The sheriff of Broken Creek treated the shooting seriously once he learned Nathaniel Mercer had been standing beside the intended target.
Eleanor hated that.
A bullet aimed at a ranch woman should have mattered just as much as one passing near a wealthy cattleman.
Nathan apparently agreed.
When Sheriff Hollis suggested Hawthorne’s owner might have enemies unrelated to the Whitfield dispute, Nathan cut him off.
“The note said drop the claim.”
Hollis rubbed his mustache.
“Could refer to your legal challenge.”
“It is Eleanor’s ownership claim.”
“Technically—”
“No. Not technically.”
Nathan’s voice hardened.
“Do not turn this into something about me because my name makes a better headline.”
Eleanor watched him from the porch.
For the first time since learning his identity, she saw the two men inside him join together.
Nathan Cole had defended people when no advantage existed.
Nathaniel Mercer had the power to make others listen.
Maybe neither one had been false.
Maybe his mistake had been believing he had to choose between them.
The sheriff investigated Harlon Voss.
Nothing directly connected him to the shooter.
James provided an alibi for his father.
Nathan believed him.
Gerald claimed ignorance.
Eleanor was less certain.
For two nights, Nathan remained at a hotel in Broken Creek.
On the third morning, Samuel Pike rode to the Whitfield ranch.
“Boss is leaving.”
Eleanor looked up sharply.
“Where?”
“Hawthorne.”
“Why?”
“North herd problem. Fence fire. Some cattle scattered. He’s stayed longer than he should.”
She nodded.
That should not hurt.
It did.
Samuel looked at her.
“He asked me not to tell you something.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“Then why are you?”
“Because I’ve worked for that stubborn man fourteen years, and watching him ruin his own happiness has become tiresome.”
Despite herself, Eleanor smiled.
“What?”
Samuel leaned against the porch rail.
“He was supposed to leave three days ago.”
“For the herd?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“You were shot at.”
Her chest tightened.
“He thought whoever threatened you might try again if he left.”
“He never said that.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s finally learning that doing something decent doesn’t entitle him to applause.”
Eleanor looked toward Broken Creek.
Samuel continued.
“I didn’t like his little experiment either.”
“You knew?”
“I helped him dress for it.”
She stared.
“I regret that part.”
“Good.”
“He thought he needed to discover whether people could care about him without Mercer money.”
“And did he?”
Samuel smiled.
“He discovered one could. Then he lied to her long enough to make that complicated.”
Eleanor sighed.
“That sounds accurate.”
“He’s not a cruel man.”
“I know.”
“That may make it worse.”
Eleanor looked at him.
Samuel chuckled.
“He told me you said something like that about James Voss.”
“He talks too much.”
“Only about you.”
Before Eleanor could answer, Samuel straightened.
“One more thing. Mr. Hale believes the ownership dispute could take months.”
“I know.”
“Mercer instructed him to continue representing your claim whether you forgive Mercer or never speak to him again.”
Eleanor stared.
“He’s paying?”
“For the investigation already completed. Going forward, Hale will offer you terms you can afford.”
“Why?”
“Because Mercer knows you’d refuse charity.”
Of course he did.
That irritated her.
And touched her.
Which irritated her more.
Nathan came to say goodbye that afternoon.
He wore ordinary ranch clothes, but no disguise.
His own coat.
His own boots.
His own name.
Eleanor met him near the same kitchen door where she had first offered him food.
“I heard you’re leaving.”
“Hawthorne needs me.”
“Samuel told me.”
“Samuel has never understood confidentiality.”
“He said the same about you.”
Nathan smiled.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Eleanor said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The lawyer.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t owe me thanks.”
“I decide what I owe.”
He accepted that.
“All right.”
She looked at him.
“When will you come back?”
He seemed surprised.
“Do you want me to?”
“I asked when.”
His smile was small.
“Two weeks. Maybe three.”
“That long?”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Nathan’s expression changed.
Warmth entered his eyes.
Eleanor immediately regretted speaking.
“Do not look pleased.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
“I’m aware.”
She crossed her arms.
“Nathaniel.”
“Yes?”
“I still don’t forgive the lie.”
“I know.”
“But I’m beginning to understand why you told it.”
“That’s more than I expected.”
“It isn’t absolution.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer, stopping at the same respectful distance he always did.
“I’m not asking you to trust me because I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking for the chance to earn it.”
Eleanor studied him.
“Then stop trying to impress me.”
He blinked.
“I wasn’t—”
“You arrived yesterday with three lawyers.”
“One lawyer.”
“And a banker.”
“He was useful.”
“And Samuel.”
“He’s rarely useful.”
From the nearby stable Samuel shouted, “I heard that.”
Eleanor laughed.
Nathan did too.
Then quiet returned.
She reached into her apron pocket and removed a wrapped bundle.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Food.”
His expression softened.
“For the road.”
“I can afford food.”
“Yes. I have recently learned that.”
He winced.
She handed it over.
“This time I know exactly who I’m feeding.”
Nathan accepted the bundle.
That sentence meant more than forgiveness would have.
He mounted his horse.
A much better horse than the old gelding he had arrived on.
Eleanor noticed.
“So that’s what Nathaniel Mercer rides.”
Nathan glanced down.
“Disappointed?”
“A little. I liked the ugly one.”
“He’s retired.”
“Of course he is.”
Nathan tipped his hat.
“Three weeks.”
“You said maybe.”
“Three.”
Then he rode away.
Eleanor watched until the road swallowed him.
Two weeks later, Gerald attempted to leave Broken Creek.
He never made it.
Sheriff Hollis arrested him at the stage depot.
The reason arrived in Eleanor’s hands before sunset.
A payment record.
One hundred dollars transferred to a former ranch hand named Silas Crane.
The date matched the shooting.
The sheriff found Crane thirty miles south.
Under questioning, he admitted Gerald hired him to frighten Eleanor into abandoning the ownership challenge.
“Not kill her,” Gerald insisted when confronted.
That defense destroyed whatever remained of Eleanor’s sympathy.
Not kill her.
Only fire bullets near her head.
Only terrify her.
Only preserve control.
Margaret left him immediately.
James Voss testified about his father’s marriage proposal.
Harlon’s lending practices came under investigation after three other borrowers stepped forward with questionable amendments.
Within a month, the structure Gerald and Voss had built began collapsing.
And beneath it, Eleanor found something she had almost forgotten.
Choice.
The court recognized her father’s survivorship agreement after corroborating letters were authenticated.
Eleanor was awarded her forty-percent interest.
Gerald’s remaining control was placed in receivership pending the criminal and financial cases.
For the first time in two years, Eleanor signed ranch documents with her own authority.
Eleanor Whitfield.
Owner.
She stared at the words until her vision blurred.
Nathan did not return in three weeks.
A flood at Hawthorne delayed him.
He sent a telegram.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
DELAYED. CATTLE SAFE. I AM FINE. HOPE YOU ARE TOO. NCM.
Eleanor laughed when she read it.
Then another arrived five days later.
STILL DELAYED. BEGINNING TO SUSPECT WEATHER DISLIKES ME PERSONALLY. NCM.
The third:
LEAVING TOMORROW. DO NOT FEED ANY OTHER SUSPICIOUSLY EDUCATED DRIFTERS UNTIL I ARRIVE. NCM.
Eleanor kept that one.
When Nathan finally rode into the Whitfield yard, he found her directing repairs to the west barn.
He dismounted.
She looked at him.
“You’re late.”
“By seventeen days.”
“I counted.”
His eyebrows lifted.
She immediately regretted saying it.
Then decided she did not.
Nathan approached.
“I heard the court ruling.”
“I own forty percent.”
“I heard.”
“And I negotiated the purchase of another fifteen percent from the estate interest.”
His smile widened.
“So you control the majority.”
“Yes.”
“How does that feel?”
Eleanor looked across the ranch.
“Terrifying.”
Nathan laughed.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Anyone who isn’t a little frightened by responsibility probably shouldn’t have it.”
She nodded.
Then she noticed a second horse tied behind his.
“What is that?”
“A gift.”
Her expression hardened instantly.
“No.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t want an expensive horse.”
“It isn’t for you.”
“Then who?”
“For Gerald.”
She stared.
Nathan broke into laughter.
“You are an awful man.”
“I’ve been told.”
The horse, it turned out, belonged to Samuel, who rode in five minutes later complaining loudly about Nathan stealing his entrance.
That evening they ate together in the kitchen.
Beans.
Bread.
Coffee.
The same meal as their first day.
Nathan looked at the plate.
“Is this symbolic?”
“It was inexpensive.”
“I own a cattle ranch.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“Eleanor.”
She waited.
“I came back because I said I would.”
“I know.”
“I’ll leave again if you want me to.”
“I know.”
“I won’t ask you to marry me.”
Her fork stopped.
“That is a surprisingly specific thing not to ask.”
Nathan looked uncomfortable for the first time all evening.
“I mean I won’t use what happened to rush you.”
“Good.”
“I won’t try to solve your ranch by merging it with mine.”
“Very good.”
“I won’t offer to purchase anything.”
“Excellent.”
He exhaled.
“I’m doing poorly.”
Eleanor smiled.
“You are.”
Nathan looked at her.
“What I will ask is whether I may court you properly.”
Her heart began hammering.
“No disguises?”
“No disguises.”
“No mysterious names?”
“Nathaniel Colton Mercer. Unfortunately all of it.”
“No secret fortunes?”
“I believe the newspapers have covered those.”
“No testing my character?”
“Never again.”
Eleanor let him wait.
Long enough to make his confidence crack.
Then she said, “You may ask me tomorrow.”
His face fell.
“Tomorrow?”
“I’d like one evening where you don’t get everything you want.”
Nathan slowly smiled.
“Fair.”
The next morning, he asked again.
Eleanor said yes.