Samuel spent the next three days confined to bed, which he considered a punishment worse than the snakebite itself.
By the second morning, he had attempted to stand twice.
Olivia caught him both times.
"If you tear open that wound, I'll tie you to the bed."
Samuel stared at her.
"You threatening me in my own house?"
"Yes."
James, sitting at the table with porridge on his chin, nodded solemnly.
"Miss Olivia tie Papa."
Joseph laughed so hard milk came from his nose.
Samuel looked betrayed.
"Fine allies I've raised."
Something had changed inside the cabin.
It wasn't only that meals arrived on time or that clean shirts had somehow reappeared in Samuel's drawer.
It was the sound.
Olivia talked to the children.
Not constantly, not foolishly, but as if every one of them mattered.
She asked James why he believed frogs could predict rain.
She let Joseph explain for ten minutes why one particular fence post was "bad."
She sang quietly while feeding Daniel.
Emma followed her everywhere.
Samuel found that hardest to watch.
Rebecca had died before Emma learned enough words to say "Mama" clearly.
Now Emma toddled behind Olivia with both arms raised.
"Livvy."
Olivia picked her up every time.
Samuel was grateful.
And terrified of becoming grateful.
He knew how dangerous it was to let something precious become necessary.
Rebecca had taught him that.
On the third evening, Olivia stood at the stove making biscuits while Samuel sat at the table, his injured arm bound.
The twins were outside dragging sticks through dust.
Emma slept.
Daniel was chewing his own fist in the cradle.
Samuel decided the question could no longer wait.
"Why'd you leave Boston?"
Olivia stopped kneading dough.
She didn't turn.
"Because I wanted to teach."
"That's why you came west."
"Yes."
"Not why you left."
Her shoulders lowered.
For three days neither of them had mentioned Edward.
Samuel hadn't wanted to corner her while she was caring for him.
Now he needed truth.
"He's telling people you stole money."
"I didn't."
"That you promised to marry him."
"I did once."
Samuel's chest tightened unexpectedly.
"Once?"
Olivia wiped flour from her hands.
"My father, Dr. Jonathan Bennett, died eighteen months ago."
Samuel knew grief well enough not to interrupt.
"He had built a respected medical practice in Boston. He believed Edward was a gentleman. Edward's father had invested money with him. Our families moved in the same circles."
"You loved him?"
Olivia looked toward the window.
"I thought I did."
Samuel nodded once.
There was no accusation in it.
That seemed to make speaking easier for her.
"Edward was charming. Everyone admired him. He sent flowers to my mother when she was ill. He helped elderly women from carriages. He knew precisely when people were watching."
"And when they weren't?"
Olivia's face changed.
"He became someone else."
Samuel felt his jaw harden.
"The first time he grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise it, he apologized afterward. The second time he told me I had embarrassed him. By the fifth time, he no longer bothered explaining."
Samuel looked at the faint mark near Olivia's wrist.
He had noticed it before.
Now he understood.
"My father died before he knew."
Olivia swallowed.
"Edward's family handled certain financial matters after Father's death. They claimed my father had borrowed extensively from them."
"Had he?"
"I found no evidence."
"Then what's Edward after?"
"Control."
She said the word without hesitation.
"He said the easiest solution was marriage. My father's supposed debt would disappear. I would remain in the house. Everything would look respectable."
Samuel's voice went low.
"And if you refused?"
"He told me he could have me declared unfit to manage my inheritance."
Samuel frowned.
"Can he?"
"In Massachusetts, a woman with enough powerful men speaking against her can discover that truth matters considerably less than reputation."
Samuel thought of Edward's threat.
People believe respectable men.
"What did you do?"
"I found something."
Olivia walked to her travel trunk.
Samuel had seen it beside the wall but never questioned it.
She unlocked a false compartment beneath the lining.
From it she removed a leather ledger.
Samuel leaned forward.
"What is that?"
"My father's private accounting book."
She set it down.
Inside were dates, names, payments, and notations in a physician's precise hand.
"My father discovered Edward's father was using several charitable trusts to move money. Some belonged to widows. Some to families of deceased patients."
Samuel flipped pages.
"Stealing."
"Yes."
"Your father knew."
"He apparently confronted Mr. Harcourt shortly before his death."
Samuel looked sharply at her.
"How'd he die?"
"Carriage accident."
Silence settled between them.
"You think they killed him?"
"I don't know."
But her face said she had considered it a thousand nights.
Samuel closed the ledger.
"Edward wants this."
"More than he wants me."
That explained everything.
The expensive man crossing a continent.
The accusations.
The threats.
Samuel pushed his chair back.
Olivia immediately frowned.
"Where are you going?"
"Town."
"You can barely cross the room."
"Then I'll cross it slowly."
"Samuel."
"He's poisoning people against you while we're sitting here."
"And what do you propose?"
Samuel glanced toward the revolver belt hanging by the door.
Olivia raised an eyebrow.
"No."
He almost smiled.
"Wasn't planning murder."
"Your face suggested otherwise."
"I'm going to talk to Sheriff Quinn."
"No."
Samuel stared.
"Olivia—"
"I came here to teach. If my scandal becomes the town's scandal before I've taught one lesson, the school board will dismiss me."
"You think Edward won't see to that anyway?"
Her silence answered him.
A buggy appeared on the road before they could argue further.
Samuel stepped onto the porch despite Olivia's protest.
Mrs. Martha Bell climbed down.
The widow was sixty, stout, and considered herself guardian of Prosperity's morals.
Her expression suggested somebody had died improperly.
"Samuel Dawson."
"Martha."
Her eyes shifted toward Olivia.
"Miss Bennett."
Olivia stood straighter.
"Mrs. Bell."
Martha climbed the steps.
"I have come on behalf of the school committee."
Samuel muttered something unpleasant.
Martha heard.
"I heard that."
"Wasn't hiding it."
"The committee meets tomorrow."
Olivia clasped her hands.
"Regarding?"
"You."
Samuel's anger surfaced.
Martha continued before he could speak.
"Mr. Harcourt has produced letters showing you were engaged. He states you left Boston with funds belonging to his family."
"That is false."
"I didn't say I believed him."
Olivia blinked.
Samuel did too.
Martha looked offended by their surprise.
"I may be old, not stupid."
A reluctant smile tugged at Samuel's mouth.
"But," Martha said, "others believe him. Particularly Reverend Pike and Mr. Talbot."
Talbot owned the largest mercantile in town and had wanted his niece appointed schoolteacher.
Convenient.
"If the committee dismisses me?" Olivia asked.
"You lose the schoolhouse lodging."
Samuel answered before thinking.
"She stays here."
Olivia turned.
Martha slowly looked from Samuel to Olivia.
Samuel realized what he had said.
"Until she figures things out."
Martha's eyebrow lifted.
"Naturally."
Samuel scowled.
Olivia's cheeks colored.
Martha softened.
"Miss Bennett, bring whatever proof you have tomorrow."
Olivia glanced at the ledger.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because Edward wants it. If he knows I still possess it, he may stop pretending to solve this legally."
Martha absorbed that.
Then she nodded.
"Then bring your courage."
She turned to Samuel.
"And you stay in bed."
"Everybody suddenly thinks they own me."
"That's because Rebecca isn't here to stop you behaving like an idiot."
The words struck him.
Martha's expression softened immediately.
"I loved her too, Samuel."
He looked away.
"I know."
After Martha left, the cabin remained quiet.
Olivia touched Samuel's good arm.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"She must have been remarkable."
He looked at Rebecca's shawl.
"She was."
Olivia didn't withdraw her hand.
Samuel found himself wanting to cover it with his.
He didn't.
Not yet.
The school committee gathered the next afternoon.
Samuel ignored everyone's orders and attended.
He sat in the back of the church hall with his arm bandaged, jaw set.
Olivia stood alone before five committee members.
Edward sat near the front.
He looked immaculate.
He also looked pleased.
Mr. Talbot cleared his throat.
"Miss Bennett, Mr. Harcourt maintains you left Massachusetts under questionable circumstances."
Olivia answered calmly.
"I left because I feared him."
Edward sighed theatrically.
"Olivia has always been emotional."
Samuel's chair scraped.
Everyone turned.
He smiled without warmth.
"Keep talking."
Edward's eyes narrowed.
Reverend Pike held up a hand.
"Mr. Dawson."
Samuel leaned back.
The hearing continued.
Edward produced letters.
Some genuinely written by Olivia during their engagement.
Others suspiciously convenient.
He described her as troubled after her father's death.
Dependent.
Confused.
He claimed he had come west only from concern.
Olivia listened without interruption.
Finally Martha Bell spoke.
"Miss Bennett, is there anyone who can speak to your character?"
Olivia's face fell.
She had been in Wyoming less than two weeks.
Then a small voice came from the doorway.
"Me."
Everyone turned.
James stood there.
Joseph beside him.
Behind them, Mrs. Miller held Emma and Daniel.
Samuel nearly groaned.
Martha hid a smile.
James walked to Olivia.
"Miss Livvy saved Papa."
Joseph nodded.
"Papa got bit."
James continued.
"She feeds Daniel. And Emma don't cry."
Edward laughed.
"Are we seriously accepting toddlers as character witnesses?"
The room cooled.
Samuel stood.
"Careful."
Then Dr. Pierce entered.
"I'll testify."
He described Olivia's actions during Samuel's snakebite.
Mrs. Miller testified next.
Then, unexpectedly, Martha herself.
"The question before us is whether Miss Bennett is capable of teaching children. So far, I have heard one wealthy man from Boston say she isn't respectable. I have heard everyone in Wyoming who has actually met her say otherwise."
Mr. Talbot protested.
Martha ignored him.
The committee voted.
Three to two.
Olivia kept her position.
Relief nearly buckled her knees.
Samuel smiled.
Edward did not.
Outside afterward, Olivia stood beneath the church awning.
"You shouldn't have come," she told Samuel.
"Probably."
"You could have collapsed."
"Didn't."
"You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
A smile appeared despite her effort to suppress it.
Samuel had never noticed before how different she looked when genuinely happy.
It was dangerous information.
Across the street, Edward mounted his horse.
His gaze settled on them.
Samuel watched him leave.
"He's not finished," Olivia whispered.
"No."
"What do we do?"
Samuel looked down at her.
For almost a year, every decision he'd made had been about keeping his children alive.
Now the circle had widened somehow.
"Same thing I've done since Rebecca died."
"What?"
"Get through tomorrow."
That night, someone set fire to the schoolhouse.
The church bell began ringing shortly after midnight.
Samuel saw the orange glow from his ranch.
Olivia ran outside barefoot.
"No."
Samuel grabbed his boots.
"You stay here."
"Samuel—"
"Stay with the children."
He rode toward town.
By the time he arrived, half of Prosperity had formed a bucket line.
The flames destroyed the front room but were stopped before consuming the entire structure.
Sheriff Quinn found the broken kerosene bottle near the back window.
Deliberate.
Samuel looked for Edward.
He was nowhere.
At dawn, Samuel returned home blackened with smoke.
Olivia stood on the porch.
She took one look at his face.
"Was it him?"
"Can't prove it."
"What happens to the school?"
"Closed until repairs."
Olivia lowered her head.
Edward had achieved half his goal.
Samuel dismounted.
Then James pushed open the door behind her.
"Miss Livvy school?"
She turned toward him.
Samuel looked at the barn.
Then at the large unused room attached to it, once intended for storing tack.
He had an idea.
"School isn't closed."
Olivia blinked.
"What?"
Samuel nodded toward the barn.
"We've got walls."
Her eyes widened.
"Samuel, you can't simply turn your ranch into a school."
"Why not?"
"Because—"
He waited.
She had no answer.
By sunrise the following Monday, twelve children sat on borrowed benches inside Samuel Dawson's cleaned-out barn.
By Tuesday there were nineteen.
By Friday there were twenty-seven.
And every afternoon after lessons, Olivia crossed the yard back to Samuel's cabin, where four little children raced toward her as though she'd always belonged there.
Samuel watched from the porch.
For the first time in eleven months, the future no longer looked empty.
Which was precisely why he became afraid of losing it.