Chapter Two #2
Jonah looked down into his untouched coffee. "I kept the papers signed and the taxes paid, if that's what you mean. The place hasn't looked right in years. Every season I told myself I'd catch up once things settled down, and every season something else went wrong."
Caleb's gaze lingered on Jonah's gaunt face. "Looks like it wore you out."
Jonah let out a quiet laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Truth be told, Russ has been carrying more of it than I care to admit. If not for him, the fences would've fallen over and the cattle would've wandered halfway to Cheyenne."
The quiet agreement irritated Caleb more than an argument would have.
He'd spent years imagining this meeting, and every version ended with Jonah defending himself until Caleb walked away knowing he'd been right all along.
Instead, the man across the table accepted every accusation as though he'd repeated them often enough to himself that they no longer surprised him.
Caleb refused to let sympathy take root where anger belonged.
"I'm here working for the stock association," Caleb said. "Cattle have been disappearing across three counties, and the trail wandered back toward Copper Bend."
Jonah's eyebrows lifted. "So the rumors are true. I kept hoping folks were exaggerating, but they seldom exaggerate cattle disappearing."
"You've heard about it."
"Enough to make every rancher in the valley check his herd before he turns in for the night." Jonah gave Caleb a weary smile. "Funny thing is, nobody knows who's next. Makes for poor sleep."
Caleb shrugged. "Then sell before trouble reaches your fence."
Jonah looked into his cup for a long moment before answering. "If it were only my choice, maybe I would." He rubbed a thumb along the chipped rim. "But I can't."
Caleb frowned. "Won't."
Jonah shook his head. "No, Caleb." His voice stayed gentle. "I mean exactly what I said." A fit of coughing interrupted his words. When it finally eased, he tucked his handkerchief away as though nothing had happened.
Caleb studied him more closely than he wanted. "You look terrible."
"I've looked worse."
"I doubt it."
Jonah's smile returned, quieter this time. "That's almost the nicest thing you've said since you walked in."
Caleb ignored that. "What happened?"
"The doctor keeps changing the name whenever he visits.
I finally told him I'd settle for knowing how much time he'd decided I had left.
" He looked down at his coffee, turning the cup slowly between his hands.
"Truth is, I've been thinking a lot about Sarah lately.
Funny how a man starts looking backward when he knows he hasn't much road left.
" He swallowed. "She died four years ago. "
Caleb's eyes lifted. "I heard."
"I wasn't sure news traveled that far."
"It does."
"She never recovered after Maggie was born."
The words carried none of the self-pity Caleb expected. Jonah spoke with the tired acceptance of a man who had repeated the story until grief no longer needed to raise its voice.
"Maggie was only two days old when the fever took Sarah."
Caleb stared at the tabletop for a long moment before looking away.
He remembered Sarah laughing because Jonah couldn't tell flour from cornmeal, remembered the way she'd looked at her husband as though he were the best man in Wyoming.
It was hard to reconcile those memories with a simple sentence spoken over cold coffee. "I'm sorry."
"I know." Jonah let the silence breathe before speaking again. "Noah turned six a few weeks ago. Maggie's four now."
Caleb frowned. "You didn't ask me over here to talk about your children."
Jonah's smile faded into something gentler.
"No." He looked down at his coffee before lifting his eyes again.
"But they're the reason I wanted you to sit down in the first place.
Noah's thinks he can fix anything with enough determination.
Maggie..." He laughed softly. "Maggie still believes every stray kitten ought to come home with her. They're good kids, Caleb."
Caleb felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He knew that tone. Jonah wasn't simply telling stories about his family. He was leading somewhere, and Caleb had the uneasy feeling he already knew where. His jaw hardened. "You've got a foreman."
Jonah blinked, caught off guard for a moment. "Russ?" He smiled faintly. "I'd trust him with every head of cattle I've got. He can run a ranch better than most men I know."
"Then let him."
The smile slipped. "He can manage cattle." Jonah's voice quieted. "But he’s not a man who can raise my children."
Caleb looked away. "You've got neighbors."
"Neighbors who have their own families to worry about." Jonah spread his hands helplessly. "Half of them are wondering whether they'll still own their ranches by winter."
Caleb's chest tightened another notch. "You've got a town."
Jonah gave a tired laugh. "This town?" He glanced around the saloon. "The same one that watched you ride away without asking a single question?" He shook his head. "No, Caleb. I wouldn't leave Noah and Maggie to the kindness of people who only remember a man after he's gone."
That drew Caleb's attention. "I didn't expect to hear you admit that."
Jonah reached inside his coat and laid a folded document on the table.
"Before you get up and walk out, there's one thing you ought to know.
" He nudged the paper toward Caleb. "I never took your name off the deed.
Never could bring myself to. As far as the law's concerned, it's still Bell and Whitaker. "
Caleb stared at the document. His name sat beside Jonah's exactly as it had six years ago. "And you waited six years to tell me?"
Jonah let out a weary sigh. "I kept telling myself I'd explain it first. That if I could just find the right words, maybe you'd understand why I...why I failed you." He managed a sad smile. "Turns out there aren't any right words for a thing like that."
Caleb wasn't interested in explanations. He'd wanted one six years ago, but no longer cared to hear it. "You watched it happen."
Jonah nodded slowly. "I did. And I'd give just about anything to go back and change that day. Believe me or don't, but there hasn't been a morning I've woken up without wishing I'd opened my mouth."
Caleb looked away. Wishing wouldn’t give him back six years of his life. He shoved his chair back. "I've heard enough."
"Caleb..." Jonah's voice was quiet, but it stopped him all the same. "I know I've no right to ask another favor of you. I know I used up that right a long time ago." He looked down at his hands before meeting Caleb's eyes again. "But I've run out of people to ask."
Caleb felt something cold settle in his stomach. He didn’t like the way this was going.
"I'm not asking for myself anymore," Jonah said softly. "I'm asking because two children are about to lose the only parent they've got left, and they deserve better than whatever happens after I'm gone."
Caleb already knew what came next. He just wasn't sure he could bear hearing Jonah say it, so he rose without another word, set a few coins on the table, and reached for his hat.
Jonah braced a hand against the chair, meaning to stand with him, but the effort ended in a fit of coughing that forced him back into the seat.
When he caught his breath, he looked across the table.
“Calvin Dray’s been circling the ranch for years, Caleb.
Once I’m gone, he’ll carve it apart acre by acre unless somebody stands in his way. ”
Caleb settled his hat on his head. “Then you’d better find another somebody quick."
Jonah's smile faded, leaving only quiet resolve. "I already did. He's standing across from me."
Caleb shook his head with dismay and turned toward the door. "I'll finish the job I came here to do, then I'll leave Copper Bend exactly as I planned."
"Then let’s settle it the old way."
Caleb stopped with one hand on the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder.
Jonah's crooked grin returned, worn thinner by illness but stubborn as ever. "One game.”
Horseshoes had settled more arguments than either of them could remember.
When money had been too scarce to waste on wagers, they'd played for chores, for pride, for the right to make the next decision.
They'd even used the game to force honesty out of each other. Win or lose, the rule never changed.
Jonah held his gaze. "Winner decides. Loser does the job."
The bartender set the glass aside. "That rule's settled more arguments than the courthouse ever has."
Caleb studied Jonah, seeing the sickness that had hollowed his face without dulling the determination in his eyes. The years between them refused to disappear, yet they also hadn’t erased the promise they had made as boys.
He opened the door. "One game."
Jonah pushed himself to his feet and managed a satisfied smile. "I knew you wouldn't leave without giving an old friend one last chance."
The words landed harder than Caleb cared to admit. ‘Old friend.’ Six years ago, he'd have crossed a river without thinking if Jonah had asked it of him. Now he could barely stand in the same room as him.
"Don't get sentimental," Caleb said as he held the door open. "You've always thrown a horseshoe like a man aiming at the wrong stake."
Jonah laughed under his breath. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint you now."
The cool evening air greeted them as they stepped into the yard behind the saloon. Two iron stakes still stood in the packed dirt, and a pair of weathered horseshoes hung from the fence. A couple of ranch hands wandered out with their drinks, curiosity drawing them into the yard.
The bartender pushed through the back door with a towel slung over one shoulder and leaned against the frame. "Don't break my fence," he called. "It's older than both of you, and it's held up better."
Jonah reached for one of the horseshoes and turned it in his fingers before looking at Caleb. "If I win, you stay."
Caleb lifted the other one from the fence. "And if I win?"