Would you want to if he asked? It's complicated. Everything's complicated. That's not an answer. She sighed.

When had her 11-year-old become so relentless? Yes, she admitted. If he asked, I would want to. Jacob nodded slowly. Good, because I think he wants to ask.

He just doesn't know how. What makes you say that? Because he asked me yesterday if I would mind having him as a as a father. Jacob's voice caught. I told him my father is dead and nothing's going to change that, but that doesn't mean I can't have someone else.

Someone who teaches me things and protects us and makes you smile. Sarah's eyes burned. What did he say? He said he wasn't trying to replace anyone. He said he just wanted to know if there was room.

And I told him. Jacob paused. I told him there was if he wanted it. Oh, Jacob, I didn't do wrong, did I? Saying that, "No, sweetheart.

You didn't do wrong." She pulled him into a hug. This boy who was becoming a man who had carried too much too young and somehow emerged with his heart intact. He's a good man, mama. Different from Papa, but good.

I know he is. Then maybe you should tell him that before he convinces himself you don't want him. Sarah laughed despite herself. When did you get so wise? I learned from watching you.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of horses. Multiple horses approaching fast. Sarah and Jacob exchanged glances, then moved to the window. Three riders were coming up the road. Even from this distance, Sarah recognized the lead figure.

Henry Bishop, the man Caleb had warned her about, the one who'd been eyeing the ranch's water rights for years. Jacob, get Caleb now. Her son ran without question. Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and stepped onto the porch, positioning herself between the approaching riders and the house. "Mrs.

Jenkins," Bishop dismounted with a grunt, his expensive coat straining against his belly. "Or should I say, Mrs. Monroe, I hear congratulations might be in order." "You heard wrong, it's still Jenkins for now." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

Is Monroe around? We have business to discuss. What kind of business? The kind that doesn't concern women. Everything that happens on this ranch concerns me, Mr.

Bishop. I live here. Do you? He looked at the house, the barn, the land beyond. Seems like a temporary arrangement to me.

Woman and her children sheltering through winter. What happens when spring comes? That's between me and Mr. Monroe. Maybe, maybe not.

Bishop stepped closer and Sarah held her ground. See, I've got interests in this valley. Interests that depend on water rights and land access. Monroe's been an obstacle for years. Too stubborn to negotiate.

Too stupid to see the opportunity. Sounds like he knows exactly what you're offering and chooses not to take it. What I'm offering is a fair deal. Better than fair. Enough money to set him up somewhere else, somewhere easier.

Man doesn't need 600 acres to run a small operation. Maybe he wants 600 acres. And maybe he wants other things now. Bishop's eyes traveled over her in a way that made her skin crawl. Things that might change his priorities.

Before Sarah could respond, Caleb appeared around the corner of the house. Jacob at his heels. He moved with a controlled tension that Sarah recognized. Anger held in check. Bishop didn't expect to see you out this way.

Monroe, we need to talk. So talk privately. Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Mrs. Jenkins. She's part of this household.

Something flickered in Bishop's expression. Calculation, adjustment. Fine, I'll make it simple. The railroads coming. Not next year, not maybe.

This spring. They're going to need water for their operations. and your creek is the only reliable source in 20 miles. I'm aware they'll pay well, very well, but they'll want guarantees, long-term access rights, minimum flow commitments, the kind of deal that requires cooperation. Or or they'll find other ways to get what they need. Legal ways, ways that might tie your land up in court for years while they build around you."

Caleb's jaw tightened. Is that a threat? It's information. The railroad has lawyers, Monroe. Lots of them.

And they have friends in the territorial government. Friends who can make life very difficult for a man who won't cooperate. I've survived. Difficult. Have you?

Bishop's eyes went to Sarah, to Jacob, visible in the doorway to the house that was now so obviously a home. Difficult for yourself is one thing. difficult for a family is something else. The word landed like a blow. Family. Bishop was using them as leverage, using Sarah and her children as a weapon against the man who'd taken them in.

Mr. Bishop. Sarah stepped forward, her voice steady, despite the rage building in her chest. I've dealt with men like you before. Men who think they can threaten their way to what they want. men who use women and children as pawns.

Is that so? It is. And every single one of them underestimated me. Every single one regretted it. Bishop laughed, but there was an edge to it.

Uncertainty. I'm not threatening anyone, Mrs. Jenkins. I'm presenting a business proposition. No, you're trying to scare us into selling something that isn't for sale, and it won't work.

We'll see. He mounted his horse, his men following suit. Think about it, Monroe. The railroads coming. Whether you like it or not, you can profit from it, or you can be crushed by it.

Your choice. They rode off, leaving dust and tension in their wake. Caleb didn't move until they disappeared over the hill. Then he turned to Sarah, his face tight with emotion she couldn't quite read. You shouldn't have confronted him.

Someone had to. He's dangerous. More dangerous than you know. I'm not afraid of him. Maybe you should be.

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. Bishop doesn't make threats. He can't back up. If he says the railroad has lawyers, they have lawyers. If he says they have government friends, they do.

So, what do we do? I don't know. I've been fighting this battle alone for years. Never had. He stopped.

Never had what? Never had anyone else to worry about. Never had anything he could use against me. The implication hit her hard. They weren't just a household anymore.