“That’s why I crossed it out.”
She turned another page.
“What happens if Wade tries to sell land while I’m here?”
Whitlock said, “Under the covenant—”
“I’m asking the agreement.”
Wade answered.
“I don’t sell.”
“That isn’t contractual.”
She looked at Whitlock.
“Add: Neither spouse may sell, mortgage, lease mineral rights, or transfer material ranch assets without written consent of both.”
Whitlock’s pen stopped.
“That gives you substantial control.”
“Yes.”
Wade looked at her.
“Add it.”
Whitlock turned.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“She’s right.”
“Either this is a partnership or it isn’t.”
Marisol’s gaze changed slightly.
Not warmer.
Less guarded.
The clerk married them at 3:40 p.m.
No flowers.
No rings.
Travis attended.
So did Aunt June on crutches because she refused to miss “the most suspicious wedding in Wyoming.”
When the clerk asked whether Wade took Marisol as his lawful wife, he said yes.
Marisol hesitated one second.
Then said yes too.
Afterward Travis handed Wade a motel envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Wedding gift.”
Inside were two brass rings.
Simple bands.
Wade stared.
Travis shrugged.
“County clerk said rings weren’t required.”
“Still seemed weird.”
Marisol took the smaller one.
She slid it onto her finger.
Wade looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She looked at the ring.
“Neither do you.”
Wade put his on.
They drove north in silence.
The ranch appeared just after sunset.
Marisol leaned toward the window.
Five thousand acres did not look rich in March.
They looked empty.
Beautiful, maybe.
But hard.
The house sat low against the ridge.
Barn behind.
Windmill.
Corrals.
A line of cottonwoods marking the creek.
Marisol whispered:
“It’s bigger than I thought.”
Wade parked.
“That good?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Inside, he showed her the guest room.
Bed.
Dresser.
Washstand.
Closet.
Small window facing east.
Marisol placed her suitcase on the bed.
“The agreement says separate rooms.”
“Yes.”
“You sleep where?”
“End of hall.”
She nodded.
Wade hesitated.
“Door locks from inside.”
Marisol looked at him.
“I fixed it yesterday.”
Something passed through her face.
He could not read it.
“Thank you.”
He left.
Dinner was stew.
They ate at the scarred dining table where Whitlock had announced foreclosure.
Marisol asked about herd count.
Water rights.
Feed contracts.
Wade answered.
Then she asked:
“How many outstanding notes?”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Bank debt.”
“Mortgage plus operating line.”
“Any equipment liens?”
“One tractor.”
“Insurance assignment?”
“Yes.”
“Livestock financing?”
“No.”
She looked at him sharply.
“Never?”