“Forged claim transfers.”
“Purchased land through false names.”
“And when owners resisted…”
He stopped.
Evelyn understood anyway.
“They died.”
“Sometimes.”
“My father?”
Miles nodded once.
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
“Miles—no.”
“Henry found names.”
“What names?”
“My father’s business partners.”
“County officials.”
“Two freight operators.”
“A banker in Helena.”
“And Vernon Carter.”
The name struck like a slap.
Evelyn stood.
“Stop.”
“I know this hurts.”
“You know nothing.”
Miles remained still.
“My uncle raised me.”
“Yes.”
“After my father died.”
“Yes.”
“He buried my mother.”
“I know.”
“He fed me.”
Miles said quietly:
“And controlled the claim.”
Evelyn looked at the leather envelope.
Something inside her resisted.
Not because she loved Vernon.
Perhaps once.
But because accepting Miles’s story meant rearranging twelve years of memory.
Every meal.
Every argument.
Every winter.
Every time Vernon complained about her father’s useless land.
Suddenly nothing meant the same thing.
Evelyn’s voice dropped.
“Why marry me?”
Miles answered immediately.
“Because Vernon was trying to sell the claim.”
“To you?”
“To anyone.”
“He approached a timber broker three weeks ago.”
“If he sold your claim while you remained unmarried and dependent on his household, he could pressure you to sign.”
“He needed my signature?”
“Yes.”
“You own it.”
“Not him.”
Evelyn stared.
“So he sent me here instead.”
Miles nodded.
“Because I offered money.”
“Thirty dollars.”
“I knew greed would make him move quickly.”
Her face tightened.
“You manipulated him.”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
Miles did not hide.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt almost as much as the lie.
Evelyn stepped away.
“You could have told me.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Before tonight.”
“You said almost nothing.”
“Because I did not know whether you had been sent knowingly.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened.
“You thought I might be working with Vernon?”
“For the first hour.”
“That is why you watched the envelope.”
“Yes.”
Rage replaced shock.
“You purchased my marriage, suspected me of conspiracy, lied about being crippled, and now expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
The answer stopped her.
Miles continued.
“I expect you not to.”
She stared.
“I only need you alive long enough to decide for yourself.”
Before she could answer—
Three sharp cracks exploded outside.
Gunfire.
The window shattered.
Miles moved instantly.
The lamp went dark beneath his hand.
He crossed the room in two strides and pulled Evelyn down behind the bed.
Another bullet struck the wall.
Wood splintered.
Evelyn’s breath came fast.
Miles’s hand closed around her wrist.
Not dragging.
Grounding.
“Stay low.”
“You said they thought you were helpless.”
“They do.”
“Apparently not enough.”
He crawled toward the chest.
Pulled the revolver.