My husband had strictly forbidden me from visiting his farm, but after his death the lawyer handed me the keys and said, “Now it’s yours.” I planned to sell it, but out of curiosity I decided to visit first. When I opened the door, I lost my breath, because inside was… – INFO DESK

“The black Friesian there,” Ellis continued, nodding toward a magnificent stallion watching us with intelligent eyes. “That’s Midnight. Your husband spent months tracking him down specifically. Said he reminded him of a horse in a painting you loved.”

My heart clenched. The Stubbs painting of a black horse against a stormy sky. I’d admired it at a museum twenty years ago, and Joshua had remembered.

“Did he?” I hesitated, unsure how to frame the question. “Did my husband ever mention his health to you?”

A shadow crossed Ellis’s weathered face. “Not directly. But these last six months he pushed harder, worked longer hours, added more features to the property—like a man racing against a clock only he could see.”

The confirmation stung, but also explained the driven quality I’d sensed in Joshua during his final months. I’d attributed it to work stress, never imagining he was creating all this while knowing his time was limited.

“His brothers were here yesterday,” I said, watching Ellis’s reaction carefully.

His expression hardened. “They’ve been circling since the oil was discovered on neighboring properties—suddenly very interested in the family farm they hadn’t visited in decades.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

Ellis secured a stall door before answering. “Robert’s the oldest, runs some investment firm in Toronto—always acted like he was doing Joshua a favor by acknowledging him. Alan’s the middle one—lawyer, slick talker. And David’s the youngest—followed Robert into finance, always in his shadow.”

“And their relationship with Joshua?”

“Strained doesn’t begin to cover it. From what I gathered, they tormented him as a child—city boys who visited the farm reluctantly, looking down on him for staying to help your father-in-law run the place.”

Ellis shook his head. “When Joshua returned to buy the property, they mocked him for wasting money on worthless land—right up until the Petersons struck oil two properties over.”

This aligned with the fragments Joshua had shared over the years: his difficult childhood, his escape to the United States for college, his reluctance to discuss his Canadian family.

“They’ll be back,” I said, more to myself than to Ellis.

“Count on it,” he nodded grimly. “But Mr. Mitchell prepared for that. He was always three steps ahead.”

Back at the house, I forced myself to eat breakfast before opening the laptop for today’s video.

Joshua appeared on screen, seated in what I now recognized as the farm’s library.

“Good morning, Cat. I hope you slept well in our new home.”

He smiled—that crooked smile I missed with physical intensity.

“Today I want to show you something special.”

The camera moved as he carried it through the house down a hallway I hadn’t explored, stopping at a locked door.

“This room is for you alone. The key is in the top drawer of the bedside table—the antique silver one with the horse engraving.”

I paused the video, went to the master bedroom, and found the key exactly where he described.

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