Chapter 13
“Apparently.”
“And the tax figures.”
Henrietta’s attention sharpened.
“Yes.”
He looked back at her. “You kept finding things I had missed.”
“That troubled you more than it pleased you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Calvin’s jaw worked.
Henrietta thought he would retreat.
Instead he said, “Because I didn’t know what else you might find.”
The shelter seemed to narrow.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing that matters tonight.”
“Calvin.”
“We need to conserve heat.”
“Do not use survival to escape the question.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He shifted again, grimacing.
His coat pulled tight across his chest.
Something crackled inside it.
Paper.
Henrietta’s eyes moved toward the sound.
Calvin noticed.
“What?”
“There is something in your coat.”
“Probably receipts.”
“You keep receipts in an inside pocket?”
“When I remember.”
“Which is almost never.”
“I am injured. This is a poor time to criticize my filing habits.”
Henrietta reached toward him.
He caught her wrist.
The movement was quick enough to surprise them both.
She stared at his hand.
Calvin stared at it too.
Slowly, he released her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“That answer has become suspiciously popular.”
“It’s paper.”
“I gathered that.”
“Henrietta.”
The warning in his voice had returned.
She almost let it pass.
Then she remembered the ledgers.
Numbers entered in different ink.
Interest charges duplicated.
A payment recorded on one page but missing from another.
Dates shifted by days without explanation.
Calvin had dismissed the irregularities because the ranch had been in chaos. Because his records were poor. Because Silas Vane’s clerks kept cleaner books than he did.
But Henrietta had not believed that.
Not entirely.
“Take it out,” she said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it has nothing to do with this.”
“Then there is no reason not to.”
His face closed.
There he was again.
The man at the wedding.
The man who could freeze a room more efficiently than the Wyoming winter.
Henrietta felt her own expression change.
“Very well.”
She turned away.
Calvin sighed. “Don’t.”
“Do not concern yourself. I have become accomplished at accepting what my husband will not share.”
“That isn’t fair.”
She laughed once. “Fair?”
“I said it wrong.”
“You usually do.”
He was quiet.
Then he reached inside the coat.
Henrietta heard the paper crackle.
A folded document appeared in his gloved hand.
He stared at it for several seconds before offering it to her.
She took it.
The sheet was damp from melted snow at the edges, folded twice and worn soft along the creases. A bank seal showed faintly in the upper corner.