Chapter 4 - A Bullet in the Porch
Calder covered Ingrid with his body.
“Stay down.”
He drew his revolver.
Another shot never came.
Tom and two ranch hands rushed from the bunkhouse.
Calder disappeared into the darkness with them.
Ingrid remained on the porch, shaking.
Not because someone had shot at Calder.
Because someone had shot at her.
Twenty minutes later the men returned.
No shooter.
Only tracks disappearing toward the creek.
Calder knelt beside Ingrid.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He examined her face anyway.
His hand hovered near her cheek without touching.
“I'm all right.”
His fingers lowered.
For the first time, Ingrid saw fear in him.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for her.
The next morning Calder insisted she remain inside.
Ingrid lasted forty minutes.
She found him repairing a fence.
“I will not hide in your house.”
“You were nearly shot.”
“So were you.”
“People have been shooting at me for years.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Calder almost smiled.
She didn't.
“Who hates you?”
“A few cattlemen.”
“Why?”
“Water.”
In the West, Ingrid was learning, that single word could explain almost anything.
Calder owned land containing the most reliable creek in the valley.
During drought, neighboring ranchers depended on access.
One man wanted it more than anyone.
Silas Crowe.
“He offered to buy the ranch,” Calder explained.
“I refused.”
“So he burns your barn and shoots your bride?”
“We don't know that.”
“But you suspect it.”
“Yes.”
Ingrid stared across the land.
“What does Beatrice have to do with this?”
Calder became silent.
There it was again.
The wall.
Ingrid was tired of walls.
“I'm supposed to marry you.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like a guest.”
Calder looked at her.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“Beatrice's husband loaned me money after my wife and daughter died.”
“Why?”
“Because I stopped caring about the ranch.”
His voice became quieter.
“For almost two years, I barely cared whether I woke up.”
Ingrid said nothing.
“Tom kept the cattle alive. I drank. I gambled some. Lost money.”
Calder looked ashamed.
“I eventually came back to myself. By then, the debt existed.”
“And Beatrice inherited it.”
“Yes.”
“Does she want the ranch?”
“No.”
“What does she want?”
Calder looked directly at Ingrid.
“Me.”
Ingrid's stomach twisted unexpectedly.
“She wants to marry you?”
“She wanted to before you arrived.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't love her.”
Ingrid nearly laughed.
“You don't love me either.”
“No.”
The answer hurt more than it should have.
Calder noticed.
“I didn't mean—”
“You meant exactly what you said.”
“Ingrid.”
She walked away.
That afternoon she worked in the kitchen until her anger became useful.
She baked bread.
Prepared stew.
Organized the pantry.
Then she discovered something.
Behind a row of old flour tins was a ledger.
She opened it.
Numbers filled every page.
Cattle sales.
Feed purchases.
Loans.
Interest.
Ingrid had worked in her uncle's shop before traveling west.
She knew accounts.
She sat down.
Two hours later Calder found her surrounded by papers.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving your ranch.”
He stared.
“You're paying nearly twice the interest you should be.”
“What?”
“This figure.”
She pointed.
“And here. And here.”
Calder leaned closer.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither moved.
“These payments don't match the original loan terms.”
“How do you know?”
“The agreement is folded inside the ledger.”
Calder read it.
His expression darkened.
“Beatrice?”
“Perhaps.”
“Or the bank.”
Ingrid continued turning pages.
Then stopped.
One payment had been signed by someone else.
Eli Mercer.
The young ranch hand.
Calder stared at the signature.
“He told me he was depositing cattle money.”
Ingrid looked at him.
“How long has Eli worked here?”
“Eight months.”
“Who recommended him?”
Calder's face went still.
“Silas Crowe.”
The mystery suddenly had a shape.
But before Calder could confront Eli, hoofbeats thundered outside.
They ran to the porch.
Eli's horse was gone.
So was Eli.
May you like
And so was the ledger page containing the most important evidence.
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