He left fifteen minutes later.
The moment his horse disappeared beyond the ridge, Garrick slammed the front door so hard the window rattled.
“You almost told him.”
“I told him enough.”
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because now he will do something.”
Garrick stared.
“That’s your plan?”
“I want to know where he goes.”
“You could have said that.”
“You would have ridden after him with a rifle.”
Garrick opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Nola nodded.
“Exactly.”
Eli appeared from behind the kitchen door.
“I can follow him.”
Both adults turned.
“No.”
The boy folded his arms.
“I know every trail.”
“No.”
“I’m quieter than Papa.”
Garrick looked offended.
Nola said:
“You are ten.”
“Almost eleven.”
“No.”
Eli glared.
Then Garrick said:
“I’ll go.”
Nola stared.
“With what?”
“A horse.”
“I mean with what expression?”
“What?”
“You look like you’re going to murder somebody.”
“I might.”
“Then you’re not going.”
Garrick stepped closer.
“This is my family.”
“And because it is your family, you’re thinking badly.”
His jaw tightened.
Nola continued:
“I’ll follow.”
“No.”
“You hired me.”
“To keep house.”
“Then fire me.”
Silence.
Clara whispered from the stairs:
“Don't.”
All three adults—well, two adults and Eli—looked toward her.
The little girl clutched the banister.
“Don’t fire Nola.”
Garrick exhaled.
Nola looked at him.
He looked toward his children.
Then muttered:
“I’m beginning to understand why nobody kept you employed anywhere else.”
Nola smiled.
“Probably.”
They compromised.
Garrick followed Wren.
Nola came with him.
Eli stayed with Clara and Weston after threatening mutiny.
They rode at a distance through cottonwood scrub and low rolling hills.
Wren did not return toward town.
Instead, he cut south.
Toward Crow land.
Nola felt Garrick stiffen beside her.
Neither spoke.
They followed another mile.
Then saw the house.
Vernon Crow’s ranch headquarters sat in a shallow valley behind a line of windbreak trees.
Wren rode directly into the yard.
A man stepped from the porch.
Tall.
Broad.
Expensive coat.
Vernon Crow.
Even from a distance, Garrick recognized him.
Nola whispered:
“Still think this is coincidence?”
Garrick’s voice was barely controlled.
“No.”
They watched Wren enter Crow’s house.
Twenty minutes later, another rider arrived.
Deputy Orland Pike.
Garrick swore softly.
Nola looked at him.
“Friend?”
“No.”
“Enemy?”
“Worse.”
“Coward.”
Useful distinction.
They waited.
The deputy entered.
Three men.
Doctor.
Land buyer.
Lawman.
Nola looked toward Garrick.
“This is bigger than medicine.”
“Yes.”
“Why does Crow want Hollow Creek?”
“Water.”
The answer came immediately.
Nola looked toward him.
“What?”
“The north spring.”
“It feeds half our grazing land.”
“And in drought?”
“It’s the only reliable water for twelve miles.”