"Did the latch survive?"
I frowned.
"What?"
"The latch. You've checked it three times today."
I stared.
She smiled sweetly.
"Must be a very important latch."
I shook my head.
"You're trouble, woman."
She laughed.
"Only for men who refuse to admit what they're feeling."
I turned toward the stove.
But I was smiling.
And she knew it.
The first visitor arrived in early March.
His name was Everett Slade, a broad-shouldered man in his early forties who worked for a mining and timber enterprise called Calder Consolidated.
I'd heard the company was purchasing claims throughout the valley.
It wanted water access, wagon routes, and reliable supply land connecting several small mountain settlements.
Most of that meant nothing to me.
My property was remote.
I had a recorded claim, an old water-use agreement, and no desire to sell.
But Slade arrived carrying a leather document case and the sort of smile that usually preceded trouble.
I met him outside the stable.
"Afternoon."
He looked around.
"Mr. Walker?"
"That's me."
He extended a hand.
I shook it reluctantly.
Then asked what brought him up the mountain.
He explained that Calder Consolidated was evaluating property purchases in the region.
The company hoped to develop a freight route and establish access to timber farther north.
He offered to buy my land.
I told him it wasn't for sale.
He smiled.
Then named a price.
I shook my head.
He increased it.
I told him no again.
Then his expression changed.
"Mr. Walker, you might want to reconsider. There are questions about the boundaries and water rights associated with this valley."
I frowned.
"What questions?"
Slade opened his case.
He showed me a copy of a document claiming that part of the stream crossing my property belonged to an older mining grant.
The name at the bottom made my stomach tighten.
Calder.
I'd heard that name twenty years earlier.
Near Red Willow.
And I didn't like hearing it again.
I studied the document.
Then looked toward Slade.
"Where did you get this?"
He smiled.
"Company archives."
I pointed toward the signature.
"That claim was disputed in 1856."
Slade seemed surprised.
"You know the history?"
I held his gaze.
"I was there."
For a moment, his confidence faltered.
Then he recovered.
"Well, history can be complicated."
I folded the document and handed it back.
"So can ownership."
He smiled thinly.
"Mr. Walker, my employer would prefer a friendly transaction."