Eleanor stood below, holding a rope while Thomas balanced overhead.
“You loved him?”
Thomas asked.
Eleanor looked up.
“That’s a dangerous question when I’m holding your safety line.”
He smiled.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
Eleanor considered.
“I love who he was.”
“That the same thing?”
“No.”
Thomas drove a peg into place.
“What’s different?”
“Dead people stop changing.”
“Living people don’t.”
He looked down at her.
Eleanor tightened the rope.
“Careful.”
Thomas climbed lower.
She continued.
“Samuel died before we had a chance to become tired of each other.”
Thomas laughed.
“That’s romantic.”
“It’s honest.”
Eleanor looked toward the hills.
“Maybe we would’ve had children.”
“Maybe he would’ve become mean.”
“Maybe I would’ve become impossible.”
“You already managed that.”
She jerked the rope.
Thomas nearly slipped.
“Woman!”
Eleanor laughed so hard she had to brace against the barn wall.
Thomas descended, swearing.
He landed in front of her.
“You tried to kill me.”
“I reminded you who holds the rope.”
Their faces were closer than either expected.
The laughter faded first from Thomas.
Then Eleanor.
Something changed.
Neither moved.
Then Eleanor stepped away.
“Lunch.”
Thomas watched her walk toward the house.
That was the first time the barn stopped being the only thing he thought about.
By October, everyone in Harlow County knew Eleanor Whitaker had a man staying at the ranch.
Harlow County considered other people’s business a form of public property.
At the mercantile, women asked Eleanor whether Thomas was “respectable.”
She answered:
“No.”
At church, Mrs. Belden asked whether sleeping arrangements were appropriate.
Eleanor said:
“Depends how much detail you need before the hymn starts.”
The subject disappeared.
Men were worse.
Roy Mercer, who owned the neighboring east ranch, cornered Thomas outside the blacksmith shop.
“You working for the widow?”
“Yes.”
Roy smiled.
“Must be heavy work.”
Thomas stared.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Roy’s friends laughed.
Thomas understood.
The joke was not about the barn.
Eleanor had spent her whole adult life hearing versions of it.
Big woman.
Strong woman.
Woman built like a workhorse.
Men joked that any husband would need extra bed slats.
Samuel once broke a man’s nose over one such comment.
Eleanor had been furious.
Not because the man did not deserve it.
Because Samuel spent a night in jail and she had to milk alone the next morning.
Thomas did not hit Roy.
He stepped closer.
“Say it directly.”
Roy’s smile faded.
“What?”
“If you’re talking about Mrs. Whitaker, say it where everyone hears.”
Roy looked around.
Men suddenly became interested in horseshoes.
Thomas continued.
“No?”
“Then don’t say it near me again.”
He walked away.
Eleanor heard about the encounter before he returned home.
Of course she did.
She said nothing.
That evening she gave him the larger piece of roast.
Thomas noticed.
Said nothing.
That was their language by then.
The debt letter arrived October seventeenth.
Eleanor knew what it contained before opening it.
Harlow County Agricultural Bank.
Loan balance due November 30.
Principal plus interest:
$1,840.
More money than the ranch could produce before spring.
Samuel had originally taken the note to purchase the north pasture.
Eleanor had reduced it for years.
Then the barn consumed nearly every dollar she had saved.
She sat at the kitchen table long after sunset.
Thomas entered carrying split wood.
He saw the letter.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He set down the wood.
“Your nothing looks expensive.”
Eleanor folded the paper.
“Bank.”
“How much?”
“None of your concern.”
Thomas removed his hat.
“Barn stops if you lose the ranch.”
“I’m not losing it.”
“How much?”
She stared.
He waited.
“Eighteen forty.”
Thomas exhaled.
“That’s not nothing.”
“No.”
“What happens if you can’t pay?”
“They extend.”
“You believe that?”
“No.”
Thomas pulled out a chair.
“Sell cattle?”
“Then I lose winter breeding stock.”
“Horses?”
“Need them.”
“Land?”
“No.”
He looked toward her.
Eleanor’s face hardened.
“Do not suggest it.”
“I didn’t.”
She stood.
“Good.”
Thomas watched her walk toward the stove.
“You have another option?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Survive until I find one.”
That answer terrified him more than panic would have.
Roy Mercer arrived two days later.
He came wearing his good coat.
That alone told Eleanor something was wrong.
Roy never wore good clothing near cattle.
She met him on the porch.
Thomas worked thirty yards away, pretending not to listen.
Roy removed his hat.
“Eleanor.”
“Roy.”
“Heard about the bank.”
“Then you heard something that wasn’t yours.”
Roy ignored that.
“I can help.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
Roy Mercer had wanted her ranch for years.
Not because it was enormous.
Because Whitaker’s north pasture connected his grazing land to the creek.
He had offered to buy twice.
She refused twice.
“What kind of help?”
Roy looked toward the barn.
“Marriage.”
Eleanor stared.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
Roy’s face reddened.
“I’m serious.”
“That’s why it’s funny.”
“You owe money.”
“I’m aware.”
“I have money.”
“Also aware.”
“You need a husband.”
“No.”
“You need capital.”
“Maybe.”
“I solve both.”
Eleanor’s laughter disappeared.
“Go home, Roy.”
He stepped closer.
“You’re thirty-six.”
“I know how old I am.”
“You think another offer’s coming?”
Thomas stopped hammering.
Eleanor saw.
Roy did not.
“You’re not some twenty-year-old girl waiting for romance.”
Eleanor’s face went still.
Roy continued.
“You’re a widow carrying a ranch you can’t afford.”
“I marry you.”
“Bank disappears.”
“You keep the house.”
“I run cattle across both places.”
“Everybody wins.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Except me.”
Roy sighed.
“You’re too old to act insulted.”
Thomas dropped the hammer.
Hard.
Roy turned.
Thomas walked toward them.
Eleanor raised one hand.
Stop.
Thomas stopped.
She looked back at Roy.
“You finished?”
Roy frowned.
“I’m trying to save you.”
“No.”
“You’re trying to buy me at the same time you buy my land.”
Roy’s jaw tightened.
“Think about it.”
“I already did.”
“Think better.”
He put on his hat.
Then looked toward Thomas.
“You paying him with money you don’t have?”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
Roy smiled.
“Maybe there are other arrangements.”
Thomas moved.
Eleanor stepped between them.
“Roy.”
Her voice stopped both men.
“Get off my property.”
Roy left.
Thomas watched him ride away.
Then:
“You should’ve let me hit him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of men defending me in ways that create work for me.”
Thomas stared.
“I wasn’t defending you because you couldn’t.”
Eleanor turned.