“Seventeen years?” Edith whispered.

Silas Boone placed his empty plate on the table.

“Your mother worked at this ranch before you were born. She made bread pudding exactly like this.”

Edith shook her head.

“That’s impossible. Mother told me she’d never been to Powder Creek.”

Coulter Grady stepped between them.

“That’s enough, Silas.”

But Silas reached into his coat and withdrew a faded photograph.

It showed a young woman standing beside a handsome cowboy in front of the Grady Ranch barn.

Edith recognized her mother’s face instantly.

Beside Eleanor stood a man wearing a silver horseshoe pendant.

Edith touched her own necklace.

She had worn the identical pendant since childhood.

“Who is he?” she asked.

Silas looked toward Coulter.

“Tell her.”

The ranch owner said nothing.

“Tell her what happened to Daniel Mayburn!”

Coulter’s face hardened.

“Daniel abandoned this ranch.”

Silas slammed his palm onto the table.

“That’s what you told everyone! But Daniel never left willingly!”

A terrible silence settled over the dining room.

Edith’s knees weakened.

“My father died before I was born.”

“No, ma’am,” Silas answered gently. “Your father was alive when I last saw him. He was trying to protect something that belonged to your mother.”

Coulter gripped the back of his chair.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Silas ignored him.

“Seventeen years ago, I found a letter hidden beneath the old barn floor. Daniel wrote it before he disappeared.”

“Where is that letter?” Edith demanded.

Silas hesitated.

“I kept it safe. But there’s something else you should know.”

He pointed toward the window.

Beyond the frozen fields stood the enormous Grady Ranch, stretching farther than Edith could see.

“This land wasn’t always called Grady Ranch.”

Coulter’s voice suddenly thundered.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Silas didn’t move.

Instead, he looked directly into Edith’s eyes.

“Your mother’s name is on the original deed.”

Edith stared at him.

“What are you saying?”

Silas swallowed.

“I’m saying Coulter Grady has been collecting profits from land your family may legally own.”

Then the kitchen door opened.

An elderly ranch hand entered, carrying a locked wooden box.

He placed it before Edith.

“Your father made me promise to give you this when the truth finally came out.”

Coulter lunged forward.

“Don’t open that!”

But Edith had already noticed three words carved beneath the lock.

FOR MY DAUGHTER.

And when the old ranch hand handed her a small brass key, Coulter whispered something that frightened her more than anything Silas had revealed.

“If you open that box, Edith, you’ll discover why your father never