“Yes.”
“What?”
“Not yet.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide what I can handle.”
He looked at her.
She stepped closer.
“You came onto my land, paid my debt, told me someone is trying to steal my farm, and now you decide the rest is too much?”
He exhaled.
“You’re right.”
“Then tell me.”
“The railroad company is mine.”
She stared.
For once, the widow had no answer.
The rancher continued.
“I financed the line.”
“You own it?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Most.”
She looked toward the creek again.
“So the banker knows the route because of you.”
“Because plans were filed privately with county and bank officials.”
“And he’s been using them.”
“Yes.”
She laughed once.
Bitter.
“He was trying to steal my land so he could sell water rights back to your company.”
“That’s what I believe.”
The widow looked at him.
“Believe?”
“I need proof.”
She touched the mortgage receipt.
“And until then?”
“Lock your doors.”
Her expression hardened.
“I already do.”
“Tonight.”
He stepped closer.
“Lock them.”
She studied his face.
“You think someone will come.”
“I think desperate men become careless when a plan starts failing.”
She was quiet.
The rancher’s gaze dropped momentarily to her mouth.
He looked away before she could decide if she imagined it.
“Keep the rifle near you.”
She almost smiled.
“It usually is.”
He nodded.
“I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“I don’t need checking.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“Then why?”
His expression softened.
“Because I want to.”
The words landed differently than everything else he had said.
She looked away first.
That irritated her.
“Three weeks for the shirts.”
He stepped backward.
“Fair.”
“And I’m repaying the mortgage.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“So are you.”
He smiled.
“That may become a problem.”
She looked directly at him.
“Only if you plan to keep coming back.”
His eyes stayed on hers.
“I do.”
The widow felt warmth rise beneath her collar despite the freezing air.
She hated how easily he could do that.
She hated more that part of her hoped he would try again.
He left before sunset.
The widow worked until dark.
She fed the mare.
Checked the barn.
Carried firewood inside.
Then she locked the doors.
At eleven, the dog barked.
She woke instantly.
The rifle was beside the bed.
She pulled on boots and moved toward the kitchen window.
Two lanterns flickered near the creek.
Her heart pounded.
She slipped outside through the rear door.
Snow bit through the thin fabric beneath her coat.
She stayed low along the fence.
Two men stood near the stone boundary marker.
One held a hammer.
The other carried a survey chain.
The widow raised the rifle.
“Step away from the water.”
Both men froze.
One turned.
“Go back inside.”
The widow aimed.
“This is private land.”
The man laughed nervously.
“Not for long.”
His partner placed the hammer against the stone marker.
“Bank records say the boundary was drawn wrong.”
The widow’s finger settled beside the trigger.
“That marker was set before either of you were born.”