A Tiny Blessing at the Innkeeper’s Door (Preview)

Chapter One

Trinidad, Colorado
Late April 1881

After a hard day’s work at the Thompson Inn, Emily finally managed to sit down for a few minutes. She urgently needed to look over the account books again, because lately things had gotten even worse.

With her father’s health declining, Emily had taken over the business of running this modest guesthouse, which was conveniently located at the northern end of Main Street in downtown Trinidad, a bustling mining town nestled on the southern outskirts of the Rocky Mountains.

It had been another very busy day, with trappers, travelers and new settlers arriving on a weekly basis. Since the train line had been connected, and large operations of coal mining were springing up everywhere in the nearby region, the town had almost doubled in size, which was ideal—if one was able to profit from it all.

Unfortunately, since Emily had taken over the books, she’d noticed more and more discrepancies in the money coming in compared to what they were spending, and none of it was adding up. They had always struggled with money, despite the hard work they all put in, but the more she tried to add up the numbers, the more she noticed that money was going missing.

And tonight, she saw that the mortgage was overdue—again.

This wasn’t right.

It was more than worrying, and Emily struggled to pinpoint the source of the problem. So far, she’d been unsuccessful, which was frustrating.

Nathaniel Crawford, the mayor of Trinidad, who also happened to be their mortgage lender, had been kind enough to give them extensions whenever they couldn’t immediately come up with the payments. This allowed Emily to work even harder, until she was able to pay.

But how much harder would she have to work? There were only so many hours in a day, and she already worked from sunrise to sundown without much to show for it.

A coughing sound coming from the other side of her door immediately demanded Emily’s attention. She hastily closed the ledger, because she didn’t want to worry her father more than he already was.

James Thompson was only in his mid-fifties, but as he came scuffling into the room, looking somewhat gaunt with his gray complexion and dark rings underneath his red-rimmed brown eyes, he resembled an eighty-year-old grandpa. It was heartbreaking to watch his health decline so rapidly.

Emily remembered him as a strong, sturdy man with a solid build, working many hours every day without complaint, when he and his beloved wife Anna, Emily’s mother, had run her family’s inn. During this time, money had come rolling in like nobody’s business, and they’d managed to turn it into one of the most successful guesthouses in all of Trinidad. Emily’s first childhood years had been blissful and happy.

But then, her mother had fallen ill. She’d died when Emily was barely eight years old, and after that things drastically changed. Her father’s grief pulled him down a dark path that he’d never truly recovered from. On top of battling severe depression and a nasty drinking habit, he also suffered from a disease affecting his lungs, which had forced him to retire, leaving his only daughter to run the business.

Emily had worked tirelessly from a very young age, trying to help her father deal with his loss, his declining health, and mounting financial problems—all the while not allowing herself to heal from the loss of her mother. Yet she’d never blamed him for any of it.

Today, James was merely a shadow of his former self.

As soon as Emily saw him, she immediately recognized how tired he was.

“You should lie down and rest, Father,” she said as she got up from her chair.

He waved his hand dismissively. “That’s all I do, dear. I need to keep moving or I’ll go insane.”

“That’s all well and good, but if you take another fall due to exhaustion, I won’t be able to get you up off the ground,” Emily said firmly.

She hated to scold him, but it was the truth. Just a few weeks ago, during a rush of visitors to the inn, her father had taken it upon himself to greet the new arrivals, because he wanted to take some of the burden off Emily. Unfortunately, that had backfired quickly when he’d passed out in the back room from overexertion. Emily had had to call for help to get him onto his feet, and then upstairs into his old room.

“That only happened because I hadn’t eaten that day,” he said defensively, which prompted yet another coughing fit.

Emily folded her arms in front of her chest and tilted her head slightly. “I don’t think that’s the only reason…”
Her father shot her an annoyed side glance as he pressed a napkin against his mouth to suppress the onslaught.

“Please, go lie down. I will get you a nice hot cup of tea, and maybe Martha has made another batch of those crumb cookies you like so much. Would you like that?”

James’s shoulder visibly sank in surrender, when he looked at her with tired eyes.

“Alright,” he said, once his cough had subsided. “But I’d like to have a shot of whiskey and honey in my tea, too. I need to live a little, you know?”

Emily stepped closer to him and gave him a little hug. His body felt so fragile now, but he was still able to reciprocate the gesture with a surprisingly strong hold.

“I love you,” Emily said as she listened to his wheezy breathing.

“I love you too, dear,” he replied.

Emily gently pulled away from him before she accompanied him to the back of the large guesthouse, where they’d transformed an addition into their new living quarters.

Once his illness had become a problem, it was no longer feasible to stay on the upper floor since the stairs posed a real risk to him, so now the two of them shared their home at the back of the two-story main building. It was quieter and much more convenient.

As soon as he laid down in his bed, tucked in with a cozy blanket, Emily went to get his tea.

Upon entering the large kitchen, she was greeted with delicious smells and the sounds of something simmering in the big cast iron pot on the stove.

This was Emily’s favorite place in the entire building.

Little bouquets of herbs hung drying on a string, filling the air with fragrant scents of thyme, rosemary and lavender. Bunches of dried peppers and cinnamon sticks, dotted among pots and pans hanging on the large stone wall surrounding the fireplace, added the spice. They did have a larder, too, but Martha, their cook, liked to have these things handy, and she’d told Emily that she liked the little splash of color.

Martha, a middle-aged Irish widow with fiery curly hair and bright blue eyes, sat at the solid oak table with Danny, her adopted six-year-old son, giggling and chatting as they worked on something together, while Ruth helped out washing dishes. Ruth was a quiet young woman in her mid-twenties who always wore her glossy black hair in a thick braid falling over her back. She worked as the housekeeper, but helped out wherever she could.

“Emily!” Danny yelled, as she put the kettle on the stove, to prepare the tea for her father.

“Danny!” Emily replied, matching his exuberance, as he came bouncing through the kitchen, launching himself straight into her open arms. “How are you today, little man?”

As he clamped his little arms tightly around her neck in a fierce hug, Emily felt nothing but love for this child. She loved all children very much, hence the reason she volunteered at the local orphanage nearby whenever she could find the time, but this little boy occupied a very special spot in her heart.

“We’re scratching animals for my friend Tommy,” he exclaimed excitedly, which caused Emily to raise an eyebrow questioningly.

“Scratching…?”

Grinning from ear to ear, he looked up at her with his big green eyes, and Emily couldn’t help but tousle his wild mess of brown curly hair.

Martha laughed from the table and held up an oddly shaped clump of wood. “Carving. Not scratching,” she supplied helpfully.

“Yeah! We are… caah-ving animals for Tommy’s birthday! He’s my best friend, and I want to make him a feisty stallion,” he declared, proudly pointing at the clump of wood, which at this point resembled more of a fat tortoise with longish legs.

When Emily looked at Martha, she shrugged with a giggle, and went back to smoothing out the rough ridges.

“You wanna see?” Danny asked energetically, already climbing down from Emily. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the table. “Look!” Snatching the woodwork from his mother’s hands, he held it right in front of Emily’s face. “This is the head and these are the legs. And these are the eyes,” he explained, pointing at two uneven holes. “I made those, too.”

Emily nodded enthusiastically, making sure she appreciated all sides of his handiwork.

Standing in front of the table, she turned to ask Ruth if she needed any help.

The young woman had been in their employ for many years, and she was a very hard worker. Ruth shook her head, stating that she was almost done, so Emily sat down at the table and put Danny on her lap, right after he’d handed the lump of wood back to his mother.

Martha smiled at her little boy with so much affection, it stirred something deep inside of Emily, cracking her heart wide open. She wanted children more than anything, and she dreamed of having her very own family one day.

Sadly, she didn’t really think this was in the cards for her. With the current workload at the inn, looking after her father, and volunteering at the orphanage whenever she could, she didn’t even have time to find a husband.

Shortly after, Ruth joined them at the table with a colorful piece of fabric in her hand.

“I thought we could wrap your gift in it, once it’s finished,” she said to Danny, and his eyes went wide.

“That’s a good idea, Ruthie!” he exclaimed, clapping his little hands. Not waiting for the toy to be finished, he snatched the tortoise-stallion-thing away from Martha once again.

“Danny! Manners!” His mother shook her head, scowling at him, but Emily knew she wasn’t really mad at him.

Danny put on his best apologetic expression. “Sorry, Mama,” he said quietly, before he carefully spread out the piece of fabric and put the gift on top. Ruth smiled and helped him wrap it up.

At the same time Emily’s best friend Molly sneaked into the kitchen through the back door, the kettle started to whistle.

“What am I missing?” she enquired cheerfully, and all heads turned to her.

Emily jumped up, rushing to her to greet her—and to take the screaming kettle off the stove top. “Molly! What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you’d be busy today.”

“Oh, I am. Very. But I wanted to remind you of Tommy’s birthday coming up.”

“I made him a present!” Danny piped up as he came running toward them, proudly holding up his fabric-wrapped gift.
Emily and Molly both smiled at him.

“That is so very sweet of you!” Molly said, genuinely excited. “Will you tell me what it is, or is it a big surprise?”

Clearly unsure of how to answer that, Danny looked back to his mother with a questioning look, since his excitement to tell seemed to war with his desire to keep it a big surprise.

“It’s up to you, sweetheart,” Martha said to him, encouragingly. “This is your decision.”

Danny spun back around, contemplating his options for a full ten seconds. “It’s a fierce stallion, but we should keep it a big surprise,” he declared.

“That’s fantastic!” Molly exclaimed and Emily couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer.

“You are a funny little man, Danny!” she said, before she walked over to the counter, so she could prepare the tea for her father, including a splash of whiskey and big dollop of honey.

“Are you still going to bring your famous apple tarts?” Molly asked, turning to Emily.

“Of course! They’re Tommy’s favorite!” Emily exclaimed. “I’ll get up extra early, so they’re fresh.”

Emily was exhausted, and she would have liked a couple of extra hours of sleep before she had to go to the birthday party at the orphanage, where Tommy lived and where Molly worked, but when she thought of the children and all their excited faces, she knew it would all be worth it.

“Maybe you should go to bed early tonight and get some rest. You do look tired, Emi,” Molly said quietly.

Emily nodded, as she put some of the crumb cookies onto a plate next to the steaming hot cup of tea. “I’ll try. Thank you, Molly.”

“Well, I still have things to get and organize, so… Gotta go! See you at the party!” Molly disappeared as quickly as she had shown up. Emily shook her head, smiling.

She loved these ladies—and Danny—because they made every day so much sweeter.

***

A couple of hours later, long after dinner had been served and most of the staff had finished for the day, Emily heard a rumble of thunder echoing over the low mountain tops in the west.

The sun had already set half an hour ago, so light was fading fast, when she stepped outside the back door from the now empty kitchen, and saw that dark heavy storm clouds were rolling in rather swiftly. By the looks of it the rain could start any minute.

Not wanting to waste a hard day’s labor, Emily ignored her physical exhaustion, and stormed out into the backyard, where she rushed to pull the laundry from the drying lines. By herself, this wasn’t such an easy task. Most of the larger sheets were still slightly damp, which added to their weight, but Emily pushed herself and managed to get everything inside the house just as the first droplets fell from the gloomy sky.

There were still quite a few glowing embers in the fireplace, so Emily stoked up the flames and added a couple extra logs, which created a warm glow in the dark kitchen. She began to separate the dry items from the ones that needed to be hung up, and draped several linen sheets over some washing lines crisscrossed in between two small wall sections, which had been put there for this exact purpose.

As she was folding the dry napkins, rags, and drying cloths, Emily thought she heard the wind howling—only, when she glanced through the window outside, the trees and bushes weren’t really moving much.

But there was this weird sound again, like a cry, right outside, slightly muffled by the rolling thunder and the ever-increasing rain tapping against the window.

Emily didn’t like the weird feeling in her gut, so she put down a rag, marched toward the back door, and listened closer.

A piercing scream from right behind it startled her into action. Ripping the door wide open, the wind gushed inside, rearing up the flames in the fireplace, illuminating the kitchen and the small area outside.

Right there in front of Emily stood a basket.

And inside was a screaming baby.

For a second, Emily stood there, frozen and in shock, before she stepped halfway outside to see if there was anybody out there. She saw no one. At the same time, the poor little thing was crying its heart out, getting rained on by increasingly heavier droplets.

Emily carried the basket inside.

The baby was still very much an infant, barely a few months old.

Emily removed the blanket, and something fell onto the floor. When Emily picked up the small, folded note, she could see the hastily scribbled words “Keep her safe” written there.

So, this baby was a girl.

Looking at her closer, Emily noticed yet another thing—a golden locket around the baby’s neck. The engraving read “Grace.”

As if the thunderstorm was meant to wash away this little girl’s existence, the heavens opened up and the rain turned into a full-blown deluge.

Emily closed the back door.

She gently picked up the kicking baby, who immediately calmed down when she felt the warmth of Emily’s body. Emily pulled back the baby’s bonnet to reveal soft blonde curls, and as she looked into the innocent blue eyes of this little girl, Emily’s heart overflowed with unexplainable emotions.

“Don’t worry, Baby Grace. You’re safe now. I will protect you. You’re safe.”

Chapter 2

U.S. Marshal’s Office
Denver, Colorado

Awaiting his next assignment, Ryan sat opposite his superior, former U.S. Marshal John McFadden, who now resided behind a massive oak desk, shuffling through a pile of important papers. The red-haired man in his late-forties took his sweet time, seemingly looking for something specific, while Ryan patiently waited, casually leaning back in his somewhat uncomfortable chair.

Since he’d joined the U.S. Marshals at the age of only twenty-one, Ryan had grown used to the slower pace of the administrative side of things. He wasn’t all that fond of all these files and stacks of paperwork, which were a pesky necessity. Ryan much preferred to be out there in the field, getting his hands dirty.

“Ah! There it is,” John exclaimed, somewhat pleased with himself, as he pushed a not-so-thin file across the desk to Ryan, who took it and opened it with great interest.

“You will be deployed to southern Colorado,” John declared, steepling his fingers as he spoke. “The town is called Trinidad. It has become a major trading point in that region. You might have heard of it.”

Ryan nodded, as he opened the file, scanning the basic information. “It’s less than a two day’s ride from here. I grew up near Castle Rock, so the region is familiar.”

“Then you might remember the Garrett Gang,” John remarked casually as he got up from his chair to walk over to a small table, where several crystal carafes containing various liquors stood on a silver platter.

As soon as he heard the name, Ryan spotted it on the paper in front of him, and his blood froze in his veins. The pain he felt in that moment was so visceral he almost winced.

His eyes shot up, and he watched as John poured an amber-colored liquid into two glasses. Handing him one, John returned to his desk before he continued.

“Weren’t those the people who were responsible for your parents’ deaths?” he asked, a little more cautiously.

Ryan struggled to fight the instant rage mixed in with whirling emotions of hatred, loss, and guilt, which all bubbled up to the surface at the same time, threatening to overwhelm him. Eight years had passed, but the memory of when he’d found the ranch burned down to the ground, and both of his parents murdered among the ashes, came crashing down on him like a boulder, as if it had been yesterday.

“The murderers who destroyed my family’s ranch, stole everything, and killed both of my parents,” he choked out. Closing the file, he grabbed his glass so hard his knuckles turned white. He downed it all in one big gulp, relishing the familiar burn of whiskey running down his throat. There had been a time when this was all he’d known, and whiskey had been his sole companion in trying to overcome the paralyzing depression he’d fought after the terrible murders.

John looked at him empathetically. “Would you like another?”

Ryan shook his head. “I shouldn’t. I need my brain to function.” He opened the file again.

John nodded and continued. “There have been reports of this crew operating in that region again. Since you’ve worked on their cases previously, I must assume you are familiar with Wade Garrett, their gang leader?”

Ryan ground his teeth, biting back the fury at hearing this name. Unable to reply in this very moment, he just nodded sharply.

John, a seasoned veteran in the branch, clearly noticed Ryan’s struggle to keep his composure, because he got up from his chair again and went back to the table to grab the decanter of whiskey. He walked around the desk, and when Ryan silently lifted the glass toward him, he filled it with a double shot. Ryan didn’t want to admit it, but the news had shaken him quite a bit.

“Trinidad is a rapidly growing town and a very important location,” John continued as he remained standing in front of Ryan. “We can’t have all this uproar and lawlessness take over the region. Between you and me, I have the higher-ups grinding my ass to secure the territory. I have assigned you this task, specifically, because I want this gang dealt with as quickly as possible. And given your history with them, I figured, you’d be the right man to do it.”

John put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “I know you to be a level-headed and very capable marshal. This case is yours, if you want it.”

Once again, Ryan drank all of the whiskey in one big gulp.

“This is some strong stuff you’ve got there,” he said, aiming to shake the tension in his body, but failing. He glanced at the name written at the top of the file once again before he looked straight at his superior and nodded. “Thank you for this opportunity, sir,” he said with conviction. “I’ll take the case. I’ll make sure Garrett and his gang will never do what they did to my family to anyone else, ever again.”

John nodded, seemingly pleased.

“I’ll give you permission to proceed at your own discretion,” he said with a lowered voice. “This gang has been operating more years than I care to count, and they are starting to blemish my reputation regarding my ability to handle them. I want them gone.”

Ryan understood perfectly, and the two men shared a glance, which was understood without words. Closing the file, Ryan got up from his chair, and handed John the glass back.

Then he turned on his heels and left the office with a grim frown.

He was on a mission.

***

A couple of days later, Ryan was on his way to Trinidad.

Given the time of year, the sky was bright blue without a cloud in sight, but it wasn’t too warm yet to take his trusted rusty brown quarter horse Chester for a long two-day ride across rugged terrain, right past Castle Rock.

Ryan mostly stayed on the trails following the rivers hugging the low mountains, and actively avoided the former location of his old family farm toward the east of the flat peak, which was visible from many miles away.

As much as he fought it, it stirred up unwanted memories, and the quiet of the ride provided the perfect background for his thoughts to vividly bring back every single detail from that horrible night.

Up until eight years ago, at the age of eighteen, Ryan had lived a peaceful life with a loving family on a small ranch, raising horses. On that fateful day, he’d gone to help a neighbor fix his fence because his cattle kept disappearing. Shortly after sundown, Ryan had been on his way back to his father’s ranch.

At first, he’d noticed the eerily orange glow. As he drew closer to his home, it turned into a blazing fire reaching far into the early night sky. It had been visible from miles away.

Then he’d heard the screams echoing across the valley. There’d been shadows of many men on horseback dancing around the huge fire, yelling, hooting and shooting their guns.

By the time Ryan was finally able to reach the ranch, there hadn’t been much left of it. The screams had stopped, and the men had long left. Jumping off his horse, he’d run toward the house, but the flames had already claimed most of it, and he’d had no way of getting in there. Desperately trying to douse the fire with buckets from the nearby horses’ troughs, he’d worked tirelessly, trying to save his home and hoping to find and save his parents.

It had been early dawn when he’d found them laying among the ashes, merely three feet from each other. They were both gone.

By the looks of the injuries, the fire hadn’t been the cause of their deaths. They had both been brutally murdered.

Ryan would never be able to unsee what he had seen that day.

He pulled his horse toward the river, jumped off its back and walked with long strides toward the glistening water. He splashed his face and neck, hoping to cool off his firing mind. He needed to remain calm and keep his wits about him.

After these last eight years, there was no point in getting this worked up anymore. He needed to focus on this open case, and by what he had read in the file, which contained numerous reports about the gang’s activities, it was high time they were stopped.

Forcing the relentlessly gnawing guilt back into its dark place deep inside of him, Ryan got back up. After he allowed his trusted stallion a good long drink, he mounted his saddle and continued his journey all the way down to Fort Pueblo, a small trading post where he stayed overnight.

It was late afternoon the next day when he finally arrived in the bustling town of Trinidad. Riding into Main Street, where the sheriff’s office was located, he was quite surprised to see so many people around. Trappers, miners, ranchers, all kinds of faces from various different backgrounds, young and old—this small town had grown quite a bit since he’d last been here. New buildings were being built everywhere, and the outskirts had clearly expanded as well.

The atmosphere was charged with the chit-chat of people, and although Ryan liked the peace and quiet of the open prairie, after his long ride it felt good to be around other human beings again.

Before he stepped into the sheriff’s office, he dusted off his Stetson. He desperately needed a bath, but for Ryan, his duty always came first.

When he stepped off the main road into the sheriff’s office, he was greeted by a tall, well-built man in his late forties who sat behind a desk full of papers and stacks of files, reading. As soon as he saw Ryan enter the room, his eyes went to the U.S. Marshal badge he wore openly on his vest. Given that Ryan’s clothes were mainly black, the silver badge stood out immediately, and he was used to the unsolicited reactions it caused among people who noticed it. The sheriff’s expression didn’t look overly pleased when he did.

“How may I help you, Marshal?” His hazel eyes regarded him with great interest.

Ryan walked toward him with his hand stretched out, and the older man shook his hand with a firm grip.

“I’m U.S. Marshal Ryan Burke. I was sent here from Denver to investigate unrest and disturbances in the region. And I was hoping to count on your full support.”

“Sheriff Ed Carson. Nice to make your acquaintance, Marshal,” the man said cooly.

The somewhat stand-offish, formal greeting told Ryan immediately that the lawman wasn’t thrilled to see him, but he was used to such a reception. After all, he worked for the federal government—whenever he showed up anywhere, people felt uneasy.

The sheriff nodded his head toward the desk he’d sat behind moments earlier, and Ryan followed.

“Please take a seat,” Ed said, pointing at the single chair on the other side of the desk, but Ryan remained standing. He first needed to get a feel for the overall situation, and whom he was dealing with here.

Right now, he couldn’t tell if this sheriff would be an obstacle or an ally.

“We’ve had an uprising in unfortunate instances,” the sheriff explained. “Apparently, most involve a group of outlaws operating in the territory. Several stagecoaches have been robbed, we’ve had multiple attacks on people outside of town, and there was a murder on the other side of the creek just last month.” Carson released a heavy sigh.

“I can see that you have your hands full,” Ryan remarked, pointing at the chaotic paperwork on the desk. The sheriff seemed to hesitate only for a short moment, then he nodded.

“I’d be lying if I pretended that it wasn’t so,” he said with a faint smile.

Ryan nodded and pulled out the file he carried on him. Since the sheriff seemed to provide him with the plain truth, Ryan’s gut feeling told him that this man was trustworthy, and so far, his instinct had never been wrong when it came to judging people’s characters. It was one of Ryan’s hidden strengths.

“Then let’s work together and bring these heathens to justice,” he said, reciprocating the smile, which seemed to break the ice a little. “I will share the information I’ve got with you if you tell me everything you know in return. I’m confident that we can put an end to these cases, as long as we work closely together. I will need your help just as much as you can use mine.”

Something seemed to spark in the sheriff’s eyes, and when he combed his long fingers through his graying brown hair, his shoulders visibly straightened a little.

“Agreed,” he said then. “I could use some help here. In all honesty, I don’t have the resources I need to pursue every single case on my own, effectively.”

Both men exchanged knowing glances, and when Ryan finally sat down on that chair, they began to talk, exchanging vital information, which painted a much better image of the current situation Ryan was facing.

He was pleased to see that Ed Carson was not only very knowledgeable and aware, but also seemingly very forthcoming and genuinely interested to work with him. It made his whole stay here so much easier.

Almost two hours passed before Ryan and Sheriff Carson parted ways, exchanging yet another strong, confirming handshake. Ryan felt good about this new connection.

The next item on his list was to go and check out this town and the immediate area, to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

Just as he opened the door to leave, a young woman carrying a baby rushed past him and into the sheriff’s office.

Ryan only caught a glimpse of her distressed expression, but when she shot him a quick glance as she squeezed by him, the sunlight briefly falling onto her face lit up the golden specks in her hazel eyes. But before he could react, she had already disappeared inside the office.

He’d seen the worried look her pretty face, and he stood there for a couple of seconds longer while the marshal in him fought with the decision of whether he should follow her inside to find out what the problem was.

Ed Carson seemed to be a capable sheriff, so he decided to leave it. He had things to do, still.

A couple of hours later, after a stroll through the town, all the while observing the surroundings and faces as he went, Ryan finally approached a local inn to book room and board for the next few days. He reckoned he’d be here for a month, but he never booked rooms for longer than a week in advance. Things could change too quickly.

The Thompson Inn was a quaint little guesthouse, perfect for his needs, and as he stepped inside, he could hear music and singing.

Curiously, Ryan stepped closer to the open room just off the entrance, stopping just inside the large doorway.

A small crowd had gathered at several tables and around the bar running along the entire wall to the right. At the far end of the room, in a well-lit corner toward the left, an older gray-haired man was sitting down, playing the guitar.

In front of him, singing with the most beautiful voice Ryan had heard in a very long time, stood a young woman. She had her eyes closed, but Ryan recognized her immediately.

It was the woman he had seen in front of the sheriff’s office.

She sang a melodic old folk song, and she did it with so much emotion, it stirred something deep inside of him. It took Ryan completely by surprise, since this emotional side of him wasn’t something he was overly familiar with anymore, but he could feel a soft pull inside his chest. He had no idea what that meant.

When the woman opened her eyes as she sang the last part of the emotional song, Ryan could see how she forced herself to smile.

He knew because it didn’t reach her eyes.