By September, the fight over the Miller homestead had moved from cabins and creeks into a courtroom.
Catherine discovered she almost preferred guns.
At least with guns, people admitted they were attacking you.
Lawyers smiled while attempting to erase your life.
The territorial hearing was held inside the county courthouse, a whitewashed building barely large enough for the crowd that arrived.
Ranchers filled every bench.
People stood along the walls.
Word of the Miller dispute had spread beyond the valley.
Bitterroot Land & Cattle sent two attorneys from Helena.
Silas Mercer sat behind them.
He had made bail.
Caleb and Jedediah sat separately.
Neither looked at Catherine.
Judge Croft could not preside because he had prepared the original will, so a territorial judge named Samuel Avery came from Missoula.
He was known for impatience.
Catherine liked him immediately.
The company’s argument was simple.
Old Thomas Miller had been ill.
Perhaps confused.
Perhaps manipulated.
Perhaps Catherine had taken advantage of a dying father.
Their attorney, Franklin Webb, approached her during testimony.
“Miss Miller, you lived alone with your father during the final months of his life?”
“Yes.”
“Your brothers were absent?”
“Yes.”
“So you controlled access to him.”
“No.”
Webb paused.
“You just stated—”
“I lived there. I did not control who visited.”
“Did your brothers visit?”
“No.”
“Therefore—”
“They didn’t come.”
A few people chuckled.
The judge struck his gavel.
Webb continued.
“You were responsible for his medication?”
“Yes.”
“Food?”
“Yes.”
“Finances?”
“When he became too ill.”
“And you benefited from his will.”
“Yes.”
“Entirely.”
“Yes.”
“You expect this court to believe there is nothing suspicious about a caregiver inheriting everything from the person under her complete control?”
Catherine looked directly at him.
“No.”
Webb seemed surprised.
“No?”
“I expect the court to examine evidence instead of believing me because I ask.”
Judge Avery’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Catherine continued.
“My father wrote letters. Ask the people who received them. He met with Judge Croft alone when he prepared the will. Ask him. Doctor Bennett treated him. Ask whether Father understood his surroundings.”
Webb smiled thinly.
“You seem remarkably prepared.”
“I’ve spent months being threatened by men who assume I’m stupid.”
Someone laughed louder.
The judge did not hide his smile this time.
Webb changed direction.
“Miss Miller, would you describe yourself as physically capable of maintaining a three-hundred-acre ranch?”
Catherine stared.
“Are you asking whether I’m fat?”
The courtroom erupted.
“Order!” Avery shouted, though amusement flickered in his eyes.
Webb flushed.
“I am asking about health.”
“My health is good.”
“Yet witnesses describe you as unusually heavy.”
“My weight did not prevent me from running the ranch while Father was ill.”
“Do you perform all labor yourself?”
“No rancher does.”
“Mr. Hayes assists you.”
“Recently.”
“Without salary.”
“Yes.”
“And resides on your property.”
Grayson’s expression hardened from the rear bench.
Catherine understood the attack.
Webb wanted impropriety.
A scandal.
A dependent woman rescued by a man.
“No.”
Webb blinked.
“He sleeps in the barn?”
“He has.”
“Then he resides there.”
“He also spends nights in the mountains. By your reasoning the Bitterroots should charge him rent.”
Laughter again.
Avery sighed.
“Mr. Webb, get to your point.”
Webb turned serious.
“My point is that Miss Miller claims independence while relying increasingly upon a man who has become personally involved in her affairs.”
Catherine’s cheeks warmed.
Grayson did not move.
Webb asked, “Is Mr. Hayes your lover?”
The room went dead silent.
Judge Avery snapped, “Counsel.”
Catherine raised a hand.
“I’ll answer.”
Webb waited.
“No.”
Something inside her hurt unexpectedly when she said it.
She ignored that.
“But if he were, it would not alter the ownership of my father’s ranch.”
Webb opened his mouth.
She continued.
“Unless Bitterroot Land & Cattle has begun purchasing private relationships along with water rights.”
Avery struck his gavel before the laughter finished.
The company’s case weakened quickly.
Doctor Bennett testified that Thomas Miller had remained mentally competent.
Judge Croft testified that Catherine had not been present when the will was written.
Two neighboring ranchers testified Thomas had told them months before his death that Catherine would inherit.
Then came Jedediah.
Everyone expected him to support the company.
Mercer clearly did.
Jedediah entered slowly with a cane because his leg was still healing.
He glanced at Catherine.
Then at Mercer.
Webb asked, “Mr. Miller, did your sister influence your father against you?”
Jedediah was silent.
“Mr. Miller?”
“No.”
Mercer’s head snapped toward him.
Webb frowned.
“Did you believe she did?”
“I wanted to.”
“Please answer the question.”
“I did.”
“What changed?”
Jedediah looked toward Catherine.
“She came back for me.”
The courtroom grew quiet.
Webb seemed irritated.
“That is not relevant.”
“It is to me.”
“Did your father promise you any portion of the ranch?”
“No.”
“Did he ever indicate Catherine was incapable of managing it?”
Jedediah almost laughed.
“No.”
Webb’s voice sharpened.
“Mr. Miller, have you made an arrangement with your sister?”
“No.”
“Did she offer money for your testimony?”
“No.”
“Then why are you contradicting the allegations you signed two months ago?”
Jedediah stared at Mercer.
“Because those allegations were lies.”
Chaos erupted.
The judge hammered his gavel.
Mercer whispered furiously to an attorney.
Jedediah continued.
“Mercer’s people told us what to say.”
Webb snapped, “Objection!”
“Overruled,” Avery said.
Jedediah spoke faster now, as if stopping would mean losing courage.
“They gave Caleb and me an advance. We were supposed to get Catherine to transfer ownership.”
Catherine watched her brother.
His hands trembled.
“We burned the shed.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“We poisoned the irrigation channel.”
Murmurs.
“We posted the competency petition.”
Mercer stood.
“This is outrageous.”
Avery pointed.
“Sit down.”
Jedediah swallowed.
“And the night at the spring, Mercer said once Hayes was gone, Catherine would sign.”
Mercer shouted, “Liar!”
Sheriff Bell rose.
“Sit down, Mercer.”
The hearing transformed into something larger.
By afternoon, territorial prosecutors were taking statements.
Bitterroot Land & Cattle abruptly withdrew its claim.
Judge Avery confirmed Thomas Miller’s will.
Catherine owned the ranch.
Entirely.
When Avery announced his ruling, applause filled the courtroom.
Catherine sat motionless.
She had imagined this moment for months.
She expected triumph.
Instead she felt exhaustion.
Grayson approached as people moved outside.
“You won.”
“We won.”
He shook his head.
“Your land.”
“You saved the will.”
“You found Jedediah.”
“You went back for him.”
Catherine looked toward her brother.
Caleb remained silent and angry.
Jedediah met her eyes.
He did not smile.
Neither did she.
Some wounds did not disappear because a judge struck a gavel.
But perhaps they could stop bleeding.
Outside, ranchers gathered around Catherine.
Thomas Reed offered labor to rebuild the hay shed.
Another offered winter hay at cost.
A third volunteered fence posts.
Catherine protested.
Reed shook his head.
“Your father kept water open for us.”
“So?”
“So neighbors remember.”
She almost cried.
For months, she had believed keeping the ranch meant proving she could do everything alone.
Maybe she had misunderstood strength.
That evening the valley held an impromptu celebration.
Tables were placed outside the church.
Women brought pies.
Ranchers brought beef.
Someone produced a fiddle.
Even Sheriff Bell smiled.
Catherine looked for Grayson.
He was gone.
She found him at the livery saddling his horse.
Her stomach dropped.
“You’re leaving.”
He turned.
“Was going to.”
“Why?”
“The danger’s over.”
“That’s why you stayed?”
“Partly.”
She crossed her arms.
“What was the other part?”
Grayson stared at the saddle.
Catherine’s anger rose.
“You cannot spend months sleeping in my barn, getting shot at, rebuilding my fences, arguing with me every morning, and then disappear without explaining yourself.”
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
He looked at her.
“I don’t know how to stay.”
The anger vanished.
“What?”
“I know mountains.”
She waited.
“Trap lines. Camps. Snow. Being alone.”
“You’ve stayed for months.”
“Because you needed help.”
“And now?”
“You don’t.”
The words hurt more than they should.
Catherine stepped closer.
“Is that what you think relationships are?”
Grayson frowned.
“Relationships?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t have to.”
He looked genuinely alarmed now.
Catherine almost enjoyed it.
“You think you’re only useful when somebody is in danger?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth.
She raised a finger.
“You rode onto my ranch believing your purpose was saving me.”
“That is not—”
“You were wrong.”
Grayson stopped.
Catherine’s voice softened.
“You helped me.”
She touched his chest.
“But you didn’t save me.”
He looked down at her hand.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“You saved yourself,” he said.
“Good.”
“But I liked being there.”
Her heart beat harder.
“What?”
He swallowed.
Grayson Hayes, who had faced four armed men without visible fear, suddenly seemed unable to speak.
“I liked mornings.”
Catherine smiled.
“Very romantic.”
He looked embarrassed.
She laughed.
“What about mornings?”
“Coffee.”
“Terrible.”
“Your bread.”
“Better.”
“You arguing with me.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You enjoy that?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
His mouth twitched.
“The house feels different when you’re in it.”
Catherine became very still.
Grayson continued.
“I’d ride up the ridge and think about coming back before I’d even left.”
Her eyes stung.
“You could simply say you care about me.”
“I care about you.”
“That was surprisingly easy.”
“I practiced.”
She laughed through tears.
Grayson looked worried.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because for a man who survived ten years in the mountains, you are remarkably helpless around women.”
“One woman.”
The laughter disappeared.
Catherine stared at him.
“One?”
“Yes.”
He reached toward her cheek.
Stopped.
As always.
Waiting.
Catherine closed the distance herself.
Their first kiss was not dramatic.
No thunder.
No sweeping music.
No cheering crowd.
Just two exhausted people beside a horse in a Montana stable.
Grayson’s hand rested gently against her cheek.
Catherine touched his beard.
When they separated, he whispered, “I still don’t know how to stay.”
She smiled.
“Then learn.”