“It’ll last,” Wyatt said.
“It better.”
Rain drummed on the patched roof. The storm eased just enough for breathing to become possible again.
Wyatt looked at her, really looked. “What Boone’s capable of,” he said quietly, “isn’t limited to bad letters and dirty law. A man filed against him once over water rights. Three weeks later, that man’s barn burned.”
Eleanor felt something cold and steady move through her.
Not panic.
Resolve, stripped bare.
“Then he can come in daylight,” she said. “He can threaten me where everyone can see him.”
Before Wyatt could answer, three knocks sounded at the new door.
June Boone stood there in the rain, clutching a bundle of papers to her chest.
