All the same size as the bottle beside Weston.
Garrick stopped breathing.
Nola reached for one.
A faded paper label clung to it.
No printed pharmacist’s mark.
Only handwritten instructions.
She uncorked it.
Empty.
She smelled.
Nothing.
Second bottle.
A small amount remained.
She tilted it toward the light.
Sediment moved along the bottom.
Identical.
Garrick stepped backward.
“No.”
Nola looked at him.
He stared at the bottle.
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“Mae was sick before the doctor came.”
Nola did not answer.
“She was already weak.”
“I know.”
“She had coughing.”
“Pain.”
“She couldn’t eat.”
“I know.”
“The medicine was supposed to help her.”
“I know.”
He looked at Nola with something close to fury.
“Then say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say you think he poisoned her.”
Nola’s chest tightened.
“I don’t know enough to say that.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“Yes.”
The honesty struck him harder than denial would have.
He turned away.
One hand went to the back of his neck.
Nola returned the bottle carefully to the box.
“Did she improve when she stopped taking it?”
“She never stopped.”
That answer chilled her.
“Never?”
“The doctor said she needed it every night.”
“For six months?”
“Yes.”
“Did he bring every bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Did you pay him?”
Garrick turned.
“Of course.”
“How much?”
“More than I had.”
“Did anyone recommend him?”
A pause.
“Vernon Crow.”
Nola’s eyes sharpened.
The name from the relay station.
The man waiting to buy Hollow Creek Ranch cheap.
Garrick saw the reaction.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
Nola stood.
“Who is Vernon Crow to you?”
Garrick’s jaw hardened.
“A neighbor.”
“Only neighbor?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“He owns almost every piece of good grazing land south of Hollow Creek.”
“And wants this ranch.”
Garrick’s expression changed.
“How do you know that?”
“A man at the relay station mentioned it.”
His suspicion returned instantly.
“Who?”
“One-eyed.”
“Gray beard.”
“Smelled like whiskey and horse blankets.”
“Could describe half the territory.”
“He said Crow was waiting for this place to fail.”
Garrick’s face became cold.
“He’s been trying to buy it for two years.”
“Before Mae got sick?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
He thought.
“Eight months.”
Nola slowly looked toward the medicine box.
Garrick followed.
Neither spoke.
From the bed came a small sound.
Weston shifted.
Nola immediately moved toward him.
His eyes opened.
Barely.
“Papa…”
Garrick crossed the room so quickly that the chair fell.
He knelt.
“I’m here.”
Weston’s lips moved.
“Cold.”
Nola touched his forehead.
Still hot.
But cooler.
She exhaled.
Good.
The boy looked at her.
Confused.
“Who…”
“Nola.”
He blinked.
“Old?”
Garrick made a startled sound that might have been a laugh.