“You did right.”
Her eyes shimmered.
She looked away quickly.
Vincent pretended not to notice.
He had learned sometimes kindness worked better when not inspected.
“How many copies?”
“Three.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Where?”
“One downstairs.”
“One in my trunk.”
“And third?”
Khloe looked embarrassed.
“Sewn inside my mattress.”
Vincent stared.
“What kind of life did you live before accounting?”
That produced a real smile.
Small.
But real.
“My father borrowed money badly.”
The smile disappeared.
“He also trusted badly.”
Vincent leaned against the desk.
“Tell me.”
Khloe shook her head.
“Not important.”
“It sounds relevant.”
Silence.
Then:
“He signed land papers without reading them.”
Vincent understood immediately.
“Lost property?”
“Everything.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Your schooling debt?”
“Came later.”
She stared at her hands.
“I thought education would keep me from needing anyone.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Turned out education costs money too.”
“What did you study?”
“Bookkeeping. Commercial law. Business correspondence.”
He looked at her.
“Commercial law?”
“Basic.”
“That is why you recognized the entity problem.”
“Yes.”
“And you ended up here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Khloe smiled sadly.
“No one in Cheyenne wanted a woman who looked like me sitting in a front office.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
She noticed.
“It was years ago.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
“I needed work.”
“So you came to a cattle ranch.”
“You paid on time.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“High standards.”
“At that point, yes.”
The room quieted.
Rain softened outside.
Khloe looked toward the bed.
Then chair.
Then Vincent.
“You should sleep.”
He laughed.
“Not happening.”
“Commissioner comes at seven.”
“He won’t be signing anything.”
“Paulie will know.”
“Yes.”
Khloe’s face tightened.
Vincent caught it.
“You’re afraid he’ll know you told me.”
“Yes.”
“Then he won’t.”
“How?”
Vincent walked toward the desk.
He rearranged the documents.
Closed the folder.
“Tomorrow I tell him I noticed the parcel discrepancy myself.”
“He knows you don’t review filing numbers.”
“That was insulting.”
“Accurate.”
He glanced at her.
She looked horrified.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
He almost smiled.
Khloe did too.
For the first time that night, something warm returned.
Vincent leaned against the desk.
“You stay here.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“In the room.”
“Vincent.”
“Until morning.”
“I cannot.”
“You can.”
“People will talk.”
Vincent looked toward the door.
“No one enters.”
“You did.”
“It’s my room.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
He paused.
She had him there.
Khloe continued.
“If I walk downstairs after sunrise wearing Mrs. Bell’s nightgown…”
Vincent imagined it.
Every ranch hand would know by breakfast.
Half the county by lunch.
Not because anything happened.
Because people were bored and morality made excellent entertainment.
“Fine.”
He looked toward the wardrobe.
“My coat.”
“What?”