Abigail Mercer never arrived on the scheduled train.
Olivia waited on the Prosperity platform from noon until sunset.
Samuel stood beside her.
Every time the horizon trembled with dust, Olivia straightened.
Every time it proved to be a wagon instead of the stage from the rail station, hope faded a little further.
By dark, the station agent locked the office.
"That's the last connection."
Olivia stared down the empty road.
"Something happened."
Samuel agreed.
They rode home in silence.
Two days later a rider delivered another telegram.
Abigail Mercer had been found injured outside Laramie.
Alive.
Barely.
Her luggage was missing.
Samuel read the message twice.
"Edward."
Olivia gripped the edge of the table.
"He knows."
"Probably."
"Then Abigail is in danger."
"So are you."
"I'm going to Laramie."
Samuel looked at her.
"No."
"She traveled across the country because of me."
"And somebody nearly killed her."
"Which is why I cannot leave her alone."
"You have four children following you around like ducklings and a school full of pupils."
Olivia's eyes flashed.
"And that makes me incapable of making my own decisions?"
Samuel recognized his mistake.
"No."
"Because Edward believed that too."
The comparison hit.
He stepped back.
"You're right."
Olivia's anger softened immediately.
Samuel continued.
"I hate it."
"I know."
"But you're right."
"I'm going."
"Then I'm going too."
"What about the ranch?"
"Miller can watch it."
"The children?"
Samuel hesitated.
Olivia saw his struggle.
"They stay with Martha."
He hated that most.
Since Rebecca died, Samuel had spent only one night away from all four children.
He'd ridden home before sunrise.
But some fights required leaving what mattered in order to protect it.
The journey took most of a day.
Abigail lay in a doctor's room above a pharmacy.
She was a woman in her late fifties with silver threaded through dark hair and bruises covering one side of her face.
When Olivia entered, Abigail began crying.
"My dear girl."
Olivia hurried to the bed.
Samuel stayed back.
Abigail gripped Olivia's hand.
"I should have spoken sooner."
"You came now."
"Too late."
"No."
Abigail looked at Samuel.
Olivia introduced him.
"Samuel Dawson."
Abigail studied him.
"The rancher?"
Samuel glanced at Olivia.
"What exactly have you heard?"
Abigail almost smiled.
"Enough."
Olivia blushed.
Samuel found the floorboards suddenly interesting.
Then Abigail's expression became serious.
"Edward knows I contacted you."
"Who attacked you?"
"I never saw his face."
"What was stolen?"
"My bag."
"The letter?"
Abigail smiled faintly.
"No."
She reached beneath her pillow.
A folded page appeared.
Samuel exhaled.
"Smart woman."
"I worked for rich people thirty years. One learns not to put valuable things where rich people expect them."
Olivia unfolded the letter.
It was written by Edward Harcourt.
Addressed to his father.
Dated three days before Dr. Bennett's fatal carriage accident.
Olivia read.
Her hand began shaking.
Samuel took the page when she could no longer continue.
Edward complained that Bennett intended to expose the trust scheme.
He wrote that "the physician must be persuaded to silence before he ruins us."
Not a confession to murder.
But then came the final lines:
If persuasion fails, Mr. Crowley has handled such obstacles before. Father must decide whether one troublesome physician is worth the destruction of the entire family name.
Samuel's stomach turned.
Olivia whispered, "Crowley."
Abigail nodded.
"Patrick Crowley managed several Harcourt properties."
"My father's carriage driver."
"Yes."
Olivia went completely still.
Samuel put an arm around her.
Her body trembled.
Abigail continued.
"After your father died, Crowley disappeared. Edward paid his sister a considerable amount."
"Where is Crowley now?"
"Colorado Territory, last I heard."
Samuel folded the letter.
"We need this copied and certified."
Abigail nodded.
"I intended to testify."
Samuel looked toward the window.
"Then we need to keep you alive long enough."
They returned to Prosperity with three certified copies of the letter hidden separately.
One went to Sheriff Quinn.
One to Judge Wallace in Cheyenne.
One Samuel buried inside an oilcloth tin beneath Rebecca's cottonwood.
Olivia protested.
"If someone sees you—"
"Nobody watches me at Rebecca's grave."
The thought saddened him.
But it was true.
For several days, nothing happened.
Then Edward came to the ranch.
Alone.
Samuel met him in the yard.
"You have something belonging to me."
"Funny. Was thinking the same about my mortgage."
Edward's expression was cold.
"Give me the ledger and the letter."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"Do you imagine a provincial sheriff will protect you?"
"He's done all right so far."
Edward looked toward the cabin.
James stood behind the screen door.
Samuel moved instantly, blocking Edward's view.
Edward noticed.
"Your children are charming."
Samuel's voice dropped.
"Do not mention them."
"I merely said—"
"Do. Not. Mention. Them."
Edward smiled.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The reason you will eventually cooperate."
Samuel's whole body tightened.
Edward stepped closer.
"You have four vulnerabilities. Olivia makes five."
Samuel wanted to kill him.
The realization was calm rather than explosive.
That frightened Samuel enough to stop him.
He thought of his children.
Of Rebecca.
Of Olivia telling him fear couldn't be allowed to decide everything.
Samuel stepped back.
"You should leave."
Edward seemed almost disappointed.
"You've learned restraint."
"Only some."
Edward mounted.
"I'll have the ranch in nineteen days."
Samuel said nothing.
"And once I own it, Miss Bennett will discover how expensive your loyalty has been."
Samuel watched him ride away.
That evening he told Olivia everything.
She didn't sleep.
Neither did he.
Near midnight she entered the kitchen.
Samuel sat at the table with account books.
"How bad?"
"Bad."
The ranch had cattle but too little time.
Selling enough immediately would destroy the herd.
Olivia studied the books.
"What's this?"
She pointed at several acres listed along the creek.
"Old north field."
"You don't use it?"
"Soil's good. No irrigation ditch."
She frowned.
"Why not build one?"
"Too expensive."
"What if it weren't?"
Samuel looked at her.
Olivia had spent childhood summers hearing her father's patients discuss everything from medicine to machinery. One had been an agricultural engineer.
She sketched.
"If you divert water here—"
Samuel leaned closer.
"No."
"Why?"
"Grade's wrong."
"Are you certain?"
"Been staring at this land twenty years."
"Have you measured?"
He hadn't.
The next morning they did.
Olivia was right.
Barely.
Water from an upstream bend could be diverted through a shallow ditch into the north field.
Samuel stared at the slope.
"Well."
Olivia smiled.
"I will accept your apology."
"Didn't offer one."
"Then I shall wait."
They had nineteen days.
Everyone said it couldn't be done.
Prosperity came anyway.
Parents whose children Olivia taught arrived with shovels.
Dr. Pierce came.
Sheriff Quinn came.
Martha Bell arrived with sandwiches and supervised everybody despite doing almost no digging herself.
Even Reverend Pike, who had once doubted Olivia, worked until his hands blistered.
They dug nearly a mile of ditch.
Samuel sold two horses.
Olivia donated half her teaching salary.
The north field flooded successfully on day twelve.
But crops would not mature in seven days.
They needed money now.
Then Samuel remembered something.
The land deed.
A narrow strip along the north ridge touched the planned route of a new cattle road being negotiated by three ranches.
He had dismissed the strip as worthless.
Olivia didn't.
"Lease passage."
Samuel stared.
"Don't sell it."
Within forty-eight hours they negotiated.
The amount still wasn't enough.
But it was close.
On day seventeen, Abigail Mercer arrived in Prosperity.
This time under federal marshal escort.
And she brought one more surprise.
Patrick Crowley.
Samuel couldn't believe it when the thin, gray-faced man stepped from the wagon in handcuffs.
Crowley had been arrested in Colorado after Abigail's statement caused authorities to reopen questions surrounding Jonathan Bennett's death.
He had decided to cooperate in exchange for consideration.
Olivia stood frozen outside the sheriff's office.
Crowley looked at her.
"You've got your father's eyes."
She slapped him.
Nobody stopped her.
Crowley touched his cheek.
"I suppose I earned that."
"You drove the carriage."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
His voice dropped.
"Your father never had an accident."
Olivia's breath broke.
Samuel moved behind her.
Crowley continued.
"Edward's father ordered me to loosen the brake assembly. Edward knew."
Olivia closed her eyes.
"He knew."
"Yes."
"Did Edward order it?"
Crowley hesitated.
"I can't say that. But afterward he paid me."
Olivia turned away.
Samuel followed.
Outside, she walked as far as the alley before collapsing against the wall.
Samuel caught her.
She didn't cry elegantly.
She broke.
For years she'd carried doubt—wondering whether grief had made her suspicious, whether she'd imagined the worst, whether Edward had convinced her she was unstable because perhaps she truly was.
Now the truth hurt almost as much as uncertainty.
Samuel held her.
"He killed my father."
"He helped cover it."
"I was going to marry him."
"You didn't know."
"How could I not know?"
Samuel pulled back enough to look at her.
"Because men like Edward survive by making good people doubt themselves."
She looked at him through tears.
"How do you know?"
"Because he's spent weeks trying to make this town doubt you."
Olivia buried her face against Samuel's chest.
He held her until the shaking stopped.
Then church bells began ringing.
Not alarm.
Celebration.
Samuel frowned.
They returned to Main Street.
Martha Bell came running.
"Samuel!"
"What?"
She waved a paper.
"The cattle cooperative!"
Samuel opened it.
The neighboring ranchers had voted to prepay five years of right-of-way fees in exchange for guaranteed passage across his north ridge.
Combined with the money Samuel had already raised, it was enough.
Enough to pay the mortgage.
Edward's leverage was gone.
Samuel laughed.
Actually laughed.
He lifted Olivia from the ground and spun her once before realizing half the town was watching.
She laughed too.
Edward stepped from Talbot's Mercantile across the street.
His face was unreadable.
Samuel walked toward him with the payment receipt in hand.
"Looking for this?"
Edward took it.
Samuel watched him read.
For the first time, Edward Harcourt looked afraid.
Not because of the ranch.
Because behind Samuel stood Abigail Mercer.
Beside her stood Marshal Thomas Rourke.
And Crowley was visible through the sheriff's window.
Edward's eyes shifted.
Marshal Rourke approached.
"Edward Harcourt?"
Edward straightened.
"Yes?"
"I need you to come with me."
"On what charge?"
"At the moment, conspiracy related to financial fraud and obstruction of an investigation."
Edward looked at Olivia.
Pure hatred replaced refinement.
"This is your doing."
Olivia stepped beside Samuel.
"No."
Her voice was steady.
"This is yours."
Rourke moved to take Edward's arm.
And that was when Edward drew a pistol.