Chapter Three
The ranch gradually became visible against the dimming evening sky, emerging from the expansive landscape as if it had been established there over time.
Deborah sat straighter as the wagon crested a small hill, her gaze fixed on the house waiting below.
It wasn’t the grand, sprawling estate she might have imagined would belong to a man seeking a wife through correspondence, but something sturdier.
Built from weathered timber darkened by seasons of wind and snow, it stood solidly beside a large red barn and a scattering of fenced pastureland.
A faint curl of smoke drifted from the chimney, dissolving into the dusky air above. It made a beautiful scene, but for reasons Deborah could not entirely explain, the sight tightened something unexpectedly tender in her chest.
As they approached the yard, Nolan slowed the horses. Gravel crunched beneath the wagon wheels, and somewhere nearby, a horse gave a soft snort from inside the barn.
The silence here felt different from Bloomington. Strangely enough, it didn’t bother her. She welcomed the reprieve and clasped her satchel a little tighter.
“I know it’s not much,” Nolan said at last, climbing down from the wagon bench before helping Deborah down. “But it’s cozy and keeps me warm in the winter.”
Deborah blinked, startled by the almost apologetic note in his voice. Not much? Compared to what she was used to, this place was a castle.
Before she could answer, the front door swung open.
A barefoot little girl stood in the doorway, her small figure outlined by warm lamplight spilling from behind her.
She couldn’t have been more than six or seven.
A dark braid hung crookedly over one shoulder, and she clutched a worn rag doll tightly against her chest. But it was her eyes that caught Deborah’s attention first—large, solemn, and startlingly observant.
The child studied her with calm seriousness. She was very much her father’s daughter.
Nolan’s expression softened immediately. “Ellie,” he said, though there was gentle reproach beneath it. “Where are your shoes?”
Ellie ignored the question entirely. Her gaze remained fixed on Deborah. “Is she the teacher?”
Deborah froze. Beside her, Nolan hesitated just long enough for discomfort to settle heavily between them.
“No, sweetheart,” he said carefully. “There’s been some confusion, and the teacher never arrived. Hopefully, she will come soon.”
Ellie seemed to accept that answer. “Oh.”
Although it was a minor remark, the level of disappointment it conveyed was unexpectedly profound. Mr. Avery had anticipated that Deborah would be the teacher. It remained uncertain whether he would have made the same request if another woman had been in Deborah’s position.
She swallowed unexpectedly hard. Saying something now would probably only confuse the child... but what an adorable girl. Indeed, she resembled her father quite a bit.
Nolan lifted Deborah’s trunk from the wagon and motioned toward the house. “Come on inside before the temperature drops. A storm is coming, and it gets cold when the sun goes down.”
The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth greeted Deborah.
The house smelled faintly of cedar smoke, coffee, and something burned beyond saving.
The furnishings were simple but well cared for.
A quilt was draped neatly across the back of the sofa.
Boots were lined up on one wall beside the door.
A stack of books rested crookedly on a side table near the hearth.
Deborah realized that someone else lived in this house, especially because Ellie was too young to be left alone. Mr. Avery had mentioned he didn’t request a mail-order bride... but he never said anything about being married. So, who else lived here?
Ellie still watched her openly, clutching her doll.
Deborah offered the child a tentative smile. “Hello.”
Ellie’s fingers tightened around the doll’s dress. “You talk different.”
Nolan shut the door with a soft sigh. “Ellie.”
“What?” she asked innocently.
Deborah surprised herself by smiling faintly. “Living in Illinois tends to do that.”
Nolan carried the trunk toward the staircase. “I’ll show you your room.”
The words settled some of the lingering uncertainty in Deborah’s chest. Your room.
For now, anyway. Once they were able to get the situation cleared up with Mrs. Crenshaw, Deborah would be traveling once again...
and with any luck, she would get the position she had applied for with the matrimonial agency.
She followed Nolan upstairs, aware of Ellie trailing quietly behind them like a suspicious little shadow.
The hallway was narrow but clean, lit softly by an oil lamp mounted along the wall. Nolan stopped at the last door on the right and pushed it open.
“It’s small,” he said. “But the lock works.”
Deborah looked up at him sharply. Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face before he stepped aside to let her enter. Why had he said that? Now, she wanted to read his mind. If only...
The room itself was simple—a narrow bed beneath the window, a washstand, a small dresser, and a faded floral quilt folded neatly across the mattress. But after weeks spent looking over her shoulder in boarding houses and crowded city streets, it felt almost painfully peaceful.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Nolan nodded once. “Supper is in a few minutes.”
“Already?” she wondered.
“Yes. My older brother lives with me, and he always has meals prepared and ready on time... whether they are edible or not.”
She smiled, but not fully. His humor took her off guard.
He took a step to leave, then hesitated before looking at her again. “You’ll be safe here tonight.”
The words struck deeper than they should have. Because she realized suddenly how long it had been since anyone had said them to her... and meant them.
Nolan disappeared back down the hall with Ellie close behind him, leaving Deborah alone at last.
She exhaled slowly before crossing to the door and testing the lock. Only after hearing the solid click did she finally allow herself to kneel beside her trunk.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she loosened the latch. Clothing rested neatly on top, but beneath it...
She rested her palm on the papers. Even now, the sight of them made uneasiness curl low in her stomach.
Deborah carefully removed the bundle. The contents included numerous ledgers, rail maps, and signatures.
Among them were land records with names aggressively crossed out in dark ink.
These documents were sought after by an unknown party, though she hoped they would remain undiscovered.
While she knew that destroying them months prior would have been a wise decision, she retained them solely as leverage.
She unfolded one page, scanning columns of figures she barely understood but recognized nonetheless as dangerous. Several pages bore the same insignia in the corner—a silver stamp pressed into the paper. Caldwell & Western Rail Company.
Deborah frowned. She had seen the symbol before. It had been the night she found the papers. The night a man had died.
Her breath caught sharply as the memory resurfaced. No! Not now! It was too painful.
She forced herself to fold the documents again before memory could drag her backward. She should destroy them, burn every last page, and free herself from whatever nightmare they belonged to. But she couldn’t.
Because someone had already killed to retrieve them. And because somewhere deep down, Deborah suspected the papers mattered far more than she yet understood.
A knock sounded downstairs, then Ellie’s voice floated faintly upward.
“Papa burned the biscuits again!”
Another voice commented, but Deborah didn’t recognize it. It was probably the older brother. Nolan muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. Against all reason, a soft laugh escaped her. It felt strange to be in this environment.
And perhaps, because of that, dangerous.
* * * *
Dinner proved exactly as disastrous as Ellie had promised.
The biscuits were blackened along the bottoms, the stew too salty, and Nolan carried the expression of a man enduring personal humiliation with grim dignity.
Although it was obvious that his brother cooked, Nolan took on the blame.
Of course, Robert appeared to be crippled.
His crooked legs and boney arms were quite noticeable.
But the man moved as if nothing bothered him.
Ellie leaned slightly toward Deborah while Nolan fetched more water. “If it’s burned,” she whispered solemnly, “scrape the bottom.”
Deborah bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling outright. “Such good advice. I’ll remember that.”
Robert laughed and demonstrated how to scrape the bottom with a spoon. She noticed he didn’t talk much, and when he did, some words were difficult to understand. However, Nolan and Ellie knew exactly what he was saying.
Nolan returned with the water pitcher and narrowed his eyes slightly. “I don’t like the looks of either of you.”
Ellie took a very serious bite of a biscuit. “We’re eating the best we can.”
Nolan huffed a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
Something in the air eased then. If only a little. It was enough that Deborah found herself relaxing for the first time in weeks.
She watched Nolan as he spoke to Ellie about her lessons and chores, his voice patient even when tired. There was nothing performative about his affection for the child. It lived quietly in every glance, every absent-minded gesture.
There was one thing Deborah could tell about him. He loved deeply. He was also an honorable man. And perhaps that was what frightened Deborah the most. Because dangerous men were easy to flee. Good men weren’t.
After supper, Ellie disappeared upstairs reluctantly after Nolan insisted bedtime had not become optional simply because a guest had arrived.
Immediately, Deborah stood and began stacking the dirty dishes, preparing them for the kitchen. Then she realized the room had grown quiet, and everyone was looking at her.
“Miss Prescott,” Nolan said, reaching out to take the dishes, “you don’t have to—”
“It’s only fair,” she interrupted softly.
When he grasped the plate, their hands made brief contact. The touch was unexpected and elicited a response more evident than expected. A sense of warmth traveled up her arm, resulting in a feeling of composure. Although she felt the impulse to shiver, she refrained.
Nolan seemed equally aware of it, because his gaze lingered for one brief moment before he stepped back.
The silence in the room took on a different feeling, shifting from what Deborah expected.
She had anticipated an awkward stillness, so dense and stifling that it might be cut straight through with a knife.
Yet, as the stillness settled, it wasn't discomfort that hung between them, but a growing awareness.
Surprise swept through Deborah, but she forced herself to suppress the feeling almost immediately.
She couldn’t let herself react openly in Nolan's presence...
to do so would betray more vulnerability than she was willing to show.
Unlike many young women who might have been flustered or giggled, Deborah prided herself on her resilience and independence.
She was not someone easily rattled, and she refused to be seen as na?ve or lacking in self-possession.
Then Nolan leaned lightly against the counter, folding his arms. “You got someone looking for you, don’t you, Deborah?”
The question came quietly, but with blunt force. It came from out of nowhere.
Deborah stilled. There it was... the thing sitting unspoken between them since she climbed into his wagon.
She kept her eyes on the dish towel in her hands. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you look over your shoulder every five minutes.” His tone remained calm. “And because you came all this way despite knowing the arrangement didn’t make sense.”
She swallowed. Hard.
“If I had somewhere else safe to go,” she admitted carefully, “I wouldn’t have come.”
Something flickered in his expression then. Understanding, perhaps, or concern. But thankfully, he didn’t push further. For that alone, she could have cried.
“You can stay here until we sort things out,” he said, after a moment. “No one’s turning you out. I promise.”
The simple kindness in the words nearly undid her.
Deborah lowered her gaze quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Avery. Your kindness means so much.”
“Call me Nolan.” He gave a single nod and began stacking the remaining dishes.
The conversation was over. But something had changed. Trust, perhaps, or the fragile beginning of it.
At least she could hope for one person in the world to believe in her.
Deborah stood beside the bedroom window in her nightdress, staring out across the moonlit fields. The ranch had gone quiet. Only the distant chirp of insects and the soft creak of settling wood disturbed the stillness.
For the first time since leaving Illinois, exhaustion pressed heavily against her bones. Perhaps Nolan was right and that she was truly safe here.
A cool breeze brushed her cheek, and she frowned. Was the window open?
The curtain moved again. She snapped her gaze toward the window. Indeed, it was open, but just slightly. She was certain she had checked the latch earlier.
Slowly, cautiously, she stepped closer, then stopped cold. A single blue wildflower rested on the windowsill. Beneath it lay a folded piece of paper.
Deborah’s blood turned to ice. No. No, no—
Her hands shook as she picked up the note. Elegant black ink curled across the page in graceful handwriting she knew far too well.
Pretty things rarely survive the desert.
The room tilted. Deborah stumbled back a step, her pulse roaring in her ears. Only one person wrote in black ink. Only one person could make threats sound heartfelt and lovely.
The Sapphire Widow.
Deborah stared out into the darkness beyond the ranch, her breathing uneven now. She had crossed half the country believing she could outrun the nightmare waiting behind her. But the Widow had found her anyway.
And suddenly, horrifyingly, Deborah realized she may have brought death directly to Nolan Avery’s door.