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“I want you all to know how grateful I am,” she began, her voice wavering. “Your stories, your strength, touched me more than I can say.”

Gavin stepped forward. “Will you come back, Miss Molly?”

“I hope so, Gavin. When I do, I’ll bring the photographs for all of you.”

Looking away, she caught Elijah watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Molly felt a flutter in her chest.

“Your horse is saddled, Eli,” Little Joe said, swiping a tear away.

“Thought I’d ride with you to the boundary.” His voice was gruff, but his eyes were softer than usual.

As they set off, a comfortable silence settled between them. The rhythmic clop of hooves and creak of the buggy’s wheels filled the air.

After a while, Molly spoke. “I never thought I’d say this, Elijah, but I’m going to miss this place.”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “The ranch will miss you, too, Miss Molly O’Sullivan.”

They reached the northern boundary, marked by an old, gnarled oak tree. Molly pulled the buggy to a stop, her heart heavy.

“Well,” Elijah said, dismounting. “This is where we part ways.”

Molly climbed down from the buggy, standing face to face with the taciturn rancher. “Thank you, Elijah. For everything.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Elijah might say something more. Instead, he nodded, his gaze intense. “Safe travels, Molly.”

Climbing back into the buggy, she slapped the reins. Heading toward Mystic, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was leaving a piece of herself behind at Wild Spirit Ranch.

Elijah watched the buggy disappear over the horizon, his expression belying the turmoil within. He turned his horse back toward Wild Spirit Ranch, the vast expanse of Montana stretching before him.

As he rode, Elijah’s thoughts drifted to Molly. Her vibrant presence had stirred something in him, something he’d long thought dormant. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

“No use dwelling on it,” he muttered to himself, urging his horse along the trail.

Chapter Eleven

Molly’s buggy rattled along the rutted road to Mystic. She leaned back, letting the warm breeze caress her face. The scent of sage and wheatgrass filled her nostrils, reminding her of the ranch she’d left behind.

“Oh, Elijah,” she sighed, gazing at the passing landscape. “I wonder if you’ll ever know how much those boys’ stories meant to me.”

She fingered the leather-bound notebook next to her, filled with interviews and observations from her time at Wild Spirit Ranch. The faces of the boys flashed through her mind, each with a tale of hardship and hope.

As Mystic came into view, Molly straightened her back. She’d been considering the best way to get their stories told. Her contact in Chicago could get her work into neighborhood newspapers. It was unlikely her friend could get the story placed in the Daily Tribune. There was always a chance the business-friendly newspaper would run a story on orphans in Montana as a story their readers might appreciate.

Molly was determined to get the stories published. Then she thought of the local newspaper. As she recalled, it was owned by a woman. Faith something.

“What was her last name,” she muttered to herself.

Faith… Faith… Goodell. Yes, Goodell. That was it. The woman Joshua mentioned, and who Elijah said was important to his brother. That would be her first stop. Perhaps Faith would have suggestions for publishing the stories to the world beyond Montana.

Elijah dismounted near the barn. He was greeted by his younger brother, Joshua, who eyed him curiously.

“Everything all right, Eli?” He noted his brother’s pensive expression.

Elijah grunted, leading his horse into the barn. “Fine. Just saw Molly off.”

Joshua followed him inside, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Ah, I see. And how’d that go?”

He shot his brother a warning glance. “It went. She’s gone. That’s all there is to it.”