The Mountain Cowboy Appeared Once Every Winter—Until One Woman Followed Him Home
Chapter 2
That night, Anna could not sleep.
The wind pushed snow against the shutters.
The fire in the hearth had burned low.
She sat at the kitchen table with her father’s old account book open before her.
Her father had kept careful records.
Every purchase.
Every debt.
Every parcel of land.
Every name.
Anna turned a page.
Then stopped.
A name had been written seven years earlier.
Elias Ward.
Beside it was a note.
“Paid in full. Refuses further credit.”
Anna frowned.
Her father had sold Elias supplies every winter.
But the amounts were small.
Nothing unusual.
She turned another page.
There were more notes.
Then one sentence written in the margin.
“If Ward ever asks for help, give it.”
Anna stared at the words.
Her father had never mentioned him.
Why would he have written that?
A noise came from outside.
Anna closed the book.
She reached for the small flintlock pistol kept beneath the counter.
She opened the back door.
Snow covered the yard.
Nothing moved.
Then she saw footprints.
They began near the stable.
And continued toward the road.
Anna followed them.
At the stable door, she found the latch broken.
Her horse was trembling inside.
Someone had been there.
She searched the stalls.
Nothing was missing.
Except one thing.
Her father’s old saddlebag.
The same saddlebag he had carried during his final trip to the eastern settlements.
Anna’s stomach tightened.
She ran back inside.
Her father’s papers were scattered across the table.
Someone had searched the store.
But they had taken only one item.
The old account book.
Anna suddenly understood.
Someone was not looking for money.
They were looking for names.
The next morning, she went to the tavern.
Silas Mercer was there.
He sat near the fire with two men.
He smiled when Anna entered.
“Miss Whitmore.”
“Where is Elias Ward?”
Mercer’s smile remained.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You were watching him yesterday.”
One of the men laughed.
Mercer lifted his cup.
“I watch many things.”
Anna stepped closer.
“My father’s account book was stolen.”
Mercer’s eyes changed for less than a second.
Then they returned to normal.
“Terrible.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
Anna turned.
As she left, Mercer said quietly:
“Some questions are dangerous, Miss Whitmore.”
She stopped.
“Then perhaps you should be more careful about the answers.”
She walked out.
But she had already made her decision.
She would find Elias Ward.
And she would ask him why her father had trusted him.
