Thomas stayed wary.
He had brought her there.
Now he seemed afraid she might disappear because of it.
One evening Nora found him repairing a saddle by lantern light.
“You forged your father’s name?”
Thomas froze.
“On the advertisement. Not the papers.”
“Comforting distinction.”
He lowered his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sat opposite him.
“Why me?”
“Mother’s letters.”
“No. Why marriage?”
Thomas rubbed his thumb against the leather.
“I thought if I just asked you to come, you wouldn’t.”
“You were correct.”
“And if I told you Mother was alive all those years and then died before finding you…”
His voice faded.
“You thought I would hate her.”
“Yes.”
Nora stared into the lantern flame.
“For a little while, I did.”
Thomas looked up.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
He seemed shocked.
Nora continued.
“Love does not prevent anger. Sometimes it gives anger somewhere deeper to live.”
Thomas absorbed that.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Pa does.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He barely looks at me.”
Nora leaned closer.
“Your father is not angry because you brought me here.”
Thomas frowned.
“He’s angry because your plan worked.”
The boy looked completely confused.
Nora smiled faintly.
“You proved the family was drowning while he kept insisting everyone could swim.”
Thomas looked toward the house.
After a while he whispered, “He loved her.”
“I know.”
“He changed after she died.”
“So did you.”
Thomas’s mouth tightened.
Nora touched his hand.
“You are seventeen, Thomas. You were never supposed to become your brothers’ father.”
The boy’s face crumpled.
He turned away immediately.
But Nora had already seen.
That night, for the first time since arriving, Thomas called her Aunt Nora.
Only once.
Quietly.
Almost by accident.
It was enough.
Trouble arrived in November wearing a black coat.
His name was Silas Callaway.
Nora saw him from the kitchen window.
For a moment she was eight again.
Small.
Afraid.
Listening through a door while her uncle told neighbors Eleanor was dead.
Silas had aged.
His hair was white at the temples.
His stomach rounder.
But his smile had not changed.
Harlan came in from the barn and stopped dead.
“Who is he?”
“My uncle.”
Harlan’s expression darkened.
Silas climbed from his carriage.
Two men followed him.
One carried a leather case.
Nora stepped onto the porch.
Silas smiled.
“Nora.”
Her skin crawled.
“How did you find me?”
“Marriage records.”
His gaze traveled across the ranch.
“So. You finally found Eleanor.”
Nora’s hands clenched.
“You knew.”
“Of course.”
“You told me she was dead.”
“A necessary simplification.”
Harlan moved beside Nora.
“You should leave.”
Silas looked him over.
“Harlan Greer, I presume.”
Silas removed papers from the leather case.
“I’m afraid leaving will not resolve our business.”
Nora stared at the documents.
“What business?”
Silas smiled again.
