“Good.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“Don’t say that.”
She laughed.
Then rested her forehead against his chest.
For the first time, Vincent allowed himself to hold her without wondering whether employment was speaking for her.
Because she had already offered to leave.
And returned by choice.
That mattered.
The investigation lasted months.
Marco’s false company accounts were frozen.
Railway option payments were seized.
Paulie cooperated after learning Marco never intended to share ownership.
That confession damaged whatever remained of his loyalty.
Vincent found he felt almost nothing for him by then.
Not hatred.
Something emptier.
Disappointment exhausted itself faster than rage.
Samuel returned to the ranch office.
Not permanently.
He wanted town work.
Khloe helped him find it.
The missing thirty-eight thousand was largely recovered.
Not all.
The grazing land transfer was voided.
Vincent kept the southern parcel.
Months later the railway negotiated honestly for right-of-way.
The price paid off every major Costa Ranch debt.
Marco was convicted on fraud and conspiracy charges related to the land scheme.
Older cattle-theft allegations proved difficult.
Too much time.
Too little surviving evidence.
He received years, not life.
Vincent visited once.
Only once.
Marco sat across from him behind iron mesh.
Gray now.
Less charming.
Still his brother.
“You came.”
Vincent said nothing.
Marco smiled.
“Khloe?”
“Fine.”
“Still with you?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Vincent stared.
“You knew her father.”
“Yes.”
“Did you destroy him intentionally?”
Marco’s smile faded.
“He was going to expose me.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Vincent closed his eyes briefly.
Marco continued.
“Father would’ve chosen you anyway.”
Vincent looked up.
“This was about him?”
“It was always about him.”
“No.”
Vincent stood.
Marco frowned.
“No?”
“This was about you.”
Vincent put on his coat.
“You spent twelve years making everyone else responsible for what you became.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“You got the ranch.”
“You disappeared.”
“Because Father—”
“You disappeared.”
Vincent leaned closer to the mesh.
“You let him bury a son who was alive.”
Marco looked away.
That finally reached him.
Vincent stepped back.
“I’m done carrying your grievance.”
Then he left.
Outside, Khloe waited beside the wagon.
Vincent climbed in.
She did not ask how it went.
He took her hand.
She squeezed once.
Enough.
Their relationship moved slowly afterward.
Not because desire disappeared.
Quite the opposite.
Because both understood how much had been built beneath secrecy.
They needed ordinary days.
Breakfast.
Ledgers.
Fences.
Invoices.
A stolen kiss behind the office door.
Another beside the stable when nobody watched.
Mrs. Bell watched anyway.
Housekeepers knew everything.
Khloe moved into a proper bedroom in the main house after three months.
Not Vincent’s.
The room across the hall.
People talked.
Of course.
Vincent ignored them.
Khloe tried.
One ranch wife asked her at church:
“Isn’t that arrangement unusual?”
Khloe smiled politely.
“So is fraud involving a supposedly dead brother. We’ve had an unusual year.”
The woman never asked again.
Vincent heard about it.
He laughed for nearly five minutes.
Khloe became less afraid of taking space.
Not suddenly.
Healing rarely performed for applause.
She simply stopped stepping aside every time someone entered the office.
Then she ordered a wider chair.