Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Stayed
Martha Bell pressed the wet cloth against Colton Hayes's burning forehead and whispered:
"Don't you dare die on me."
Sheriff Nathan Cole stepped through the cabin doorway carrying Colton's bloodstained leather saddlebag.
A fresh knife cut ran across one of its brass buckles.
Someone had searched it.
This was no longer just a sick man's fever.
Martha kept her hand against Colton's forehead even after the sheriff spoke.
She had spent most of her forty years learning how to recognize the moment someone wanted her to disappear.
Sometimes it happened in a general store when two women stopped talking the instant she entered. Sometimes it happened at church when a pew somehow became full despite having room for three more people. Sometimes it happened when men looked through her rather than at her, as though a heavyset woman in a faded green dress and stained work apron had somehow become part of the furniture.
Nathan Cole was doing it now.
Not cruelly.
Almost apologetically.
"Martha," he said, "you need to come outside."
"No."
"Martha."
"He's burning up."
"And Doctor Pierce says nobody should be this close."
"Doctor Pierce stood six feet from the porch and wouldn't come through the door."
Nathan glanced at Colton.
The rancher's breathing came shallow and rough. His dark hair stuck to his forehead. Sweat ran into his beard. Beneath the brown vest Martha had opened to reach his bandages, his shirt clung damply to his chest.
Three days earlier, Colton Hayes had ridden into Red Hollow with a wound beneath his ribs.
He told people a steer had thrown him against a broken fence rail.
By the next morning, he had developed a fever.
By that afternoon, the story spreading through town had changed.
Somebody said Colton had caught a disease from cattle brought through Kansas.
Somebody else said two ranch hands had already become sick.
Neither statement was true.
Truth had never traveled through Red Hollow as fast as fear.
By sunset, Colton's two hired men had packed their belongings and left.
The cook followed.
The neighbors stopped coming.
Even men who had shared whiskey with Colton on Saturday nights found reasons not to ride along the road passing his property.
Martha came anyway.
She had walked the final mile through ankle-deep mud after the wheel on her borrowed wagon broke.
Now Nathan looked at the wet cloth in her hand.
"You've done enough."
"I'll decide when I've done enough."
"If whatever he has spreads—"
"Then why aren't I sick?"
Nathan had no answer.
Martha dipped the cloth into a basin beside the bed and wrung it out.
"You've been here how long?"
"Since yesterday morning."
"And you're feeling all right?"
"I'm tired."
"Anything else?"
"I'm irritated."
Despite himself, Nathan almost smiled.
Then his expression hardened.
He placed the saddlebag on the wooden table near the bed.
"I found this behind the barn."
Martha looked at it.
Colton's saddlebag was old brown leather polished smooth by years of use. She had seen him carry it into town dozens of times. He kept ranch ledgers inside, bills of sale, sometimes cash.
The buckle on the left flap had been slashed.
Not broken through wear.
Cut.
"Was anything taken?" Martha asked.
"I don't know."
"Ask him."
Nathan looked toward the bed.
"Does he look ready to answer questions?"
Martha did not reply.
Colton groaned.
She turned instantly.
His right hand moved weakly across the blanket, fingers closing as though searching for something.
"I'm here," Martha said.
His eyelids fluttered.
For a moment, his dark eyes opened.
They did not seem to recognize her.
Then his hand found her wrist.
His grip was surprisingly strong.
"Martha?"
"Yes."
His lips moved.
She bent closer.
"What is it?"
"Don't..."
His voice disappeared.
"Don't what?"
"Let..."
His eyes shifted toward Nathan.
The sheriff stepped closer.
Colton's fingers tightened around Martha.
"Don't let... Mercer..."
His breath caught painfully.
Martha leaned closer.
"Silas Mercer?"
Colton gave the smallest nod.
Then his eyes closed.
His hand fell back to the blanket.
Nathan stared at him.
Martha slowly looked at the sheriff.
"Why would he say Mercer's name?"
Nathan didn't answer quickly enough.
That told her more than his words might have.
"Nathan."
"I don't know."
"You do know something."
"I know Silas came out here."
"When?"
"The night Colton got hurt."
Martha froze.
"Colton told everyone he was alone."
"Apparently he wasn't."
Nathan crossed to the small window.
The glass rattled beneath the rain.
"Silas says he came because Colton wanted to discuss grazing rights."
"At night?"
"That's what Silas says."
"And after that?"
"He claims he left."
"Before Colton was injured?"
"He says so."
Martha studied him.
Nathan Cole had been sheriff for nine years. He was not a foolish man, and he was not easily frightened.
But he looked frightened now.
Not of disease.
Of something else.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Nathan lowered his voice.
"Silas Mercer owns half the businesses in Red Hollow."
"I know who he is."
"He holds mortgages on twenty-three ranches."
"I know."
"He also holds Colton's note."
Martha stopped wringing the cloth.
"Colton owes him money?"
"Not exactly."
Nathan looked toward the unconscious rancher.
"Colton's father borrowed against this ranch years ago. Colton's been paying it down ever since."
"How much remains?"
"According to Mercer, enough to take the property if Colton defaults."
"And if Colton dies?"
Nathan said nothing.
Martha understood.
Silas Mercer was sixty-two, broad-shouldered despite age, with silver hair, polished boots, and the soft hands of a man who had become wealthy enough to make other people dirty themselves for him.
He had spent twenty years buying land around Red Hollow.
Colton's ranch was the one piece separating Mercer's northern holdings from a railroad survey running south.
Martha had heard the rumors.
Everyone had.
"If Colton dies," she said, "Mercer gets the ranch."
"Possibly."
"Possibly?"
Nathan rubbed his jaw.
"Depends on what's written in the loan documents."
"You have them?"
"No."
"Who does?"
"Mercer."
Martha gave a bitter laugh.
"Convenient."
Nathan stepped closer.
"That's why I need you outside. If somebody came here looking through Colton's things, I need to search the cabin."
"Search."
"I need you somewhere safe."
"I am somewhere safe."
"Martha—"
"I have spent twenty-four hours keeping this man alive while every brave soul in Red Hollow decided caring for a neighbor was too dangerous."
She pointed toward the door.
"Doctor Pierce left medicine on the porch like he was feeding a wild animal. Reverend Cooper prayed from his wagon. Mrs. Talbot brought broth, set it on a fence post, and drove away before I could thank her."
Her voice remained calm.
That made it sharper.
"So don't come in here now and tell me I'm the one who needs protecting."
Nathan looked ashamed.
Good, Martha thought.
Someone should.
She returned the cloth to Colton's forehead.
Nathan searched quietly.
He opened drawers, checked beneath the table, inspected the hearth and Colton's desk.
The cabin consisted of one large room and a small kitchen partitioned by rough timber walls. Colton had lived alone since his mother died five years earlier.
Martha knew more about him than he probably realized.
She knew he always purchased coffee on Tuesdays.
She knew he gave the widow Ellis free firewood every winter but told her he had cut too much.
She knew he hated onions.
She knew he had once repaired the Bell family's fence without accepting payment after Martha's father broke his leg.
But until yesterday, Martha and Colton had never exchanged more than a handful of sentences at a time.
Men like Colton Hayes were noticed.
Women like Martha were useful.
Those were different things.
Nathan opened Colton's desk.
"Papers are missing."
Martha glanced toward him.
"How can you tell?"
"The dust."
A rectangular clean patch showed where something had recently rested.
"Could Colton have moved them?"
"Maybe."
Nathan crouched and studied the floor.
"Martha."
She joined him.
Mud had dried beneath the desk.
A partial boot print.
Large.
The heel bore a distinctive horseshoe-shaped repair nail.
Nathan touched it.
"That isn't Colton's boot."
"How do you know?"
"I've seen Colton's soles. He wears straight heel plates."
Martha looked at the door.
Someone had been inside.
"Could this have happened before he got sick?"
"It could."
Nathan clearly did not believe it.
Neither did she.
A weak sound came from the bed.
Martha hurried back.
Colton was shivering now.
She pulled the blanket higher.
His fever had seemed slightly lower an hour earlier.
Now his skin burned again.
"He's worse," she said.
Nathan moved toward the door.
"I'll bring Pierce."
"He won't come."
"He'll come if I arrest him and carry him over my shoulder."
That almost earned Martha a smile.
Almost.
"Nathan."
The sheriff paused.
"If Silas Mercer was here that night..."
"I'll speak to him."
"No."
Nathan frowned.
"Why not?"
"Because if Colton is afraid of Mercer, you walking straight into his office tells Mercer Colton has spoken."
Nathan considered that.
"What do you suggest?"
"Find out whose boot made that print."
Nathan stared at her for a second.
Then nodded.
"I'll return before dark."
He left.
The cabin became quiet except for rain and Colton's breathing.
Martha sat beside him.
"You've managed to make trouble while unconscious," she murmured.
Colton didn't answer.
She changed the cloth again.
Hours passed.
She forced broth between his lips.
She cleaned the wound beneath his ribs.
It was ugly but not as rotten as people claimed.
The skin around it was red and swollen, yet there were no black streaks, no smell of decay.
Martha had cared for her father after he sliced his leg open with an axe. She had watched infection take hold before.
Colton was sick.
But something about this was wrong.
His fever rose and fell too sharply.
Almost as if something kept provoking it.
She inspected the bandage.
Then the jar of ointment Doctor Pierce had left behind.
The label read CAMPHORATED SALVE.
She opened it.
The smell was wrong.
Martha had used camphor on livestock.
This smelled sweeter.
Bitter beneath that.
She touched none of it.
Instead, she wrapped the jar in cloth and placed it inside a cupboard.
Colton stirred near dusk.
This time his eyes opened fully.
"Martha."
"You're awake."
"Where..."
"Home."
He looked around.
Memory returned slowly.
"My men?"
"Gone."
His jaw tightened.
"The doctor?"
"Mostly gone."
A weak smile touched his mouth.
"Everybody?"
"Everybody except the woman too stubborn to listen."
He studied her.
For the first time Martha felt truly seen by him.
Not noticed.
Seen.
"You stayed?"
She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.
"Somebody had to keep you from making the undertaker rich."
He tried to laugh.
Pain stopped him.
His hand moved toward his side.
"Don't."
Martha caught his wrist.
"The wound needs rest."
Colton looked at her hand around his.
"How bad?"
"The fever worries me more."
His gaze sharpened.
"What did Pierce give you?"
"An ointment."
"Don't use it."
Martha went still.
"Why?"
"Don't know."
"You told Nathan not to trust Mercer."
Colton closed his eyes.
"Shouldn't have said that."
"Why?"
"Martha."
"What happened the night you got hurt?"
He did not answer.
"Did Mercer do this?"
"No."
"Did one of his men?"
Silence.
Martha stood.
"If you want to die protecting whoever did it, that's your business. But I haven't spent two days hauling water and listening to you groan just so you can become noble at the last minute."
Colton opened his eyes.
She expected anger.
Instead he looked almost amused.
"Nobody talks to me like that."
"That's because everyone in town wants something from you."
"And you don't?"
"No."
"What do you want?"
Martha looked at him.
"At the moment? I'd like you to survive long enough to wash your own blankets."
His smile appeared again.
Then disappeared.
"Mercer came here because of the railroad."
Martha sat down.
"He offered to buy the ranch."
"And you refused."
"I refused the amount."
"Then what?"
"He showed me papers."
"What papers?"
"A revised loan agreement."
Colton's voice weakened.
"It said my father borrowed twice what I knew about."
"Did he?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because I found his original ledger."
Martha's pulse quickened.
"Where?"
Colton glanced toward the desk.
Then remembered.
His expression changed.
"What?"
"The ledger."
"What about it?"
"It was in the desk."
Martha looked at the empty rectangular patch Nathan had found.
"Not anymore."
Colton tried to sit up.
Pain folded him immediately.
Martha caught his shoulders.
"Easy."
"Someone took it."
"Nathan found signs."
Colton breathed hard.
"The saddlebag."
"He found that behind the barn."
"Open the lining."
Martha brought it over.
She examined the leather.
At first she saw nothing.
Then Colton pointed weakly toward the inside seam.
She found a hidden slit beneath the lining.
Her fingers touched folded paper.
She pulled it out.
It was a map.
A railroad survey.
A thick red line crossed the southern boundary of Colton's property.
Beside it was a handwritten note:
PROPOSED STATION — HAYES CROSSING.
Martha stared.
A railroad station could turn worthless prairie into the most valuable ground in the county.
Now she understood why Mercer wanted the ranch.
But something else had been written beneath the survey in Colton's handwriting.
Martha read it once.
Then again.
"What's this?"
Colton's face went pale beneath the fever.
"That's why Mercer came."
The handwritten sentence said:
THE ORIGINAL LOAN WAS PAID IN FULL IN 1878.
Martha slowly raised her eyes.
"If that's true, Mercer doesn't own any claim on this land."
"No."
"So he's been lying."
"For years."
A noise sounded outside.
Both of them froze.
Not thunder.
A horse.
Martha extinguished the lamp closest to the window.
Colton struggled to reach toward a small table.
"My rifle."
"No."
"Martha."
"You can't stand."
The horse stopped.
Boots struck the porch.
One step.
Then another.
Martha reached for the iron fireplace poker.
Colton whispered, "Get behind me."
She almost laughed.
"You can't even lift your head."
The door handle moved.
Martha tightened both hands around the poker.
Someone knocked once.
Then a voice came through the wood.
"Martha Bell?"
She recognized Doctor Pierce.
She lowered the poker slightly.
"Doctor?"
"Open up."
"Why?"
There was a pause.
"I brought something for Colton."
Martha glanced at him.
His eyes were wide now.
"Don't," he whispered.
Doctor Pierce knocked again.
"Martha, please."
She moved slowly toward the door.
"Why did you tell me to use the ointment?"
Silence.
"What is in it?"
Another silence.
Then Doctor Pierce spoke so quietly she almost didn't hear him.
"I didn't prepare that jar."
Martha's blood went cold.
Behind her, Colton whispered her name.
Something scraped beneath the cabin's rear window.
Martha turned.
A shadow moved outside.
The front door handle twisted again.
Doctor Pierce's voice shook.
"Martha, don't open the door."
She stared at the latch.
"You just told me to."
"That wasn't me."
Martha stopped breathing.
A second voice came from directly behind the cabin.
Then someone whispered through the rear window:
"Colton Hayes."
May you like
The glass latch began to lift from the outside.
Someone was coming in.
