Chapter 11 - The Cook Who Rode Before Sunrise
Josephine spent the ride home trying not to fall off her horse.
Judson found this immensely entertaining.
“You looked mighty impressive riding down there.”
“My legs are numb.”
“That’s the saddle.”
“My dignity is numb.”
“That might be Texas.”
Josephine glared.
Judson smiled and wisely rode farther away.
Harrison stayed beside her.
“You did well.”
“I sat on an animal and suffered.”
“You rode fifteen miles.”
“I will never forgive you.”
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
“That makes it worse.”
He laughed.
Josephine discovered she liked the sound.
Too much.
Back at Ironstone, they opened the 1888 ledger.
The hidden documents transformed everything.
Harrison’s father, Samuel Croft, had purchased grazing rights to an adjacent twenty-two thousand acres from an old Spanish land grant.
The agreement had never been fully recorded with county officials because Samuel died before final registration.
Yet payment receipts and signed transfer papers were inside the ledger.
Harrison stared at the map.
“That would make Ironstone seventy-two thousand acres.”
Cordelia whispered, “Largest private ranch in the county.”
Gideon corrected her.
“Largest in this part of Texas.”
Josephine traced the boundary.
“And the second spring?”
“Here,” Gideon said.
Inside the additional acreage.
Harrison sat slowly.
His dying ranch had just grown by nearly half.
If the documents held legally, Ironstone was not merely valuable.
It was extraordinary.
Josephine looked at Gideon.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Found the papers two years ago.”
“And instead of telling Harrison, you told Vane.”
Gideon looked away.
“There’s no explanation that makes me look better.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
The bank investigator arrived that afternoon.
Mr. Arthur Pembroke was small, gray-haired, and deeply unimpressed by local authority.
He spent six hours reading.
Invoices.
Telegrams.
The ledger.
Forged sale papers.
Bank correspondence.
At midnight, he removed his spectacles.
“The branch manager in Red Creek has exceeded his authority substantially.”
Harrison asked, “Meaning?”
“Meaning your original December deadline stands.”
Josephine exhaled.
Pembroke continued.
“Furthermore, if evidence shows intentional manipulation, certain penalties may be void.”
“How much do we owe now?”
“Under the original terms, thirty-six thousand total. Twelve thousand due December first.”
Josephine stared.
They had almost enough already.
Harrison asked, “And Vane?”
“That is a criminal matter.”
Gideon shifted.
Pembroke looked toward him.
“As may be the actions of several others in this room.”
Gideon nodded.
He knew.
Josephine had expected satisfaction watching him face consequences.
Instead she felt tired.
Nobody won when trust became evidence.
Later she found Harrison outside.
Moonlight spread over Ironstone.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I’m going to the county office.”
“For the land claim.”
“Yes.”
“If it holds?”
“Everything changes.”
Josephine leaned against the fence.
“Things already changed.”
He looked at her.
“Because of you.”
“Because you finally looked at your books.”
“You made me.”
“I annoyed you.”
“Relentlessly.”
She smiled.
Harrison grew serious.
“What happens when this is over?”
“What do you mean?”
“You came for wages.”
“Yes.”
“You have them.”
“Mostly.”
“You could leave.”
Something in his voice made her look at him.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Josephine’s heartbeat changed.
Harrison stepped closer.
“I don’t know what this place looks like without you now.”
“That sounds dangerously sentimental.”
“I’ve had a difficult month.”
“Clearly.”
He smiled, but did not move away.
Neither did she.
Then the bunkhouse door slammed.
Judson shouted, “MISS PICKETT! OVEN!”
Josephine closed her eyes.
Harrison laughed.
“You should go.”
“I hate that boy.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Tonight I might.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
Behind her Harrison called, “Josephine?”
She turned.
“Stay.”
One word.
No demand.
No pressure.
Josephine looked at him for several seconds.
Then said, “Give me a reason.”
She went inside.
Harrison stood alone beneath the stars.
The next morning they rode to the county office.
The clerk examined Samuel Croft’s documents.
Then brought in a judge.
Then another surveyor.
Hours passed.
Finally, the judge leaned back.
“Mr. Croft, these signatures appear valid.”
Harrison said nothing.
“The land transfer should have been recorded years ago. But payment was completed and witnesses are documented.”
“So it’s mine?”
The judge nodded.
“Assuming no competing claim is established, yes.”
Josephine smiled.
Then the clerk cleared his throat.
“There is a competing claim.”
Everyone turned.
He placed another document on the desk.
Filed three days earlier.
Matador Syndicate claimed ownership of the same twenty-two thousand acres.
Harrison stared.
“On what grounds?”
“Purchase from the original grant heir.”
“That land was already sold.”
“That is what the court must determine.”
Josephine read the claimant’s name.
Elias Mercer.
The supposed surviving heir.
Gideon had never mentioned him.
Matador’s war was not finished.
It had simply moved from stolen cattle to a courtroom.
And this time, Josephine could not defeat them with biscuits, ledgers, or lanterns.
Unless, of course, Elias Mercer had been bought too.
May you like
And Josephine intended to find out.
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