Chapter 4 - THE LOCKED ROOM
The storm raged for three days, trapping everyone inside the Thorne estate. Snow drifts piled eight feet high against the north walls, shutting down all work on the range.
On the third afternoon, while Sarah was down in the cellar organizing the winter preserve jars, Penny was playing in the second-floor hallway with a small wooden ball that one of the ranch hands had carved for her.
The ball bounced down the long corridor, rolling past the master bedroom, past the linen closets, and stopped right at the threshold of the locked east wing doors.
Penny trotted down the hall after it. She reached for the ball, but as her elbow brushed against the heavy oak doors, the latch gave a soft click.
The lock hadn't been fully engaged by Higgins during his monthly dusting.
The door swung inward an inch, revealing a dark, silent room smelling of old lavender, dry cedar, and ancient dust.
Penny pushed the door open curiosity getting the better of her.
Inside, time had stopped five years ago. A small carved wooden rocking horse sat in the center of the Persian rug. On the child's bed laid a tiny brass trumpet, a set of hand-painted lead soldiers, and a miniature leather riding saddle. Sunlight filtered through the dusty lace curtains, catching the floating dust motes in the cold air.
Penny stepped inside, her tiny boots making soft impressions in the thick dust. She walked over to the rocking horse and gently tapped its wooden nose.
"Hello, horse," she whispered softly.
Downstairs, Garrett was walking up the main staircase carrying a stack of ledger books. As he reached the top landing, he noticed the open door at the far end of the east wing.
His blood instantly turned to ice.
"No," he breathed.
Garrett dropped the ledgers. They slammed against the oak floorboards with a noise like a gunshot, but he didn't care. He strode down the hallway, his boots thundering against the floorboards, his face contorted in a terrifying mix of grief and fury.
He reached the threshold and saw Penny sitting on the floor beside the rocking horse, holding a small lead soldier.
"GET OUT!" Garrett roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers in the hallway.
Penny jumped, dropping the toy. She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes, shrinking back against the base of the rocking horse. She had never heard a grown man scream like that.
Garrett stepped into the room, his fists clenched, his chest heaving. "Who told you to come in here?! I gave strict orders! This room is forbidden!"
At the sound of his roar, Sarah came flying up the cellar stairs three at a time, her apron trailing behind her. She reached the east wing, her heart in her throat, and saw Garrett looming over her trembling child.
"Garrett! Stop it!" Sarah screamed, running into the room and shoving herself directly between Garrett and Penny.
She scooped Penny into her arms, holding the sobbing child tightly against her neck. Sarah turned on Garrett, her dark eyes flashing with a ferocious, mother-bear rage that matched his own.
"Don't you dare raise your voice to my daughter!" Sarah yelled, stepping directly into his personal space, her chin lifted high despite the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"She broke into my son's room!" Garrett snarled, pointing a shaking finger at the toy on the floor. "I gave you a clear command, Sarah! No one enters this room!"
"She's three years old!" Sarah shouted back, her voice echoing through the cold, dead bedroom. "She pushed an unlocked door looking for a wooden ball! She didn't come here to hurt your memories, Garrett! She's a baby!"
Garrett stared at her, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling. The sight of Sarah standing in his dead son's bedroom, holding a living child, seemed to tear something raw and bleeding out of his chest.
"Pack your things," Garrett said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet whisper. "Both of you. I want you off my ranch by morning."
Sarah stood her ground, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces, but her pride refused to bend. She looked at the cold, preserved room, then at the broken man standing in front of her.
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"We'll pack," Sarah said, her voice steady as steel. "We'll be gone before breakfast. But let me tell you something, Garrett Thorne. You aren't preserving your son's memory by locking this room. You're just burying yourself alive in his grave."
She turned on her heel and walked out of the east wing, carrying her crying daughter, leaving Garrett standing alone among the dust and the quiet toys.
