PART 7 — THE NAME HIDDEN IN HER BLOOD

Clara did not speak during the ride back.

Neither did Ethan.

Samuel rode behind them, carrying the documents from the chapel inside his coat.

By noon, they reached an abandoned ranch house several miles from Black Mesa.

Ethan had used it years ago during cattle drives.

It was little more than four walls and a fireplace.

But it was safe.

For now.

Clara sat beside the window.

She still held the birth record.

“My mother never talked about him.”

Ethan sat across from her.

“Maybe she was afraid.”

“Of Mercer?”

“Maybe.”

Clara shook her head.

“No.”

She looked at the paper.

“She wasn’t afraid of Mercer.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I remember the way she looked at him.”

Ethan waited.

“She hated him.”

Samuel looked up.

“You saw him before?”

“When I was twelve.”

Clara closed her eyes.

“He came to our house after my mother’s funeral.”

Ethan leaned forward.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t remember everything.”

“Try.”

Clara swallowed.

“He told my father that the debt would disappear if he cooperated.”

“And he refused?”

“Yes.”

“What happened afterward?”

“My father became different.”

“How?”

“He stopped sleeping.”

She looked at Ethan.

“He started locking every door.”

A long silence followed.

Then she whispered:

“One night, I heard him arguing with someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did they say?”

Clara’s expression tightened.

“I remember one sentence.”

“What?”

She stared at Ethan.

‘She is not your daughter.’

The room went silent.

Samuel slowly lowered his cup.

Ethan’s face hardened.

“Who said it?”

“My father.”

Clara’s hands began trembling.

“He told someone that I was his daughter. That they would never take me.”

Samuel stood.

“We need to find Daniel Vane’s old records.”

“Where?”

“County archives.”

Ethan shook his head.

“Those records were destroyed in the courthouse fire.”

Samuel looked at him.

“Not all of them.”

Clara stood.

“Where?”

Samuel hesitated.

“There was a clerk.”

“Who?”

“Mary Bell.”

Clara’s eyes widened.

“She still lives?”

“If she hasn’t moved.”

They rode again.

Mary Bell lived in a small white house outside Wichita.

She was nearly eighty.

When Clara introduced herself, the old woman stared at her for a long time.

Then tears filled her eyes.

“You have Elizabeth’s eyes.”

Clara stepped closer.

“You knew my mother?”

Mary nodded.

“I knew your parents.”

“My father was Daniel Vane.”

Mary’s expression changed.

“Yes.”

“Was he my biological father?”

Silence.

Mary looked toward the kitchen.

Then closed the door.

“No one was supposed to ask you that.”

Clara’s breath caught.

“Why?”

“Because your mother made me promise.”

“To whom?”

“Your mother.”

Mary walked to a cabinet.

She removed a small tin box.

Inside were old documents.

She placed them on the table.

“Elizabeth came to me the week before you were born.”

Clara stared.

“She told me she was afraid.”

“Of Mercer?”

Mary nodded.

“She said Harlan Mercer had found out about the child.”

“What child?”

Mary looked at Clara.

“You.”

Clara’s face went pale.

“He was your father.”

The words seemed to stop the room.

Ethan stepped closer.

Clara whispered:

“No.”

Mary nodded.

“Elizabeth had been involved with Harlan before she met Daniel.”

“Why did she marry Daniel?”

“To protect you.”

“From Mercer?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did Mercer say I was important?”

Mary looked at Ethan.

“Because Clara was the only legitimate heir.”

Ethan frowned.

“Heir to what?”

Mary opened another document.

A property deed.

The name at the top was:

Harlan Mercer.

Beneath it was a list of ranches.

Dozens.

Black Mesa.

The Vane property.

Several ranches in Kansas.

Land in Colorado.

Even a small parcel near Wichita.

Clara stared.

“What is this?”

Mary answered softly.

“Mercer’s original land trust.”

Ethan’s expression hardened.

“He owned all of this?”

“Not personally.”

Mary tapped the document.

“Through shell companies and false debts.”

Clara looked at the signatures.

Then stopped.

One name appeared again.

Elizabeth Mercer.

“She was his wife.”

Mary nodded.

“Before she met Daniel.”

Clara looked up.

“Then why did she leave him?”

Mary’s voice lowered.

“Because she discovered what he was doing.”

Ethan looked at Clara.

“She took you and ran.”

Mary nodded.

“She changed her name.”

“Vane.”

“Yes.”

“And Mercer found her.”

“Eventually.”

Clara’s eyes filled with tears.

“What happened?”

Mary looked down.

“He offered her a deal.”

“What deal?”

“He would leave you alone if she gave him the land documents.”

Clara’s voice cracked.

“She refused.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why she died?”

Mary didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Clara covered her mouth.

Ethan stepped beside her.

She leaned against him.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then Mary said:

“There is something else.”

Clara looked up.

“What?”

“Your mother left something for you.”

She reached into the box.

A small silver locket.

Clara recognized it immediately.

“My mother wore this.”

Mary opened it.

Inside was a tiny photograph.

Elizabeth.

And a man.

Not Daniel.

Harlan Mercer.

On the back was a date.

And one sentence.

The truth will protect her when I cannot.

Clara closed the locket.

Ethan looked at her.

“We have to leave.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the window.

A rider stood across the road.

Watching.

Ethan’s hand moved toward his revolver.

The rider turned his horse.

And rode away.

Samuel stepped outside.

A few moments later, he returned with something in his hand.

An envelope.

Pinned to the porch.

Ethan opened it.

Inside was a note.

Now you know who Clara is.

Beneath it:

The next question is whether Ethan Blackwood is willing to die for her.

Clara looked at Ethan.

He folded the note.

His answer came without hesitation.

“Yes.”

But neither of them noticed the second piece of paper hidden beneath the first.

Samuel did.

He pulled it free.

His face changed.

“What?”

Samuel handed it to Ethan.

There were only six words.

Thomas Blackwood was not killed by Mercer.

Ethan stared.

Below those words was one name.

Samuel Cole.