The missing pages.
Ethan unfolded the first.
Thomas Callaway’s handwriting crossed the paper.
Daniel was right. Silas paid Clerk Benton to alter three patents. The true boundary places the spring entirely within Harmon land.
Clara gasped.
Another page.
If Silas controls the creek, Callaway, Mercer, Hale, and Brooks ranches will fail within five dry years.
Another.
He knows I have copies.
Ethan read faster.
The final entry was dated the night Thomas disappeared.
Daniel will meet me at Miller’s Canyon. We will do what must be done. If this works, Ethan lives.
Ethan stopped breathing.
Clara touched his arm.
“Ethan.”
He read it again.
If this works, Ethan lives.
“What did they do?”
A sound came from outside.
A horse.
Then another.
Ethan stuffed the pages into his shirt.
Clara looked toward the doorway.
Three Rourke riders appeared between the trees.
One carried a rifle.
“Back door,” Ethan whispered.
“There isn’t one.”
“Then window.”
The first bullet struck the chimney.
Stone exploded.
Clara screamed.
Ethan pulled her behind the wall.
“Stay down!”
Another shot.
“Callaway!” someone shouted. “Mr. Rourke wants the papers!”
Ethan drew his revolver.
He had six rounds.
They had at least three rifles.
Wonderful.
Clara crawled toward the rear opening where the wall had partly collapsed.
Ethan fired once toward the trees.
A rider ducked.
“Go!”
Clara climbed over the stones.
Ethan followed.
They ran into the pines.
Behind them came shouting.
A bullet cut bark from a tree beside Ethan’s head.
They reached their horses.
Clara mounted first.
Ethan slapped her horse’s flank.
“Ride!”
“What about you?”
“Ride!”
She did.
Ethan mounted seconds later.
They tore down the ridge with Rourke’s men following.
The trail narrowed near a ravine.
Clara looked back.
“Ethan!”
One rider was gaining.
Ethan pulled his horse aside, waited, then swung the loose end of his rope as the rider approached.
The rope caught the man across the chest.
He flew from the saddle.
Ethan almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
Then smoke rose behind them.
The line shack was burning.
Clara looked over her shoulder.
“They’re destroying it.”
“Let them.”
Ethan touched the papers beneath his shirt.
“We have what they wanted.”
They did not stop until they reached the creek.
Clara slid from the saddle, shaking.
Ethan dismounted.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He checked anyway.
Her hands.
Her shoulders.
Her face.
She suddenly caught his shirt.
“You could have been killed.”
“So could you.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like dying would merely be inconvenient.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Ethan.”
Her voice broke.
He stopped.
Clara stared at him.
“I spent two years afraid to tell you I loved you.”
His heartbeat changed.
She continued.
“And now I finally tell you, and within one day you’re getting shot at because of me.”
“Not because of you.”
“Because of my family.”
“Clara.”
“If something happens to you—”
He kissed her.
There was no careful beginning.
No polite warning.
Ethan simply pulled her against him and kissed her beneath the cottonwoods while the creek rushed beside them and frightened horses stamped in the grass.
For one stunned heartbeat Clara did not move.
Then her arms wrapped around him.