Outside in the dark, a figure watched the house from the treeline. Not Royce. But someone worse.
The envelope was hand-delivered. No stamps. No return name. Just a wax seal pressed into black paper, like it was dipped straight from hell’s mouth. The sheriff’s deputy found it hanging on the door of the courthouse, nailed there with a rusted horseshoe nail.
Inside, written in clean, practiced strokes: The past is due. Bring Caleb Walker, or we’ll come collect.
Sheriff Thorne read it twice before folding it up and riding out to the Monroe Ranch with a face like stone. Abby met him halfway down the lane. The look on his face told her everything.
“They’re not hiding anymore,” he said, handing her the letter.
She read it once, jaw tightening with every word. “You think Royce left it?”
Thorne shook his head. “His handwriting don’t match, and he’s too careful to be this loud. This… this is someone else. Someone sent by Doyle’s family. Maybe. Or someone who just wants a piece of the fire.”
She exhaled, folding the letter back into its envelope. “What now?”
“Now you tell Caleb, and you both decide how much you’re willing to bleed for this land.”
He was in the field behind the barn ruins, hauling charred beams into a new pile. His shirt was soaked with sweat, arms streaked in soot. He didn’t look up when Abby approached. She stood in silence until he turned.
“What is it?”
She held out the letter. He took it, opened it, read it, and didn’t move. When he finally looked at her, his face was unreadable. Not fear. Not anger. Just something hollow and deep.
“They’re coming,” she said.
“I know. They want you. They always did.”
She stepped closer. “You don’t have to face this alone.”
“I’ve been facing it alone for years.”
“Well, that’s over now.”
He turned away, tossing another beam onto the pile. “You don’t understand, Abby.”
“Then make me understand.”
He stopped, hands on his hips, breath ragged. “Merritt Doyle wasn’t just a land baron. He ran rail. He owned half the county. He paid men to make problems disappear. And I was a problem.”
“You were defending Sarah.”
“Doesn’t matter. To them, she was property. I stole her. I ruined her. And now they want payment.”
Abby stepped in front of him, forcing his eyes back to hers. “Some debts ain’t measured in dollars, Caleb. Some are paid in blood or silence.”
He swallowed. “Exactly. So what are you gonna do? Bleed or go quiet?”
He looked down at her, broken and brave. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she snapped. “Because we’re not just standing still anymore. We’re not waiting for wolves on the porch.”
He stared at her for a long time, then nodded once. “I’ll go to town. I’ll speak to Thorne. We’ll make a plan.”
“You better,” she said, “because I’ll be damned if I’m burying another part of this ranch.”
In town, Royce Keller was waiting on the saloon porch, legs crossed, sipping coffee like a man without a deadline. He watched Caleb ride in and didn’t even blink.
“Morning,” Royce said.
Caleb ignored him.
At the sheriff’s office, Thorne had laid the letter on his desk. Ethel stood in the corner, arms crossed.
“Same seal showed up on my barn three years ago,” she said. “Different name, same message.”
“You didn’t tell anyone,” Caleb said.
“I didn’t have anyone to tell,” she replied. “And I didn’t want to scare Abby.”
“You think this is a gang?”
“I think it’s worse,” Thorne said. “This is legacy. A name passed down like a sickness. Doyle’s family doesn’t just punish people, they erase them.”
Caleb sat down heavily. “So what do we do?”
“We use the law, what little of it we can trust,” Ethel said. “We draw them out, get eyes, witnesses, and if they come guns drawn, then we do the same.”
Caleb shook his head. “There are kids on that ranch.”
“I know,” Thorne said. “And I don’t want a war. But if they force one, we won’t be the ones to blink.”
That night, Abby sat by the fire holding Luke in one arm and a rifle across her lap. Caleb sat across from her, staring into the flames.
“Do you regret it?” she asked.
He looked up. “What? Coming here? Letting yourself believe this could be a home?”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Every day. And not once.”
She smiled a little. “You speak in riddles.”
“No,” he said. “Just truth.”..
