Four Brothers Each Ordered Mail-Order Brides — The Women Arrived Were All Sisters Seeking for Love

Chapter 7

The next morning, Cade rode into town and found Detective Rowan in the hotel restaurant. He did not threaten. He did not plead. He simply took a seat across from the detective and laid a single, carefully chosen page from Cecilia’s sketchbook on the table.

On it, Silas had helped Cecilia meticulously transcribe a section of the quilt’s code — page numbers, dates, cryptic references.

“My future father-in-law was a very careful man, Mr. Rowan,” Cade said coolly. “He documented every transaction. Every meeting. Mr. Voss believes he holds the only copies of certain incriminating documents.” He paused. “He is mistaken. The originals are safe. This is just a small sample of the proof we hold.”

Rowan studied the paper, his expression unreadable.

“Voss is a powerful man,” the detective said noncommittally.

“Powerful men have the most to lose,” Cade countered. “You were hired to find four missing women. You found them. Your job is done. But getting involved in a fraud and conspiracy case that crosses state lines — that’s a whole different kind of trouble. Especially when the evidence is about to become public.”

He left the paper on the table and walked away without another word.

It was a colossal bluff. They had nothing but a coded quilt. But Cade had planted a seed of doubt in the one man who operated on a code of professional integrity. The gambler’s instinct told him it was enough.

He was right.

The final reckoning happened that afternoon.

Sterling — Voss — enraged and impatient, rode to the ranch again, this time alone, and without the pretense of civility.

“This farce is over,” he snarled at Asher and Margaret, who met him in the yard. “You will be off this land by sundown, and the girls are coming with me.”

“They’re going nowhere.” Asher’s hand rested near the Colt on his hip.

“You’re a fool, Dalton.” Voss sneered. “You think you can fight me? I own you.”

At that moment, Detective Rowan rode into the yard, reining his horse to a stop. He looked not at the Daltons, but at Voss.

“Mr. Voss,” Rowan said, his voice flat and official. “My agency has been in contact with our Boston office. Some irregularities concerning your past business with the late Mr. Vance have come to light. They are reopening the investigation, based on new potential evidence.”

Voss’s face went white.

The bluff had worked. Rowan, unwilling to be party to a potential felony, had made his own inquiries. He had called Cade’s bluff — but in doing so, he had created a very real threat to Voss.

“That’s a lie,” Voss stammered, his composure shattering. “A fabrication by these peasants.”

“Perhaps.” Rowan said calmly. “But a formal investigation has begun. I’ve been instructed by my superiors to withdraw from this case and report my findings. They do not look kindly on clients who omit crucial details — such as accusations of fraud and stolen intellectual property.” He paused. “You may have bought a mortgage, sir. But you can’t buy the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Voss stared, his face a mask of fury and disbelief. He had been outmaneuvered. He was a man who operated in the shadows, using wealth and influence as his weapons. The threat of open legal scrutiny of his carefully constructed past — of having it dismantled in public — was the one thing he feared.

He shot a look of pure venom at Margaret and her sisters, and then at the four brothers standing solidly beside them. Without another word, he wrenched his horse around and galloped away, leaving a cloud of dust and impotent rage in his wake.

He was gone.

A wave of relief so profound it was dizzying washed over the eight people in the yard. They had faced down the monster from their past — not with guns, but with courage, cunning, and the unbreakable bond of family. They looked at each other, four brothers and four sisters, no longer strangers in a desperate arrangement, but allies who had fought and won a battle for their collective future.

Sheriff Boone was the first to break the silence. He cleared his throat, removed his hat, and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He looked from the empty road where Voss had vanished to the united front on the porch.

“Well, Dalton,” he mumbled, his eyes averted. “Seems I misjudged the situation. A man shows up with papers, a man of means… it’s hard to see past the shine of his boots.” He looked over at Margaret and her sisters. “My apologies, ladies. Glad you’re safe.”

With a final curt nod, he heaved himself onto his horse and rode toward town.

Detective Rowan remained. He dismounted and walked toward the porch, his movements precise and economical. He stopped before Asher.

“My client, as it would appear, terminated my employment,” he said dryly. “My agency was hired to locate the Vance sisters. They have been located. My report will state that they are safe and residing here of their own volition.” He paused. “It will also include a recommendation for a formal review of Mr. Voss’s business practices, based on certain potential discrepancies.”

Cade, ever the opportunist, clapped the detective on the shoulder. “You’re an honorable man, Mr. Rowan. If you’re ever out of work, the Daltons could use a man who can spot a cheat.”

A rare, thin smile touched Rowan’s lips. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Dalton. But I find employment is rarely scarce when dealing with men like Randall Voss.”

He tipped his bowler hat to the sisters. “Ladies.”

And with that, he mounted up and rode away — a figure of dispassionate justice, vanishing back into the anonymity of the frontier.

They were alone. The threat was truly gone.

It was then that the dam of composure broke. Lucy, her face crumpling, let out a sob that was equal parts grief and pure, unadulterated relief. Wyatt was by her side in an instant, his arm around her as she wept into his shoulder. Cecilia leaned against a porch post, her hands trembling so violently she had to clasp them together, silent tears tracing paths through the dust on her cheeks. Bridget stood ramrod straight, her chin high, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the railing — her fierce pride the only thing keeping her knees from buckling.

And Margaret simply closed her eyes, letting the full weight of their deliverance wash over her. For the first time since her father’s arrest, the constant gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach was gone. In its place was an exhaustion so profound it felt as if she could sleep for a week.

She felt a strong, steady hand on her arm and opened her eyes to see Asher standing beside her, his expression one of quiet understanding.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s over.”