The door had been locked.
A ranch hand saw him.
Clem claimed he needed supply forms.
Jeb pretended to believe him.
The trap tightened.
Barrows moved first.
He arrived at Iron Ridge in a polished buggy.
Fine coat.
Silver watch.
Two men behind him.
Nathaniel Barrows was fifty-three, clean-shaven, well-fed, and possessed the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to owning every room he entered.
He walked into the ranch office.
“Jeb.”
Jeb did not stand.
“Barrows.”
Hattie sat near the books.
Barrows looked at her.
Then paused.
“You must be the cook.”
Hattie smiled.
“You must be the man charging us twice for grain.”
The room froze.
Jeb nearly laughed.
Barrows did not.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Barrows looked at Jeb.
“You let kitchen help discuss your accounts?”
Jeb leaned back.
“I let intelligent people discuss whatever they understand.”
Barrows’s gaze returned to Hattie.
He smiled coldly.
“Then perhaps she understands Iron Ridge cannot meet its January note.”
Hattie answered:
“Perhaps she understands why.”
His eyes sharpened.
There.
A reaction.
Small.
Enough.
Jeb saw it too.
Barrows sat.
“I came to make another offer.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“No.”
“Twenty percent above my last offer.”
“No.”
Barrows sighed.
“This ranch is bleeding.”
“Then why do you want it?”
Silence.
Jeb smiled.
Barrows’s eyes shifted to Hattie.
Then back.
“River access.”
“Funny.”
Jeb stood.
“I was told my north ridge is more interesting.”
Barrows’s expression barely changed.
Barely.
That was enough.
He rose.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Good.”
Jeb walked toward the door.
“Then you won’t mind when territorial surveyors go up there tomorrow.”
Barrows stopped.
Only half a second.
Then:
“Your land.”
“Exactly.”
He left.
Hattie waited until the buggy disappeared.
Then looked at Jeb.
“You enjoyed that.”
“Immensely.”
“You said too much.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Wanted to see his face.”
Hattie sighed.
“Men.”
Jeb grinned.
“Worth it.”
It nearly was.
That night, Clem disappeared.
His horse was gone.
So were clothes.
But not everything.
His personal saddle remained.
His winter coat remained.
A man fleeing permanently would take more.
Hattie realized first.
“He’s coming back.”
Jeb looked toward the bunkhouse.
“For what?”
“The survey.”
Jeb’s expression changed.
They positioned two trusted ranch hands near the office.
Another near Clem’s quarters.
No guns drawn.
No ambush theater.
Simply witnesses.