Bitter Creek looked different when Abigail returned.
The first time she had stepped from the stagecoach, she had noticed every stare because she assumed people were judging her body.
Now she wondered which faces belonged to Amos Vane.
Fear had changed the meaning of everything.
A man closing a window became suspicious.
Two cowboys lowering their voices became threatening.
A woman crossing the street might simply be shopping—or carrying information.
Gideon's injured arm was hidden beneath a fresh shirt and coat, but Abigail knew every wagon bump hurt him.
“We need the clerk,” he said.
“And a doctor.”
“Clerk first.”
“Doctor first.”
“Abigail.”
“You were shot.”
“Grazed.”
“If you say grazed again, I will finish what the bullet started.”
The wagon stopped outside Dr. Miriam Bell's office.
Gideon stared at Abigail.
Abigail stared back.
He surrendered first.
“Five minutes.”
“Wonderful. You're learning.”
Dr. Bell took one look at the wound and ordered Gideon to remove his coat.
She was a small woman in her fifties with iron-gray hair and the impatient confidence of someone accustomed to men lying about injuries.
“Grazed?” she repeated after Gideon described it.
Abigail folded her arms.
Dr. Bell looked toward her.
“I like you.”
“Thank you.”
Gideon sighed.
While the doctor cleaned the wound, Abigail asked where to find the territorial records clerk.
Dr. Bell's expression changed.
“Elias Morton. Courthouse.”
“Can we trust him?”
The doctor tied the bandage.
“You can trust Elias to be afraid of Amos Vane.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“It is my answer.”
Gideon stood.
Dr. Bell stopped him.
“You tear this open again, I'll sew your arm to your side.”
Gideon nodded.
Outside, Abigail whispered, “I like her too.”
They crossed the street toward the courthouse.
A black carriage stood out front.
Gideon stopped.
“What?”
“Vane.”
Abigail followed his gaze.
A man descended.
Amos Vane was not what she expected.
She had imagined someone brutish.
Instead, he was perhaps sixty, elegantly dressed, silver-haired, clean-shaven, and carrying a polished cane.
He looked like a banker.
Or a senator.
He saw Abigail immediately.
His smile was warm.
“Miss Whitaker.”
Gideon moved slightly in front of her.
Vane's eyes flicked toward his bandaged arm.
“My goodness. Rough country, Mr. Miller?”
“You know exactly how rough.”
Vane sighed.
“Always suspicious.”
He offered Abigail his hand.
She did not take it.
“Your father once had your same expression.”
“My father is dead.”
“So I heard.”
“You knew before I did.”
Vane's smile faded only slightly.
“Caleb and I were business partners.”
“He called you a thief.”
“Caleb called many people many things toward the end.”
Abigail felt rage rise.
“Be careful.”
Vane tilted his head.
“There. Exactly like him.”
Gideon stepped closer.
“Move along.”
Vane ignored him.
“Miss Whitaker, whatever papers Caleb left you, I urge you to consider them carefully. Your father became obsessed. Suspicious. He convinced himself everyone was against him.”
“You expect me to believe he shot himself?”
Vane's eyes sharpened.
“I did not say he was shot.”
Abigail went still.
Neither had she.
For one tiny second, Amos Vane realized his mistake.
Then his smooth expression returned.
“Rumors travel.”
“So does guilt.”
Gideon's hand hovered near his revolver.
Vane smiled again.
“You have until noon tomorrow to contest my filing. After that, Whitaker Spring legally becomes part of the Vane holdings.”
“Not if my deed is valid.”
“If.”
He walked past them.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“You traveled a long way, Abigail. There is no shame in discovering the West is not what you expected.”
Abigail met his gaze.
“I expected dirt, cold, and difficult men.”
She looked toward Gideon.
“I've encountered all three.”
Gideon's mouth twitched.
“I'm still here.”
Vane's friendliness disappeared.
“Then tomorrow should be interesting.”
Inside the courthouse, Elias Morton looked as frightened as Dr. Bell had promised.
He read Abigail's deed twice.
“This appears legitimate.”
“Appears?”
“The seal is correct.”
“And?”
“And the original county record must be confirmed.”
Gideon set Caleb's ledger on the desk.
“What about these?”
Elias went pale when he saw the names.
“Where did you get that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because some of these men are still in office.”
Abigail leaned forward.
“So you understand why we're concerned.”
Elias closed the ledger.
“I cannot enter these as evidence without Judge Warren.”
“Where is he?”
“Cheyenne.”
“When will he return?”
“Three days.”
Abigail stared.
“My deadline is tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Then who hears the challenge?”
“Justice Harland.”
Gideon swore quietly.
“What's wrong with Harland?” Abigail asked.
Elias looked toward the door.
“He and Vane have been friends twenty years.”
Of course.
Abigail wanted to scream.
Instead she asked, “Is there another way?”
Elias hesitated.
“Possibly.”
Gideon noticed.
“What?”
“The original Whitaker survey was witnessed by three men.”
“Dead?” Abigail asked.
“Two.”
“And the third?”
Elias looked uncomfortable.
“Samuel Crowley.”
Gideon knew the name.
“The drunk?”
“He lives behind the old livery.”
Abigail rose.
“Then we're meeting Mr. Crowley.”
Samuel Crowley was exactly where Elias said.
He lived in a shack behind the livery with broken bottles surrounding the porch.
When Abigail showed him Caleb's name, the old man's eyes filled with tears.
“Abby?”
She froze.
“Nobody calls me that anymore.”
Crowley stared at her.
“You have Ruth's eyes.”
Her throat tightened.
“You knew my mother?”
“Caleb carried her picture until the day I last saw him.”
Crowley invited them inside.
The room smelled of whiskey and wood smoke.
He listened as Abigail explained.
When she finished, his hands shook.
“I warned Caleb to let Vane take the spring.”
“Why?”
“Because men had already died.”
“Who?”
Crowley looked toward Gideon.
“Surveyor named Finch. Rancher named Hollis. Deputy who asked too many questions.”
“Murders?” Abigail whispered.
Crowley nodded.
“Could you testify?”
Terror entered his face.
“No.”
Abigail stared.
“Mr. Crowley—”
“No.”
“My father died because nobody spoke.”
“I have lived because I didn't.”
The answer was brutal.
Honest.
Abigail understood fear.
She had built half her life around it.
But understanding did not make it acceptable.
“My mother died believing her husband had abandoned her.”
Crowley closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I spent fourteen years believing the same.”
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry doesn't change tomorrow.”
His eyes opened.
Abigail stepped closer.
“You helped survey that land.”
“Yes.”
“You know my father's deed is real.”
“Yes.”
“You know Amos Vane forged claims.”
Crowley whispered, “Yes.”
“Then tomorrow you can either be the reason another Whitaker loses everything, or you can finally become the man my father believed you were.”
Crowley looked as though she had struck him.
Gideon touched Abigail's elbow.
“Come on.”
Outside, she exhaled.
“Was I too hard?”
“No.”
“You answered quickly.”
“You were exactly hard enough.”
They rented a room above the general store because Gideon's cabin was too far for the morning deadline.
Abigail insisted on separate rooms.
Gideon pretended not to look disappointed.
She pretended not to notice.
Near midnight, glass shattered downstairs.
Gideon was at her door seconds later.
“Stay here.”
Abigail grabbed her shawl.
“No.”
“Must we argue about everything?”
“Yes.”
Smoke rose from the back stairwell.
Someone had started a fire.
Gideon dragged a blanket from the bed and soaked it in water.
Abigail helped him beat down the flames.
Then she noticed her room door open.
The iron document box was gone.
“No.”
She ran inside.
The maps.
The ledgers.
Her father's journal.
Gone.
Gideon searched the hall.
A rear window stood open.
“Vane,” Abigail whispered.
Gideon cursed.
They had been robbed.
The evidence was gone.
The courthouse deadline was eight hours away.
Abigail sat on the bed, fighting despair.
Then something hard pressed against her hip.
She reached into the hidden pocket of her traveling dress.
The deed.
She had placed it there after leaving Elias Morton's office.
Gideon saw it.
“You kept the original.”
“My father taught me not to leave important paper where someone else could decide its future.”
Relief crossed Gideon's face.
But the deed alone might not be enough.
They still needed proof of fraud.
And a witness.
A knock sounded.
Gideon drew his gun.
“Who?”
A trembling voice came through the door.
“Samuel Crowley.”
Abigail stood.
Gideon opened it.
Crowley entered carrying a battered leather satchel.
His face was pale.
“I heard Vane's boys were asking about your room.”
“What is that?” Abigail asked.
Crowley set the satchel on the bed.
“Copies.”
He opened it.
Old survey pages.
Field notes.
Boundary drawings.
And a notarized statement signed by Caleb Whitaker twenty years earlier.
“I kept them,” Crowley said. “Because I was a coward.”
Abigail touched the papers.
Crowley looked at her.
“I don't want to die.”
Her anger softened.
“Neither do I.”
He swallowed.
“But I'll testify.”
For the first time since entering Bitter Creek, Abigail believed they might actually win.
Then Crowley added one more thing.
“There is something else you should know about Gideon.”
Abigail looked toward him.
Gideon's expression went still.
Crowley reached into the satchel and withdrew a document.
“I witnessed this three years ago.”
Abigail unfolded it.
Her eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
It was a legal affidavit signed by Gideon Miller.
Long before he had ever written to Abigail.
Long before their matrimonial correspondence.
Long before she had stepped from the stagecoach.
The document stated that if Gideon Miller ever married Abigail Whitaker, he voluntarily renounced all marital claim to the Whitaker property, silver rights, spring, and inheritance.
Abigail looked up.
“You signed this three years ago?”
Gideon nodded.
“Why?”
“Because your father asked me to protect your choice.”
Abigail's chest tightened.
“You knew you would never own the land.”
“Yes.”
“Even if you married me.”
“Yes.”
“Then you did not choose me for the property.”
“No.”
Her voice became quieter.
“Did you choose me because you felt guilty?”
Gideon's answer took too long.
Abigail looked away.
The court fight would begin in a few hours.
But suddenly there was another truth she needed more desperately.
She needed to know whether Gideon Miller wanted Abigail Whitaker.
Or whether she was simply the final promise of a dying man he was too honorable to break.
---