The deed threatened more than his inheritance.
It threatened exposure.
That explained the burned books.
It also explained his confidence that the ranch would fail.
He knew exactly how weak the finances had become because he helped make them weak.
The cook returned to the house.
The rancher was waiting.
“Well?”
“He knew.”
The rancher's jaw tightened.
“We go to the sheriff.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Not yet.”
“You have testimony.”
“One frightened ranch hand.”
“You have missing cattle.”
“I have incomplete books.”
“You have burned records.”
“I have ash.”
The rancher stared.
The cook continued.
“If the patriarch has been doing this for years, he prepared better than that.”
“What do you want?”
“Proof.”
The rancher smiled slowly.
“You are frightening.”
“So I've been told.”
“By whom?”
“Nobody yet.”
“I'm starting the tradition.”
The cook looked toward the books.
“We rebuild every transaction.”
“That will take weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Court challenge could come sooner.”
“Then we work faster.”
It came in nine days.
A deputy arrived with papers.
The patriarch challenged the deed.
Undue influence.
Mental incapacity.
Fraud.
Improper witnessing.
And an extraordinary additional claim.
The cook read it twice.
Then handed it to the rancher.
He swore.
The patriarch alleged the cook herself lacked the physical capacity to maintain the property and therefore could not have been the intended independent beneficiary.
The rancher looked furious.
“That isn't even a legal reason to void a deed.”
“No.”
“They know that.”
“Yes.”
“So why include it?”
The cook folded the paper.
“To put the idea into people's heads.”
The first hearing would occur in Helena in three weeks.
The cook had never appeared in court.
She had barely traveled farther than town in twelve years.
She had no proper legal clothes except one dark dress from the funeral.
The rancher offered to arrange a lawyer.
She said no.
He argued.
She said no again.
Finally he asked, “Why?”
“Because everyone already says you're controlling me.”
His mouth closed.
The cook continued.
“If you hire the lawyer, they use it.”
“Then you hire one.”
“With what money?”
“The estate defense fund.”
She had forgotten.
The late owner had prepared for this.
The cook hired an attorney herself.
A woman could not formally practice law everywhere with equal status, but a sharp territorial attorney in Helena had a reputation for representing widows, miners, merchants, and anyone willing to pay.
He visited the ranch.
The first thing he did was ask the cook to explain every debt.
She did.
Then every asset.
She did.
Then winter feed projections.
She did.
Then the cattle discrepancy.
She did.