Prosperity had never seen anything quite like Olivia Bennett's barn school.
The first week began with twelve pupils, two rough benches, a broken slate, and Samuel's considerable doubt that anyone could learn arithmetic while goats complained on the other side of a wall.
By the end of the month, parents rode from seven miles away.
Olivia possessed the rare ability to make children forget they were being taught.
She turned spelling into contests.
History became stories.
Arithmetic became cattle, apples, fence posts, and imaginary coins.
Even Samuel occasionally lingered near the open barn door longer than necessary.
"Samuel Dawson."
He looked up.
Olivia stood with both hands on her hips.
Twenty-four children turned toward him.
"What?"
"If you're going to listen to the lesson, come inside."
Several older boys snickered.
Samuel straightened.
"I have cattle."
"Apparently they're less interesting than American geography."
The children laughed.
Samuel tipped his hat.
"Carry on, teacher."
He retreated with as much dignity as possible.
Behind him he heard Olivia say, "Now, who can tell me where the Missouri River begins?"
James shouted, "Papa knows!"
More laughter.
Samuel smiled all the way to the corral.
It frightened him how easily happiness had returned.
Not completely.
Rebecca still lived in the empty places.
Her shawl remained beside the bed.
Her sewing basket sat untouched.
Sometimes Samuel still saw her when Emma smiled a certain way.
But grief had changed.
For months it had been a locked room.
Olivia had opened a window without asking him to leave the room behind.
She never tried to replace Rebecca.
That mattered more than Samuel could explain.
One evening, Olivia found him standing beneath the cottonwood where Rebecca was buried.
She stopped several yards away.
"I can go."
"No."
She approached slowly.
The wooden marker read:
REBECCA DAWSON
BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER
1848–1875
Olivia set wildflowers beside it.
Samuel looked at her.
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
They stood silently.
Finally Samuel spoke.
"Daniel doesn't remember her."
"No."
"Emma might not either."
"You will."
He frowned.
"You'll remember for them."
Samuel stared toward the distant hills.
"Sometimes I worry I'll get something wrong."
"Memory isn't testimony in a courtroom, Samuel. You're allowed to remember with love instead of precision."
He glanced at her.
"Your father teach you that?"
"No."
A faint sadness entered her expression.
"I learned it after losing him."
Samuel wanted to ask what she remembered of that loss.
Instead their hands brushed.
Neither moved away.
The distance between them suddenly felt dangerously small.
Then James shouted from the porch.
"Papa! Joseph put a bug in Daniel!"
Olivia jerked back.
Samuel blinked.
"How does one put a bug in Daniel?"
They ran toward the cabin.
The bug, fortunately, was in Daniel's blanket rather than Daniel himself.
That became the joke for days.
But Samuel didn't forget the moment beneath the cottonwood.
Neither did Olivia.
Edward Harcourt did not disappear.
He rented two rooms above Talbot's Mercantile and began transforming himself into an indispensable citizen.
He donated money to repair the schoolhouse.
He paid a widow's overdue account.
He bought drinks at the saloon.
People who had initially distrusted him began calling him "Mr. Harcourt" with admiration.
"He is buying respectability," Olivia said.
Samuel tightened a saddle cinch.
"Then respectability's cheap."
"Not to people who need money."
She was right.
Edward understood something Samuel disliked admitting: hardship made good people vulnerable.
One afternoon, Sheriff Quinn arrived at the ranch.
Samuel saw his expression and immediately knew.
"What's happened?"
Quinn removed his hat.
"Got a telegram from Boston."
Olivia emerged from the barn.
Her face paled.
Quinn handed it to her.
Massachusetts authorities had issued a request regarding property allegedly stolen from the Harcourt estate.
Not an arrest warrant.
Not yet.
But close enough to frighten anyone reading it quickly.
"They've found a judge," Olivia whispered.
Samuel took the telegram.
"Or bought one."
Quinn sighed.
"Either way, I've got legal obligations."
"You taking her?"
"Not today."
Olivia met his eyes.
"What changes that?"
"A proper warrant."
Samuel's jaw flexed.
Quinn stepped closer.
"Find evidence, Miss Bennett. Something stronger than your word against his."
After he rode away, Olivia sat on the porch steps.
For once she looked small.
Samuel lowered himself beside her.
"We've got the ledger."
"The ledger proves his father's theft. It doesn't prove Edward abused me or forged documents."
"Could prove motive."
"If I show it, they may seize it."
"Make copies."
She looked at him.
Samuel shrugged.
"You teach handwriting."
A slow smile formed.
"You really were listening."
"I learn when properly motivated."
They began that night.
Olivia copied every relevant page.
Samuel helped after the children slept.
For hours they sat at the kitchen table beneath lamplight, surrounded by paper.
At midnight Olivia's head began dipping.
"Go sleep."
"I can finish."
"You're writing crooked."
"I'm tired."
"That's generally what causes it."
She gave him a look.
He slid the ledger toward himself.
"I'll read. You copy tomorrow."
"You can read my father's handwriting?"
Samuel looked offended.
"I am a rancher, Olivia, not a fence post."
She laughed.
The sound filled the cabin.
Then Daniel stirred.
Both instinctively rose.
They stopped.
Looked at each other.
Olivia smiled.
"You go."
Samuel lifted Daniel from the cradle.
The baby settled against him.
When Samuel turned, Olivia was watching.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That's not nothing."
She lowered her eyes.
"My father was gentle like that."
Samuel shifted Daniel.
"With babies?"
"With frightened things."
Something in her tone reached him.
He crossed the room.
"Olivia."
She looked up.
"You don't have to be frightened here."
Her eyes shimmered.
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"I've started believing you."
Samuel felt every protective wall he had built after Rebecca's death shift.
He touched her cheek.
Slowly.
Giving her time to step away.
She didn't.
Their first kiss was barely a kiss at all.
A quiet touch beneath lamplight.
Samuel pulled back first.
Guilt struck unexpectedly.
Rebecca.
Olivia saw it.
She stepped away.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
Samuel shut his eyes.
"No, don't apologize."
"I shouldn't have—"
"I kissed you too."
Silence.
He looked toward Rebecca's shawl.
Olivia followed his gaze.
"I'm not asking you to forget her."
Samuel's voice broke slightly.
"I know."
"And I won't compete with a dead woman you loved."
"I know."
"Then what frightens you?"
He looked at Olivia.
"That I'll love somebody again."
She didn't answer.
Samuel forced himself to finish.
"And lose her again."
Olivia's expression softened.
"Samuel, refusing to love doesn't stop loss."
"No."
"It only makes sure fear gets everything first."
He stared at her.
Then Daniel burped loudly.
Olivia covered her mouth.
Samuel looked down at his son.
"Your timing is awful."
The tension broke.
But something had been spoken into existence.
Neither could take it back.
Three nights later the barn door was forced open.
Samuel discovered it at sunrise.
Nothing obvious had been stolen.
Until Olivia checked the trunk where they'd hidden the copied ledger pages.
Gone.
"The original?"
Samuel asked.
She rushed inside.
The ledger remained beneath a loose floorboard.
"Still here."
Samuel scanned the muddy ground.
Bootprints.
Horse tracks.
He followed them fifty yards before they disappeared into hard prairie.
"Edward."
"Could be."
"It is."
"We can't prove that."
Samuel's frustration flared.
"How long are we going to let proof protect him?"
Olivia stared.
"What are you suggesting?"
Samuel took a breath.
He knew anger could make men stupid.
Rebecca used to say that frequently.
"Nothing foolish."
"Your definition and mine are different."
He almost smiled.
Then Joseph screamed.
Both ran toward the house.
They found the boy by the pump pointing toward the pasture.
Smoke.
The western grass was burning.
Samuel's blood turned cold.
"Get the children."
Wind drove flames toward the barn.
Olivia gathered the schoolchildren while Samuel and several older boys fought the fire with wet blankets and shovels.
Someone rode for neighboring ranches.
For two hours, smoke swallowed the sky.
The fire reached within fifty yards of the barn before men from Prosperity arrived.
Together they cut a firebreak.
By late afternoon the blaze was contained.
Samuel stood blackened and exhausted.
Sheriff Quinn examined the starting point.
He found an oil-soaked rag.
Deliberate again.
This time the town could not ignore it.
Edward arrived near sundown.
"What happened?"
Samuel moved toward him.
Two men grabbed Samuel before he reached him.
"Ask him," Samuel snarled.
Edward looked offended.
"You accuse me?"
"School burns. Copies disappear. Now my pasture catches fire."
Edward's voice remained calm.
"That sounds like the tragic misfortune of associating with a criminal fugitive."
Samuel broke free.
His fist struck Edward's mouth.
The entire yard froze.
Edward touched blood on his lip.
Then smiled.
"Thank you."
Samuel knew instantly he'd made a mistake.
"Assault witnessed by half the town."
Sheriff Quinn stepped between them.
"Enough."
Edward straightened his coat.
"I believe Mr. Dawson has demonstrated the sort of company Olivia keeps."
Olivia pushed through the crowd.
"Samuel."
He looked at her.
She wasn't angry.
She was terrified.
Not of him.
For him.
Edward saw that too.
His smile changed.
He had discovered Samuel's weakness.
Two days later cattle disappeared from the Dawson herd.
Then Samuel's loan came due unexpectedly.
The bank manager apologized.
"Mr. Harcourt purchased the note."
Samuel stared at the paper.
Edward had bought Samuel's ranch debt.
"You sold him my mortgage?"
"Legally, yes."
"And now?"
"He can demand payment according to the original terms."
Samuel had thirty days.
The amount might as well have been thirty years.
When he told Olivia, she went completely still.
"This is because of me."
"No."
"Samuel."
"He chose it."
"If I leave—"
"No."
"He'll stop."
"No."
"Your children could lose their home."
Samuel slammed his palm against the table.
"They lose their home if I teach them fear decides who belongs in it."
Olivia stared at him.
The children were sleeping nearby.
Samuel lowered his voice.
"You rode into this yard when I was dying. You could have kept riding."
"Of course I couldn't."
"Exactly."
Her eyes filled.
"I don't know how to save your ranch."
"Neither do I."
A knock interrupted them.
Sheriff Quinn entered holding an envelope.
"Telegram."
Olivia unfolded it.
She read twice.
Then her knees nearly gave way.
Samuel caught her.
"What?"
Olivia handed him the paper.
It was from a woman named Abigail Mercer in Boston.
A former housekeeper employed by the Harcourt family.
The message was brief:
I KNOW WHAT EDWARD DID TO YOUR FATHER. I HAVE THE LETTER. DO NOT TRUST AUTHORITIES CONNECTED TO HARCOURT. COMING WEST.
Samuel looked at Olivia.
"Who is Abigail?"
Olivia's face was white.
"She was in my father's house the night before he died."
For the first time since Edward arrived, they had something more powerful than suspicion.
They had a witness.
The question was whether Abigail Mercer could reach Wyoming before Edward Harcourt found her first.