Cole sat on the barn floor.
“They’re all here.”
Abigail turned pages.
“Not all.”
He looked up.
“More?”
She pointed.
“These notes reference accounts not in the box.”
“How many?”
“At least eleven.”
Cole swore.
Abigail kept reading.
Then stopped.
A familiar name.
Elias Mercer.
Cole’s father.
She looked at him.
“Cole.”
He saw her face.
“What?”
She handed him the document.
He read.
Everything drained from his expression.
His father had not lost the eastern pasture because of drought.
Blackwood had manipulated the debt.
Cole lowered the page.
“My father died thinking he failed.”
Abigail said nothing.
Cole’s hands shook.
She moved closer.
He looked at the barn wall.
“My mother blamed him.”
Abigail sat beside him.
Cole laughed once.
Broken.
“He blamed himself more.”
She placed her hand near his.
Not touching.
Waiting.
Cole noticed.
Then took it.
For several minutes they sat on the floor beside enough evidence to destroy half the county’s comfortable assumptions.
Cole finally whispered, “We take it to Judge Holloway.”
Abigail nodded.
“At first light.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Tonight.”
They never reached the judge.
Halfway to town, riders blocked the road.
Four men.
One carried a deputy badge.
Cole stopped the wagon.
Abigail’s heart pounded.
The deputy raised one hand.
“Evening.”
Cole said nothing.
“Sheriff wants to see you.”
“At midnight?”
“Official matter.”
Abigail whispered, “The box.”
It was beneath the seat.
Cole looked at the riders.
“What matter?”
The deputy smiled.
“Bank theft.”
Abigail almost laughed.
Of course.
Blackwood had moved first.
The deputy continued.
“Mr. Blackwood reports confidential records stolen from his institution.”
Cole said, “Search warrant?”
The deputy’s smile disappeared.
“We don’t need one on a public road.”
Abigail answered.
“That is not how warrants work.”
He looked at her.
“Ma’am, stay quiet.”
Cole’s hand moved slightly.
Abigail touched his arm.
Not yet.
The deputy dismounted.
“Step down.”
Abigail looked toward the tree line.
Then at Cole.
He understood something in her face.
“Run?”
She whispered, “Not yet.”
The deputy approached.
Abigail lifted the iron box from beneath the seat.
His eyes locked onto it.
Mistake.
Confirmation.
She smiled.
“Looking for this?”
The deputy stopped.
Cole stared at her.
The other riders shifted.
Abigail stood in the wagon.
“This box belonged to my father.”
The deputy reached.
Abigail pulled it back.
“Take another step and everyone in Copper Ridge learns exactly how badly you want it.”
He laughed.