So did Bell.
For one night Abigail allowed herself something she had never truly experienced in her first marriage.
Tenderness without judgment.
Desire without apology.
And when morning came, she woke beside a scarred man the territory called a monster and realized she had felt safer in his arms than she had ever felt in the respectable house of Nathaniel Vale.
Caleb was already awake.
Watching sunlight move across the ceiling.
“Morning.”
Abigail pulled the sheet higher out of habit.
Caleb noticed.
He did not comment.
Instead:
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Food?”
“Yes.”
“Banker destruction?”
She smiled.
“After breakfast.”
Their investigation lasted twelve days before Bell struck back.
Abigail read every page of her father’s ledger.
The pattern became clear.
Bell’s bank financed ranchers and farmers at rates that looked manageable.
Then Western Range Holdings purchased secondary claims.
Fees appeared.
Insurance charges.
Transport charges.
Emergency extensions.
Balances increased even when borrowers paid.
Eventually foreclosure.
Land moved through Western Range and returned to Bell-associated companies.
Texas.
Colorado.
Kansas Territory before statehood.
Dozens of properties.
Caleb’s family ranch had been one of the earliest.
Thomas Turner had discovered the scheme because Bell accidentally paid for flour using a Western Range draft.
Abigail’s father noticed the company name.
He remembered several customers mentioning foreclosures tied to it.
So he started recording.
Then writing.
Then investigating.
The bottle in the cashbox bothered Abigail most.
She took it to Dr. Samuel Reed in Cedar Hollow.
He examined it.
Smelled it.
Did not taste it.
Good.
“What was your father taking before he died?”
“Heart tonic Bell brought him.”
Dr. Reed’s expression changed.
“Bell?”
“He said it helped circulation.”
The doctor looked toward the bottle.
“Your father complained of stomach pain.”
“Yes.”
“Dizziness?”
“Yes.”
“Metallic taste?”
Abigail went cold.
“He said coffee tasted like pennies.”
Dr. Reed stopped moving.
Caleb stood behind her.
“What?”
The doctor did not answer immediately.
“In sufficient exposure, some compounds produce those symptoms.”
“Which compound?”
“Arsenic is one possibility.”
Abigail gripped the table.
Dr. Reed continued quickly.
“I cannot prove that from this bottle.”
“It has been sitting weeks.”
“We have no preserved tissue.”
“No proper laboratory.”
“But?”
He looked at Abigail.
“But I would not drink this.”
The implication was enough.
Abigail walked outside.
She made it to the alley before vomiting.
Caleb held her hair.
When she finished, she leaned against the wall.
“My father.”
Caleb said nothing.
“He trusted Bell.”
“I know.”
“He brought him medicine.”
“I know.”