Three months later, the old Cole ranch was restored to him.
He did not move into the farmhouse.
Instead, he divided part of the property into small parcels that could never be used as collateral by the records office.
Five families displaced through Carrow's fraud built homes there.
Isaiah kept forty acres.
Enough for horses.
Enough for a barn.
Enough for silence when he wanted it.
Clara visited often.
At first she told herself it was because he kept records there.
Then because his coffee was better than Rafael's.
Then because someone needed to stop him from repairing fences incorrectly.
Isaiah tolerated each explanation.
One spring evening, they rode to the ridge overlooking the ranch.
Wildflowers had appeared after an unusually wet winter.
Clara dismounted.
Isaiah remained on his horse.
"You know," he said, "the first time I saw you, you pointed a gun at me."
"You had a wanted poster."
"Unfairly."
"I didn't know that."
"You also accused me of murder."
"That was also based on available evidence."
"You are very romantic."
Clara looked up at him.
"Who said anything about romance?"
Isaiah's expression changed.
Clara smiled.
Then she walked away.
He stared after her for several seconds before realizing she was laughing.
"Clara."
She kept walking.
"Clara Bennett."
She turned.
He had dismounted.
"What?"
Isaiah looked suddenly less comfortable than he had facing nine armed men at her father's grave.
"I was considering asking you something."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It probably is."
She waited.
He took one step closer.
Then stopped.
"I've spent a long time living like everything I had could be taken from me."
Clara's smile faded.
"So have I."
"I don't want to do that anymore."
Neither moved.
Isaiah looked toward the ranch.
Then back at her.
"I don't know exactly what comes after that."
Clara considered him.
"We could find out."
"Together?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"Whether you continue making terrible coffee."
He smiled.
"I thought you said mine was better than Rafael's."
"It is."
"Then what's wrong with it?"
"Rafael's coffee can remove paint."
Isaiah laughed.
Clara had heard him laugh before.
But never like that.
Six months later, they married beneath the cottonwoods near the records office.
There were no wealthy guests.
No territorial officials.
Judge Holloway attended only because Clara threatened to replace him with a traveling preacher if he gave a speech longer than five minutes.
Rafael gave one anyway.
It lasted twenty-three.
Sofia Ortega came with her children.
Several families whose deeds had been restored brought food.
Sheriff Keene did not attend.