Abigail lowered the page, her lips trembling. “You didn’t know?”
He shook his head slowly. “My father never spoke of this,” he said. “He died in the Mexican War. All he told me was to follow the veins west, that there was something in Eagle Rock worth the trail.” He let out a hard breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought he meant gold,” Anthony said. “Not this.”
Abigail looked back at the letter, then to the folded deeds with their cracked wax seals. “It means Eagle Rock isn’t mine alone. It’s yours too. By law.”
Anthony picked up one of the deeds carefully, the ink faded but the signatures still bold. Her father’s steady hand, Redhawk’s mark, and his own father’s script were beside them. He set it back down reverently.
“Vanburgh’s claim don’t amount to a hill of beans,” he said. “Not if we stand on this.”
“You know as well as I do, law in this county bends to the weight of Vanburgh’s purse.”
“Then we force him to bend it in daylight,” he replied. “This trust...it’s a knife in his ribs. Even if the judge is bought, the people will see. And Vanburgh can’t bury the truth forever.”
Her hands tightened around the letter, knuckles pale. “Every time I stand, he knocks me down,” she said. “When I heal the men he maims, he burns my clinic. When I fight him with words, he drowns me in laughter. And now even with this...I hear that laugh already.”
Anthony leaned closer. “Laughter ain’t winning, ma’am. A man laughs when he thinks he’s untouchable. But this...this says he ain’t. This says Eagle Rock belongs to us. Together.”
She stared at him for a while. Then her gaze softened as her thumb brushed over her father’s faded script. Slowly, she folded the letter and set it back atop the deeds.
“Then we take it to court,” she said. “Force him into the open.”
Anthony exhaled, some of the tightness leaving his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. We do it together.”
Chapter 21
The courthouse sat at the far end of the wide street in Dry Creek, the next town over from Silver Cross. Its whitewashed clapboard walls caught the morning sun, neat trim framing the windows as if to suggest dignity.
To Anthony, it looked more like a stage set than a house of justice. It was fresh paint and hollow boards propped up to hide the rot beneath.
He shifted in the saddle. The night before, Abigail had insisted that he tend to her wound. They had bandaged it with what little remained from her scorched clinic: clean water, strips of cloth, and salve that had been spared from the flames.
She was pale but standing. Her will was stronger than the pain.
But Anthony’s thoughts were far from the bandages. He hadn’t known Abigail’s father had bound her claim to Eagle Rock. He hadn’t known his own father was tied to it, too. The name Redhawk had struck him hardest. It was familiar anddistant at the same time, belonging to a quiet man in the tribe who had once shared a fire with him but little else.
So much his father had kept hidden. So much he hadn’t understood until now.
He dismounted, boots crunching in the dust. He turned and offered his hand to Abigail. “You ready?” he asked quietly.
Her gaze was fixed on the courthouse steps. “No. But we don’t have a choice, do we?”
“Then we make do, ma’am,” he replied.
Inside, cool air settled over them. A handful of townsfolk sat on benches, whispers rising as Anthony and Abigail stepped forward. Judge Harper loomed at the raised bench. He was a stout man with thinning hair and a belly that strained against his vest. His jowls shook as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the papers Abigail held.
After they formally introduced themselves, the judge allowed a few seconds before replying. It was as if he enjoyed wasting their time.
“Well, now...” Harper said, his voice slow and heavy. “Dr. Monroe. Mr. Hawk. What business brings you to my courtroom this morning?”
Abigail lifted the papers higher in case he couldn’t see them already.
“Your Honor, I bring documentation regarding Eagle Rock,” she said. “My father, a Boston lawyer, created a joint trust during the war. These deeds name me and Anthony Hawk as co-owners. No transfer of land can occur without our approval. This trust is binding.”
Murmurs rippled through the benches. Anthony only caught fragments.
He scanned faces. A few nodded with interest, but others glanced nervously at the judge instead.
Harper leaned back in his chair.
