PART 3 — THE TWENTY MEN WHO CAME TO TAKE HER HOME

Silas took the document from Edward.

He read it once.

Then again.

His face became completely still.

Clara stepped closer.

“What does it say?”

Silas folded the paper.

“It says someone has purchased the southern portion of my ranch.”

“Who?”

“Hyram Croft.”

Edward spat into the dirt.

“He’s been buying land all along the coast. Small ranches, abandoned claims, water rights. Now he wants yours.”

Silas looked toward the southern pasture.

“That property isn’t for sale.”

Edward shook his head.

“Apparently, someone disagrees.”

Clara reached for the document.

“Let me see it.”

Silas hesitated.

“Clara—”

“Let me see it.”

He handed it over.

She examined the paper carefully. The seal looked official. The signatures appeared convincing. But something bothered her.

She read the document again.

Then she turned it sideways.

“Silas, where is the original deed?”

“In the office.”

“Get it.”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Because this document says the sale was completed on October fourteenth.”

“That’s impossible. I was here on October fourteenth.”

“Exactly.”

She pointed to the signature at the bottom.

“Did you sign this?”

“No.”

“Did you authorize anyone to sign for you?”

“No.”

“Then someone has forged your signature.”

Edward shook his head.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Clara continued examining the paper.

“There’s something else. The notary’s name is Samuel Griggs.”

Silas nodded.

“He’s the county notary.”

“Then why does his seal have last year’s date?”

Silas leaned closer.

Clara pointed to the tiny inscription beneath the stamp.

The date was unmistakable.

The seal had expired nearly eleven months earlier.

For the first time, Silas looked at her as though he were seeing something he had overlooked.

“You’re certain?”

“I spent three years working with legal contracts for the grain merchant. I know what a properly recorded document should look like.”

Edward let out a breath.

“Then Croft has nothing.”

“Not necessarily,” Clara replied.

Both men turned toward her.

“Someone may have filed a different version with the county office. We need the original records before we make any ᴀssumptions.”

Silas nodded.

“How long?”

“One day if the road is clear. Longer if the weather turns.”

Edward glanced toward the western sky.

“It’s already turning.”

A low bank of fog was rolling over the distant hills.

Silas looked at Clara.

“Take the children upstairs.”

“What children?”

He blinked.

“Your children.”

Clara almost corrected him.

They had no children.

Then she realized he meant the ranch hands’ families who lived in the small cottages near the barn.

She nodded.

“All right.”

Silas turned toward Edward.

“Get the men. Nobody leaves the property alone.”

But before either man could move, a line of riders appeared beyond the southern fence.

Twenty men.

They rode slowly, deliberately, spreading across the pasture.

At their center was a heavyset man wearing a black coat and a silver watch chain.

Hyram Croft.

He dismounted before reaching the porch.

“Mercer!”

Silas walked down the steps.

“Croft.”

Croft smiled.

“Fine morning.”

“Not for you.”

The older man chuckled.

“I see your new wife has arrived.”

Clara stepped onto the porch.

Croft examined her from head to toe.

“So this is the woman from Minnesota.”

Clara met his gaze.

“And you’re the man who sends twenty riders to deliver a piece of paper.”

A few of the men laughed.

Croft’s smile disappeared.

“Careful, Mrs. Mercer. This isn’t a woman’s concern.”

Clara stepped down beside her husband.

“Then why did you bring the document to my husband’s house?”

Croft looked at Silas.

“She’s spirited.”

“She’s my wife,” Silas replied.

Something in his voice surprised Clara.

It wasn’t affection exactly.

But it was the first time he had publicly stood beside her without treating her like an inconvenient addition to his life.

Croft unfolded another document.

“I’ve come to inform you that the southern pasture is now mine. My men will begin removing the cattle tomorrow.”

Silas didn’t move.

“You’re not touching a single animal.”

Croft sighed.

“Still stubborn.”

He turned toward Clara.

“Perhaps you should explain to your husband that pride doesn’t pay debts.”

Clara stepped forward.

“Neither does fraud.”

Croft’s eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

She held up the document.

“The notary’s seal is outdated. The date doesn’t match the county records, and the signature doesn’t appear to be genuine.”

For a moment, the ranch became silent.

Then Croft laughed.

“You’re accusing me of forgery?”

“I’m asking why your paperwork is defective.”

He stepped closer.

“Perhaps you should return to your kitchen.”

Clara didn’t move.

“Perhaps you should return to whoever taught you to forge documents. They need to improve their work.”

Edward made a choking sound behind them.

Silas turned his head, hiding what might have been the beginning of a smile.

Croft’s expression hardened.

“You have until tomorrow morning, Mercer. After that, I’ll have the sheriff enforce my claim.”

He mounted his horse.

Then he delivered one final warning.

“Enjoy your little marriage while it lasts.”

The riders disappeared into the fog.

Silas remained on the porch.

Clara turned toward him.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

He looked at her.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

Not the small, reluctant sound she had heard before.

A genuine laugh.

“You just insulted the richest landowner in three counties.”

“He deserved it.”

“You realize he could make our lives miserable?”

“Silas, he already seems to have started.”

He shook his head.

For a moment, they stood together in the fading afternoon light.

Then he reached for her hand.

It was brief.

Almost uncertain.

But Clara didn’t pull away.

That night, Silas brought the original deed from his office.

Clara spread it across the kitchen table beside Croft’s document.

She spent hours comparing names, dates, property descriptions, and boundary measurements.

Something was wrong.

Not with the southern pasture.

With the entire ranch description.

Croft’s document claimed ownership of a strip of land extending from the coast road to the eastern creek.

But the original deed placed the creek several hundred yards farther north.

If the forged boundary were accepted, Croft would gain control of the ranch’s only dependable water source.

Clara leaned back.

“He’s not after your pasture.”

Silas looked up.

“What?”

“He’s after the creek.”

Silas moved beside her.

“That’s impossible. The creek is on my land.”

“Not according to this document.”

He examined the boundary.

Then his expression darkened.

“That means every cattle ranch east of here would eventually depend on Croft for water.”

Clara nodded.

“He isn’t buying a ranch. He’s buying control of the valley.”

Silas stared at the map.

For the first time, he seemed genuinely afraid.

Not for himself.

For the men who worked for him, their families, and the animals that depended on the creek.

“There’s a meeting at the county courthouse next week,” he said.

“Then we’ll go.”

He shook his head.

“The road is dangerous. Besides, Croft will have the sheriff on his side.”

Clara looked at him.

“Are you asking me to stay behind?”

“I’m asking you not to put yourself in danger.”

“Silas, I crossed half a continent to get here. I’m not going to hide upstairs while someone steals our home.”

He looked at her.

“Our home?

Clara stopped.

She hadn’t intended to say it.

But the words had come naturally.

Silas’s expression softened.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Our home.”

He looked down at the papers.

Then he did something Clara hadn’t expected.

He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

“All right. Tell me what we do.”

It was a small sentence.

But it was the first time he had treated her as an equal.

They worked until nearly midnight.

Clara made a list of the documents they needed. Silas located old cattle-sale records and previous property surveys. Edward agreed to speak with two neighboring ranchers who had witnessed the original boundary agreement.

By morning, they had a plan.

But someone else had a plan too.

At dawn, Clara stepped outside and found the kitchen door hanging open.

The account books were scattered across the floor.

The desk drawers had been emptied.

And the wooden box containing the letters from the previous brides was gone.

Silas rushed downstairs.

“What’s happened?”

Clara pointed toward the broken lock.

“Someone came during the night.”

He examined the room.

“Did they take anything else?”

“The account books. The letters. And the original map.”

Silas went pale.

“Where’s the deed?”

Clara turned toward the table.

It was still there.

But something had been placed on top of it.

A small envelope.

Inside was a pH๏τograph of Clara standing beside the stagecoach on the day she arrived.

On the back, someone had written six words.

SHE SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN MINNESOTA.

Silas read the message.

His face changed.

He turned toward the door and reached for his rifle.

Clara caught his arm.

“Don’t.”

“They’ve threatened you.”

“Then we need to understand why.”

He looked at her.

Clara picked up the pH๏τograph again.

“Silas, someone knew I was coming before I arrived.”

He stared at the picture.

Then she asked the question that neither of them wanted to consider.

“Who told them about me?”

And from the barn came the sound of a horse galloping away.

Edward Bell was gone.

So was his saddle.

And on the kitchen table, beneath the pH๏τograph, Clara discovered one final piece of paper.

It was a list of all five women who had refused to marry Silas.

Beside four names were dates.

Beside the fifth was a single sentence:

She knows too much.

The name beside it was Clara Whitmore.