“I am beginning to hope I did not choose the wrong man.”
The rancher’s hand came up.
Stopped near hers.
He asked:
“May I?”
She knew he meant touch.
She nodded.
He covered her hand with his.
The room seemed quieter.
The stove crackled.
The rancher whispered:
“I want this marriage to become real.”
Her eyes filled.
“It is legally real.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
She did too.
Then the wife said:
“Not tonight.”
He stopped immediately.
Her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For stopping before I needed to ask twice.”
The rancher nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
The wife smiled faintly.
“That answer helps.”
They ate supper.
No kiss.
Not yet.
The rancher barely tasted the chowder because the ledger consumed his mind.
The wife eventually said:
“If you glare at the soup any harder, it may confess.”
He looked up.
She smiled.
He laughed.
That was the first time they laughed together as husband and wife.
The next morning, they tested the accusation.
Quietly.
The rancher rode to town without telling the foreman why.
His wife came.
At the feed supplier, the rancher asked for copies of the previous year’s receipts.
The clerk hesitated.
The wife noticed.
“Problem?”
“No.”
The man looked toward the rancher.
“Your foreman usually handles these.”
“I’m handling them today.”
The clerk retrieved the book.
Amounts matched the lower invoices.
Every time.
The rancher’s jaw tightened.
Then they went to the bank.
Two withdrawals had been made using forged signatures.
The bank manager became defensive.
“They looked accurate.”
“They weren’t.”
The wife asked:
“Who presented them?”
The manager looked toward the rancher.
“You know who.”
The rancher’s face drained again.
The foreman.
They returned to Broken Spur near sunset.
The foreman was repairing a gate.
The rancher dismounted.
His wife remained near the horse.
The foreman looked up.
“Town?”
“Yes.”
“Anything wrong?”
The rancher stared at him.
The older man’s expression changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
The rancher knew.
“You tell me.”
The foreman set the hammer down.
The wife watched.
The rancher took out the duplicate invoice.
Then the forged withdrawal.
The foreman’s face aged in seconds.
The rancher whispered:
“Why?”
No denial.
That hurt most.
The foreman looked toward the ground.
“My boy.”
The rancher frowned.
“What?”
“My son.”
The foreman’s adult son had gambling debts.
The rancher knew he drank.
Not this.
The foreman explained.