Nathaniel Mercer lay bleeding on his own kitchen floor while Hannah Reed faced the man who had sold her.

Uncle Cyrus held his revolver loosely.

The sheriff stood beside him.

Neither appeared surprised by the shooting.

“Put him in the wagon,” the sheriff ordered.

Hannah dropped beside Nathaniel.

“He’s losing blood!”

“Then he’d better cooperate.”

Nathaniel gripped her wrist.

His voice was barely audible.

“Don’t let them take the children.”

Cyrus laughed.

“Those children are the least of your troubles.”

Hannah looked up.

“What do you want?”

“The deed.”

She glanced toward the tin box.

Cyrus followed her eyes.

“Give it to me, and perhaps everyone gets through this morning.”

Hannah slowly stood.

She lifted the document.

Then, without warning, she threw it directly into the fireplace.

Cyrus screamed.

“No!”

He lunged toward the flames.

Hannah seized the heavy iron kettle from the stove and hurled its contents across the floor.

Boiling water splashed near his boots.

Cyrus stumbled backward.

Samuel slammed the cellar door open.

“Now!”

The ranch’s old cook, Mrs. Bell, appeared behind the sheriff with a shotgun.

“Drop your weapons.”

The sheriff spun around.

But Mrs. Bell was already aiming.

“I buried one husband because of men like you,” she said. “I won’t bury another.”

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then the sheriff lowered his revolver.

Cyrus tried to escape through the back door.

Samuel tripped him with a fireplace shovel.

He crashed onto the floor.

Mrs. Bell ordered both men into the pantry and locked the door.

Hannah rushed back to Nathaniel.

The bullet had struck his shoulder.

It was serious, but he was alive.

With Mrs. Bell’s help, Hannah cleaned the wound and bound it tightly.

By afternoon, Nathaniel could speak.

“That deed,” he whispered.

“I burned it.”

His eyes widened.

Hannah reached beneath her shawl.

“No. I burned a blank sheet from the box.”

For the first time, Nathaniel smiled.

“Remind me never to play cards with you.”

But their relief lasted only minutes.

When Samuel returned from the barn, he was trembling.

“Grace is gone.”

Hannah’s heart dropped.

They searched the house.

The stables.

The woodshed.

Finally, Hannah discovered a blue ribbon tied to the fence.

Attached was a note.

Bring the original deed to the old church before sunset.

Come alone.

Or the little girl disappears forever.

Nathaniel struggled to stand.

Hannah pushed him back.

“You can barely walk.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“And I’ll bring her home.”

“No.”

Hannah looked him directly in the eyes.

“You paid fifty dollars to get me out of a prison. I’m not going to stand here while someone takes a child into another.”

Nathaniel stared at her.

Then he reached beneath his pillow.

He handed her a small pistol.

“Eleanor kept this in her sewing box.”

Hannah accepted it.

“I don’t know how to use one.”

“Then let’s hope you won’t have to.”

The abandoned church stood four miles away.

Its bell tower leaned dangerously.

Snow covered the broken windows.

Hannah entered just before sunset.

“Grace?”

A faint sob came from behind the altar.

Hannah hurried forward.

Grace was tied to a chair.

But before Hannah reached her, a woman stepped from the shadows.

She wore a blue winter coat.

Her face was hidden beneath a hood.

“Don’t come closer.”

Hannah froze.

The woman slowly lowered the hood.

Hannah felt the world tilt.

The face staring back at her was her mother’s.

Older.

Thinner.

A scar crossed one eyebrow.

But Hannah knew those eyes.

“Mother?”

The woman began crying.

“Oh, Hannah.”

Hannah stumbled backward.

“No.”

“Hannah, please.”

“My mother is dead.”

“That’s what Cyrus wanted you to believe.”

Hannah shook her head.

“I buried you.”

“You buried an empty coffin.”

The woman stepped forward.

Hannah raised the pistol.

“Don’t.”

The woman stopped.

“I know you don’t trust me.”

“Where were you?”

The question came out as a broken whisper.

“Six years. Where were you?”

Margaret Reed covered her mouth.

“I was imprisoned.”

“By Cyrus?”

“By the men who wanted Silver Creek.”

Hannah stared.

Margaret explained that their father had discovered silver deposits beneath the valley shortly before his death.

The mineral rights were worth a fortune.

Cyrus had forged documents to claim the property.

When Margaret discovered the fraud, he arranged for her disappearance.

She had spent years confined in an isolated mining settlement, unable to contact her daughter.

Only recently had she escaped.

“Why didn’t you come for me immediately?” Hannah asked.

Margaret looked toward Grace.

“Because they were watching you.”

Hannah lowered the pistol.

“Then why did you take Grace?”

“I didn’t.”

A floorboard creaked behind them.

Hannah turned.

A man stepped out from the shadows.

Sheriff Daniel Pike.

His revolver pointed directly at Margaret.

“Touching reunion,” he said.

Hannah stared.

“You’re supposed to be locked in the pantry!”

Pike smiled.

“Your uncle had friends nearby.”

He grabbed Margaret by the arm.

“You’ve caused enough trouble.”

Grace screamed.

Hannah raised the pistol.

“Let her go!”

Pike laughed.

“You won’t shoot.”

Hannah’s finger tightened.

Then Margaret suddenly shouted.

“Hannah, the grave!”

The sheriff struck her across the face.

“Quiet!”

But Margaret kept shouting.

“Eleanor’s grave! That’s where he hid it!”

Pike’s expression changed.

He turned toward Hannah.

“What did she tell you?”

Hannah stepped backward.

The sheriff advanced.

Then a loud crack echoed through the church.

The rotten floor beneath him collapsed.

Pike plunged into the cellar.

Hannah rushed forward, untied Grace, and seized Margaret’s hand.

“Run!”

They escaped through the rear entrance.

But outside, three riders were waiting.

One was Uncle Cyrus.

He smiled at Margaret.

“Hello, sister.”

Then he looked at Hannah.

“You always were too curious.”

He raised his rifle.

And behind him, a second rider pulled a familiar silver locket from his pocket.

It was identical to Hannah’s.

The man opened it.

Inside was a portrait of Eleanor.

Then he spoke.

“Put down the rifle, Cyrus.”

Hannah recognized the voice.

Nathaniel Mercer had arrived.

But he was not alone.

Beside him stood a woman with Eleanor’s face.

A woman everyone believed had been buried three years earlier.

And she was very much alive.