She pointed to another line. “Again in May. And here, with feed delivery. You paid for twelve sacks and received nine.”
His expression hardened.
“Creed handles half the ranch trade in this county,” he said.
“Then he is either careless with many men’s money or careful with stealing yours.”
Gideon stared at the ledger.
Mara felt suddenly foolish. “I only meant—”
“You can read figures?”
“My mother taught me. She kept books for a milliner before she married.”
“Mrs. Pruitt knew?”
“She said numbers make women proud.”
“Numbers make thieves nervous,” Gideon said.
The next morning, he placed three more ledgers on the kitchen table.
“Look through these.”
Mara blinked. “What about the stable?”
“It will wait.”
“Horses don’t usually agree to that.”
“I’ll handle them.”
She looked down at the books, then back at him. “You trust me with your accounts?”
“I trust what you notice.”
That trust became its own kind of wage.
For three days, Mara worked through the ledgers. She found missing cattle, false weights, inflated feed bills, and a pattern that led again and again to Silas Creed, the wealthiest trader in Dry Hollow and Ruthie Vale’s uncle.
Silas owned the feed store, the auction pens, and two-thirds of the sheriff’s courage.
On the fourth night, Mara made a list.
Gideon read it in silence.
When he finished, he put both hands on the table and bowed his head.
“How much?” she asked.
“Enough to break me by winter if it continues.”
Mara’s heart squeezed. “Can you prove it?”
“With your list, maybe.”
“Then we take it to the sheriff.”
Gideon laughed once. “Sheriff Hobb eats dinner at Creed’s table every Sunday.”
“Then we take it to the church elders.”
“Creed paid for the new bell.”
Mara looked at him. “Then who is left?”
Gideon’s gaze lifted to hers.
“Town meeting is Saturday.”
Saturday arrived hot and bright.
Mara wore her cleanest dress, the brown one with a mended cuff. She tied her mother’s ribbon at the back of her neck. Gideon hitched the wagon without speaking much. He had shaved. The scar through his eyebrow looked sharper for it.
“You do not have to come,” he said as she climbed onto the seat.
“Yes, I do.”
“They will talk.”
“They have had enough practice.”
His eyes moved over her face. “If it turns ugly, you leave.”
“If it turns ugly, I speak louder.”
For a moment, he almost smiled.
Dry Hollow’s meeting hall was packed when they arrived. Fans fluttered. Boots scraped. The smell of dust, sweat, and perfume filled the room. Mrs. Pruitt sat in front with the boardinghouse girls arranged around her like flowers in a vase. Lottie saw Mara first and whispered something that made Pearl turn.
Ruthie Vale’s smile vanished when she saw the ledgers in Mara’s arms.
Silas Creed stood near the front, a round man in a cream waistcoat, his silver watch chain shining across his belly. Sheriff Hobb leaned beside him, laughing too loudly.
The laughter stopped when Gideon entered.
Silas spread his hands. “Well now. Broken Spur honors us.”
Gideon walked to the front.
Mara followed.
A murmur moved through the hall.
Mrs. Pruitt’s eyes narrowed at Mara’s dress, her ribbon, her lifted chin.
Gideon placed the ledgers on the table.
“I’m here about theft.”
Sheriff Hobb straightened. “Careful with accusations.”
“I am careful with evidence.”
Silas chuckled. “Evidence? From you?”
“No,” Gideon said. “From her.”
Every face turned to Mara.
For one awful second, her body remembered every insult at once. Big girl. Mule. Beast. Too much. Not enough. She felt her hands dampen around the papers.
Then Gideon’s voice came quietly beside her.
“Stand up.”
Not a command to make her smaller.
A reminder.
Mara lifted the first page.
“The March cattle sale from Broken Spur to Mr. Creed recorded thirty head delivered,” she said. “Payment was issued for twenty-four. The auction ledger shows all thirty resold two days later.”
Silas’s smile faded.
Mara turned the page. “In April, Mr. Ash paid for twelve sacks of feed. Delivery receipt shows nine. The store ledger, which Mr. Creed’s clerk left unsigned but dated, shows the missing three charged again to Porter Ranch.”
The room stirred.
Silas’s face reddened. “Where did you get store ledgers?”
“From your clerk,” Mara said. “He came to Broken Spur last night because he is tired of being blamed for numbers he did not alter.”
Sheriff Hobb looked at Silas.
Silas pointed at Mara. “This is ridiculous. Since when do we let stable girls accuse businessmen?”
Mara’s pulse hammered.
“Since businessmen forgot stable girls can count.”
A sound passed through the room.
Not laughter.
Something better.
Attention.
Mrs. Pruitt stood. “This girl is ungrateful, dishonest, and easily led. I took her in out of charity.”
Mara looked at her.
The old fear rose.
Then it met something stronger.