“Last thing I said was that if he sold one acre behind my back, he could stop calling me brother.”
The bride’s chest tightened.
“The fire happened two days later?”
He nodded.
“Freight shed north of town.”
“Three men died.”
“One body wore his coat.”
“And you assumed.”
“Everyone did.”
“Was there a funeral?”
“Yes.”
“Closed coffin?”
“Yes.”
“Who identified the coat?”
The rancher thought.
“The sheriff.”
“Which sheriff?”
“Old one.”
“Dead now.”
The bride felt the shape of something.
“What company owned the freight shed?”
The rancher looked toward the ledger.
He already knew.
The same company represented by the rider.
The bride whispered:
“Your brother may not have died there.”
The giant stared at the entry.
“Or he helped them.”
“Maybe.”
The rancher looked toward her.
She refused to offer false comfort.
“Both can be true.”
He nodded.
Painful honesty.
Steady.
He had asked for steady.
Now he was learning what it looked like.
The rancher reached for the silver locket.
“Why would the man on the train have this?”
The bride considered.
“Maybe your brother gave it to him.”
“Maybe he stole it.”
“Maybe they killed him later.”
“Maybe.”
The giant closed his hand.
Too many maybes.
The bride touched the ledger.
“This can answer some.”
“How?”
“Freight numbers.”
“Payments.”
“Repeated destinations.”
“If your brother lived after the fire, his name or alias may appear later.”
The rancher looked at her.
“You can follow that?”
“I kept books for four years.”
A faint smile touched her face.
“Men like him believe women at desks are furniture.”
“They talk.”
“They leave papers.”
“They sign things.”
The rancher studied her.
“That how you found this?”
“Yes.”
“What made you copy it?”
The bride hesitated.
Now came the part she had avoided.
“There was a widow.”
The room quieted.
“She came to the office with two children.”
“Her husband had died.”
“She had a deed.”
“Company men told her the land had been sold before his death.”
“She said impossible.”
“They showed her a contract.”
“Signature looked right.”
“Date didn’t.”
The bride’s voice tightened.
“I had entered the burial cost in another ledger three weeks before that contract was supposedly signed.”
The giant said nothing.
“I asked my employer.”
“He told me not to ask again.”
“So I started looking.”
“You found more.”
“Eleven.”
The ranch hand whispered a curse.
“Eleven families?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe more.”
The bride continued.
“I copied entries.”
“Then I found this ledger.”
“The next morning my desk had been searched.”
“That night someone followed me home.”
The giant’s expression darkened.
“That when you decided to leave?”
“No.”
“When?”
“When I found your name.”
His head lifted.
“My name?”
She turned pages.
Found another entry.
A parcel number.
His ranch.
Acquisition pending. Claim through sibling interest.
The giant stared.
The bride continued.
“I had already been writing to you for months.”