Ezekiel Voss was the sort of man who dressed as though dirt itself had agreed not to touch him.
His black coat remained immaculate despite the muddy trail. His boots were polished. His beard was trimmed close, gray beginning to appear near the jaw. A gold watch chain crossed his vest.
He looked more like a banker than a cattleman.
But Wyatt had seen Voss at livestock auctions.
He was not a man who merely purchased things.
He enjoyed knowing the seller had no choice.
His eyes moved from Clara to Wyatt.
“Callaway.”
“Voss.”
“I didn't realize you had business in this valley.”
“I didn't realize you did.”
Voss smiled again.
“I have business everywhere.”
Clara stepped forward.
“What do you want?”
“I came to discuss your mortgage.”
“There's nothing to discuss.”
“Four weeks and five days, Miss Whitmore.”
“I know the date.”
“I thought perhaps you'd reconsidered my offer.”
“No.”
“Which offer?” Wyatt asked.
Voss glanced at him.
Clara answered before Voss could.
“Neither.”
The smile vanished again.
Voss looked toward the kitchen.
“Interesting paperwork you have there.”
“My father's.”
“Old surveys can be terribly misleading.”
Wyatt's suspicion became certainty.
“You've seen it.”
Voss slipped his gloves from one hand.
“I've seen many surveys.”
“This one?”
“I couldn't say.”
“You just did.”
Voss's gaze hardened.
“I would advise you not to interfere, Callaway.”
“With what?”
“A legal debt.”
“I'm a strong supporter of legal arrangements.”
“Good.”
“Not so fond of illegal water diversion.”
For the first time, Voss reacted visibly.
It lasted less than a second.
But Clara saw it.
So did Wyatt.
Voss recovered quickly.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Then you won't mind if the sheriff takes a look.”
Voss laughed.
“You think Sheriff Boyd will climb into the hills because a drainage ditch changed direction?”
“If he doesn't, the territorial land office might.”
The two men faced each other.
Clara understood she was watching something larger than an argument.
Wyatt and Voss represented different kinds of power.
Voss wanted people to feel his wealth.
Wyatt behaved as though wealth was merely a tool in his saddlebag.
Finally Voss turned toward Clara.
“You're putting faith in the wrong man.”
“I'm not putting faith in anyone.”
“Good. Because Callaway won't save you.”
Wyatt's voice remained calm.
“She doesn't need me to save her.”
Voss looked at him.
Wyatt continued.
“She needs you to stop cheating.”
Voss mounted.
“Four weeks and five days.”
Then he rode away.
Clara watched until he disappeared behind the ridge.
Only afterward did she release the breath she'd been holding.
“He'll do something.”
“Yes.”
“You sound certain.”
“I've known men like him.”
“What do we do?”
Wyatt picked up the survey.
“We work faster.”
The next morning, the Whitmore ranch became alive for the first time in years.
Wyatt arrived with six Callaway ranch hands.
Clara nearly exploded.
“I didn't agree to an army.”
“They're not an army.”
She counted.
“Six men, three wagons, twelve horses—”
“Small army.”
“I can't pay them.”
“They work for me.”
“Then you're paying them.”
“Yes.”
“Which means you're paying my expenses.”
Wyatt shook his head.
“No. They'd be repairing fencing on my west range today.”
“And instead?”
“They're repairing fencing here.”
“Exactly.”
“I'll borrow them back later.”
“Wyatt.”
It was the first time she'd used his first name.
He noticed.
So did she.
Neither commented.
“We have less than five weeks,” he said. “You can spend three arguing with me or we can open that spring.”
She hated that he was right.
“Fine.”
By noon, men worked along the north ridge clearing stones from the diverted channel.
What Wyatt had suspected became obvious.
The diversion had been built intentionally.
Cut logs reinforced one side.
Shovels had shaped the earth.
Someone had worked for days.
Clara stood looking at it.
“All last summer,” she whispered. “Father blamed himself.”
Wyatt came beside her.
“He shouldn't have.”
“He thought he was losing his mind. He kept saying the ranch had survived droughts before.”
She crouched and touched one of the cut logs.
“He died thinking he'd failed.”
Wyatt removed his hat.
“Then let's prove he didn't.”
They worked until darkness.
The following day they removed the final blockage.
Nothing happened.
Clara stared at the dry channel.
“Maybe we were wrong.”
Wyatt crouched.
“Give it time.”
An hour passed.
Then two.
Finally one ranch hand shouted.
“Water!”
A thin stream appeared between the rocks.
Clara ran uphill.
At first it was barely enough to darken the soil.
Then it strengthened.
Clear water spilled through the reopened channel, ran downhill, and entered the old Whitmore trough.
Clara stood frozen.
She had forgotten what that sound felt like.
Running water.
Life.
By sunset, the trough was half full.
Daisy drank until Wyatt jokingly suggested she'd become a fish.
Clara laughed, then unexpectedly began crying.
She turned away.
Wyatt did not touch her.
He simply stood beside her.
“My father should've seen this,” she whispered.
“He would've been proud.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know what you did to keep this place.”
She wiped her face.
“Stubbornness isn't something to be proud of.”
“Depends what you're stubborn about.”
Over the next two weeks, the ranch transformed.
Not magically.
Not easily.
The roof still leaked.
The barn still leaned.
Clara still owed more money than she had.
But water changed everything.
Grass near the lower pasture began greening.
Neighboring ranchers came to inspect the restored spring.
Wyatt deliberately stayed out of negotiations.
“This is your land,” he told Clara. “You set the terms.”
Her first agreement was with an elderly rancher named Samuel Pike, who paid to water eighty cattle for three weeks.
Another rancher signed the next day.
Then another.
Small amounts.
But real money.
For the first time in months, Clara deposited cash at Harlan's Bank instead of receiving another warning notice.
Millstone began talking.
Naturally.
People said Wyatt Callaway had bought the Whitmore woman.
Others said he was secretly building a railroad.
Some claimed Clara had tricked him into repairing the ranch so she could marry him.
One rumor insisted they were already married.
Clara heard that one inside Miller's General Store.
Two women near the fabric counter were whispering loudly enough to be heard in Wyoming.
“I heard Callaway stays there overnight.”
“He does not,” Clara said.
Both women jumped.
Clara continued selecting flour.
“I also heard I'm pregnant with twins.”
Their faces turned red.
Clara added calmly, “I thought I should clarify before the children reach school age.”
From behind the counter, the shopkeeper nearly choked trying not to laugh.
But not every rumor was harmless.
Voss began telling people the Whitmore water rights were legally disputed.
Some ranchers withdrew.
Then one night, someone cut the fence along the eastern pasture.
Thirty head of Pike's cattle escaped.
Clara and Wyatt spent ten hours retrieving them.
Two nights later, the barn caught fire.
Clara woke to Daisy screaming.
Flames crawled along the southern wall.
She ran outside barefoot.
“Daisy!”
Smoke poured through the doors.
Clara grabbed the latch.
Heat forced her back.
“Daisy!”
She tried again.
A hand caught her waist and pulled her away.
She fought viciously.
“Let me go!”
“Clara!”
Wyatt.
He had been sleeping in the line camp a mile away after helping repair the fence.
“Daisy's inside!”
He released Clara and ran directly into the burning barn.
“No!”
Smoke swallowed him.
Seconds felt like minutes.
Then Daisy burst through the doorway.
Wyatt followed, coughing violently, one sleeve scorched.
Clara caught the mare's halter.
Ranch hands arrived with buckets.
They formed a line from the trough.
By dawn, half the barn was destroyed.
But the house survived.
Daisy survived.
Everyone survived.
Wyatt sat on the porch steps with a wet cloth against his face.
Clara knelt before him.
“You could've died.”
“Didn't.”
“For a horse.”
“You would've gone in.”
“Yes.”
“That's why I did.”
She stared at him.
“You are infuriating.”
“So I've been told.”
She noticed the burn on his hand.
Without asking, she took it gently.
His expression changed.
Their eyes met.
Something had been building between them since the storm.
Neither had named it.
Neither wanted to.
But standing amid smoke and ashes, pretending became difficult.
Clara wrapped his hand.
“You can't keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Risking yourself because I can't keep my life together.”
Wyatt's voice softened.
“Is that what you think?”
She looked down.
“This ranch has nearly killed everyone I love.”
“No.”
“My brother.”
“Accident.”
“My father.”
“Grief and sickness.”
“My mother worked herself to death here.”
“Clara.”
“And now you run into burning buildings.”
Wyatt lifted her chin gently.
“The ranch isn't killing people.”
She looked at him.
“Then what is?”
“Hard years. Bad luck. Greedy men. Sometimes life doesn't need a reason.”
She swallowed.
“And what if I lose it anyway?”
“Then you lose land.”
Her face tightened.
“It isn't just land.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Wyatt looked toward the burned barn.
“But your father isn't in those fence posts. Your mother's love isn't in the roof shingles. Your brother isn't buried in the mortgage.”
Clara's eyes filled.
“Your family is part of you. Voss can't foreclose on that.”
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she leaned forward.
Her forehead rested against Wyatt's shoulder.
He remained completely still.
Finally, slowly, he put one arm around her.
No promises.
No declarations.
Just warmth.
The moment lasted until a rider approached from town.
It was Sheriff Boyd.
Behind him rode Gideon Harlan.
Clara stood.
The banker looked miserable.
“Miss Whitmore.”
“What happened?”
Harlan dismounted.
“You need to come to town.”
“Why?”
“The mortgage.”
Clara's face drained.
“It isn't due yet.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Harlan removed a folded document.
“Mr. Voss filed a claim stating the note is immediately collectible because the property has been materially altered.”
Wyatt stood.
“That's nonsense.”
“Probably.”
“Then reject it.”
“I can't. He obtained an order from a territorial judge.”
Clara's voice was barely audible.
“How long?”
Harlan looked at her.
“Seventy-two hours.”
The burned barn smoked behind them.
The spring continued running.
And Clara realized Voss had stopped waiting.
Three days.
That was all she had left.