Prologue

Atlanta, Georgia

10th April 1885

Arch Sutton sat at his large desk, bent over a piece of paper as he carefully penned a letter to his estranged brother, Thomas Sutton. They didn’t speak much, and so each letter that Arch wrote to him took far too long to compose.

They sent letters back and forth and had done so for a few years, but Arch’s own awkwardness meant that he often took months to reply – which was precisely what happened this time. It had been four months since he had received the letter from his brother. He kept meaning to write back. It was just that he was never sure what the right thing to say was, or how many questions to ask about his wife Sylvie and their little family.

He felt that asking too much would make Thomas resent him for not visiting, but asking too little felt inconsiderate. He did want to visit, it was just hard. Things were complicated.

He put his fountain pen down on the mahogany desk and flung his head back with a sigh, his sandy blonde hair quivering slightly with the motion — he wasn’t getting anywhere with the letter, and it was driving him insane. How was it that he could run an entire accounting firm but writing one measly letter to his brother was this difficult?

Don’t be ridiculous, Arch thought to himself, pulling his head back forward. He took a large sip from the glass of scotch on the table and sighed. It’s just a letter, he reminded himself. He’s not going to overthink anything you say, he continued. With a slow and steady breath out, he picked his pen back up and put it to paper.

Dearest Thomas,

I am sorry to hear that you are having trouble getting both your boys to behave — but I imagine that this is an age-old quarrel between fathers and their sons. We were not much interested in what our father had to say at that age …

Arch breathed out shakily; he didn’t really think back to their childhood often. Every time he did, a small shiver traveled down the back of his neck, and his palms began to sweat profusely. He grumbled under his breath and put his pen down once again, scratching at his beard. He stared at the paper, reading over what he’d written again and again, before shaking his head and crumpling it up, chucking it across the room into the large fireplace on the far wall. Standing up, he stretched his lean form, then stalked around his desk and perched himself on the edge.

“Get it together, Sutton,” he whispered to himself.

Before he could shake off the ridiculousness of his struggle to write a simple letter, there was a small knock on his office door.

“Sir, there’s a telegram for you,” the voice of Arch’s polite, timid secretary Miriam Hall barely made it through the thick door.

“Bring it in, Miriam.” He plastered a small smile on his face and straightened himself up off of the desk. The large door creaked open and a small, middle-aged woman wandered in. Her hair was brown but peppered with gray and white around the temples, and she wore a peach-colored dress that covered her from the neck down. She nodded politely at Arch as she entered and strode over to hand him the telegram.

“Here you go,” she said politely, placing the envelope in his hand and turning on her heel to exit.

“Thank you, Miriam,” he replied, watching her leave and close the door behind her before opening the envelope in his hands. Once she was gone and the door had fallen shut, he stared at the note in his hands. He was not expecting news of any kind- after all, none of his accountants were out of town. He frowned at the envelope and walked back to his desk, leaning slightly on the front of it as he turned the telegram over in his slender hands, pondering for a moment what it could be before opening it and pulling the card out.

To: ARCHIBALD SUTTON, SUTTON ACCOUNTING

I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT THOMAS SUTTON, 29, AND HIS WIFE, SYLVIE SUTTON, 33, HAVE PASSED AWAY. THEY LEAVE BEHIND THREE YOUNG CHILDREN AND A RANCH, WHICH YOU ARE TO RECEIVE RESPONSIBILITY FOR.

PLEASE RETURN TO PADDINGTON, TEXAS, AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

SHERIFF RUDY PARKER

Archie’s hands began to shake, and he looked over his shoulder at the desk and the letter he had been writing. He had just been writing to his brother — how could he now be dead? How long ago did it happen? If I’d replied to his letter sooner … Arch found himself thinking as tears began to sting his eyes. He reread the telegram and ran his fingers over the grooves of the letters left by the typewriter.

Shaking his head, he placed the telegram down on the desk and covered his face with his hands. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down, only to find that his despair and anxiety worsened. He reached behind him for the scotch and poured it down his throat in one go.

The burn of the alcohol helped to distract him for a moment, and he let out a long deep breath. Squeezing his eyelids shut, he counted to five in his head, trying again to let go of his emotions and calm down.

Once he’d reached five, his hands had just about stopped shaking, though he could still feel the sting in his eyes.

Arch reached for the telegram and read it aloud. He paused when he reached the second paragraph, swallowing harshly at the very idea of returning to Sutton Ranch, let alone to return as a guardian of three young children whom he had never met.

“No,” he repeated yet again. “How did this happen?”

How could he just leave the life he’d built himself in Atlanta for the ranch life that he had run away from as a young man? He had no idea how to run a ranch; his father had neglected to teach him that. And he definitely didn’t know how to look after three children.

But he knew that even thinking like that was selfish – his niece and nephews had just lost their parents. He was all they had. He walked around and took a seat at his desk, and, taking a deep breath, put his letter-writing tools away.

There’s not much of a choice, he sighed. He wasn’t going to just leave the children with no guardian, nor would he let the ranch fall into someone else’s hands. If he tried, he could make it work; he’d have to run the office from Texas somehow, and let the building in Georgia go. He was sure he would be able to sort something out in the coming weeks.

Assuming that Thomas had employed some ranch hands, he wouldn’t have to do too much work when in Texas — he hoped not, anyway. There was just the matter of the children to worry about, now. But he’d have to deal with that when he got there.

His hand wandered to his beard again, tugging at the straw-colored hairs. It was getting a bit long, and too unruly for his tastes — he would need to trim it before he left. Arch took pride in his beard, and he didn’t want to appear scruffy the first time he met his brother’s children.

Packing his desk up neatly, he paused at the photograph of himself opening up the Sutton Accounting building. He looked at it and sighed – he’d left his family for this life, and that picture of the cheery blonde man with a straw-colored beard had been the result. The epitome of his dreams come true.

Yet here he was, heading back to Texas. He turned the photo away, continued to gather the most important files into a briefcase, then walked over to the door. He turned around and took one final look around his office. Sadly, he admired the large, ornate fireplace and elegant wooden desk. He looked down at the patterned carpet and nodded forlornly before stepping out of the door.

He was going to have to man up and go back to Texas – no matter how much it frightened him.

“Miriam, I need you to find me a seat on a train to Texas,” he stated as he stepped into the hallway where Miriam’s small wooden desk sat. “And extinguish the fireplace, please,” he gestured behind him at the office. “I will be back in an hour or so, I just need to gather some belongings.”

“Texas, sir?” Miriam raised an eyebrow. “What’s in Texas?”

“Family,” Arch sighed. Or there used to be, anyway, he thought to himself.

Miriam nodded curtly and smiled at Arch. “Very well, then, I shall see you soon.”

Arch nodded back and headed out of the office and back home.

Chapter One

Atlanta Station, Georgia

10th April 1885

Looking down at the ticket that Miriam had obtained for him, Arch chewed the inside of his lip. The train was in an hour, and there was very little near the station that he could do to keep himself occupied. His entire body was full of nervous energy which fizzled away beneath the surface, making him unable to stay still for longer than a few moments. He dreaded the long, grueling train journey ahead of him almost as much as he dreaded reaching Texas. Even now that his father, Simon Sutton, was long gone, the very idea of Texas made Arch’s skin crawl.

Standing just outside the station, he turned and looked around, considering what there was to do. After a brief evaluation, he resigned himself to heading onto the platform and taking a seat on an old, rickety bench.

There were few people on the platform – it was an odd time to catch a train. The long platform ended with a small ticket office right at one end, on his left. To his right, there were more benches, and then the built-up, raised platform faded away into the dirt.

He held his bag between his legs and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Taking a deep breath, he tried to fill the time by thinking about the logistics of keeping Sutton Accounting alive. He considered ending the contract on the office, moving the entire business to Texas, or possibly trying to use this as an opportunity to open another branch.

But without the figures in front of him, he could not determine which idea was the best and ended up overthinking again. It seemed that his mind was adamant that he dwell on his brother and sister-in-law’s passing, the new responsibilities that had fallen on him, and the intricate situation that surrounded it all.

It was all made a thousand times worse by Arch’s own guilt. He had been putting off visiting for years, and he’d even put off replying to Thomas’ letters, too. If he’d have been a good brother, this wouldn’t be as daunting a task. In fact, if he’d been a good enough brother, maybe he’d have been able to care for Thomas and Sylvie when they had fallen ill.

Or at least, he assumed that’s what had taken them. From all accounts, Thomas seemed to be a healthy man with no enemies — so he couldn’t imagine it being anything else. He tapped his foot on the platform anxiously and continued to wait, trying — but failing — to keep his mind empty.

The hour passed slowly, and Arch felt every single second of it. He spent each minute fighting off the guilt, the fear, and the sadness, and when that didn’t work, fighting off tears.

He and his brother had been far from close in recent years, but as children, they’d been one another’s anchors in the midst of a poor childhood with a strict father and intense ranch life. He would sincerely miss exchanging letters with Thomas, and hearing all about Sylvie and their lives.

It was far too late to do anything about it now. They were gone. And he, in their place, had a ranch to run and children to raise, despite never having met them, nor having any practice with children. I’ll manage, he tried to tell himself, again and again. It was the same thing he’d told himself when setting up Sutton Accounting, and that had done him well. He just had to hope it’d have the same effect now.

Eventually, the train pulled up alongside the platform. Arch shot up from his seat and almost ran to the door. Climbing aboard, he found himself a seat away from other people and tried to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would make the journey pass quicker.

The second his eyes closed, he fell into a long, restless sleep. His dreams were full of oddities; children running amok and chasing him over hills, bankruptcy leading him to become a monk, and a field so empty that his whispers echoed.

By the time his eyelids fluttered open, the train was halfway between Georgia and Texas, and he felt more tired than he had when he fell asleep.

Arch filled the rest of his journey with watching trees and landscapes change out of the window, reading over some of the documents he had bought with him, and dining on smoked haddock and potato in the dining car. He felt his emotions fizzling beneath his skin and struggled to remain still, so found himself shifting position countless times before they reached Texas.

Once in his home state, Arch got off the train and hailed a hansom cab. Standing on the sidewalk, the intense Texas sun made him sweat profusely. He still wore a suit on his slim body, not having had the time to change, and the material clung to him.

The cab driver, sitting atop a small seat behind the square carriage, pulled the reins of the two horses attached to the front, pulling them around toward Arch and to a halt in front of him. The carriage had two small windows on either side and was open to the front. The reins of the two large mares leading it went up and over the top of the wooden carriage, held in place with small eyelets.

Arch directed the driver and climbed aboard, bobbing his leg up and down as the driver moved the horses forward. It was not a long journey from the town to the ranch, and for this, Arch was incredibly grateful. After a half-day’s journey on a train, the last thing he needed was a long drive.

Once the horses started moving, he tried his best to ignore his surroundings, for he was well aware that focusing on them would just send his mind reeling back to his childhood. In the small amount he did see, not much had changed since he’d left. A few buildings had been made taller and longer, and there were several homes where trees used to be, but that was about all.

Soon enough, the cab pulled up outside the house that Arch had grown up in. It seemed not to have changed since he left. It was large, and the porch attached to it went around from the front of the house all the way around the left side of the building.

There were a couple of differences, though; there were two benches along the wall of the house that hadn’t been there when he had lived in Paddington, and a woman that he did not recognize sat on one of them. She was gentle looking, with a small, plump face and wide, kind eyes.

She wore a large pink dress which only made her pink-tinted skin stand out more. From what Arch could tell, she seemed to be around his age. Arch stepped out of his cab, paid the driver quickly, and walked toward the house.

“Can I help you?” The woman asked.

“I was wondering the same thing; this is my ranch,” Arch replied. “Who are you?”

“Oh! You must be Arch!” The woman’s voice rose in pitch and her small smile got much bigger. “It is lovely to finally meet you, albeit in horrible circumstances.” She shook her head sadly.

“And you are?” Arch asked again.

“Oh, right, yes! I am Angela Parker. I’m the neighbor. I’ve been looking after the children and the house whilst we awaited your arrival,” she explained, walking toward Arch.

“Ah, Angela.” He nodded, rummaging through the names that Thomas had mentioned in their letters. He was sure there had been an Angela. From what he could remember, they were friendly with one another. “Hello.” He offered her his hand, and she took it swiftly, shaking it.

“Let’s get you to meet the children,” Angela said, still smiling. She preceded him into the house, and Arch couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy at being shown into his own childhood home, but he ignored it. Angela led him into the dining room, where a large man sat holding a young girl — must be Pauline, Arch thought to himself. On the other side of the table sat two young boys who looked exactly like Thomas as a young man. The three children all had noticeably bright green eyes, which must have come from their mother; they weren’t traits Arch had ever seen within his own family. Their skin was light and freckled, like his and Thomas’, and their hair seemed to all be almost exactly the same color. Arch cleared his throat.

“This is my husband, Sheriff Rudy Parker.” Angela gestured to the man. “And that is Pauline.” She pointed to the young girl. Arch knew her to be his two-year-old niece. “This is Fred.” She pointed to the eldest and largest of the two boys. “And David.” She gestured finally to the other son.

“Hi, Fred, David,” he nodded and waved. “I’m, well, I’m uh, I’m your uncle Arch,” he said awkwardly. Fred and David looked at one another and then shook their heads, their blonde hair moving as their heads moved. The two of them wore casual shirts that were too big for them, and Arch wondered if the shirts were their father’s.

“We don’t need an uncle,” Fred said simply, standing up from the table. “Come on, David.” He walked around the table and out of the doorway that Arch had just entered through, and David followed close behind. Arch turned and watched the two boys storm away upstairs and into their rooms, the doors shutting harshly.

“Well, that … Didn’t go to plan,” the sheriff said quietly.

“I’m sure they’ll warm up to you,” Angela tried to reassure Arch, placing a hand on his shoulder. “They’ve just lost their parents — and, if you ask me, it wasn’t exactly natural.”

Arch turned his head to face Angela and furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?” He asked. He still had not been told the cause of death. It was not in the telegram, and nobody had mentioned it yet.

The sheriff shot her a warning glare, but she rolled her eyes and turned to face Arch.

“Well, the day before they died, I happened to catch a suspicious-looking gentleman on our ranch, sneaking out of Sutton Ranch. He was wearing a lot of baggy clothes and looked too skinny to be a ranch hand. Had pale skin, dark hair, and a beard that I’d recognize anywhere.” She shook her head.

“It was just a traveler,” the sheriff sighed. “Ignore her; she likes all these conspiracies. Unfortunately, your brother’s passing was simply horrible luck,” he looked up at Arch apologetically.

Arch hummed in acknowledgment. He was sure it was nothing — Thomas had never really mentioned anyone not liking them or having any quarrels with the neighboring ranches. It was probably simply poor luck that they both fell ill at the same time. Regardless, he was much more focused on the fact that both of his nephews just dismissed him in one fell swoop. It seemed all of his anxieties about coming back to Texas were entirely valid.