Her brother finally found his voice.
“That paper was never recorded.”
She lifted her eyes.
He immediately wished he had remained silent.
The mountain man folded his arms.
“You recognized it quickly for something you claim means nothing.”
Her brother’s face reddened.
“I knew our father discussed changing things.”
“Discussed?”
The stable woman asked.
He looked at her.
She stepped closer.
“Did you know he signed it?”
Her brother’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
The lie was weak.
She had heard him lie better.
“When Father died,” she said slowly, “you told me the stable belonged to you.”
“It did.”
“No.”
“You said the will gave you the business because a woman couldn’t properly operate commercial property.”
“That was what Father intended.”
“Then why did he sign this?”
“Because he changed his mind later.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“The later document.”
Her brother stared.
“You said he changed his mind.”
“Show me where.”
Silence.
The stable woman looked at the mountain man.
“Where did you find this?”
“In an old document chest belonging to the notary’s widow.”
“Why was it there?”
“Your father signed two copies.”
“One went to the county office.”
“One stayed with the notary.”
“What happened to the county copy?”
The mountain man looked toward her brother.
“That is what I came here to find out.”
Her brother laughed sharply.
“You came for horses.”
“I came for horses first.”
The stable woman caught the distinction.
“First?”
The mountain man nodded.
“Three weeks ago I learned your brother was trying to sell this place.”
She looked at her brother.
“You’re selling the stable?”
“I was trying to save it.”
“From what?”
He said nothing.
The stable woman’s stomach tightened.
“From what?”
Her brother looked toward the ranch men still standing near the door.
“Leave.”
Neither moved.
The stable woman spoke before he could repeat himself.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“If you laughed while he offered me as part of his bargain, you can stand long enough to hear why.”
The ranch men suddenly looked fascinated by the floor.
Her brother’s hands curled.
“We owe money.”
“How much?”
“You don’t understand—”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand dollars.”
The stable woman stared.
Eight thousand.
It was more money than the stable could produce in several good years.
Her voice became dangerously quiet.
“To whom?”
“The bank.”
“For what?”
“Feed.”
“Repairs.”
“Operating costs.”
She shook her head.
“I buy the feed.”
He stopped.
“I know what it costs.”
“I know what roof timber costs.”
“I know what we pay the farrier.”
“I know what the blacksmith charges.”
“I know how many horses boarded here last winter.”
She took another step.
“Where did eight thousand dollars go?”
His eyes shifted.
That was enough.
“Cards?”
No answer.
“Whiskey?”