By November, people no longer asked whether Cole Sutter was staying at Nora Greer's farm.
They asked why.
There was a difference.
The first question was curiosity.
The second carried judgment.
Nora discovered this on a Saturday morning when she took Grace into town for supplies.
Cole remained at the farm working the second mustang, a chestnut mare with a white blaze and distrust in every muscle.
Grace had grown dramatically stronger.
She was ten weeks old now, rounder through the cheeks and capable of producing sounds that could be heard from the porch to the barn.
Nora carried her into Miller's Mercantile wrapped in a blue quilt.
Conversation stopped.
She hated that.
Mrs. Elkins behind the counter recovered first.
"Well, isn't she precious."
"She is."
Nora reached for flour.
A woman near the fabric shelves whispered something.
Her companion answered too loudly.
"I only said it's unusual."
Nora turned.
"What's unusual, Lydia?"
Lydia Ross went red.
"Oh. Nothing."
"Then say it louder."
Mrs. Elkins busied herself with jars.
Lydia swallowed.
"People are wondering if it is proper, that's all."
"What is?"
"For an unmarried man to live on a widow's property."
"He lives in the barn."
"Still."
Nora adjusted Grace against her shoulder.
"His wife died. His child was starving. I had milk. He had skills I needed. We made an arrangement."
Lydia pursed her lips.
"Of course."
There were a thousand ways to say of course.
That particular one meant the exact opposite.
Nora stepped closer.
"Would it be more proper if I let his daughter die?"
Lydia's face went white.
"No one said that."
"No. They simply enjoy talking about the living after failing to help them."
Silence filled the store.
Nora paid for her supplies and walked out.
Her hands shook by the time she reached the wagon.
She was furious.
But beneath the anger lay something more painful.
Fear.
Not for herself.
She had survived being called cold after losing her children.
Stubborn after Matthew died.
Proud after refusing to sell.
She could survive gossip.
But Cole was building a reputation in the county.
Reputation mattered for a man who survived by finding work.
And Grace would someday be old enough to hear how people talked about her father.
Nora hated that thought.
When she returned home, Cole was in the round pen.
The chestnut mare moved in a slow circle around him.
He saw Nora's expression immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Nora."
The fact that he had stopped calling her Mrs. Greer happened gradually.
She had not objected.
Now she wondered whether she should have.
"Town happened."
Cole understood.
"They talking?"
"When aren't they?"
He opened the gate.
The chestnut mare followed him voluntarily.
Nora noticed.
"You've got another one."
"Almost."
He approached the wagon.
Grace made a noise beneath her blanket.
Cole's entire face softened.
Nora had begun observing that transformation.
Cole looked hard to strangers.
Sharp cheekbones.
Sun-darkened skin.
Scar at the edge of his jaw.
A habit of scanning doorways and windows before relaxing.
But when he saw Grace, some invisible armor disappeared.
He lifted her.
"Hello, trouble."
Grace smiled.
It was probably gas.
Nora knew that.
Cole did not care.
"You see that?"
"Gas."
"My daughter smiled."
"Your daughter has digestion."
"Jealous."
Nora laughed.
Then she remembered town.
"Cole."
He looked up.
"Maybe you should move into town."
He went still.
"What?"
"Just until the horses are finished."
"Why?"
"You know why."
His face hardened.
"I don't care what they say."
"I do."
"About me?"
"About Grace."
Something changed in his expression.
Nora continued.
"People can be cruel when they're bored. This county gets very bored in winter."
"Where would we go?"
"Hendricks boarding house has rooms."
"With what money?"
"I can—"
"No."
The word was immediate.
Nora's temper rose.
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"You were going to offer money."
"Maybe."
"No."
"Your pride is going to become unbearable."
"My pride isn't asking you to carry us."
"You work fourteen hours a day!"
"And that's the agreement."
Nora stepped closer.
"You repaired my fence."
"Needed repairing."
"You fixed the wagon."
"Wheel would've broken."
"You rebuilt half the chicken enclosure."
"Foxes were getting in."
"None of that was part of our deal."
Cole stared at her.
"No."
"Then stop acting like you're taking from me."
Their eyes held.
Grace made a small noise between them.
Both looked down.
The argument dissolved.
Cole sighed.
"I'll stay in the barn."
Nora wanted to protest.
Instead, she said, "Fine."
That night the temperature dropped below freezing.
Nora woke after midnight to Grace crying.
For several seconds she lay confused.
Then she remembered.
Cole had moved Grace into the bunk room that evening after insisting Nora had already done too much.
The cry came again.
Nora sat up.
Then silence.
She waited.
Another cry.
Nora put on her robe.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Cole was entering through the back door carrying Grace.
"Something's wrong."
Nora instantly woke fully.
"What?"
"She's warm."
Nora took the baby.
Grace's skin felt hot.
Too hot.
Fear surged through Nora with such violence she could barely breathe.
Ruth.
The memory was instantaneous.
Ruth had been warm.
Then hot.
Then quiet.
Nora nearly dropped the bottle she was preparing.
Cole saw it.
"Nora."
"I'm fine."
"You aren't."
"Get water."
He obeyed.
Grace cried again.
Good.
Crying was good.
Nora repeated that inside her mind.
She checked everything she knew to check.
Grace ate.
She was breathing.
No rash.
No vomiting.
Probably a small fever.
Probably nothing.
Probably.
But grief does not understand probability.
It understands repetition.
By two in the morning, Nora was shaking.
Cole noticed.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Nora."
"I said—"
He gently took Grace from her.
Nora's hands remained suspended in the air.
Cole sat opposite her.
"Tell me."
"What?"
"What you're seeing."
Nora looked at Grace.
"Ruth."
The word barely escaped.
Cole said nothing.
"She got warm one evening. Matthew said babies got fevers. I told him something was wrong."
Nora rubbed her palms against her robe.
"Doctor came the next afternoon."
She stared at the stove flame.
"Too late."
Cole's expression softened.
"Grace isn't Ruth."
"I know."
"Say it."
Nora looked at him.
"What?"
"Say Grace isn't Ruth."
Anger flashed.
"Don't tell me—"
"Say it."
Nora wanted to slap him.
Instead she looked at the child.
Grace was crying with excellent strength.
"Grace isn't Ruth."
"Again."
"Grace isn't Ruth."
Cole nodded.
"She's here."
Nora breathed.
"She's here."
"So are you."
Something inside Nora cracked.
She covered her face.
Cole did not touch her.
He simply remained there holding Grace while Nora cried.
At dawn, Grace's fever broke.
By breakfast she was hungry and furious.
Nora had never been so grateful for screaming.
That morning Cole found her on the porch.
"You saved her."
Nora shook her head.
"Her fever broke on its own."
"No. Not last night. Before."
He sat beside her.
"When I brought her here."
Nora looked over the fields.
"She saved something too."
Cole waited.
Nora did not explain.
He understood anyway.
Three days later, trouble arrived wearing Warren Pike's coat.
Warren rode into the yard with two men.
Cole was working Mercy.
Nora came from the barn.
"What now?"
Warren dismounted.
"Lost three calves last night."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Fence was cut."
Nora frowned.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Tracks came this direction."
Cole approached.
Warren looked at him.
"Boot tracks too."
Nora's expression hardened.
"Say what you came to say."
Warren smiled without warmth.
"Your drifter know anything about missing cattle?"
Cole's jaw tightened.
"No."
One of Warren's men spoke.
"Saw him near Pike land Tuesday."
"I was collecting a horse that slipped the north fence."
"Convenient."
Nora stepped between them.
"Get off my property."
Warren stared.
"You trust a man you've known six weeks?"
"More than I trust someone who shows up accusing him without evidence."
Warren's face darkened.
"Be careful, Nora."
"Of what?"
"Attaching yourself to trouble."
Cole moved slightly.
Nora noticed and shot him a warning glance.
Warren mounted.
Before leaving, he said, "Bank note's getting close."
That was deliberate.
Cole waited until the riders disappeared.
"What's he want?"
"The farm."
"Why?"
Nora looked south.
"Creek water."
The Greer property controlled one of the most reliable small water sources in that section of the county.
Warren had tried repeatedly to buy it.
"Then cattle tracks aren't the problem," Cole said.
"No."
"He's pressuring you."
"Probably."
Cole looked toward the road.
"He cut his own fence."
Nora frowned.
"You don't know that."
"No."
"But you think it."
"Yes."
Nora hated how much sense it made.
The bank note was due in twenty-eight days.
Cole had two horses responding well.
The third, a bay mare, was difficult but manageable.
The fourth was a young gray stallion that wanted nothing to do with anyone.
Cole estimated the trained horses might sell for close to two hundred dollars each if the right buyer came through.
That could save the farm.
But time was narrowing.
Then Mercy disappeared.
Nora discovered the broken fence before dawn.
The black gelding was gone.
Cole followed tracks into the north pasture.
Two hours later he returned alone.
"Cut wire."
Nora felt sick.
"Warren?"
"Can't prove it."
"Where's Mercy?"
"Tracks lead toward the creek road, then disappear on hard ground."
Cole saddled his dun.
"I'm going after him."
"Cole—"
"I'll find him."
"What about Grace?"
He looked toward the house.
The question landed differently now than it would have weeks before.
Nora understood what he was asking without words.
Will you keep her?
"Go," Nora said.
"I'll take care of Grace."
Cole nodded.
Then hesitated.
"Nora."
"Yes?"
"If I'm not back tonight—"
"You will be."
His eyes met hers.
"Right."
He rode out.
Night came.
Cole did not return.
Grace slept against Nora's chest while wind shook the windows.
Eleven o'clock.
Midnight.
One.
Nora sat beside the stove.
Every sound from the road made her look up.
At two in the morning, hooves finally entered the yard.
Nora ran outside without a coat.
Cole rode through the gate.
Behind him came Mercy.
But blood covered Cole's left sleeve.
Nora's stomach dropped.
"What happened?"
"Found him."
"I can see that."
Cole tried to dismount.
His knees buckled.
Nora caught him.
"What happened?"
He looked toward Mercy.
"Someone didn't want that horse coming home."
Then Cole collapsed against her.