Whitewashed buildings.
A large stone house with a broad veranda.
The smell of dust, hay, and money.
Gideon Hargrove waited outside the main office.
He was a heavyset man in his fifties, dressed in an expensive black coat and polished boots.
He smiled when Nathaniel approached.
“Brooks.”
“Hargrove.”
“I wondered whether you'd have the courage to come.”
Nathaniel dismounted.
“I wondered whether you'd have the courage to meet me without hiding behind gunmen.”
Hargrove laughed.
“Still proud.”
“Still dishonest.”
The rancher's smile thinned.
“Careful.”
Nathaniel looked around.
Several armed men stood near the stables.
More watched from the veranda.
He knew he was surrounded.
Hargrove gestured toward the office.
“Inside.”
Nathaniel entered.
The room looked unchanged.
Heavy wooden desk.
Leather chairs.
A large map on the wall.
And a locked cabinet beside the window.
The same cabinet from which Nathaniel had once stolen the ledger pages.
Hargrove poured whiskey into two glasses.
Nathaniel did not touch his.
“Where's Samuel's evidence?”
Hargrove sat behind the desk.
“Straight to business.”
“Yes.”
“You always lacked patience.”
“And you always talked too much.”
Hargrove smiled.
“Do you know why Samuel died?”
Nathaniel's hands tightened.
“Tell me.”
“Because he was foolish.”
Nathaniel stared.
“He discovered things that didn't concern him.”
“He discovered you were stealing cattle.”
“He discovered how business works.”
“You murdered him.”
Hargrove leaned back.
“I didn't pull the trigger.”
Nathaniel went still.
“Who did?”
The rancher studied him.
“Mercer.”
Nathaniel felt cold anger settle in his chest.
“You ordered it.”
Hargrove said nothing.
Nathaniel stepped closer.
“Didn't you?”
The rancher sighed.
“Samuel was a good boy. Hardworking. Loyal, until he decided loyalty meant asking questions.”
Nathaniel stared at him.
“You killed him because he found the ledger.”
“He made a choice.”
“No,” Nathaniel said quietly. “You did.”
Hargrove's expression hardened.
“You think you're better than me?”
“I know I'm not innocent.”
“That's right.”
The rancher stood.
“You worked for me seven years. You helped drive cattle. You collected debts. You enforced boundaries. You took my money.”
Nathaniel said nothing.
“And now you want to pretend you're some righteous hero because an Apache woman smiled at you?”
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.
“Leave her out of this.”
Hargrove laughed.
“So it's true.”
“What?”
“You've fallen for the chief's unwanted daughter.”
Nathaniel took a step forward.
Hargrove's hand moved toward the revolver on his desk.
“Careful, Brooks.”
Nathaniel stopped.
The rancher smiled.
“I know all about her. The scar. The illness. The failed engagements. A woman nobody else wanted.”
Nathaniel's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Don't speak about her again.”
Hargrove leaned forward.
“Then perhaps you should have stayed away from my business.”
He pushed a document across the desk.
Nathaniel glanced at it.
“What is this?”
“An agreement.”
“Meaning?”
“You surrender the stolen ledger pages, withdraw your testimony, and convince the people in Red Willow Valley to accept my water claim.”
Nathaniel looked up.
“And in return?”
“You live.”
The room fell silent.
Nathaniel stared at the document.
Then he laughed.
Hargrove frowned.
“Something amusing?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You still think everyone has a price.”
“Everyone does.”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“No.”
The rancher's expression darkened.
“I made you, Brooks.”
“You hired me.”
“I gave you everything.”
“You gave me wages. Samuel paid with his life.”
Hargrove slammed his fist onto the desk.
“You ungrateful bastard!”
Nathaniel remained still.
“I'm not signing.”
The rancher stared.
“Then you're a dead man.”
Nathaniel met his gaze.
“Perhaps.”
Hargrove reached for the revolver.
Before his fingers touched it, a voice sounded from the doorway.
“I wouldn't do that, Mr. Hargrove.”
Both men turned.
Thomas Reed stood outside, accompanied by a territorial marshal and two deputies.
Hargrove's face drained of color.
“What is this?”
The marshal stepped into the office.
“Gideon Hargrove, I'm here to question you regarding suspected fraud, witness intimidation, and the death of Samuel Price.”
Hargrove stared.
“You have no authority here.”
The marshal produced a warrant.
“Judge disagrees.”
Hargrove looked toward Nathaniel.
“You set me up.”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“No. You did that yourself.”
The rancher's gaze shifted to the door.
Then toward the window.
The marshal noticed.
“Don't.”
For a moment, it seemed Hargrove might surrender.
Then he grabbed the revolver.
The marshal shouted.
A shot exploded.
The window shattered.
Nathaniel lunged.
He struck Hargrove's wrist, sending the weapon across the desk.
Both men crashed to the floor.
Hargrove fought with surprising strength.
He drove his fist into Nathaniel's injured side.
Pain tore through him.
Nathaniel staggered.
Hargrove reached for a knife.
Before he could use it, the marshal struck his arm with the butt of a revolver.
The knife fell.
Deputies seized him.
Within seconds, Gideon Hargrove was pinned to the floor.
He struggled wildly.
“You can't do this!”
The marshal tightened the handcuffs.
“Seems we already have.”
Nathaniel leaned against the desk, breathing hard.
Hargrove glared at him.
“You think this is over?”
Nathaniel looked down.
“No.”
He thought of Samuel.
Of his mother waiting years for answers.
Of Red Willow Valley.
Of Ayana.
“But it's finally beginning.”