Her eyes narrowed.
“Why later?”
“Because right now I need you to understand something else.”
“What?”
“If Arthur is desperate enough to manipulate your mortgage, he may try the boundary.”
Nellie looked toward the stone marker.
“Change the deed?”
“Hard.”
“Move the marker?”
“Easier.”
“Wouldn’t matter legally.”
“Eventually, no.”
“Eventually?”
“Land disputes can take years.”
She understood.
If Arthur could create uncertainty over the creek, he could delay her.
Pressure her.
Force a sale.
Josiah handed the receipt back.
“Lock your doors.”
“I already do.”
“Keep the rifle close.”
“That I also do.”
“I’ll have Amos ride by in the morning.”
Nellie bristled.
“I don’t need guarding.”
“I didn’t say guarding.”
“You meant it.”
“I meant checking.”
“Same thing.”
Josiah mounted his horse.
“Then pretend Amos got lost.”
She looked up at him.
“I don’t like being managed.”
“That makes two of us.”
He touched the brim of his hat.
“Three weeks for the shirts.”
“Three.”
“Good night, Mrs. Thornton.”
“Mr. Langden.”
She watched him ride away.
Then looked down at the paid mortgage receipt.
For the first time in two years, the farm technically belonged only to her.
The feeling should have been relief.
Instead it was fear.
Because debt had been visible.
This new threat was not.
That night, Nellie moved Grandfather’s rifle from the bedroom closet to the kitchen.
She checked the windows.
Bolted the front door.
Fed the stove.
Then sat at the sewing table with red flannel spread beneath her hands.
It was beautiful.
Soft.
Strong.
She began cutting.
For the next ten days, her life became cloth and work.
Amos brought measurements for forty men.
Some had necks like fence posts.
One had arms so long she accused him of being part crane.
Josiah sent half the contract payment in advance despite their agreement.
Nellie sent it back.
He sent it again.
She rode to Broken Ridge personally.
Josiah was outside the barn.
“You returned my money.”
“You paid early.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Materials.”
“You bought the materials.”
“Labor.”
“Paid on delivery.”
Josiah crossed his arms.
“You are exhausting.”
“So I’m told.”
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll increase the contract.”
“You can’t just invent prices.”
“I own the ranch.”
“That doesn’t mean mathematics stop applying.”
Amos, standing nearby, turned away to hide a smile.
Josiah noticed.
“Something funny?”
“No, boss.”
Nellie looked between them.
“I’ll take one-third.”
Josiah frowned.
“Half.”
“One-third.”
“Forty percent.”
“Thirty-five.”
“Done.”
They shook hands.
His hand was warm.
Rough.
Nellie noticed.
She disliked that she noticed.
After that, Josiah found reasons to stop by every few days.
Sometimes legitimate.
Measurements.
Buttons.
Fabric questions.
Once he brought coffee.
Another time sugar.
Nellie accused him of inventing excuses.