"For looking relieved when you did."
He lowered his eyes.
She continued.
"I thought you were rejecting everything your father and I had built."
"I wasn't rejecting you."
"I know that now."
A long silence followed.
Then he said, "I don't know whether I want to ranch."
"You don't have to."
He looked surprised.
She smiled gently.
"I didn't say you had to come home forever. I just want you to know you're welcome when you do."
His eyes filled.
He looked away quickly.
She pretended not to notice.
They sat together until the night grew cool.
Somewhere beyond the cottonwoods, the disputed road lay open beneath the stars.
It had carried her son away years earlier.
Now it had brought him home.
And for the first time, she could imagine that the road might protect more than the ranch's financial future.
It might give her family another chance to understand one another.
Chapter 15: The Neighbor's Last Letter
The woman who had owned the adjoining pasture before the bank acquired it lived in a small house outside town.
She was eighty-one, widowed, and recovering from a difficult winter.
Her husband had died several years earlier.
The farm had become financially unmanageable afterward, and the family eventually lost the pasture parcel through foreclosure.
The ranch woman had known her for most of her life.
They had attended the same church dinners.
Their children had played together.
Their husbands had borrowed tools from each other without ever keeping track of who owed what.
But grief and money had slowly isolated the elderly neighbor.
The ranch woman felt ashamed that she had not visited more often.
She drove over with her daughter on Friday morning.
The neighbor opened the door wearing a light cardigan and slippers.
When she saw the ranch woman, she smiled.
"Well, look who remembered where I live."
The ranch woman hugged her.
"I deserve that."
"You certainly do."
They sat in a modest living room filled with family photographs.
The neighbor served lemonade.
For a while, they talked about cattle prices, the weather, grandchildren, and the strange way time seemed to move faster after seventy.
Then the ranch woman explained the road dispute.
The neighbor's expression darkened.
"That manager came here too."
The ranch woman leaned forward.
"When?"
"After the bank took the pasture. He wanted to know about the road."
"What did you tell him?"
"That your family had always used it."
The neighbor shook her head.
"He wasn't interested."
"What did he ask?"
"Whether my husband had ever signed anything allowing the road to move."
The ranch woman went still.
"Move?"
"After the big flood."
"Yes."
The neighbor looked toward an old photograph on the wall.
"My husband and your father worked out the new curve together."
The ranch woman's heart began pounding.
"Was it written down?"
The neighbor hesitated.