They walked toward the cottonwoods along Willow Creek.
Harrison did not immediately mention Clementine’s warning.
That made Mabel trust him slightly more.
Instead, he asked about the book.
“You enjoy it?”
“I enjoy Jane. Mr. Rochester requires patience.”
Harrison frowned.
“I thought women loved Rochester.”
“Women are frequently accused of poor judgment.”
He laughed.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably.”
They reached the creek.
Spring snowmelt rushed beneath the wooden bridge.
Harrison leaned against the railing.
“Mabel.”
There it was.
She looked at him.
“Last night wasn’t pity.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You thought it.”
She hated that he was right.
He continued.
“People have been arranging my marriage since I inherited Longhorn Valley.”
“How exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
“I can imagine. Women throwing themselves at your cattle must be terrifying.”
He grinned.
“My cattle receive an inappropriate amount of attention.”
Then he grew serious.
“I danced with Clementine because refusing her would have humiliated her publicly.”
Mabel’s smile vanished.
“You don’t need to explain.”
“I want to.”
“Why?”
“Because the woman I wanted to talk to was carrying trays behind me all evening.”
Mabel looked toward the water.
Her heart had begun behaving stupidly.
“Harrison…”
“I noticed you before the biscuits.”
“That sentence may be the first time any man has ever attempted to court someone by separating her from baked goods.”
“I’m inexperienced.”
“That much is obvious.”
His smile disappeared.
“I noticed you correcting the butcher.”
She turned.
“What?”
“He was telling Mr. Dalton that beef prices would rise before autumn. You told him he was wrong because too many herds were being driven south and transportation costs were falling.”
Mabel remembered.
“I wasn’t speaking to anyone important.”
“You were speaking accurately.”
Something deep inside her shifted.
Oak Haven noticed Clementine entering rooms.
Harrison had noticed Mabel thinking.
“I read Father’s newspapers,” she said.
“I figured.”
“And his account books.”
Harrison straightened.
“His account books?”
“Only when he leaves them unattended.”
“Does he know?”
“Certainly not.”
“Why?”
“Because he makes mistakes.”
Harrison stared at her.
Then laughed.
“Good Lord.”
“What?”
“I spent three hours last week with two bookkeepers arguing over cattle projections. I should have hired you.”
Mabel smiled.
“You couldn’t afford me.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that.”
Silence settled.
Comfortable silence.
Then Harrison asked, “What happened in Cheyenne?”
There it was.
Mabel gripped the railing.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Then find out.”
She looked at him.
“You make it sound easy.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“I make it sound like you have the right to know the truth about your own life.”
No one had ever said anything like that to her.
Before she could answer, hoofbeats thundered along the road.
A ranch hand appeared.
“Harrison!”
Harrison stepped away from the bridge.
The rider pulled up hard.
“Sorry. It’s Red Hollow.”
Harrison’s expression changed instantly.
“What happened?”
“Fence cut sometime overnight. Nearly eighty head missing.”
“Rustlers?”
“Looks that way.”
Harrison swore.
Then glanced at Mabel.
“I have to go.”
“Of course.”
He hesitated.
“I’d like to see you again.”
Something reckless rose inside her.
“Then come hungry.”
He smiled.
“I always do.”
Three days later, Harrison arrived for supper.
Martha nearly suffered an apoplexy.
She spent the afternoon attempting to move Mabel from the kitchen to the parlor while simultaneously ordering her back into the kitchen to cook.
It would have been amusing if it were not so insulting.
Clementine barely spoke.
At seven, Harrison entered carrying wildflowers.
This time, Mabel did not object.
Dinner began badly.
It worsened rapidly.
Josiah dominated the conversation, asking Harrison about land, cattle, investments and rail contracts with an enthusiasm bordering on desperation.
Martha repeatedly redirected discussion toward Clementine.
“Clementine sings beautifully.”
Clementine stared at her potatoes.
“She spent last summer in Denver.”
