For a moment, he seemed embarrassed.
Then he gave a low whistle.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Clara smiled faintly.
He glanced toward her.
Then looked back at the papers.
"That's nearly seventy dollars."
"Yes."
He stared.
Seventy dollars was not a trivial sum.
It could buy supplies.
Cover a worker's wages.
Or help replace equipment before winter.
Gabriel leaned back.
Then looked toward Clara.
"Thank you."
She seemed surprised.
"Of course."
For a moment, they shared a small smile.
Then Gabriel remembered the distance between them.
His expression became more guarded.
He gathered the invoices.
But before he stood, Clara spoke.
"Gabriel."
He looked up.
"I'd like to keep helping with the accounts."
He hesitated.
She continued.
"I know things are difficult between us. But I don't want to sit upstairs waiting for winter to pass."
He studied her.
"I don't want you wearing yourself out."
"I won't."
She smiled faintly.
"Bookkeeping rarely requires lifting cattle."
Despite himself, Gabriel laughed.
It was a brief sound.
But genuine.
Clara's eyes brightened.
He noticed.
For a moment, the kitchen felt like it had during those first few hopeful days.
Then he looked down.
"All right."
She smiled.
"Thank you."
Gabriel stood.
Then paused.
"You don't have to thank me for helping with the ranch."
She looked toward him.
His expression was serious.
"You're my wife."
The words surprised both of them.
For a moment, silence filled the kitchen.
Then Gabriel looked away.
He picked up the invoices.
And went outside.
Clara sat motionless.
You're my wife.
He had said it without thinking.
Not with bitterness.
Not as an accusation.
As a simple fact.
She pressed one hand against her chest.
Then looked toward the ledger.
For the first time since her confession, hope entered her heart without immediately turning into fear.
Gabriel rode into town three days later to meet an attorney recommended by Martha Bell.
The lawyer's name was Nathaniel Finch.
He was fifty-eight, with a gray beard, tired eyes, and a habit of reading documents slowly enough to irritate impatient clients.
His office occupied two rooms above the general store.
The shelves held law books, property records, and stacks of paper tied with string.
A small stove stood near the window.
Gabriel arrived carrying Clara's documents in a leather satchel.
He had asked her permission before taking them.
She agreed.
But as he rode away, he saw fear in her face.
For a moment, he wanted to promise her that everything would be fine.
Instead, he simply said, "I'll bring them back."