Chapter 9
CLAIRE
The estate boxes were almost empty.
I sat at the kitchen table, sorting through the last of Aunt Lois’s personal belongings. There were lacy handkerchiefs embroidered with her initials, a tin of fabric-covered buttons, and a box of holiday cards from relatives I’d never even met.
At the bottom of the last box, wedged under a stack of old quilting patterns, I found a small wooden chest wrapped in tissue paper. The wood was dark with age, the brass hinges tarnished. No lock. Just a simple latch that lifted easily under my thumb.
Inside, wrapped in faded linen, was the family Bible. I'd seen it once or twice as a child, displayed on a shelf in Lois's sitting room. But I'd never touched it and never looked inside. It had always felt like something meant for adults, for people who understood the weight of what it represented.
The leather cover was worn smooth, the edges cracked and peeling. I lifted it carefully, setting it on the table in front of me. The spine creaked as I opened it, revealing pages so thin they felt fragile beneath my fingers.
The front pages were filled with scripture, verses underlined in faded pencil.
But toward the back, the handwriting changed.
Someone had taken the time to mark birth records, baptisms, marriages, and deaths.
Generations of Hollisters were documented in careful script, each entry marked with dates and locations.
I traced the lines with my fingertip, reading names I recognized and others I didn't. My grandfather. His father. The entries grew older, the handwriting changing with each new generation.
An entry from the early 1900s caught my attention. The writing was different. Smudged. Like someone had tried to erase it and written over it with something else.
I tilted the page toward the light, squinting at the faint impression beneath the newer ink. The original entry was barely visible, just ghost marks that suggested letters I couldn't quite read. Whatever had been written there first, someone had decided it didn't belong.
My pulse quickened. The record that replaced it was simple enough. A birth. A name I didn't recognize. But the fact that it had been rewritten at all made my skin prickle.
Lois had been looking for something. And now, sitting here with the family Bible open in front of me, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was part of it. I leaned closer, trying to make out the erased words, but they were too faint. Too far gone. Whoever had written over them had been thorough.
The weight of the discovery settled heavy in my chest. This wasn't just missing paperwork or a misplaced file. Someone had deliberately altered the family record. Hidden something. And I had a feeling Lois had known.
I closed the Bible carefully and sat back, my hands trembling just slightly. The air in the house felt too close, too still. I needed to move. To breathe.
I stood and walked to the back door, then stepped out onto the porch. The late afternoon sun slanted across the yard, casting long shadows through the bare lilac bushes. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of pine and dry grass.
Taking in a huge breath, I shifted my attention toward the trees. A huge gray wolf stood at the edge of the tree line, his amber eyes fixed on me.
That must be Hades. I'd heard people talk about the wolf that wandered freely through Mustang Mountain, showing up when and where he pleased.
Some claimed he was raised by Jackson Hill who lived up the mountain.
Others said he was just wild, that he'd chosen the valley and the people in it tolerated him because he never caused trouble.
He didn't move. Just watched me with a calm, unblinking gaze that made my breath stall in my lungs.
I didn't know what I expected. Maybe for him to turn and disappear. Maybe for him to step closer. But he didn’t do either. Just stood there, solid and still, like he was weighing something I couldn't see.
"Hey," I said softly, my voice barely carrying across the yard. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket, the sound slicing through the silence.
The wolf’s ears twitched. Then, without a sound, he turned and slipped back into the trees, gone as quickly as he'd appeared.
I exhaled slowly, my heart still thudding in my chest as I pulled out my phone.
Rachel – Office: Hey! Just checking in. Any idea when you'll be back? We've got the Harper contract coming up and could use your input.*
The message sat there, a reminder of the life I’d left behind in Seattle. The work I'd built for myself, the identity I'd carved out beyond the Hollister name.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Soon, I typed. Then deleted it.
Not sure yet, I tried instead. Also deleted.
Finally, I settled on a reply.
Me: Still sorting through estate details. I'll let you know.
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked out at the tree line where Hades had been. The woods were quiet now, empty. But the feeling of being watched lingered.
Inside, the family Bible waited with its altered entry. Lois had spent years searching for answers. And now, whether I was ready or not, I was doing the same.
I turned back toward the house, pulling the door shut behind me. Tonight there was a community gathering for St. Patrick’s Day and someone decided to turn it into a combo event to celebrate the rodeo moving forward. Dawson had invited me, and Torin would be there.
I needed to get ready. But as I climbed the stairs to change, I couldn't stop thinking about the Bible. About the erased words I couldn't read. About the truth someone had tried to bury.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I wasn't leaving Mustang Mountain until I found it.
The community center smelled like peppermint from the mint-green candles.
Long tables covered in white butcher paper lined the walls, already cluttered with donated desserts.
A banner with shamrocks taped to it read, "MUSTANG MOUNTAIN RODEO – FULL STEAM AHEAD" and hung across the back wall, slightly crooked.
I spotted Torin near the coffee station, talking quietly with an older rancher I didn't recognize. He caught my eye over the man's shoulder and gave me a grin that immediately made my stomach flip.
I crossed the room, aware of the glances that followed my progress.
"Good evening, Claire." Ruby materialized in front of me, holding a tray of brownies with green frosting. She had on leprechaun earrings that hung halfway down her neck. "I’m so glad you could make it. Isn't this exciting? The rodeo's going to put us right back on the map."
"It's good to see the town come together," I offered.
"Well, you had a hand in making it happen, didn't you? All that digging through old records. Your aunt would be proud." The words landed with heavy meaning. I couldn't tell if it was approval or warning.
"Just doing what needed to be done," I said, keeping my tone even.
"Mmm Hmm." Ruby tilted her head and studied me. "Your aunt was always good at that too. She was quiet about it, though. Never liked stirring things up."
Before I could respond, she swept away to deposit her brownies on the dessert table, leaving me standing there with the distinct impression I'd just been given a message I was supposed to decode.
Torin appeared at my side, close enough that I caught the faint scent of soap and cedar. "Hey, Sweetness. I’m glad you decided to come.”
I turned to face him, already smiling despite my weird interaction with Ruby. “I’m glad I came too, though Ruby just told me Lois didn't like stirring things up. Was that supposed to be some kind of warning?”
He put his hand at the small of my back and guided me toward the far side of the room, away from the crowd. Through the window I could see trucks parked in uneven rows, their headlights cutting through the dusk. A few men stood outside smoking, their voices low and indistinct.
"People are talking," Torin said under his breath. "About you looking through Lois's files. About the breeding records."
"Let them talk."
"Claire—"
"I'm not doing anything wrong." I turned to face him. "If they don't like it, that's their problem."
His gaze held mine, steady and searching. "Just be careful."
I wanted to argue. To tell him I didn't need to be careful, didn't need anyone managing my choices for my own good. But the concern in his eyes wasn't patronizing. It was real and maybe earned.
"I will," I said instead.
A hand clapped Torin on the shoulder, and we both turned. Slade Kincaid stood there, a beer bottle in one hand and an easy grin on his face. He looked bigger than I remembered with the kind of build that came from working bulls and living hard.
"Deputy." Slade nodded at Torin, then shifted his attention to me. "Claire Hollister. It’s been a while."
"Hi, Slade."
"I heard you're the one who cracked Dawson's lineage problem. That was solid work. Saved us a hell of a headache with permits."
"Just following the records," I said.
"Yeah." His smile didn't waver, but something shifted in his eyes. "Your aunt kept good records. Real thorough."
The pause hung between us.
"She did," I agreed.
"Are you still going through her papers?"
There it was. The question everyone wanted to ask but most were too polite to voice outright.
"I'm the executor. It's my job."
Slade took a slow sip of his beer, watching me over the rim. "Sure. Just curious if you've come across anything else interesting. You know, besides the horse stuff."
Torin shifted his weight from one foot to the other like he was ready to step in front of me if necessary.
"Nothing worth mentioning," I lied.
Slade studied me for another beat, then nodded. "Well, if you do, let me know. Town history's a funny thing. Sometimes the old stories are better left alone. Sometimes they need updating." He raised his beer in a casual salute. "Good seeing you both."
He walked away, disappearing into a cluster of ranchers near the food table.
I looked up at Torin. "That was weird.”
"Yeah." Torin's voice was tight. "It was."
Conversations continued around us. Laughter rose and fell, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
"I need some air," I murmured.
Torin grabbed hold of my hand and led me outside. The evening had cooled, the sky streaked with pink and gold. We walked to the edge of the parking lot, away from the folks who were still arriving to take part in the celebration.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled to the photo I'd taken before leaving the house of the Bible entry, smudged and rewritten, the ghost marks of the original text barely visible beneath.
"I found something," I said, handing him the phone.
Torin enlarged the image, squinting at the screen. "What is this?"
"Family Bible. Birth records. Someone wrote over this entry. You can see the marks underneath where they erased the original."
He zoomed in further, tilting the screen toward the light spilling from the community center windows. "I can't make out what it said before."
"Neither could I. But someone didn't want it there."
Torin handed the phone back, his expression unreadable. "You think this is connected to the feud."
"I think whatever happened in 1912 changed everything," I said. "The families were working together. Breeding horses. Sharing stock. And then two years later it all stopped. Completely. No overlap, no cooperation. Just a hard line that's held for over a century."
"And you think Lois was looking for the reason why."
"Yes."
Torin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "If you keep digging, people are going to push back. You saw Slade in there. He wasn't being friendly. He was warning you."
"I know."
"Claire—"
"I'm not stopping." I met his eyes, keeping my voice steady. "Whatever Lois found, whatever she was trying to piece together, it mattered. And if someone's still trying to hide it, that tells me it still matters now."
The muscles in his jaw worked. I could see the conflict there—the part of him that wanted to protect me warring with the part that knew I wouldn’t hide behind him. That this was my choice to make.
"Then we do this carefully," he said. "No broadcasting what you find. No confronting anyone without backup."
"We?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Yeah. We."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. Not relief, exactly. More like recognition. He wasn't trying to stop me or take over. He was choosing to stand beside me.
"Okay," I agreed.
Torin glanced back toward the community center, where voices and laughter spilled through the open door. "You want to head out?"
"Yes."
We walked to our trucks in silence. Behind us, Mustang Mountain carried on, celebrating progress, toasting the future, pretending the past was settled.
But I knew better now. And so did Torin.