Fern lifted her head.
Then came slowly toward Lydia's chair.
The dog sniffed her hand.
Lydia remained still.
"May I pet her?"
Gideon nodded.
"She'll tell you if she minds."
Lydia extended her fingers.
Fern pressed her broad head beneath them.
Lydia smiled.
"She's lovely."
Gideon watched.
"She's a good judge of people."
Lydia looked up.
"Is she?"
He nodded.
"She bit a timber buyer last summer."
Lydia's eyes widened.
"Oh, dear."
Gideon looked serious.
"Didn't like his boots."
For a moment, Lydia stared.
Then she realized he was joking.
She laughed so suddenly that Fern lifted her head in surprise.
Gideon's smile widened.
It was the first time Lydia had seen his whole face soften.
The effect unsettled her.
Without the severe expression, the mountain man looked younger.
Almost boyish beneath the beard.
And unexpectedly handsome.
She looked away before he could notice.
They spent the morning examining the letter.
Gideon spread a map across the oak table.
It was old and stained, with notes in two different hands.
His own writing was large and practical.
Elias's was narrow, precise, and full of measurements.
Gideon pointed toward the northern end of the valley.
"North Fork begins here."
Lydia leaned forward.
A winding blue line crossed the paper.
"That's the stream?"
"One branch of it."
He traced the route.
"It runs out of the upper basin, past the old timber camp, then joins Frost Creek below my land."
"And your brother was surveying it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Gideon hesitated.
"A railroad company was considering a freight route through the pass."
Lydia studied the map.
"To reach the mines?"
"Some of them. Mostly timber and cattle shipments. They wanted a shorter route to the southern railhead."
He pointed toward a narrow gorge.
"The proposed line crossed land claimed by several families. Elias had been hired to verify the boundaries and water access."
Lydia frowned.
"Was he a surveyor?"
"Trained in Denver. Worked with railroad crews for five years."
Gideon's voice softened.
"He could look at a hillside and tell you its grade before he'd taken out a measuring chain."
Lydia smiled faintly.
"He sounds clever."
"He was."
Gideon looked toward the window.
Then added, "And stubborn."
Lydia glanced at him.
"Like his brother?"
A small smile appeared.
"Much worse."
For a moment, the sadness in his face eased.
Then he pointed toward the map again.
"Elias believed the company was using incorrect measurements."
"Accidentally?"
"At first, that's what he thought."
"And later?"
Gideon looked toward the letter.
"He stopped thinking that."
Lydia studied the narrow river line.
"What could incorrect measurements accomplish?"
"Move a boundary. Change who controls a road. Make a spring appear to belong to someone it doesn't."
She frowned.
"Could that be worth killing a man?"