“My name is Caleb Hart,” the cowboy said slowly.
The black sheep.
The one who left.
The one who vanished into the mountains after a brutal fight with his father.
Grace swallowed hard. “I don’t understand.”
Caleb didn’t answer immediately. He walked to a drawer and pulled out a folded letter — yellowed with time, edges worn soft.
“I received this five years ago,” he said, voice tight. “From a woman named Marisol Morales.”
Grace stopped breathing.
“That’s my mother.”
The letter trembled in his hands as he unfolded it.
“If I disappear,” he read quietly, “protect my children. Your family does not forgive women who know too much.”
Grace’s knees nearly gave out.
“She was sick,” she whispered. “Fever. She couldn’t breathe.”
Caleb looked at her, and something dark flickered in his eyes. “Or someone made it look that way.”
The room felt colder than the snow outside.
“How old is the baby?” he asked.
“Five months.”
He turned away sharply.
Five months.
His brother Mateo had been home six months ago. Reckless. Dangerous. Untouchable.
“And the father?” Caleb asked carefully.
“My mother never told me.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Because they both understood the possibility.
If Luna was Mateo Hart’s child…