I touched his face.
“I want to stay.”
“Then we stay.”
Julian Mercer arrived eleven days later.
He did not come alone.
A private attorney named Walter Crane traveled with him.
So did Dr. Frederick Wallace.
The doctor from Lydia's letters.
And with them rode Deputy Territorial Marshal Benjamin Shaw, carrying legal papers issued through a Pennsylvania court and forwarded west.
Copper Creek knew strangers had arrived before their horses reached the hotel.
By afternoon, the entire town had developed urgent business near Main Street.
Bo and I rode in together.
He wore his black cowboy hat.
I wore a dark blue dress.
People moved aside.
Julian stood outside the hotel.
Seeing him after nearly a year was like opening a room I had locked and discovering the smell remained.
He looked unchanged.
Perfectly tailored coat.
Silver watch chain.
Polished boots unsuitable for Montana mud.
He smiled.
“Annabeth.”
Bo's horse shifted beneath him.
I dismounted before Bo could help.
“Julian.”
Mercer's eyes traveled over my clothing.
“You look... different.”
“That happens when people are permitted to live their own lives.”
His smile tightened.
Then he looked at Bo.
“And this is Mr. Rollins.”
“My husband.”
“So I've heard.”
Bo dismounted.
Julian was not a small man.
Beside Bo, he appeared delicate.
Bo said nothing.
That unsettled Julian more than threats would have.
Attorney Crane stepped forward.
“Mrs. Caldwell.”
“Rollins.”
“Yes, well.”
He opened a leather case.
“I have documents here pertaining to the Caldwell estate.”
“I am not interested.”
“You may become interested.”
He handed me a page.
The petition described me as emotionally disturbed following my mother's death, increasingly irrational during my engagement, and potentially under the coercive influence of a violent western rancher.
I read the final sentence twice.
Bo saw my expression.
“What?”
“They say you abducted me.”
He looked at Julian.
Julian shrugged.
“You disappeared without warning.”
“I wrote Father.”
“A confused letter after a period of emotional instability.”
“You mean a letter saying I refused to marry you.”
Dr. Wallace approached.
His beard had gone gray.
“Miss Caldwell, perhaps we should discuss this privately.”
“Mrs. Rollins.”
His expression tightened.
“I treated several members of your family.”
“You also treated Lydia Mercer.”
Silence.
Julian's face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
I stepped closer.
“She's alive, isn't she?”
“Lydia was deeply ill.”
“That was not my question.”
Julian spoke quickly.
“Annabeth, your father's death has left considerable responsibility.”
“To whom?”
“To people capable of handling it.”
I laughed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The sentence men like you always use before stealing a woman's choices.”
Bo moved beside me.
Julian glanced at him.
“This matter does not concern you.”
Bo's voice was calm.
“My wife says it concerns her.”
“Yes.”
“Then it concerns me exactly as much as she wants it to.”
Julian stared.
He had expected a brute.
Instead, he had encountered partnership.
That confused him.
Marshal Shaw removed his hat.
“Mrs. Rollins, nobody is arresting anyone today.”
“Today?”
“I have papers requesting an evaluation. Territorial judge needs to review jurisdiction before anything happens.”
“Who requested the evaluation?”
Julian answered.
“Your father's executors.”
“Who are?”
“Among others, myself.”
Of course.
My father had built the cage before dying.
Julian simply intended to close it.
“What happens if I refuse?”
Attorney Crane said, “The court may interpret refusal unfavorably.”
Bo's jaw tightened.
I touched his arm.
He looked down.
“Let me.”
He nodded.
I turned to Julian.
“You traveled two thousand miles because a dead man gave you paperwork.”
“No.”
His expression became cold.
“I traveled because you belong in Philadelphia.”
My entire body went still.
Bo's breathing changed.
I stepped closer before he could.
“I belong where I choose.”
“You are embarrassing your family.”
“My father is dead.”
“The Caldwell name is not.”
“That name nearly sold me to you.”
Murmurs moved through the crowd.
Julian realized too late that half the town was listening.
He smiled again.
The public smile.
“We should continue privately.”
“No.”
“Annabeth.”
“No more private conversations, Julian.”
His face hardened.
“Very well.”
He turned toward Marshal Shaw.
“You see the difficulty.”
The marshal frowned.
“What difficulty?”
“Emotional volatility.”
I laughed.
“Because I told you no?”
Dr. Wallace opened his notebook.
That frightened me more than Julian.
I knew what those notes could become.
Anger became hysteria.
Fear became instability.
Defiance became illness.
I looked around.
Then I saw Clara Bennett, the schoolteacher.
Dr. Robert Hale.
Mrs. Fairchild.
Jacob.
Tommy Hayes.
People who knew me.
“Dr. Wallace,” I said loudly, “are you evaluating me now?”
He hesitated.
“I am observing.”
“Under whose authority?”
Attorney Crane stepped forward.
“Mrs. Rollins—”
“No.”
I pointed toward Wallace's notebook.
“If he writes medical conclusions about me in a public street without consent or examination, I want every person here to hear him say so.”
The doctor closed the notebook.
Bo's eyes met mine.
Pride.
Not ownership.
Not rescue.
Pride.
The hearing was scheduled for three days later at the territorial courthouse.
Those three days nearly destroyed me.
At night, old memories returned.
My father's library.
Julian smiling.
The letters.
The knowledge that respectable men could write lies on expensive paper and transform them into legal truth.
Bo found me awake the second night.
I was sitting at the kitchen table.
He poured coffee.
“You're scared.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because people who aren't scared when something matters are usually fools.”
He sat opposite me.