“Your father was too.”

Caleb’s expression hardened.

Hollis turned his horse.

“Didn’t help him.”

The riders left.

Caleb stood in the dust long after the hoofbeats disappeared.

Mae stepped outside.

“What did he mean?”

Caleb looked south toward Mercy Bend.

“I don’t know.”

But for the first time in nine years, he wondered whether his father’s death had truly been an accident.

Caleb wanted Mae gone by morning.

Not back to Owen.

West.

He knew a widow near Helena who would hide her.

Mae refused.

“You can barely walk.”

“Then I’ll limp.”

“Gideon has armed men.”

“So do you.”

“I am one man.”

Mae placed the ledger page on the table.

“Then stop trying to act like you have to be.”

Caleb looked at her.

“My sister tried to fight them.”

“And maybe she failed because she was alone.”

The sentence struck deeper than Mae intended.

She saw it immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

Caleb folded Anna’s letter.

“You’re right.”

They studied the ledger page.

One phrase appeared repeatedly beside property transfers.

LARKIN WATER CLAIM.

Mae frowned.

“My father’s family owned land east of Mercy Bend.”

“How much?”

“Not much.

I thought.”

“What happened to it?”

“Father died when I was seventeen.

Gideon managed the estate.”

Caleb stared at her.

“And then his son married you.”

Mae became still.

Slowly, Caleb pointed toward three properties on the page.

“Look.”

Each bordered the creek.

Then another.

And another.

All had eventually been transferred to Drayton holdings.

Caleb stood.

“Mercy Bend isn’t built around cattle.”

Mae looked confused.

“It’s built around water.”

He moved toward the doorway.

“This valley gets two good months of rain if we’re lucky.

Whoever owns the springs owns the ranches.”

Mae’s face drained.

“My grandfather found the spring.”

“What spring?”

“Larkin Spring.”

Caleb turned.

Everyone knew Larkin Spring.

It fed the creek.

It watered nearly every major ranch south of Mercy Bend.

But everybody assumed Gideon owned it.

Mae whispered, “My mother used to say Grandfather refused to sell.”

“When did he die?”

“Twenty years ago.”

“How?”

“A wagon accident.”

Caleb laughed bitterly.

Mae stared at him.

“What?”

“My father used to say Mercy Bend had more accidents than God had time to arrange.”

Silence settled between them.

Then Mae whispered:

“What if Owen didn’t marry me because he loved me?”

Caleb looked at the bruises on her arms.

He hated the answer.

“I think we both know he didn’t.”

They returned to Mercy Bend the following evening.

Not through the main road.

Caleb knew every dry creek bed and cattle trail north of town.

They entered after dark behind the abandoned livery.

Mae wore Caleb’s coat.

Her hair was tied beneath an old hat.

Every step hurt.

She kept walking.

Caleb had one objective.

Get into the Drayton house.

Find the complete ledger.

Get out.

It was a terrible plan.

But every better plan required people they could trust.

They had none.

Or so Caleb believed.

They crossed behind the church.

A voice whispered from the darkness.

“Mae.”

Both stopped.

An elderly woman stepped from behind the vestry.

Mrs.

Talbot.

The mercantile owner’s wife.

Mae backed away.

Mrs.

Talbot raised both hands.

“Please.”

Caleb moved between them.

“How did you know?”

Mrs.

Talbot looked ashamed.

“Beatrice told me.”

Mae stared at her.

“Owen’s mother?”