Etta waited until he was gone.
Then pressed one hand against the counter because her knees had started shaking.
December brought Hiram Fletcher.
The banker arrived in a covered carriage with two hired men.
Etta saw him through the kitchen window.
Every ounce of warmth left her body.
Fletcher descended carefully, brushing dust from an expensive black coat.
He was fifty-six.
Thin.
Neatly shaved.
Always smelled of hair tonic and paper.
Etta had once hated that smell more than anything in Bozeman.
Now it entered Gideon's house before Fletcher did.
Toby came downstairs.
His face changed.
“Ma?”
“Take Clara upstairs.”
“Is that Fletcher?”
“Now.”
Toby obeyed.
Gideon entered from the back porch.
He saw Etta's face.
“What happened?”
She pointed.
Gideon looked through the window.
“Who's that?”
“The banker.”
Understanding sharpened his expression.
Fletcher knocked.
Gideon opened the door.
Hiram smiled.
“Mr. Cobb.”
“Do I know you?”
“Not personally.”
“Then this better be quick.”
Fletcher's smile slipped.
“My business concerns Mrs. Henrietta Miller.”
Gideon filled the doorway.
“What business?”
Etta stepped forward.
“Mine.”
Gideon looked at her.
Etta forced herself toward the door.
She would not hide.
Fletcher smiled.
“Henrietta.”
“Hiram.”
“You've made yourself difficult to find.”
“That was intentional.”
“I assumed so.”
His eyes moved over the interior.
Then Gideon.
Then back to Etta.
“So this is where you've been.”
“What do you want?”
“Payment.”
Etta's stomach tightened.
Fletcher opened a leather portfolio.
“Your late husband's note remains unpaid.”
“The bakery covered the loan.”
“The bakery covered principal.”
“You said surrendering it settled everything.”
“I said it substantially settled matters.”
Etta stared.
“You lying bastard.”
Fletcher's expression remained pleasant.
Gideon took one step forward.
Etta lifted her hand.
He stopped.
Fletcher noticed.
“So you've found yourself another protector.”
Etta's face burned.
Gideon's voice became dangerous.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
Fletcher looked at him.
“I am conducting lawful business.”
“Then conduct it without insulting her.”
Fletcher removed a paper.
“Interest, penalties, medical advances, storage fees, and administrative expenses leave a balance of eight hundred twelve dollars.”
Etta laughed in disbelief.
“Arthur borrowed four hundred.”
“And defaulted.”
“You took the bakery, equipment, house, and inventory.”
“All against the debt.”
“Worth more than twice what he owed.”
Fletcher shrugged.
“Market values fluctuate.”
Gideon's face changed.
He knew markets.
He knew collateral.
He knew predatory paper.
“Let me see the note.”
Fletcher looked amused.
“You are not a party.”
“Then leave.”
“I came to speak with Mrs. Miller.”
“You're standing in my house.”
Etta took the document.
Her hands trembled.
Then Fletcher said the thing he had come to say.
“If payment cannot be arranged, I will petition the county regarding the welfare of the children.”
Etta went completely still.
“What?”
“Toby and Clara are minors.”
“I know who my children are.”
“You have no property.”
“I have employment.”
“Temporary employment.”
“You don't decide that.”
Fletcher smiled.
“No. A court does.”
Etta's breath disappeared.
This had always been his weapon.
Not jail.
Not money.
Children.
He knew she would surrender everything before risking them.
Gideon's voice became quiet.
“What exactly are you threatening?”
Fletcher turned.
“Nothing. I am explaining alternatives.”
“You mentioned taking children because their mother disputes your debt.”
“I mentioned welfare review.”
Gideon stared at him.
Fletcher looked toward the staircase.
“Children require stability.”
“They have it,” Gideon said.
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
Fletcher smiled.
“You employ her. That is not family.”
The word struck precisely where Gideon was weakest.
Etta heard it.
Saw it.
The hesitation.
One second.
Maybe less.
Fletcher saw it too.
He smiled wider.
Then Toby appeared on the staircase.
“I won't go with you.”
Etta turned.
“Toby.”
The boy held Clara's hand.
Clara's face was pale.
Fletcher looked up.
“No one said you would.”
“You said orphanage before.”
Gideon's eyes snapped toward Fletcher.
Etta closed hers.
Fletcher's expression tightened.
“Children misunderstand adult conversations.”
“No,” Toby said. “You told Ma she could put us in the county home and work for you.”
Silence.
Gideon slowly looked at Etta.
She could not meet his eyes.
Fletcher closed the portfolio.
“This conversation is becoming unproductive.”
Gideon stepped onto the porch.
Fletcher's hired men shifted.
Gideon did not look at them.
“Come back in thirty days.”
Fletcher blinked.
“For payment?”
“For an answer.”
“You don't control the debt.”
“No. But I understand paper better than you think.”
Fletcher smiled.
“Cowboys usually overestimate what they understand.”
Gideon smiled back.
He looked terrifying when he did.
“I'm not a cowboy.”
He pointed toward the valley.
“I own everything you can see until that ridge.”
Fletcher's expression changed.
Gideon continued.
“I have interests in freight, timber, cattle, and three town properties. I negotiate contracts with men who can buy your bank twice before lunch.”
Etta stared.
She knew Gideon had money.
She had not understood how much.
He stepped closer.
“If your claim is legitimate, thirty days won't hurt it.”
Fletcher hesitated.
“If it's not legitimate, thirty days will destroy it.”
Hiram stared.
Then nodded.
“Thirty.”
He entered the carriage.
They left.
Etta rounded on Gideon.
“You shouldn't have done that.”
“What?”
“Made yourself responsible.”
“I didn't.”
“You just threatened my banker with your wealth.”
“I threatened him with records.”
“Same difference to men like him.”
Gideon's expression hardened.
“Would you rather I let him scare your children?”
“They are my children.”
“I know.”
“Then don't make decisions for me.”
“I didn't.”
“You gave him thirty days.”
“Because you looked like you couldn't breathe.”
Etta stopped.
Gideon's voice softened.
“I gave you thirty days to breathe.”
Her anger faltered.
“I don't need rescuing.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does every man think money fixes women?”
Gideon's eyes narrowed.
“I didn't offer money.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to hire a lawyer.”
Etta froze.
Gideon continued.
“Your husband signed something. Fletcher says it means one thing. You say another. That isn't solved by fists or pride.”
He nodded toward the door.
“It's solved by finding out what's true.”
Etta looked away.
She hated that he was right.
Again.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“We find records.”
Gideon nodded.
“And if I owe him?”
“You decide what happens.”
“And if I can't pay?”
“You decide what happens.”
She stared.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you're still expecting me to tell you what to do.”
Etta's eyes lowered.
Years with Fletcher had trained that expectation.
Arthur's illness had deepened it.
Poverty turned every choice into permission requested from someone with more power.
Gideon stepped closer.
“I won't take your choices from you just because I have enough money to make things easier.”
Etta looked up.
“That may be the kindest thing you've ever said.”