”
“Then who?”
Creed backed toward his horse.
“Bring the satchel to Harper’s old property tomorrow at sundown.”
“Proof they’re alive.”
“You’re in no position to bargain.”
“I’m the only man who knows where the papers are.”
Creed paused.
Jacob continued.
“You kill them, you never see those documents again.”
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Creed’s face.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Bring proof.”
Creed mounted.
“I’ll bring something better.”
He rode away.
Jacob remained by the gate.
Behind him, Cole whispered, “He’s lying.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
Jacob stared toward the darkness.
“Go anyway.”
Abigail stepped onto the porch holding Rose.
“No.”
Jacob turned.
Abigail’s face was pale with anger.
“That man wants you dead.”
“He may know where Eliza is.”
“And Rose needs you alive.”
Jacob looked at the baby.
Rose had fallen asleep against Abigail’s shoulder.
For reasons he could not explain, the sight hit him harder than Creed’s threat.
Jacob had spent eight years keeping his life small.
After his father died, he ran the ranch.
After his mother died, he stopped expecting the house to feel like anything but rooms.
He hired hands.
Paid bills.
Mended fences.
Buried cattle.
Watched seasons turn.
He had avoided obligations that could not be solved with work.
Now a baby he had known for less than a day had curled one tiny hand around the edge of his life.
And somewhere a woman he barely remembered had trusted him precisely because eight years earlier he had failed to act.
Jacob touched Rose’s cheek.
“I’m bringing her mother home.”
Abigail’s eyes filled, though she blinked it away.
“Then don’t go like a fool.”
Cole raised his good arm.
“I’m coming.”
Jacob looked at him.
“You can barely lift that.”
“I can shoot with the other.”
“Comforting.”
Cole smiled.
“Thought so.”
Before dawn, Jacob rode to the old Harper property.
Not to meet Creed.
To prepare.
The house was gone.
Only the stone chimney remained.
Grass covered the burned stable foundation.
Jacob stood where he had stood eight years earlier.
Memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.
Samuel Harper yelling.
Silas Creed watching.
Eliza crying.
His father saying, Keep riding.
Jacob walked toward the ruined stable.
Something glinted beneath collapsed stone.
He knelt.
A rusted iron ring.
He pulled.
A trapdoor shifted beneath years of dirt.
Jacob stared.
He cleared the debris and opened it.
Stone steps descended underground.
A root cellar.
Inside, beneath broken shelves, stood an iron strongbox.
Jacob tried Eliza’s key.
It did not fit.
Then he noticed a carved symbol on the lid.
Two letters.
S.H.
Samuel Harper.
Jacob’s pulse quickened.
If Creed believed a second ledger existed, Samuel might have hidden it here.
Jacob forced the rusted latch with a pry bar.
Inside was nothing.
At first.
Then he noticed the bottom was too shallow.
False panel.
He lifted it.
A ledger lay beneath.
Black leather.
Jacob opened the first page.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
And beside several entries, words that transformed ordinary corruption into something far darker.
Removed.
Silenced.
Dead.
Samuel Harper had kept the evidence.
Creed had spent eight years searching for it.
And now Jacob Mercer was holding the one thing powerful enough to bring every secret in Dry Mesa into daylight.
Behind him came the metallic click of a revolver being cocked.
Jacob slowly raised his hands.
A voice said, “Thank you for finding it for me.”
Jacob recognized the speaker.
Sheriff Amos Bell.