The woman traveled to town with the cowboy.
The county clerk produced valuation records reluctantly.
Three properties along the north creek had been reclassified.
All recently.
All owners had received purchase offers from the same cattle buyer.
The storekeeper’s brother-in-law sat on the county valuation board.
Interesting.
Not proof.
But interesting.
The woman copied dates.
Amounts.
Names.
The cowboy watched.
“You're enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You look happy.”
“I enjoy patterns.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“It is for dishonest people.”
The clerk looked nervous.
Good.
They discovered the reclassification used a new commercial-access designation intended for mills and freight depots.
None of the properties contained either.
The buyer had petitioned the county, claiming future rail use made the creek commercially valuable.
Future.
Not current.
The woman asked:
“Can future use increase valuation?”
The clerk said:
“Board decided.”
“Where’s the hearing notice?”
“What?”
“To owners.”
Silence.
There should have been one.
None had been sent.
The cowboy’s eyes hardened.
Now they had procedure.
The woman copied everything.
Outside, the cattle buyer waited.
He was prosperous.
Clean coat.
Silver watch.
No need to carry a gun visibly because money performed much of the same work.
He looked at the woman.
Then at the cowboy.
“Heard you got married.”
“Not yet.”
the cowboy said.
The buyer smiled toward the woman.
“Still time, then.”
The cowboy stepped forward.
She touched his arm.
Not yet.
The buyer continued.
“Wyoming winters are difficult.”
“Especially for people not accustomed to the territory.”
The woman smiled.
“I’m adapting.”
“I can see.”
His gaze lingered on her body.
The cowboy’s jaw tightened.
She ignored it.
“Did you petition the county to reclassify north creek land?”
The buyer’s smile changed.
“Straight to business.”
“Yes.”
“You handle your future husband's affairs?”
“I handle questions.”
He laughed.
“Those can become affairs quickly.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Development.”
“What development?”
“Confidential.”
“Then why should private owners pay tax based on it?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You aren’t from here.”
“No.”
“Then perhaps learn how things work before accusing people.”
She stepped closer.
“I asked a question.”
“If it felt like an accusation, perhaps that belongs to you.”
The cowboy almost smiled.
The buyer did not.
“You’re clever.”
“I've been told.”
“Clever women sometimes mistake paperwork for power.”
The woman looked toward the courthouse.
“And wealthy men sometimes mistake familiarity with officials for ownership.”
His smile disappeared.
There.
Something.
The cowboy saw.
So did she.
The buyer walked away.
The cowboy whispered:
“You made an enemy.”
“No.”
“What?”
“He was already one.”
She looked toward the valuation documents.
“I simply introduced myself.”
The tax dispute spread.
Two more landowners emerged.
Then another.