Chapter 22: East Pasture

Cal's POV

I had the paper in my coat for two days before I could say anything.

A lawyer in Casper had drawn it up in an afternoon, at a price I didn't think about.

My father had read every line on the tablet, and tapped the screen once.

Yes. Hers.

On Sunday I found Della at the round pen with the old rancher's colt on a long line.

She was walking him in a slow circle in the thin sun.

I leaned on the rail and waited until he'd gone around twice.

"I have something for you," I said.

She looked at the envelope, and then at me.

"If it's another feed bill, I'm going to be sick."

"It's a deed."

She brought the colt in and tied him.

She read it standing in the cold with her jaw set.

It named the east pasture, one hundred and sixty acres with the creek.

It named the old horse barn on it, with its corrals and its well.

It put every foot of that in her name alone.

"Cal," she said.

"There's nothing in it. No rule, no rent, no catch."

"You sold your truck."

"I'd do it again."

"You sold the black's rights. And now this?"

"The black's rights come back in five years," I said. "The creek stays where it is."

Her hands were shaking the paper.

"That's a quarter of your place."

"It's the quarter I'd have given to anyone who stood up all night with my horse."

I pushed my hat back.

"I'm not asking for anything. If you ride out tomorrow and never speak to me again, it's still yours."

"Why?"

"Because you've never had one thing in your life that nobody could take back."

She didn't answer.

She stared at the paper for a long time.

Then she folded it, very carefully, and tucked it into her coat.

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