Then another appeared.

Then another.

Within seconds, six Double C riders surrounded the ruins.

Daniel’s face went white.

Ethan, bleeding from the shoulder, pushed Sheriff Vance onto the ground.

Samuel raised his hands.

“How?”

Daniel demanded.

Ethan smiled grimly.

“You thought smoke meant you’d distracted my men.”

He looked toward the distant plume.

“That was their signal.”

Rebecca had planned more than any of them understood.

The documents Mary threw into the ash pit were safe.

The pit contained no fire.

Only old soot.

And hidden beneath the oilcloth was something even Sheriff Vance did not know existed.

A signed confession.

Rebecca had obtained it from a former railway accountant shortly before her death.

It named everyone.

Vance.

Two cattlemen.

Samuel.

Daniel.

It documented forged deeds, bribed officials, the railway-office fire, and the attempts to recover Jonathan Hale’s evidence.

Daniel was arrested.

So was Samuel.

Sheriff Vance was taken into custody by a territorial marshal Ethan had secretly contacted weeks earlier.

Because Ethan had known Mary was coming.

Not exactly when.

But he knew someone was searching for her.

And he had prepared.

When Mary finally returned to Double C after midnight, she found the farmhouse untouched.

The smoke had come from a controlled grass fire set near the southern field.

Clara came running down the porch.

“Mama!”

Mary dropped to her knees and pulled her daughter into her arms.

She held her so tightly Clara squealed.

Then Sarah ran toward Ethan.

She saw the blood.

“Papa!”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Only a little.”

“It’s all over your shirt!”

Mrs. Bell ordered everyone inside.

The next hour became a blur of hot water, bandages, frightened children, and exhausted ranch hands.

The bullet had passed cleanly through Ethan’s shoulder.

He would live.

When the house finally quieted, Mary found him sitting alone on the porch.

Moonlight covered the fields.

His injured arm rested in a sling.

Mary sat beside him.

For a while, neither spoke.

Finally Ethan said,

“So.”

Mary looked at him.

“That might be the worst marriage proposal in Cedar Ridge history.”

She stared.

Then, despite everything, a laugh escaped her.

Ethan smiled.

Mary wiped tears from her face.

“Did you ever actually intend to marry me?”

His smile disappeared.

“Yes.”

“Because Rebecca told you to protect me?”

“At first.”

Mary looked away.

“At first?”

Ethan reached into his coat with his good hand.

He removed a folded piece of paper.

“I should show you something.”

Mary groaned softly.

“If another dead person wrote me a letter, I’m leaving.”

Ethan almost laughed.

“No.”

He handed it to her.

It was his handwriting.

Mary unfolded it.

The date was six months earlier.

A letter addressed to the territorial marshal.

I believe Mary Whitfield and her daughter may eventually come west because several agents connected to Daniel Whitfield have been asking after them.

If they appear, I intend to offer them protection under my name if necessary.

Mary looked at him.

“Under your name.”

“Marriage makes certain legal things simpler.”

“You really are terrible at romance.”

“I never claimed otherwise.”

She continued reading.

Then stopped.

There was another line.

If Mary refuses, I will find another way. She must be allowed to make the choice freely. Rebecca asked me to protect her. She did not ask me to own her.

Mary’s throat tightened.

She folded the letter.

“Thank you.”

Ethan looked across the moonlit pasture.