PART 3 — FOUR CATTLE KINGS AT THE TABLE

The first rider dismounted before the others.

He was an enormous man with silver hair, a weather-beaten face, and a black hat that had seen more winters than most men survived.

Behind him came three more.

One wore a long charcoal coat.

Another had a scar running from his temple to his jaw.

The last was a lean, quiet man whose eyes seemed to miss nothing.

Four men.

Four fortunes.

Four names that could make a bank tremble.

Silas Creed.

Warren Bellamy.

Judah Flint.

And Tobias Rourke.

The cattle kings of the western territories.

Sophronia hurried out of the main house, forcing a smile onto her face.

“Gentlemen! What an unexpected honor.”

Silas Creed barely looked at her.

“Where is the woman who runs this kitchen?”

Sophronia’s smile faltered.

“Serilda? She is merely a widow employed to—”

“We didn’t ask what she was,” Warren Bellamy interrupted. “We asked where she was.”

The four men walked past Sophronia.

Straight toward the bunkhouse.

Inside, Serilda was kneading dough.

She heard the boots before she saw the men.

When she turned, four distinguished strangers stood in her doorway.

Their eyes moved over the room.

The clean floor.

The steaming pots.

The long table.

Then Silas Creed removed his hat.

The other three followed.

“Mrs. Wayross?” he asked.

Serilda wiped her hands on her apron.

“Yes?”

Silas swallowed.

“Is this August’s table?”

Serilda looked at the carved names.

“Yes. My husband built it.”

For a moment, none of the four men spoke.

Then Warren Bellamy stepped forward.

“Would you allow us to sit?”

Serilda glanced at the table.

There were nine ranch hands already seated.

A dozen more stood near the stove.

She could have refused.

Instead, she pulled out four chairs.

“There’s room,” she said.

The cattle kings sat.

And something remarkable happened.

Silas Creed bowed his head.

“August Wayross saved my life.”

Warren Bellamy stared at his hands.

“He saved my family.”

Judah Flint’s voice cracked.

“He saved my ranch.”

Tobias Rourke looked at Serilda.

“And he saved all four of us from becoming the men we once hated.”

Serilda stood motionless.

Her husband had never told her any of this.

“Why did you stop coming here?” she asked.

The four men exchanged glances.

At last, Tobias spoke.

“Because we were told August had betrayed us.”

Sophronia appeared in the doorway.

Her face had gone pale.

“Gentlemen,” she said quickly. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the main house.”

Silas turned toward her.

“No.”

One word.

But it carried enough authority to silence the entire room.

“We’ve spent eighteen years discussing this in private. Today, we eat where August wanted us to eat.”

Serilda brought out the food.

Beef stew.

Fresh biscuits.

Apple pie.

The four men stared at the dishes.

Then Silas Creed took a bite of the stew.

His eyes closed.

When he opened them, they were wet.

“Just like August’s,” he whispered.

Serilda felt her heart тιԍнтen.

“What happened to him?”

Nobody answered immediately.

Finally, Judah Flint reached inside his coat and produced a folded letter.

The paper was yellowed.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

August’s.

“Your husband left us this,” Judah said. “We were supposed to open it together.”

Serilda took the letter.

Her fingers trembled.

The envelope bore a single sentence.

TO THE FOUR MEN WHO OWE THEIR LIVES TO THE TRUTH.

She opened it.

Inside were only three lines.

If you are reading this at my table, then the woman I loved has finally found her way to Bell Yoke.

Trust her.

And do not let Sophronia Bogardis sell the land beneath your feet.

Serilda lifted her eyes.

Sophronia stood frozen in the doorway.

The four cattle kings slowly rose from their chairs.

Silas Creed spoke first.

“Mrs. Wayross, we need to show you something.”

He placed a leather folder on the table.

Inside were four land deeds.

All bearing August’s signature.

And one document that made Serilda’s blood run cold.

A transfer of ownership for Bell Yoke Ranch.

Dated three days before her husband’s death.

But the signature was not August’s.

It was a forgery.

And the woman who had sent Serilda to the filthy kitchen had been trying to sell the ranch for eighteen years.

The next morning, Sophronia would discover that the widow she had humiliated was the one woman standing between her and a fortune worth millions.

And August Wayross had left behind one final secret.

A secret hidden beneath the very table where Serilda had fed the hungry.