“Yes.”
“No.”
“He keeps books sometimes.”
“I know.”
“There could be—”
“An explanation?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask for one.”
The rancher’s defensiveness rose.
“He has worked here eleven years.”
“I have been here four days.”
The contrast landed.
She continued:
“You trust him.”
“You do not trust me.”
“I understand.”
The rancher looked toward her.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It is what you are deciding.”
He stood.
She did too.
“Sit down,” she said.
He stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You are angry.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I know angry men.”
“And you are about to make a decision while you are one.”
The rancher almost snapped.
Then stopped.
Because she was right.
He sat.
She opened another page.
“These are the withdrawals you signed.”
He looked.
“Yes.”
“And this?”
He frowned.
Forgery.
He knew instantly.
His signature looked close enough to fool someone who saw it occasionally.
Not him.
His face drained.
“That is not mine.”
“No.”
The wife continued.
“I counted at least fourteen questionable entries.”
“How much?”
“Roughly eighty-seven dollars.”
The rancher stared.
Eighty-seven.
More than the fifty he had spent arranging their marriage.
Nearly enough to solve half the problems keeping him awake.
His wife added:
“That is only what I found in records still inside the house.”
The rancher leaned back.
His breathing became uneven.
“Two years.”
“Possibly.”
He covered his mouth.
The foreman had been beside him when his wife died.
Helped bury cattle after the hard winter.
Loaned him a horse.
Shared whiskey after the rancher’s father’s old barn burned.
Family.
The rancher whispered:
“No.”
His wife said nothing.
He looked toward her.
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
She continued:
“I am sure the numbers are wrong.”
“I am sure someone altered records.”
“I am sure at least one signature is false.”
“I am not sure why.”
He stared.
“You think he stole.”
“I think you need more evidence before you accuse him.”
The rancher looked toward the invoices.
Then at her.
“You could have told me immediately.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted to know whether I was right before destroying an eleven-year friendship.”
That broke something in him.
She had known him four days.
And had protected his oldest friendship from her own suspicion.
He looked at her differently.
The wife saw.
She became uncomfortable.
“Do not.”
“What?”