She Wrote Letters for Every Lonely Man in Town—Then a Rancher Asked for One Addressed to Her
Chapter 5
Clara read the message twice.
Then a third time.
“This is my handwriting.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t write this.”
“I know.”
She examined the paper.
The ink was faded.
The folds were old.
She recognized the peculiar curve of the letter R in her handwriting.
Someone had copied her hand.
“That is impossible.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“Why would someone do this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Inside my barn.”
“Why would a warning about me be hidden in your barn?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Because someone searched my house last month.”
Clara’s pulse quickened.
“Did they steal anything?”
“No.”
“Then what were they looking for?”
“My father’s papers.”
“Land deeds?”
“Yes.”
Clara sat down.
Bellmere’s land had been divided among families for generations.
Thomas’s ranch sat on the largest tract.
If someone wanted his land, there were easier ways than forging letters.
Unless the letters were connected.
Clara rose.
“Show me.”
Thomas led her through the back door.
His horse waited outside.
They rode toward his ranch beneath a gray sky.
Clara had visited the property only once before.
Now she saw it differently.
The main house stood on a rise overlooking the fields.
A barn stretched behind it.
Beyond that, cattle moved through the morning mist.
There was no modern machinery, no iron contraption, no engine.
Only wood, rope, horses, wagons, fences, leather, and human hands.
Thomas dismounted.
Clara followed.
Inside the barn, he stopped beside a loose plank.
“There.”
He pulled it away.
Behind it was a narrow hollow.
Inside lay several envelopes.
Clara’s breath caught.
She reached for them.
Every envelope bore her handwriting.
Some were addressed to men she knew.
Others carried names she had never seen.
She opened one.
Inside was a single sentence.
Your father knew where the money went.
Clara froze.
“My father?”
Thomas stepped closer.
“What?”
She handed him the paper.
“My father knew where the money went.”
Thomas’s face changed.
“Your father died twelve years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“No.”
But Clara suddenly remembered something.
The locked drawer in her father’s old desk.
The drawer she had never opened.
Because after his death, the key disappeared.
Thomas watched her.
“What are you thinking?”
“My father left something behind.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we find out.”
Clara looked at him.
“You still want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
