It had only made losing it hurt more.
"What happened to your wife?" Clara asked.
Thomas looked at her.
"I never had one."
"Children?"
"No."
"Family?"
He was silent for a moment.
"My parents died before I came west."
"And your brother?"
"We stopped writing."
"Why?"
Thomas stared into his coffee.
"Because we disagreed about something neither of us wanted to admit."
"What?"
Thomas looked toward the window.
"Land."
Clara said nothing.
Thomas continued.
"My father owned a farm in Missouri. Samuel wanted to sell it. I didn't."
"So you fought."
"Yes."
"Who won?"
Thomas smiled.
"Neither of us."
He stood.
"Breakfast."
Clara noticed the pantry.
There was almost nothing inside.
Beans.
Flour.
Cornmeal.
A little dried meat.
"You're running out of food."
Thomas shrugged.
"I'll go to town tomorrow."
"You should have gone already."
"Had fence work."
Clara frowned.
"You put off food for a fence?"
"Fence keeps cattle alive."
"And cattle matter more than you?"
Thomas smiled.
"They don't complain as much."
Clara laughed before she could stop herself.
It was the first time Thomas heard her laugh.
He looked at her.
She looked embarrassed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
But Thomas smiled.
For the first time in eleven years, the old house did not feel quite so empty.
Riders in the Distance
The riders came on the fifth day.
Thomas saw them from the barn.
Two men.
One wore a black hat.
The other had a red scarf tied around his neck.
They stopped near the fence.
Boone began barking.
Thomas stepped onto the porch.
"Morning."
The man in black lifted his hand.
"We're looking for a woman."
Thomas's expression did not change.
"What woman?"
"Clara Whitmore."
Inside the house, Clara froze.
Thomas glanced at the window.
Then back at the riders.
"Never heard of her."
The man smiled.
"Don't lie."
Thomas rested one hand on the porch rail.
"You asked a question."
The rider's smile disappeared.
"She stole something."
"What?"
"Money."
Thomas laughed quietly.
"Then you should talk to the sheriff."
"We don't need a sheriff."
Thomas looked toward his rifle.
"That's usually what men say when they don't want witnesses."
The second rider reached toward his gun.
Thomas's voice became cold.
"Don't."
The man stopped.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then the black-hatted man said, "This isn't your business."
Thomas answered quietly.
"She is standing on my land."
The man stared at him.
"You're making a mistake."
Thomas nodded.
"Maybe."
The riders turned their horses.
Before leaving, the man in black looked back.
"We'll return."
Thomas watched them disappear.
Clara came outside.
"You should have told them I was here."
Thomas looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because they're dangerous."
"So are snakes."
She frowned.
"What?"
"You don't invite a snake inside because you're afraid of it."
Clara stared at him.
"You really don't know when to be afraid, do you?"
Thomas smiled.
"Oh, I know."
"Then why aren't you?"
"Because fear doesn't mean you stop doing what's right."
Clara looked toward the trail.
"They'll come back."
"I know."
"And when they do?"
Thomas looked at his rifle.
"We'll be ready."
The Deed
That evening Clara finally told him the truth.
Her father had not simply left debts.
Before his death, Samuel Whitmore had discovered that a group of land speculators had been using forged documents to claim water rights across the valley.
Samuel had found evidence.
Names.
Payments.
Signatures.
Maps.
The most important document was a deed proving that several thousand acres near Red Mesa had been illegally transferred.
Clara had the original.
Thomas read the papers beneath the lamp.
His face became serious.
"This is dangerous."
"I know."
"Why did your father send you here?"
"He trusted you."
Thomas looked at her.
"After nine years?"
"He told me that if I ever needed help, I should find the one man in Arizona who would help without asking what he could gain."
Thomas stared at the papers.
"Your father had a strange opinion of me."
Clara smiled faintly.
"He called you stubborn."
Thomas laughed.
"That sounds more like him."
Then he saw one name.
Ezekiel Voss.
Thomas knew it.
Everyone did.
Voss owned stores.
Warehouses.
Mining claims.
Transport companies.
And, according to rumors, half the politicians between Tucson and Prescott owed him money.
Thomas folded the document.
"These papers could get people killed."