Chapter 1 - The Child Who Wouldn’t Be Afraid
Sarah Miller had one chance left to keep a roof over her daughter’s head.
And three-year-old Penny was standing in the middle of that chance with her tiny arms folded across her chest, glaring at the most feared cattle baron in Wyoming.
Garrett Thorne stared down at her.
Penny stared right back.
Sarah wished the polished floor of Thorne Ranch would split open and swallow her whole.
“Penny,” she whispered.
Her daughter ignored her.
Outside the enormous windows, the winter of 1894 had buried the Wyoming mountains beneath white. Snow covered the corrals and fences, and horses moved like dark shadows against the frozen fields. Inside Garrett Thorne’s study, however, a massive stone fireplace burned hot enough to make Sarah’s cheeks sting.
She should have felt grateful for the warmth.
Instead, sweat gathered beneath the collar of her faded dress.
Three hours earlier, she had walked five miles through freezing slush with a final notice folded inside her coat pocket.
Her husband, Thomas, had been dead nearly a year.
Fever had taken him quickly.
Debt had stayed.
Sarah had scrubbed floors, mended shirts, hauled water, cooked meals, and accepted every respectable job Laramie offered. None paid enough.
Then she heard Thorne Ranch needed a housekeeper.
The wages were better than anything Sarah had been offered.
There was only one problem.
Garrett Thorne did not tolerate children.
His butler had made that painfully clear when Sarah arrived with Penny.
Sarah had tried explaining that the neighbor who normally watched Penny was sick.
Garrett hadn't cared.
“I need someone who can work,” he had said coldly. “I did not ask for a nursery.”
Sarah had swallowed her humiliation.
“I can work harder than anyone you hire.”
Garrett had leaned back behind his enormous oak desk.
“And the child?”
“Her name is Penny.”
At that exact moment, Penny had kicked the desk leg.
Thunk.
The sound seemed to echo through the entire house.
Garrett had looked at Sarah.
Sarah had wanted to die.
“She’s usually quiet.”
“Usually.”
Something strange had almost appeared in Garrett’s eyes.
Almost.
Then Penny had let go of Sarah’s hand.
And everything had gone wrong.
Now the little girl stood directly before Garrett.
Garrett folded his arms.
Penny folded hers.
His brow tightened.
Hers tightened.
He pressed his lips together.
Penny pushed hers into such an exaggerated pout that one ranch hand standing near the doorway suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
The butler looked horrified.
Sarah felt her future disappearing.
“Penny Miller.”
Her daughter finally glanced at her.
“Come here.”
Penny looked back at Garrett.
“No.”
The ranch hand coughed.
Garrett slowly leaned forward.
Sarah stopped breathing.
People in Laramie told stories about Garrett Thorne.
They said he had once thrown a drunken cattle buyer off his property with one hand.
They said rustlers avoided Thorne land.
They said he had not truly smiled since the deaths of his wife and young son.
Whatever warmth Garrett Thorne had once possessed had apparently been buried with them.
And Penny had just told him no.
Garrett narrowed his eyes.
Penny narrowed hers.
His expression grew darker.
Penny scrunched her little face until her nose wrinkled.
Then Garrett did something nobody expected.
He leaned even closer.
Penny leaned closer too.
Their noses were barely two feet apart.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Garrett said.
Penny considered this.
“No.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“You’re grumpy.”
The ranch hand made a strangled noise.
Sarah covered her face.
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Thorne.”
Garrett never looked away from Penny.
“Grumpy?”
Penny nodded solemnly.
“Very.”
“How very?”
Penny stretched her arms as wide as she could.
“This much.”
Silence.
Then something moved beneath Garrett’s beard.
Sarah stared.
Surely not.
Garrett turned his face slightly away.
But it was too late.
She had seen it.
The corner of his mouth had moved.
Penny saw it too.
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Penny pointed triumphantly.
“You’re doing it again.”
Garrett’s expression immediately hardened.
Penny copied that too.
And then the impossible happened.
A sound escaped Garrett Thorne.
Not quite laughter.
More like a short breath that had forgotten it wasn't supposed to be amused.
But everyone heard it.
The ranch hand stared.
The butler stared.
Sarah stared.
Garrett seemed almost offended with himself.
Penny, meanwhile, smiled as though she had won a great battle.
“There,” she announced. “Better.”
Garrett studied her for a long moment.
Then his gaze shifted to Sarah.
The warmth disappeared.
Sarah’s stomach sank.
This was where he would tell them to leave.
She straightened.
“If you want us gone, Mr. Thorne, I understand.”
Garrett said nothing.
Sarah took Penny’s hand.
“Come along, sweetheart.”
They reached the doorway.
“Mrs. Miller.”
Sarah stopped.
She slowly turned.
Garrett stood beside his desk.
“You said you can cook?”
“Yes.”
“Mend?”
“Yes.”
“Keep household accounts?”
“Yes.”
“And you aren't frightened of hard work?”
“No, sir.”
His gaze dropped toward Penny.
“And apparently your daughter isn't frightened of anything.”
Penny shook her head.
“Except thunder.”
Garrett’s eyebrow rose.
“And peas.”
Sarah whispered, “Penny.”
“And the rooster at Mrs. Wilkins’s house.”
Garrett closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he looked at Sarah.
“You start tomorrow.”
Sarah couldn't speak.
“What?”
“The position.”
Her fingers tightened around Penny’s hand.
“You’re hiring me?”
“For one month.”
Sarah's eyes burned.
Garrett pointed toward Penny.
“There will be rules.”
Penny frowned.
Garrett frowned back.
“Rule one: you do not touch anything in my study.”
Penny nodded.
“Rule two: you do not bother the ranch hands while they’re working.”
Another nod.
“Rule three…”
Garrett hesitated.
Penny waited.
“No mocking me.”
Penny thought carefully.
Then she asked, “What if you look funny?”
The ranch hand fled into the hallway before anyone could see him laughing.
Sarah shut her eyes.
Garrett stared at Penny.
And once again, that nearly invisible smile appeared.
“Especially then.”
That evening Sarah and Penny were shown to two small adjoining rooms in the servants’ wing.
They were modest.
To Sarah, they looked like a palace.
There was a real bed.
A washstand.
A small stove.
Blankets thick enough to survive a Wyoming winter.
Penny bounced onto the mattress.
“We live here?”
“For one month.”
“Then forever?”
Sarah’s smile weakened.
“We’ll see.”
Penny didn't notice the fear behind those words.
But Sarah did.
She unpacked their few belongings after Penny fell asleep.
At the bottom of her bag was Thomas’s photograph.
Sarah touched it gently.
“We made it this far,” she whispered.
A floorboard creaked outside.
Sarah turned.
Nobody was there.
Far down the dark hallway, Garrett Thorne stood alone beside a window.
He had heard her.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he looked toward the room where Penny slept.
Something about that child had awakened a feeling he had spent years trying to bury.
And before the month was over, Sarah would discover exactly why Garrett Thorne had forbidden children from entering his house.
Because behind a locked door upstairs was a room nobody had entered for years.
A room filled with toys.
May you like
And on its wall hung the portrait of a little boy who looked hauntingly like the child Garrett had lost.
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