Chapter Twenty-Nine
The house felt wrong.
Daisy recognized it almost as soon as Nathan and Wyatt disappeared down the road.
The quiet hadn't vanished entirely. The grandfather clock continued its patient ticking in the parlor. Wind stirred the cottonwoods beyond the yard. Chickens wandered near the barn, voicing complaints nobody had asked to hear.
Even so, the house carried a hollow feeling she couldn't ignore.
That realization left her unsettled.
"They'll find him."
Clara stood nearby, her voice soft but certain.
A small smile touched Daisy's mouth. "You've said that three times already."
Clara slipped an arm through hers. "Come sit down before you invent another reason to pace a hole through Nathan's floor."
Daisy let Clara guide her into the parlor and lowered herself onto the sofa, tracing her fingertips across the familiar upholstery while Clara sat down beside her.
The quiet that followed felt comfortable, carrying the same easy companionship they had shared as girls when they could spend entire afternoons together without feeling the need to fill every silence.
After several minutes, Clara broke the quiet with gentle certainty. "You've been carrying more than you've admitted."
Weariness sat heavy in Daisy’s bones. Fear lingered beneath it. After so many months of pretending she could manage every burden alone, she no longer had the energy to hide how much any of it cost. "I miss my old life."
"I know."
Daisy ran her fingertips along the sofa seam. "I miss the ranch." Emotion caught in her throat. "I miss riding. I miss knowing exactly where every fence line stood. I even miss chores."
Clara gasped.
Daisy laughed. "I knew you'd react like that."
"You spent half your life complaining about chores."
Daisy nodded. "That's because they were terrible."
"You once claimed mucking stalls qualified as cruel and unusual punishment."
"I did."
Clara's laughter filled the room. "Now that sounds like the Daisy I remember."
Daisy smiled, though the expression carried more wistfulness than amusement. "I miss Ruth hovering over everybody."
Clara chuckled. "Ruth still treats grown adults like they're one missed meal away from collapse."
"She used to bring Samuel pie whenever she thought he looked lonely."
"Which was every Tuesday."
Daisy laughed. "He always complained."
"He complained while eating every bite."
Daisy traced her thumb along the fabric beneath her hand. "I miss who I used to be."
She rarely allowed herself to say that aloud. Keeping those thoughts buried had always felt safer than examining them too closely because once she acknowledged what she'd lost, she had to face how much of her life had changed.
The fever had taken far more than her sight.
Once, she'd known exactly where her future led. She'd carried plans she believed would unfold naturally, one after another, until they became the life she'd imagined.
Now every path required effort. Every success demanded adaptation. Every ordinary task carried a memory of how easily it once came.
Moisture gathered behind her eyes. "I thought I'd made peace with it."
Clara shifted slightly beside her. "You've built a good life, Daisy."
"I have."
"You learned how to navigate a world that stopped making sense."
Daisy gave a small nod. "I did."
"You became stubborn enough to frighten sensible people."
A reluctant smile tugged at Daisy's mouth. "That isn't a compliment."
"It absolutely is."
The smile lingered before fading again. "Even so, some days hurt more than others."
Clara's voice softened. "Of course they do."
Daisy lowered her gaze, though she couldn't see the floor waiting beneath it. "I miss waking up happy without having to work at it."
Clara moved closer, and a heartbeat later, familiar arms wrapped around Daisy’s shoulders. Daisy leaned into the embrace before she could stop herself. The simple comfort helped unravel a strain she'd carried for months.
She sat quietly while Clara held her, drawing steady breaths and allowing memories to come and go without fighting them.
Gradually, the sharpest edge of the grief eased.
Eventually, Clara spoke again, and the warmth in her voice made Daisy smile before she'd even processed the words. "Wyatt and I have been talking about children."
Daisy turned toward the sound immediately. "Really?"
A quiet laugh escaped Clara. "Don't start picking out names. We'd like a little more time before we spend our days chasing muddy boots, rescuing chickens from places chickens have no business reaching, and negotiating peace treaties between stubborn children."
Daisy laughed. "You make that sound surprisingly appealing."
"I could convince anybody to make poor decisions if given enough time."
"That's because you've spent years practicing on Wyatt."
"Marriage should count as advanced training."
As Clara spoke about the future she and Wyatt hoped to build, Daisy found herself imagining it alongside her.
She could almost hear a crowded dinner table filled with overlapping conversations and Ruth insisting that every plate needed another helping, whether the owner wanted it or not.
Samuel would grumble about the noise and confusion while keeping himself firmly planted in the middle of it all, offering opinions nobody had asked for and secretly enjoying every minute.
Children would race across the ranch with the careless energy only children possessed, their voices carrying through open windows while adults exchanged amused comments and pretended they weren't listening.
The house would feel alive, full of movement, laughter, and the easy affection that came from people who belonged together.
And somehow Flint occupied every part of that future without effort.
She could hear his laugh among the others as clearly as Clara's voice beside her, and the thought settled so naturally into the picture that her breath caught.
For years, she had refused to let herself imagine a life beyond the next challenge waiting ahead. Now, listening to Clara talk about family and possibility, Daisy realized the future no longer felt like a door that had closed forever.
It felt like a road she might still be able to follow.
She thought about Flint’s patience, which seemed endless whenever anyone needed him, and his stubborn loyalty, which often overruled common sense. She thought about the way he cared for people while dismissing his own worth, as though kindness came easily to everyone except him.
Memories surfaced one after another. Conversations interrupted by circumstance. Words left unsaid. Feelings she had hidden behind caution because fear seemed safer than hope.
As those thoughts came together, a certainty emerged with surprising ease.
When Flint came home, she would tell him the truth.
She was tired of measuring every word and deciding what he should know before he had the chance to decide anything for himself. Flint deserved honesty, and she deserved the chance to stop carrying every burden alone.
She loved him.
She loved him, and she had loved him long enough that pretending otherwise had become exhausting.
If he still wanted a future with her, she would stop offering him opportunities to leave and start trusting him to stay.
The thought filled her with a quiet hope she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.
The decision brought an unexpected sense of peace.
A sharp knock echoed through the house, and Daisy straightened so quickly that the sofa cushion shifted beneath her. Hope rushed in before caution could catch up, carrying a single possibility that seized hold of her thoughts with startling force.
Flint.
Nathan and Wyatt could have found him far sooner than anyone expected.
They could have turned around and brought him straight back to the house.
As the idea took root, more possibilities followed, each one building upon the last until she could almost hear Flint's familiar footsteps crossing the porch and reaching for the door.
The future she had only just allowed herself to imagine suddenly felt close enough to grasp, and every hopeful thought ended exactly the same way… with Flint coming home.
The knock came again, and Daisy had already risen before the sound finished echoing through the house.
"Daisy, wait."
Clara's voice carried enough concern to make another person pause and reconsider, but Daisy's attention remained fixed on the door.
She crossed the room with confident steps, guided by memory and countless journeys through the same familiar space, while her pulse climbed higher with every foot she covered.
Hope made it difficult to think clearly. If Flint had returned, she wanted to reach him first.
She found the door, closed her hand around the handle, and pulled it open. The smile waiting on her lips faded almost immediately.
Nobody spoke.
The silence unsettled her at once.
Flint never approached quietly. Nathan always announced himself before entering a room, and Wyatt possessed a restless energy that seemed to arrive several seconds before the man himself. Whoever stood on the porch carried none of those familiar qualities.
The stranger allowed the silence to linger just long enough for unease to take hold.
"Miss Whitmore."
His voice carried the easy polish of an educated man, the kind Daisy associated with community gatherings, fundraising dinners, and people who knew exactly how to make others feel comfortable.
Yet the instant he spoke, every instinct she possessed urged her to close the door. The reaction arrived so fast and so forcefully that it sent a chill through her.
She tightened her grip around the edge of the door. "Can I help you?"
"I believe you can."
Behind her, she heard the rustle of Clara rising from the sofa. The stranger's attention shifted briefly in Clara's direction before returning to Daisy, and although she couldn't see him, she had the unsettling impression that very little escaped his notice.
"My name is Amos Grady."
The name struck with the force of a physical blow.
Weeks of warnings rushed back to her all at once. She remembered hushed conversations that stopped when unfamiliar footsteps approached, anxious discussions held behind closed doors, and stories that painted Amos as a man nobody wanted searching for them.
Yet the voice standing on Nathan's porch sounded calm, pleasant, and entirely at ease.
That frightened her far more than rage ever could.
"I hope you'll forgive the intrusion," Amos said.
Daisy became acutely aware of her own heartbeat. "What do you want?"
"Flint."
Clara moved closer, and Daisy welcomed the familiar presence at her back. Amos noticed the movement immediately.
"He's proven remarkably difficult to find," he continued.
Neither woman replied.
Amos didn't appear troubled by the silence.
In fact, he seemed perfectly content to carry the conversation himself.
"I've spent a great deal of time pursuing rumors, following trails that led nowhere, and paying men who assured me they possessed useful information.
" A soft note of amusement entered his voice.
"Most of them proved considerably less useful than advertised. "
Daisy swallowed hard, willing herself to speak, but nothing came out.
"Imagine my surprise," Amos continued, "when I discovered the gentleman I'd been searching for had been enjoying the hospitality of this household."
Daisy's stomach dropped.
If Amos knew Flint had stayed here, then he likely knew far more than anyone had realized.
Amos adjusted his hat with calm, deliberate movements before speaking again. "The fortunate part of this situation is that my search has become much simpler."
Daisy's fingers curled harder against the doorframe. Understanding arrived before he finished explaining. Amos had stopped hunting Flint.
He had found a better way.
"You see, Miss Whitmore, locating Flint has required an unreasonable amount of effort. Persuading him to come to me, however, presents a much less complicated challenge." Behind Daisy, Clara drew a sharp breath. "Flint has many admirable qualities. Loyalty ranks very high among them."
The smile in his voice had become impossible to miss.
"Once he learns you're in danger, he'll come willingly."