Clara took the papers.
“I claimed this forty because it overlaps the old description.”
“Only partly.”
Nathaniel looked toward the mountains.
“If this deed is valid, you own far more than forty.”
“How much?”
“One hundred sixty.”
“That isn't the important part.”
“What is?”
Nathaniel looked directly at her.
“Coldwater Spring.”
Clara waited.
“It feeds Cross Creek.”
“Yes?”
“Cross Creek irrigates nearly two thousand acres of my hay land.”
Clara stared.
Nathaniel continued.
“And supplies water to three smaller ranches downstream during dry months.”
“So?”
“So if your mother owned a third of the flow…”
He stopped.
Clara understood.
“I own it now?”
“Maybe.”
The word came carefully.
“Do not celebrate yet.”
“Why?”
“Unrecorded deed.”
“Possible later transfers.”
“Territorial water law.”
“Marriage inheritance.”
“Kincaid’s records.”
“We need facts.”
Clara stared.
“You could lose something.”
Nathaniel met her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Potentially a great deal.”
“And you're going to help me prove it?”
“If my father signed that deed, yes.”
“Why?”
He seemed genuinely confused.
“Because he signed it.”
Clara almost laughed.
“No.”
“I mean why wouldn't you fight me?”
Nathaniel looked toward her.
“You think ownership changes truth?”
“Men with twelve thousand acres often do.”
“Then you've known poor men.”
Clara’s mouth twitched.
Nathaniel continued.
“I won't pretend I want to lose water rights.”
“Fine.”
“But if they're yours, wanting does not become law.”
Clara stared at him.
Edward would have explained why the papers were misunderstood.
Nathaniel was explaining why they should be investigated even if investigation hurt him.
Dangerous man.
Very dangerous.
By morning the storm weakened.
Nathaniel’s men finished the temporary roof covering.
Sarah ordered Clara to remain off ladders for at least ten days.
Clara argued.
Sarah threatened to tie her to the bed.
Nathaniel wisely said nothing.
When Sarah left, Clara looked at him.
“Don't.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face has.”
“My face is innocent.”
“Your face is insufferable.”
Nathaniel smiled.
The next week he returned with lumber.
Clara stood on the porch.
“No.”
He stopped.
“It’s your lumber.”
“I didn't buy it.”
“You paid for it.”
“When?”
Nathaniel handed her a paper.
Three missing Cross cattle had wandered onto Clara’s north section the day after the storm.
She had technically provided grazing for six days.
Nathaniel had calculated a grazing fee.
Clara stared.
“This is absurd.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She looked at the amount.
“Too high.”
“Then negotiate.”
Clara looked up.
He was smiling.
She hated him.
She loved that she hated him.
“Half.”
“Three-quarters.”
“Half and you unload it.”
“Two-thirds and Tom unloads it.”
“Half and you unload it.”
Nathaniel stared.
“Personal.”
“Yes.”
He removed his coat.
“Fine.”
By noon the wealthiest rancher in three counties was carrying boards because a pregnant woman had negotiated him into manual labor.
Harland Creek learned about it before supper.
Clara suspected Merritt Shaw even though Merritt had nothing to do with any of them.
People like Merritt existed everywhere.
Nathaniel worked without showing off.
That impressed her.
He took direction.
That impressed her more.
“Not there.”
He shifted the board.
“Left.”
He moved.
“Other left.”
Nathaniel looked down.
“I own cattle.”
“Congratulations.”
“They follow simpler instructions.”
“Marry one.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
Clara realized what she had said.
Nathaniel’s smile became slow.
“I had not considered it.”
“Forget I spoke.”
“Impossible.”
He set the board.
Clara bent to retrieve nails.
Nathaniel immediately reached.
She looked at him.
“I can pick up nails.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“You are seven months pregnant.”
“Pregnancy is not—”
“A disease.”
“I remember.”
He picked up the nails.
“It does, however, place the floor farther away.”
Clara fought a smile.
He saw.
“Was that one?”
“No.”
“You smiled.”
“Wind.”
“Inside?”
“Mountain wind is talented.”
Nathaniel laughed.
He looked at her longer than necessary.
Clara became aware of everything.
His hands.
Broad.
Scar across one thumb.
Dark hair touching his collar.
The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders.
The small line beside his mouth when he smiled.
Nathaniel’s gaze dropped.
To her mouth.
Clara noticed.
He immediately looked away.
That courtesy made her want him to look again.
Which was a problem.
A serious one.
She was still married.
Separated.
Gone.
But married.
Nathaniel seemed to remember the same fact.
He stepped backward.
Clara hated the distance.
That frightened her more.
Two weeks later they rode to Harland Creek.
Clara traveled in Nathaniel’s wagon because Sarah had forbidden long horseback rides.
The town saw them arrive together.
Conversation died on the boardwalk.
Nathaniel helped Clara down.
She put one hand in his.
Her boot reached the ground.
He should have released her.
He did.
Unfortunately.
Inside the recorder’s office, clerk Henry Pollard examined the deed.
Then the letter.
Then old maps.
He became increasingly nervous.
“You need counsel.”
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“Because there is no record of this conveyance.”
Nathaniel said:
“We know.”
Henry looked at him.
“Mr. Cross, your family’s title includes Coldwater Spring.”
“Recorded when?”
Henry checked.
“1879.”
“Five years after this.”
“Transfer from Gideon Cross estate to Nathaniel Cross.”
Nathaniel went still.
“My father died in 1878.”
“Yes.”
“So estate documents treated the spring as his.”
“Yes.”
“Was Kincaid executor?”
Henry looked at the record.
“Walter Kincaid and your uncle Charles.”
Nathaniel’s expression hardened.
Clara watched.
“Meaning?”
He looked at her.
“Meaning either they never knew about your mother’s deed…”
“…or they knew and ignored it.”