“Dismiss the attorneys.”
“No.”
“Withdraw your statement.”
“No.”
The frontier woman watched father and son.
The old cattle baron finally looked back toward her.
“You did this.”
The cowboy answered before she could.
“No.”
His father ignored him.
“You turned him against his blood.”
The frontier woman smiled sadly.
“You still don't know your son very well.”
The old man’s face hardened.
She continued:
“He turned against what you did.”
“That's different.”
“You could've been his father without being his master.”
The old man stepped backward.
He looked toward his son one last time.
“If you continue this, you will receive nothing.”
The cowboy nodded.
“All right.”
His father seemed stunned by how little resistance the threat received.
“No ranch.”
“All right.”
“No cattle.”
“All right.”
“No accounts.”
“All right.”
“No Whitmore—”
The cowboy raised one hand.
“Careful.”
Silence.
The old man stopped.
The frontier woman watched the realization settle.
Money had been his strongest weapon because he had raised his son to believe everything worth having flowed through him.
That was no longer true.
The cowboy had something his father could not give.
A home where someone stayed because she chose to.
The old man walked down the steps.
At his carriage he turned.
“You'll regret this.”
The cowboy answered:
“Probably some of it.”
His father frowned.
The cowboy continued:
“But it'll be mine to regret.”
The carriage left.
The frontier woman closed the door.
Her husband exhaled.
Then she slapped his shoulder.
Not hard.
He stared.
“What?”
“You interrupted twice.”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
“First time doesn't count because I stopped.”
“You started.”
“Fine.”
She walked back toward the bread.
He followed.
“You're not upset?”
“I am.”
“With me?”
“With everything.”
He hesitated.
“Do you want me here?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
He stayed.
No fixing.
No speeches.
He simply sat at the table while she kneaded dough.
That was another thing he had learned.
Sometimes coming when called meant doing nothing except remaining in the room.
Her father learned later.
He did not arrive demanding lineage.
He arrived carrying apples.
Too many apples.
An entire crate.
The frontier woman stared.
“What am I supposed to do with those?”
Her father looked toward the crate.
“I panicked.”
“Clearly.”
“I didn't know what pregnant women eat.”
“Food.”
“Yes.”
“I arrived at that conclusion eventually.”
The cowboy took the crate before dropping it became possible.
The older man stood awkwardly near the door.
Their relationship had not returned to normal.
The frontier woman had decided she did not want normal.