She almost said, I don't need the help. The reflex was there, automatic, the product of eight months of refusing to show weakness to anyone within Mercer's reach. But he wasn't within Mercer's reach. And this wasn't charity; it was logistics. Two people riding half the work was simply more efficient than one person riding all of it.
"Fine," she said. "We leave at first light."
That night, after dinner—she had made enough for two without consciously deciding to, and had set a place for him at the table without making anything of it—he told her a little about Daniel Hart.
"We met in Casper in '83," he said, wrapping both hands around his coffee cup. "There was a land dispute up near the Powder River. Similar situation to yours in some ways. Big operator trying to swallow up small ranches by manufacturing debt. Hart was the lawyer for one of the smaller ranchers. I was passing through." A pause that suggested the phrase covered more than it revealed. "I had information Hart needed and I gave it to him, and his client kept the land."
"What kind of information?" she asked.
He was quiet for a moment. "The kind a man picks up when he's spent enough years watching how power works, and who talks too much around people they think don't matter."
She absorbed that. "You were a range detective." It wasn't really a question.
He didn't confirm or deny it directly. "I've worked in a lot of capacities over the years," he said. "Some of them I'm more comfortable discussing than others. What matters for your situation is that Hart is honest. He's competent. And he understands land fraud specifically."
She thought about pushing for more and decided against it. Everyone in the West had a version of their past they held at arm's length; she had no standing to demand his.
"What does he charge?" she asked instead.
"We'll work that out when he gets here."