Henry tightened the rope on the round pen rail and watched the black mustang circle inside. He had come west to learn the wild ones, to break and train horses better than any man on the plains. That was his real reason. Catherine's ranch was just the cover. A stranger rode up at noon. He carried a satchel and a stiff smile. He laid an old land deed on the porch rail and tapped it. The paper was yellow, the seal cracked. He said Catherine's title was bad. Henry felt the old weight settle in his chest. He knew this paper. It came from the same business that had brought him here, the same quarrel he'd had with her late husband by the trough. Catherine read the deed twice. Her eyes went sharp. "Saddle up," she said. They rode into town and pushed open the door of the weathered law office. Inside, they spread the deed beside the ranch's own papers. Henry pointed at the date. The stranger's claim was signed a year after Tomas Jacob Nighthawk-Whitehorse was already buried in the family plot. The lawyer marked the forgery and stamped Catherine's title clean. The stranger was sent off with nothing. Outside, Catherine turned to Henry. "That deed came from your business, didn't it." It wasn't a question. Henry didn't answer. He only nodded once. Her jaw set. She climbed into the saddle and rode for home, leaving him to follow. The title was safe. But the secret was cracked open now, and Catherine would want the rest before sundown.