Beatrice had been kissed twice before.
Once by a boy who wanted to tell friends he had done it.
Once by a drunk widower who assumed she would be grateful.
This was different.
Caleb kissed her as though the answer yes had made the moment valuable rather than inevitable.
When they separated, Beatrice’s eyes remained closed.
Caleb whispered, “You all right?”
She opened them.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She touched his scar.
He flinched slightly.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only in cold.”
She traced the edge carefully.
“People stare.”
“So do you.”
“I’m touching.”
“Worse.”
She smiled.
Then kissed him again.
The Denver chemist’s report arrived eleven days later.
Arsenic.
Clear.
Repeated exposure.
The tonic contained enough arsenic that sustained use could have killed Beatrice.
Caleb read the report standing beside the fireplace.
His face became completely still.
Beatrice had learned stillness was more dangerous than shouting.
“Caleb.”
“Vale gave you this.”
“Yes.”
“He sent another bottle after you left.”
“Yes.”
“We go to the sheriff.”
“Not Ridge Creek.”
“Why?”
“Marcus owns half the sheriff’s patience.”
Caleb looked at her.
“Nathaniel suggested the territorial marshal in Silverton.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Caleb folded the report.
“Tonight.”
Beatrice almost smiled.
“There you are.”
They reached Silverton the following afternoon.
Marshal Thomas Rourke listened without interrupting.
That alone distinguished him from most men.
He read Eleanor’s letter.
Dr. Vale’s note.
The chemist report.
Trust documents.
Then looked toward Beatrice.
“You believe Marcus Bell poisoned your mother.”
“I believe it is possible.”
“Good answer.”
Caleb smiled slightly.
Beatrice noticed.
The marshal continued.
“Your own poisoning is stronger.”
“Can you arrest him?”
“Not yet.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“He nearly killed her.”
“Then I want a case that survives a jury.”
Caleb hated the answer because it sounded like Beatrice.
The marshal looked toward him.
“You want revenge or prison?”
“Prison.”
“Then be patient.”
The plan was simple.
Dangerous.
Beatrice would write Marcus.
Tell him the mountain air had improved her health.
Tell him she intended to return to Ridge Creek for her birthday and assume control of the mine.
Then watch what he did.
Caleb refused immediately.
“No.”
Beatrice looked at him.
The marshal looked between them.
“No?”
Caleb stood.
“You’re using her as bait.”
The marshal answered calmly.
“I’m asking Mrs. Mercer if she is willing.”
“She isn’t.”
Beatrice’s voice hardened.
“Caleb.”
He turned.
“What did we say?”
“This is different.”
“No.”
“It absolutely is.”
She stood.
“This is my life.”
“And you could lose it.”
“I nearly lost it while knowing nothing.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“At least now I choose the risk.”
He looked away.
Beatrice stepped closer.
“You said nobody gets to decide my life.”
“I know.”
“That includes you.”
Pain moved across his face.
“I know.”
The marshal remained silent.
This was not his argument.