Rejected by the Pantanal Rancher

Prologue

The muddy water was already up to the third step when I heard Nicanor say my body would never be found.

I sat on the packed dirt floor, my back against the bed, both hands pressed to my belly—as if my fingers could stop his voice from seeping through the boards and reaching the baby growing inside me.

Outside, rain had been falling for hours, thick and violent, hammering the tin roof. The stench of mold crept up the walls of the abandoned house, mingling with the mud seeping into the yard and the sharp reek of kerosene from the lantern in the hallway.

“Tomorrow morning, if the water keeps rising, we do the job.” Nicanor’s voice was cold. His boots creaked on the floorboards. “The boat tips, she goes under, and the flood does the rest. No body, no trace.”

The other man answered from farther off. I didn’t recognize the voice—just the short laugh, utterly devoid of humanity.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe slowly. Panic squeezed my throat, but I’d learned from treating injured animals that fear only made things worse. First you stopped the bleeding. Then you found a way out.

This would be no different.

I knew where the window was, even though they’d nailed boards over it from outside.

I knew the younger thug limped on his right leg and took longer to circle the house.

I’d noticed Nicanor kept his gun at his waist but left his phone on the table when he started drinking.

And I’d realized the water they planned to use to drown me could be my only way out—if I could reach the shed where I’d spotted a boat tied up. And I had the letter.

I pulled the folded paper from inside the mattress lining.

Célia had gotten me a stub of pencil, so small it nearly vanished between my fingers, and promised to deliver the message when the pickup passed on the high road.

I didn’t know this Lady of Letters. I only knew what Célia had heard: there were women who helped the ones powerful men wanted erased.

I rested the paper on my thigh and finished writing, cramming the letters small to fit everything:

“He controls the police, the judges, and the silence of this town. He said my body will vanish in the floodwaters. I’m pregnant. If this letter reaches anyone, please… don’t let them take my child too.”

My hand stopped over the word child.

My chest ached, deep and hollow. I still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. I hadn’t had an ultrasound, chosen a name, or bought a single outfit. The only thing I could give this innocent life, sitting on the floor of that prison, was a promise.

“No one gets to decide whether we live or die,” I whispered into the dark, pressing my hand against my still-flat belly. “Not Jurandir. Not Nicanor. Not Bento…”

His name hurt in a different way.

Ever since Jo?o Bento Falc?o rejected me in front of everyone, I’d been repeating the cold words he’d spoken at the auction, trying to rip him out of my chest without letting the tears win.

I remembered Isadora clinging to his arm, the flat expression on his face as he said everything we’d shared was nothing but a mistake.

I tried to convince myself the man who kissed me in the rain had never existed, that his promise to stand up to his own father for me was just another lie from that ranch.

But when fear tightened its grip, it was Bento’s arms my body longed for.

The latch slid.

I hid the paper under my leg just as the door swung open. Célia came in carrying a tray of cold food. Short, with graying hair pulled back and frightened eyes, she nudged the door shut with her hip and crouched in front of me.

“They’re taking you tomorrow morning,” Célia warned in a tense whisper, pretending to adjust the aluminum plate on the floor as cover. “The boss called. Told them to finish this before his son finds his way here.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Then take the letter today. Now,” I insisted, leaning forward, holding my breath.

“The low road’s underwater, ma’am,” the woman said, shaking her head in despair, wiping her trembling hands on her apron.

“You said there’s a canoe tied up behind the kitchen,” I reminded her, holding her frightened gaze.

Célia went pale and turned to stare at the closed wooden door.

“I can’t get past them,” she whispered, her voice choked with terror. “They shoot first and never ask questions.”

“You won’t need to get past anyone,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I pulled the folded paper from under my leg.

I took her calloused hand, placed the letter in her palm, and pressed her fingers closed over it.

“When the lights go out, wait one minute. They’ll run to check the generator.

That’s your cue. Go out by the chicken coop, get in the water, and paddle downstream. Don’t look back.”

“And you?” Célia asked, eyes wide, clutching the note to her chest.

I almost laughed—a hollow sound—as I straightened up on the packed dirt floor. They’d taken everything from me: my work, my peace, even my name. But I was still here.

“I’m going to make the lights go out,” I answered, holding her gaze.

Célia squeezed my hand back, and something hardened in her eyes.

“If I get out, the letter reaches the woman,” she promised, drawing a deep breath. “I swear to God.”

“Don’t say ‘if,’” I cut in, shaking my head slowly. “We’re getting out of here alive.”

A sharp bang on the door from the hallway made Célia jump, nearly dropping the empty tray.

“Enough talking, old woman!” Nicanor shouted from outside, his heavy boots pounding on the floorboards. “Put down the plate and get out of there! Don’t be giving the doctor any ideas. Tomorrow she’s going to learn how to swim.”

Célia quickly shoved the paper into the waistband of her skirt, hiding the bulge under the gathered fabric. She picked up the tray from the floor, hunched over like the obedient servant they thought she was, and headed for the exit. Before turning the latch, she looked back at me one last time.

I nodded, confirming the plan without a word.

As soon as the key turned on the other side, I got up from the floor. The pain in my back was heavy, but I ignored it. I went to the corner of the room, where the wood met the exposed wire in the wall. From my sleeve, I pulled the piece of rusty wire I’d taken from the bed the day before.

I couldn’t fight an armed man with this. But I could black out the entire house.

Outside, thunder shook everything and the rain came down harder. Through the cracks in the wood, I could see the muddy water rising another step. Time was running out.

I knelt near the old outlet and started working on the wiring with the piece of metal, when a quick twinge tugged at the bottom of my belly.

I stopped immediately, not even breathing. It wasn’t strong pain. It could just be my body complaining about the strain, but in that second, it felt like a sign. A small touch from someone on the outside, but one that took all the fear out of me.

I wiped my tear-streaked face, let a smile escape, and went back to forcing the wire into the wiring.

“That’s it,” I murmured into the darkness. “Stay strong in there. Fight with me.”

Jurandir Falc?o thought he’d bought everyone off and locked every door in that house.

But he forgot that a woman with no way out learns to tear down the walls.