Then stopped.
Whitehawk,
I cannot continue to raise Ayana in fear of what is coming.
My father has promised protection if I return.
I will take her east—
The letter continued.
Ayana’s hands shook.
She recognized the handwriting.
Her mother’s handwriting.
Ethan whispered, “Ayana.”
She kept reading.
Vane smiled.
“Your father lied because he feared losing you.”
Tears filled Ayana’s eyes.
“My mother wanted to leave?”
“Yes.”
“And you helped her?”
“Yes.”
“Then who poisoned her?”
Vane’s smile vanished.
Ethan watched him carefully.
Vane said, “Whitehawk.”
Ayana looked up.
“No.”
“Your mother returned to him because she wanted to collect you.
She became ill that night.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Ayana stared at the letter.
For one terrible moment, doubt entered her face.
And Vane saw it.
That was his mistake.
He became too confident.
“You see,” he said softly, “men like Whitehawk can appear honorable while hiding monstrous things.”
Ayana lowered the letter.
Then she smiled.
Vane frowned.
“What?”
She tore the letter in half.
Vane’s face changed.
Ayana dropped the pieces.
“My mother never called me Ayana in private letters.”
Silence.
“She called me Little Bird.”
Vane did not move.
“And she never signed letters to my father in English.”
Ethan smiled slowly.
Vane’s eyes hardened.
Ayana continued.
“You forged her handwriting well.”
Then her voice became deadly.
“But you never knew her.”
Vane reached for his pistol.
The night exploded.
Gunfire tore across the ranch.
Ethan dragged Ayana behind the water trough.
Bullets shattered porch boards.
Vane’s men rushed from both sides.
Then rifles thundered from the ridge.
Whitehawk had arrived.
Warriors poured down the slope.
Vane screamed orders.
His men turned.
Chaos swallowed the ranch.
Ethan fired until his revolver clicked empty.
Ayana rose beside him and shot a gunman approaching from the barn.
Whitehawk fought his way toward them.
Then Vane appeared behind Ayana.
His revolver rose.
Ethan saw him.
“Ayana!”
He moved without thinking.
The shot fired.
Pain punched through Ethan’s side.
He fell.
Ayana screamed.
Vane grabbed her.
He pressed the revolver beneath her jaw.
“Stop!”
Gunfire slowed.
Whitehawk froze.
Vane dragged Ayana toward his horse.
“You people still don’t understand.”
Blood soaked Ethan’s shirt.
He struggled onto one elbow.
Vane shouted.
“This was never about the railroad!”
Ayana went still.
Whitehawk’s eyes narrowed.
Vane laughed wildly.
“Jeremiah changed everything before he died.”
“What?”
Ayana whispered.
“He found out.”
“Found out what?”
Vane’s face twisted.
“That Eleanor was not his daughter.”
Even the fighting seemed to stop.
Ayana stared.
Vane continued, almost laughing.
“Jeremiah’s wife confessed on her deathbed.
Eleanor belonged to someone else.”
Whitehawk looked stunned.
Vane pressed the gun harder against Ayana.
“That meant Jeremiah’s fortune had no legitimate blood heir.”
Ethan struggled to understand.
“Then why kill Ayana?”
Vane looked at him.
“Because Jeremiah didn’t care.”
His voice cracked with rage.
“He knew Eleanor wasn’t his blood, and he still left everything to her child.”
Ayana whispered, “Me.”
“Yes!”
Vane’s composure shattered.
“Everything!”
His voice echoed across the yard.
“Not because of blood.
Not because of law.
Because he said family was the person you chose to love.”
Whitehawk’s expression changed.
Ayana stared at Vane.
“And that made you angry?”
Vane laughed.
“Angry?”
His eyes filled with something far deeper.
