Thomas Holloway stepped into the lantern light wearing a black riding coat and an expression that had not changed since Garrett last saw him.

He still smiled like a man who believed the world owed him everything.

“Garrett. You look older.”

Garrett raised his rifle.

“Stay where you are.”

Thomas glanced at the weapon.

“Still solving family disagreements the hard way?”

“Where is Margaret?”

Thomas’s smile faded.

“That’s a complicated question.”

“Then simplify it.”

Thomas slowly removed his hat.

“Margaret discovered the silver before anyone else. She intended to leave the northern pasture to her children.”

“My children.”

“Yes.”

Garrett stepped forward.

“Where are they?”

Thomas looked at Willa.

“Ask your pretty widow. She knows more than she’s admitted.”

Willa’s hands began trembling.

Garrett turned toward her.

“Willa?”

She closed her eyes.

“I had a son.”

The words fell into the room like stones.

“His name was Samuel. My husband Henry and I raised him for eight years.”

Garrett stared at her.

“Raised him?”

Willa nodded.

“He wasn’t born to me.”

Thomas chuckled.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Willa ignored him.

“Henry and I lived in Colorado. One winter, a woman came to our home carrying a feverish baby boy.”

Garrett could barely breathe.

“Margaret?”

“She called herself Mary. She begged us to keep the child safe until she could return.”

“And did she?”

Willa shook her head.

“Never.”

Garrett lowered the rifle slightly.

“What happened to the boy?”

Willa’s face crumpled.

“Samuel became ill when he was eight. The doctor told us he wouldn’t survive.”

She pressed a hand against her chest.

“I buried him beneath the apple tree behind our house.”

Garrett turned away.

For eleven years, he had mourned a wife.

Now he was being asked to mourn a son he had never held.

But Mercer stirred on the cot.

“No,” the old doctor whispered.

Willa looked at him.

“What?”

“The boy wasn’t buried.”

Thomas suddenly moved.

He lunged for the leather book.

Garrett struck him with the rifle stock.

Thomas fell against the wall.

Mercer struggled to speak.

“Henry Bennett discovered the boy was being hunted. He arranged a false burial.”

Willa’s face went completely still.

“No.”

“Henry sent Samuel away.”

“No, he would have told me.”

“He feared Thomas would hurt you if you knew.”

Willa backed toward the door.

Her husband had died three years earlier.

She had mourned him.

She had mourned Samuel.

And now both losses seemed tangled in a deception she had never imagined.

“Where did Henry send him?” Garrett demanded.

Mercer pointed toward the leather book.

“Everything is there.”

Garrett opened it.

Inside were names, dates, payments, and the locations of several orphanages.

One entry had been circled in red ink.

Samuel Bennett.

Age eleven.

Transferred to St. Agnes School, Cheyenne.

Garrett looked up.

“Eleven?”

Willa stared at the page.

“Samuel would be eleven now.”

Thomas suddenly laughed.

Garrett turned.

His brother was wiping blood from his mouth.

“You’re all fools.”

“What have you done?” Garrett demanded.

Thomas smiled.

“You think I wanted the silver?”

Garrett hesitated.

“That was only part of it.”

Thomas looked directly at Willa.

“Your precious Samuel found something before Henry sent him away.”

“What?”

“A ledger. Proof that the silver company stole land from half the families in this valley.”

Garrett remembered the ranchers who had lost their homes during the past decade.

The unexplained fires.

The sudden debts.

The families driven west.

Thomas had not simply been stealing land.

He had been building an empire through forged deeds.

“And Samuel has the ledger?” Garrett asked.

Thomas shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

“Where is it?”

Thomas’s smile widened.

“With the girl.”

Garrett froze.

“What girl?”

“The other twin.”

Willa’s hand flew to her mouth.

Mercer began crying.

Thomas looked almost pleased.

“You really didn’t know?”

He leaned closer.

“Margaret gave birth to a boy and a girl, Garrett.”

The room fell silent.

“Your daughter is alive.”

Garrett took one unsteady step forward.

“Where?”

Thomas looked toward the window.

“She was here this morning.”

Willa stared at him.

Then she remembered the young stable girl who had offered to water their horses when they arrived in Red Hollow.

A girl with chestnut hair.

Gray eyes.

And a silver locket around her neck.

Willa whispered, “The girl at the stable.”

Thomas smiled.

“Her name is Clara.”

Garrett rushed toward the door.

But the stable was empty.

Both horses were gone.

And scratched into the dirt beside the watering trough were five words.

Don’t trust the woman in blue.