Sheriff deputy.
He carried official papers.
Inventory order.
Gabriel read slowly.
Isabella watched.
Four hundred thirty-two head identified as disputed collateral.
The deputy looked uncomfortable.
“I am only serving papers.”
Isabella nodded.
“I understand.”
Gabriel asked:
“When do they take cattle?”
“Two days.”
“Unless judge stays order.”
“Where?”
“County seat.”
“How far?”
“Twenty-eight miles.”
Isabella turned toward Gabriel.
“I’m going.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
He stared.
“You wanted a husband.”
“For the receiver hearing, not—”
“Too late.”
She almost smiled.
By noon they had a plan.
Copies of Mateo’s ledger.
Two trusted workers sent separately.
One toward the attorney in Denver.
One toward county court.
Original remained hidden.
Gabriel inspected brands.
Found altered marks on three cattle recently recovered near the north pasture.
He compared them with legitimate Santa Esperanza brands.
Poorly altered.
Fresh burn over old scar tissue.
Evidence.
Isabella watched.
“Can you prove when it was done?”
“No.”
“But a cattle inspector can tell it’s recent.”
“Who?”
“Man named Eli Granger.”
“Salida.”
“I worked with him years ago.”
“Can we reach him?”
“Samuel.”
The boy looked up from beside the fence.
“Yes, Papá?”
Gabriel smiled.
“Find me paper.”
Samuel ran.
Isabella watched Gabriel write a note.
“You trust Granger?”
“Yes.”
“You haven't seen him in years.”
“He still owes me three dollars.”
“That is your basis?”
“A debt creates memory.”
She laughed.
Gabriel looked up.
The sound affected him.
Isabella’s laughter was rare.
Low.
Beautiful.
He stared too long.
She noticed.
Again.
“You are looking at my mouth.”
“Again.”
“Perhaps you should do something about it.”
Samuel returned.
“Paper.”
Gabriel immediately looked away.
Isabella turned red.
Samuel looked between them.
“What?”
“Nothing,” both said.
Samuel frowned.
“Adults are strange.”
That night they prepared for court.
Isabella spread documents across the dining table.
Gabriel sat beside her.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither moved away.
She explained deeds.
Notes.
Cattle contracts.
Rail invoices.
Gabriel noticed a repeating number.
“Why is this freight charge identical?”
Isabella looked.
“What?”
He pointed.
January 1885.
Freight: $612.
April 1885.
$612.
August.
$612.
Same exact amount.
“That is possible,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Three times?”
He found another.
Feed invoice.
$438.
Repeated five months later.
Then again.
Isabella stared.
“These are the duplicate charges.”
“Rafael said unpaid?”
“Yes.”
“What if he didn't forge Mateo’s signature?”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“What if the note is real.”
“Gabriel, the date—”
“Wrong.”
“Maybe deliberately.”
He leaned closer.
“Suppose Mateo signed a blank renewal note before he died.”
“Why?”
“Emergency credit.”
“Or routine papers.”
“Rafael fills date later.”
Isabella went still.
“Mateo did sign blank freight authorizations sometimes.”
“There.”
“But a debt note?”
“I don't know.”
Gabriel looked toward her.
“Who handled books with you?”
“My foreman.”
“The one who left yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Edward Pike.”
“Could he have access?”
“All of it.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“You have two insiders.”
“Pike and Tomás.”
“Maybe more.”
Isabella’s face went pale.
Gabriel noticed.
“Hey.”
She looked at him.
“You cannot collapse now.”
“I am not collapsing.”
“You look like you might.”
“I have managed this ranch alone three years.”
“I know.”
“Do not tell me I cannot handle it.”
“I said you do not have to handle it alone.”
Silence.
That sentence changed the room.
Isabella’s eyes softened.
Gabriel reached across the table.
Placed his hand over hers.
She looked down.
His hand was scarred.
Work-worn.
Warm.
She turned hers beneath it.
Their fingers interlaced.
Neither spoke for a while.
Eventually Isabella said:
“You really married me.”
Gabriel smiled faintly.
“I noticed.”
“You could still leave.”
“So could you.”
“It is my house.”
“You could throw me out.”
“I might.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Depends how irritating you are before breakfast.”
He laughed softly.
Then she leaned closer.
Gabriel did not move.
Their faces neared.
Isabella whispered:
“Samuel is asleep.”
Gabriel’s eyes dropped to her lips.
“Yes.”
“Emma?”
“Asleep.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Gabriel’s voice lowered.
“And you are trying to make me forget we have legal documents on the table.”
“Maybe.”
“Dangerous.”
“You keep calling me that.”
“You keep proving it.”
She kissed him first.
Gabriel froze for half a second.
Then one hand moved around her waist.
Isabella turned toward him fully.
The kiss deepened.
Not desperate.
Not hurried.
Something more intimate because both had spent months, years, pretending certain parts of themselves no longer mattered.
When Gabriel pulled back, Isabella’s forehead rested against his.
“I meant what I said at the gate.”
“What?”
“If I married you…”
Her cheeks warmed.
“I did not intend to spend every night alone.”
Gabriel’s thumb moved slowly against her waist.
“Isabella.”
“Yes?”
“I have wanted to kiss you since you put your hand on my chest.”
“I knew.”
“You are very pleased with yourself.”
“Yes.”
He kissed her again.
Then stopped.
Her eyes opened.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know one thing.”
“What?”
“Is this because you're afraid?”
Isabella stared.
He continued.
“Rafael.”
“Court.”
“Someone breaking into your room.”
“Maybe tonight you want to feel less alone.”
“That is not the same as wanting me.”
Her expression changed.
Not offended.
Moved.
She put one hand against his cheek.
“Gabriel.”
He waited.
“I have spent three years learning how to sleep alone.”
“I am very good at it.”
He smiled faintly.
“So?”
“So if I invite you into my bed, it will not be because I am frightened of the dark.”
Her thumb brushed his stubble.
“It will be because I am tired of pretending I did not notice the way you looked at me before you had eaten a single meal in this house.”
Gabriel laughed softly.
“That was starvation.”
“Liar.”
“Possibly.”
She kissed him.
That night neither slept on opposite sides.
The next morning Gabriel woke with Isabella’s head against his shoulder.
Sunlight entered through curtains.
For several seconds he forgot where he was.
Then Emma cried.
Gabriel opened his eyes.
Isabella did too.
She looked at him.
“You have a baby.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Emma cried louder.
Isabella laughed.
“Go.”
Gabriel rolled from bed.
Then stopped.
Looked back.
Isabella lay beneath blankets, dark hair loose around her shoulders.
He had never seen her with her hair down.
She noticed his stare.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is clearly something.”
Gabriel leaned down.
Kissed her once.
“Good morning, wife.”
Her entire face softened.
“Good morning, husband.”
Then Emma screamed.
Isabella laughed.
“Your other woman is jealous.”
Gabriel stared.
“Do not call my daughter that.”
She laughed harder.
At breakfast Samuel looked from Gabriel to Isabella.
Then asked:
“Why is Papá smiling?”
Gabriel stopped smiling.
“I am not.”
Samuel looked at Isabella.