“She should have found a way. I should have found a way. Thomas should be alive. Deke should have hanged.” He folded his scarred hands on the table. “There’s enough blame to feed crows for a century.”
Willa’s mouth trembled.
“What do we do with it?” June whispered.
Wyatt looked at the papers. Then at the brass buckle. Then at the two women who had arrived as strangers and now sat beneath his roof carrying his blood and Caroline’s eyes.
“We don’t let it bury us too.”
A hard knock struck the door.
June flinched.
Willa rose halfway from her chair.
Wyatt gathered the papers in one swift motion and slid the broken buckle into his pocket.
The knock came again.
“Calder,” a man called. “Open up.”
Wyatt recognized the voice. Sheriff Amos Pike.
He looked at Willa. “Put the deeds in the stove box. Not in the fire. Under the ash pan.”
Willa moved immediately.
June took Caroline’s letters and tucked them inside her dress.
Wyatt went to the door.
Sheriff Pike stood on the porch, hat brim white with frost. He was a broad man with tired eyes and a mustache yellowed by tobacco. Not wicked, Wyatt thought. Worse in some ways. Weak where strong men pressed him. Mercy Ridge was full of men who mistook that weakness for fairness.
Behind him stood Eli Mercer, one of Deke’s ranch hands, with a bruise swelling under his left eye.
Wyatt had never touched him.
That told him plenty.
“Evening, Sheriff,” Wyatt said.
Pike glanced past him into the room. His eyes found Willa and June. Curiosity flickered, then discomfort. “Need a word.”
“You’ve had three.”
Pike sighed. “Don’t make this difficult.”
“Who says I’m making it?”
Eli Mercer pointed. “That’s him. Came at me outside the feed store. Threatened me too.”
Wyatt looked at the bruise. “If I’d hit you, Eli, you’d be talking out the other side of your mouth.”
Eli flushed.
Sheriff Pike cleared his throat. “Deke Barlow says there was a disturbance in town.”
“There was. Some boys laughed at a woman. I invited them to quit.”
“And Mercer?”
“Wasn’t there.”
“He says he was.”
“He’s lying.”
Pike’s eyes hardened, but not with conviction. With embarrassment. “Wyatt, you know how folks are already talking.”
“That a crime now?”
“No. But threatening people is.”
“Then arrest Deke.”
The porch went still.
Pike’s gaze sharpened. “For what?”
Wyatt stepped outside and pulled the door partly closed behind him, shielding the women from the cold and from Eli’s stare.
“Murder,” he said.
Eli snorted. “You’re drunk.”
Wyatt looked at him. “I quit drinking last spring.”
The sheriff shifted. “That’s a serious word.”
“So was fire.”
Pike’s expression closed. “I’m not digging up twenty-year-old tragedies because you got riled in town.”
“Twenty-two.”
“What?”
“Twenty-two years.” Wyatt leaned closer. “And it wasn’t a tragedy. It was a crime.”
Pike looked over Wyatt’s shoulder again. “This have something to do with those women?”
Wyatt’s body went still.
Sheriff Pike noticed. So did Eli.
“Who are they?” Pike asked.
Wyatt spoke slowly. “None of your business tonight.”
Eli smiled. “Deke says they’re Caroline Ward’s girls.”
Wyatt took one step toward him.
Pike put a hand on his pistol. “Wyatt.”
The cold moved between them.
Inside the house, a floorboard creaked. Willa, near the door. Listening.
Eli’s smile widened because he was too foolish to know how close he stood to harm. “He says maybe they came sniffing around what don’t belong to them.”
Wyatt’s voice was quiet. “Tell Deke if he has something to say about Caroline Ward’s daughters, he can say it to me.”
Pike’s brows rose.
There. The words had crossed the threshold.
No taking them back.
The door opened behind Wyatt.
Willa stepped onto the porch.
She wore the brown coat from Harlan’s, her hair braided over one shoulder, her face pale but set. June appeared behind her, wrapped in the navy coat, eyes wide and frightened and brave.
“We can speak for ourselves,” Willa said.
Wyatt turned slightly. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was all she said to him, but it carried more than thanks. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But something had shifted.
Sheriff Pike removed his hat slowly. “Ladies.”
Willa looked him straight in the face. “I’m Willa Ward. This is my sister, June. Our mother was Caroline Ward. She died twelve days ago.”
Pike’s discomfort deepened into something almost like shame. “Sorry to hear it.”
“Are you?”
The sheriff blinked.
Willa descended one porch step. Wyatt wanted to stop her, but he did not. She had spent too much of her life being made small by other people’s comfort.
“Our mother left us documents,” she said. “If Mr. Barlow is concerned, he has reason to be.”
Eli’s smirk faltered.
Sheriff Pike looked sharply at Wyatt. “Documents?”
“Water deeds,” Wyatt said. “Land transfers. Evidence Thomas Vale owned rights Deke’s been using.”
Pike’s face went flat with alarm. “You best not say that around town unless you can prove it.”
“We can.”
Eli took a step back. “Deke won’t like this.”
“No,” Wyatt said. “I expect he won’t.”
The ranch hand turned toward his horse, but Wyatt’s voice stopped him.