“Yes.”
“Why?”
He blinked.
“I assumed…”
Clara smiled.
“You assume too much.”
His breath changed.
Then she touched his chest.
“But tonight you were right.”
He nodded.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She kissed him once more.
Closed the door.
Then leaned against it like a girl ten years younger.
The next morning, Pine Ridge brought trouble.
Sheriff Amos Reed arrived with two riders and a man in an expensive gray coat.
Clara recognized the gray coat before the face.
Corporate men dressed badly for mountains.
The stranger introduced himself.
“Henry Vale.”
“Northwestern Timber and Land.”
Caleb’s expression hardened.
Vale smiled.
“We have business.”
Clara stepped onto the porch.
“With whom?”
Vale looked at her.
Then visibly dismissed her.
“With Mr. Morgan.”
Clara smiled.
Caleb knew that smile.
Danger.
“He can hear you.”
Vale glanced between them.
“We recently discovered a title irregularity concerning western Black Hollow.”
Clara’s heart tightened.
Too fast.
How did they know?
Caleb said:
“Get off my porch.”
Vale continued.
“Old debt documents from Blackpine Timber indicate the Bennett share of the original tract reverted to the company in 1870.”
Clara went cold.
Caleb looked at her.
Vale noticed.
“Miss Bennett?”
Silence.
Then his smile changed.
“Oh.”
“You already know.”
Clara crossed her arms.
“Know what?”
“That your father once claimed part ownership.”
The sheriff shifted.
He clearly disliked being there.
Vale opened a leather case.
“We possess assignment papers signed by Samuel Bennett.”
Clara held out her hand.
“Let me see.”
Vale hesitated.
“You are not legal counsel.”
“No.”
“I’m the heir you just named.”
That forced him.
He handed over a copy.
Clara read.
Samuel Bennett allegedly transferred all interest in exchange for cancellation of $600 debt.
Signature.
Witness.
Date.
December 17, 1870.
Clara stared.
Something felt wrong.
Caleb whispered:
“What?”
She did not answer.
Vale smiled.
“Unfortunately, if Mr. Morgan has concealed documents suggesting otherwise, that could create significant liability.”
Caleb stepped forward.
Clara put one large hand against his chest.
He stopped.
She looked at Vale.
“My father was in St. Louis in December 1870.”
Vale’s smile weakened.
“How would you know?”
“My mother kept a Christmas letter.”
“That proves little.”
“It includes a receipt from St. Louis General Hospital dated December twentieth.”
Caleb looked at her.
Clara continued.
“He was recovering from pneumonia.”
Vale’s face hardened.
“Signatures can be executed remotely.”
“In 1870?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Through what, telegraph pen?”
The sheriff almost smiled.