HE ASKED FOR A PLAIN MAIL-ORDER BRIDE—BUT THE STUNNING WOMAN WHO STEPPED OFF THE TRAIN WAS HIDING A TERRIFYING SECRET

PART 2 — WATER BENEATH DEAD EARTH

Caleb wanted answers.

Abigail gave him none.

Not that morning.

Not the next.

Instead, she worked.

And she worked harder than any woman Caleb had ever known.

Within two weeks, curtains made from old flour sacks hung in the windows. The neglected garden had neat rows of beans and onions. Broken shelves were repaired. Chickens began producing again.

The ranch seemed to breathe differently when Abigail was there.

So did Caleb.

That was the dangerous part.

One afternoon, he found her kneeling beneath the cottonwood trees, pressing her palm against the earth.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening.”

“To dirt?”

She almost smiled.

“My grandfather taught me to read land.”

Abigail pointed toward the trees.

“Everything around us is dying, but these are green.”

Caleb shrugged.

“They’ve always been green.”

“Exactly.”

She dug her fingers into the soil.

“There’s water underneath us.”

Caleb stared at her.

The old well was nearly dry. Another month without rain and he would lose his cattle.

“You’re sure?”

“No.”

She stood and brushed dirt from her skirt.

“But I believe it.”

Three years earlier, Caleb had stopped believing in almost everything.

Yet the next morning, he started digging.

Abigail dug beside him.

One day passed.

Then two.

By the third afternoon, Caleb’s hands were bleeding.

“This is madness.”

“One more foot,” Abigail said.

“We’ve been saying that for hours.”

“One more.”

Caleb drove the shovel downward.

The earth beneath it was dark.

Wet.

He froze.

Then water began seeping around his boots.

Abigail covered her mouth.

Caleb laughed.

Not smiled.

Laughed.

A deep, uncontrolled sound he had almost forgotten he possessed.

Water.

Enough to save the garden.

Enough to save the cattle.

Maybe enough to save the ranch.

That night they sat beneath the stars with two cups of coffee.

“You saved this place,” Caleb said.

“We saved it.”

Their shoulders touched.

Neither moved away.

For one impossible moment, Caleb wondered whether life might be offering him something he had never dared ask for.

The next afternoon, three riders destroyed the illusion.

Tom Mercer, owner of the largest ranch in Willow Creek, rode into the yard with two men.

His eyes went immediately to Abigail.

“So the rumors are true.”

Caleb stepped forward.

“What rumors?”

“That Harper ordered himself a wife and got something considerably prettier than he paid for.”

His men laughed.

Caleb didn’t.

“Watch your mouth.”

Mercer looked past him.

“Woman like that won’t stay on a poor ranch forever.”

Abigail continued hanging laundry.

“I’m exactly where I choose to be.”

Mercer smiled.

“For now.”

When they finally rode away, Caleb noticed something.

Abigail had snapped a wooden clothespin in half without realizing it.

That night, dry lightning split the sky.

Then a rifle shot echoed beyond the cottonwoods.

Caleb grabbed his weapon.

“Stay inside.”

Abigail picked up his spare rifle.

“No.”

They found an old trapper beside a wounded deer, his arm badly torn after being thrown from his horse.

Abigail dropped to her knees.

Her hands moved with startling confidence—cleaning the wound, applying pressure, tearing her own sleeve into a bandage.

Caleb watched her.

“You’ve done this before.”

She did not look at him.

“I’ve had to.”

The trapper stayed until dawn.

Before leaving, he pulled Caleb aside.

“Someone’s asking about your wife in Willow Creek.”

Caleb’s expression hardened.

“Who?”

“Man in a black coat. Expensive horse. Talks like he owns whatever he’s looking at.”

Behind Caleb, a cup shattered.

Abigail stood in the doorway.

White as snow.

“No more secrets,” Caleb said.

She closed her eyes.

“The man searching for me is Victor Langley.”

“Who is he?”

“My father owed him money.”

Caleb waited.

Abigail swallowed.

“When Father couldn’t repay him, Victor offered another arrangement.”

Caleb already hated the answer.

“What arrangement?”

“Me.”

The word landed like a bullet.

“He believed my father’s debt gave him the right to marry me. I refused. So I ran.”

“Does he still think you belong to him?”

Abigail opened her eyes.

“He never stopped.”

A movement appeared on the ridge.

Black horse.

Black coat.

A lone rider watching them.

Abigail whispered one name.

“Victor.”

And this time, instead of riding away—

the stranger began descending toward the ranch.