“He’s not my husband, but he’s worked beside me like one.”
Virgil scoffed. “So he’s shacked up on your land. That doesn’t make you respectable, it makes you a scandal.”
The judge silenced him with a look. Caleb rose slowly, stepping forward.
“I didn’t come here to take her land,” he said. “I came to survive. I stayed because I found something worth more than survival.” He turned to Abby. “I meant what I said. If the law needs a man beside her, then let it be me.”
The courtroom held its breath. The judge leaned back. “This isn’t a marriage license hearing,” he muttered. “But I’d be a damn fool not to recognize the intent.”
He looked over the paperwork, tapped his fingers, then said, “Miss Monroe, you’ve met the conditions of independent operation. The court sees no reason to transfer deed authority. Case closed.”
Abby didn’t breathe until they were outside. When the door shut behind them, she stood still, eyes closed, sunlight on her face like a reward.
“They’ll keep trying,” Caleb said softly.
“Let them,” she replied. She turned to him. “Come back with me.”
“You sure now?”
“No,” she said. “But I want to be.”
He reached for her hand, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away.
The first snow fell soft and slow that night, dusting the windows and the porch rails like powdered sugar. Abby stood at the stove, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee gone lukewarm. The fire behind her snapped and hissed, a steady song in a house that now felt like it had something breathing inside it again.
In the cradle by the hearth, Levi stirred and whimpered. She moved to him, instinctively lifting him into her arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times. She wasn’t his mother, not by blood. But the way he sighed against her shoulder, it was like he didn’t know that—or didn’t care.
She swayed gently, her eyes drifting toward the open door that led to the spare bedroom. A faint glow spilled from beneath the frame, flickering like candlelight. Caleb was in there. Writing.
He hadn’t said much since they got back from the courthouse. He’d kissed Luke on the forehead, stacked wood by the fire, thanked her with quiet eyes. Then he’d slipped into the back room with a satchel and shut the door halfway. She’d left him space. He needed it. But it gnawed at her.
After she laid Levi back down, she knocked gently. His voice came soft from inside. “Yeah?”
She pushed the door open. Caleb was seated at the small writing desk near the bed, pen in hand, a half-written letter in front of him. He looked up, not startled, but guarded.
“I didn’t mean to bother,” she said.
“You didn’t.” He gestured toward the only other chair. She sat, folding her hands in her lap. For a while, they listened to the quiet together.
Then Abby said, “You writing someone back east?”
“Not exactly.” He folded the letter and set it aside. “It’s… something I’ve needed to do for a while.”
She studied him. “You said you had no family left.”
“I don’t. Not the kind worth writing.”
She waited, knowing he’d fill the space when he was ready. Caleb exhaled.
“I’ve got something I haven’t told you. Not because I meant to lie. Just… because I didn’t know how.”
Abby’s stomach tightened slightly, but she didn’t move. “There’s a difference between keeping secrets and not knowing how to speak them,” she said.
He met her eyes. “I appreciate you saying that, but I still need to tell you.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Back in Missouri, there was a man. Name was Merritt Doyle. Banker, landowner, powerful in a way that makes people stop asking questions.”
Abby nodded slowly. The kind of man her father had taught her to avoid.
“He wanted Sarah,” Caleb said flatly. “Made offers even after she turned him down. When she got pregnant, he spread talk, claimed the boys were his, said I’d taken her away to hide it.”
Abby felt her hands curl slowly into fists.
“I tried to ignore it, but then he came to our land, said he wanted a conversation. It turned into something else. He hit her.” Caleb’s voice broke, barely audible now. “I hit back.”
Abby sat still.
“He fell, cracked his skull on a rock. Died two days later.”
Silence.
“There was no trial, just rumor. His brother was sheriff. I grabbed what I could and ran.”
She let the words settle, heavy and raw. “You think they’re still looking for you?”
He nodded. “I know they are. That’s what the letter’s about. To a lawyer in Cheyenne. I’m asking about extradition. If there’s a case, if it’s safe to stop running.”
Abby rubbed her thumb across the grain of the chair. “That’s why you never put down roots.”
Caleb nodded once. “Because I didn’t think I had the right.”
Abby studied him. “Did Sarah ever tell you to run?”
He shook his head. “She told me to protect the boys. That was the last thing she said.”
Abby stood slowly and crossed the room. She placed her hand on his shoulder, not to comfort, but to ground. “You did,” she said. “You protected them.”
He looked up, eyes glassy but dry.
“And you need to know something,” she continued. “If they come, if someone comes looking, we don’t run. Not unless we have to.”
He held her gaze. “Even if it puts you in danger?”
“I’ve been in danger plenty of times, Caleb. But this, this life we’re building, it’s worth standing still for.”
His breath caught slightly. “I’m not afraid of your past,” she said. “I’m afraid of losing what we just started calling home.”
He reached up and covered her hand with his. “Thank you,” he said.
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Finish your letter, but know this: whatever comes of it, you’re not alone anymore.”
He nodded, jaw tight. Abby stepped out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.
The next day came thick with cloud and cold wind. Caleb worked the eastern fence while Abby tended to the livestock. Ethel rode by mid-morning with news from town. Virgil had gone quiet, licking his wounds after the courthouse loss. But folks were still talking.
“They say you two are… serious,” Ethel said, sipping coffee in Abby’s kitchen.
“We’re building something,” Abby replied carefully. “I don’t know what to call it yet.”
Ethel grunted. “Well, let me know when you need someone to bake a cake.”
Abby smiled despite herself.
Later, while the boys napped, Caleb showed Abby the letter. “It’s done,” he said. “I’m mailing it tomorrow.”
She read it, every word. It was measured, honest, brave. A confession and a defense in one.
“You’re ready,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’m terrified. But I want this fear to end.”
That night over dinner, they talked like people who’d stopped pretending to be strangers. About little things—books, music, old scars, childhood pets. Abby told him about her first horse. Caleb told her about Sarah’s laugh. It was the kind of night where silence didn’t mean distance. It meant comfort.
Caleb didn’t move right away. The man leaning against his wagon had the polished boots of a city man, a long black coat that didn’t belong in any Wyoming dust storm, and a mustache waxed so sharp it could have drawn blood. He was clean in a way that looked like a threat, like not a speck of dirt dared touch him unless he allowed it.
“You’re Caleb Walker, right?” the man asked again casually, inspecting the back wheel of the wagon like he wasn’t turning Caleb’s insides to stone.
Caleb nodded slowly. “Who’s asking?”
The man straightened and reached into his coat. For a half-second, Caleb’s heart jumped, but the man only pulled out a folded badge.
“Detective Royce Keller, hired out of St. Louis. Private, but legal.”
Caleb glanced at the badge, then back to Royce’s face. “Private for who?”
“Brother of the deceased. Merritt Doyle.”
The name dropped like a stone into Caleb’s gut. Royce didn’t smile, but his mouth twitched like he’d wanted to.
“You’ve got a quiet little setup out here, Mr. Walker. Cozy. Respectable. Even got the church ladies in your corner. But here’s the thing: folks back east didn’t forget. Doyle’s family certainly didn’t.”
Caleb said nothing. His hands were loose at his sides, but his pulse pounded hard enough to shake his ribs.
“I’m not here to cause a fuss,” Royce said. “Not yet. No badge flashing in saloons, no dragging you out by the collar. I came to offer a choice.”
Caleb stared. Royce stepped closer.
“Come back willingly. Face the inquiry. Get your name cleared—or not. That part’s on them. But if you cooperate, I keep the noise low. If you don’t, I start making friends around town. People talk, Mr. Walker. People remember.”
“You threatening me?”
“I’m offering you a road that don’t end in cuffs. You’ve got a woman. Kids. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.”
Caleb exhaled through his nose. “I need time.”..
