“Then don't decide today.”
She looked toward him.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Stay one week.”
“Why?”
“So we can investigate the contract.”
“The boundary map.”
“Your brother.”
“Caleb.”
She smiled sadly.
“That sounds like business.”
“Would business be easier?”
“Yes.”
“Then business.”
Lara studied his face.
“And if I don't like staying here?”
“I take you to town.”
“And if you don't like me staying?”
“I tell you.”
“No jokes?”
“No.”
“No ‘you should know without asking’?”
“No.”
“No using food or shelter to make me owe you something?”
Elias’s expression changed.
“Never.”
The certainty mattered.
Lara looked toward her trunk.
Then back.
“One week.”
Elias nodded.
“One week.”
Ben heard.
He walked outside before his grin caused trouble.
They went to Deadwood the following morning.
The town had transformed after the storm.
Snow shoveled into dirty piles.
Boardwalks wet.
Horses steaming.
News traveled faster than the melt.
Everyone had already heard Lara stayed at Whispering Pines during the storm.
By the time their wagon reached the county building, three women had stared openly.
Two men laughed.
Lara stiffened.
Elias noticed.
“Want me to say something?”
“No.”
“Want me to hit something?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I didn't want to.”
She looked at him.
He smiled.
“Much.”
Inside the archive room, an elderly clerk named Mr. Hanley complained for fifteen minutes before locating the original water survey.
Lara placed Elias’s copy beside it.
At first glance, identical.
Then she pointed.
“There.”
Elias leaned closer.
Original:
Boundary follows eastern river bend to stone marker at Miller’s Cut.
Copy:
Boundary follows eastern river bend south of stone marker at Miller’s Cut.
One word.
South.
Enough to change nearly eighty acres.
Elias stared.
“Who copied this?”
The clerk checked his book.
“Survey transcription requested six years ago.”
“By?”
Hanley followed a finger down the page.
“Caleb Ryland.”
Elias went still.
Lara looked at him.
“Six years.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been fighting?”
“Five.”
She exhaled.
“There’s your beginning.”
Elias asked the clerk:
“Can I get certified copies?”
Hanley nodded.
“For a fee.”
“I’ll pay.”
Lara asked:
“Who witnessed the transcription?”
Hanley checked.
“Deputy clerk.”
“Name?”
He looked.
“Thomas Higgins.”
Lara stopped breathing.
Elias turned slowly.
“Your brother?”
“No.”
Her voice barely emerged.
“Thomas never came west.”
Hanley looked toward her.
“Boston fellow?”
“Yes.”
“Thin?”
“Light hair?”
“Yes.”
The clerk nodded.
“He was here.”
Lara’s legs weakened.
Elias pulled a chair.
A wide armless archive bench.
She sat.
“When?”
she asked.
“Six years ago.”
“Stayed maybe two weeks.”
Lara stared at nothing.
Six years.
Her parents had died six years ago.
Thomas inherited the house.
And apparently traveled to Dakota.
Without telling her.