“You can tell?”
“My father shod our horses.”
She stood.
“If we see the horse in town, I’ll recognize it.”
Jack smiled slightly.
“That is why I need you.”
Emma looked at him.
“Careful.”
“I said need.”
“Not own.”
“Learning fast.”
The investigation became their first real partnership.
Jack knew the land.
Emma knew tracks and horses.
Together they discovered a section of fence repeatedly loosened rather than cut.
Someone wanted livestock to escape.
Not to steal them.
To make Jack’s ranch look poorly managed.
Two weeks later, a county land agent arrived.
He claimed complaints had been filed about unsafe fencing and wandering horses.
Jack’s temper rose.
Emma stopped him.
“May I see the complaints?”
The agent looked surprised.
“They are confidential.”
“Then how is he supposed to answer them?”
The agent hesitated.
Emma continued.
“Dates?”
He gave them.
Emma smiled.
“Interesting.”
Jack looked at her.
“What?”
“Two complaints were filed before the corresponding fence damage.”
The agent froze.
Emma repeated:
“The fence was damaged on the twelfth.”
“You say the complaint describing that damage was filed on the tenth.”
Silence.
Jack slowly smiled.
The agent looked down at his papers.
“Clerical mistake.”
“Perhaps.”
Emma’s voice remained calm.
“Or someone knew what would happen before it happened.”
The land agent left quickly.
Jack stood beside Emma watching the wagon disappear.
“You're frightening.”
“I’m tall.”
“Different problem.”
She smiled.
Their affection grew between practical things.
Breakfast.
Mending tack.
Checking fences.
Jack began leaving a second coffee cup on the porch before Emma woke.
Emma began repairing the buttons he tore without mentioning it.
At night, they sometimes sat together near the stove.
No urgency.
No pressure.
The line between bunkhouse and main house remained.
Jack never crossed it.
One cold evening Emma found him repairing a chair in his bedroom.
The door stood open.
She stopped.
He looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Emma.”
She stepped inside.
Jack put down the tool.
The room was simple.
Bed.
Quilt.
Washstand.
Rifle.
Two lanterns.
One photograph in a frame.
Emma picked it up.
A younger Jack beside an older woman.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She looks strong.”
“She was.”
Emma set the photograph down.
“She would like you.”
Jack said it without thinking.
Emma looked at him.
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“She distrusted useless people.”
Emma laughed.
Jack stood.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Emma became aware of the bed.
So did he.