Snow still covered the mountains, but water ran beneath the ice in the creeks.
Black earth showed along the south-facing slopes.
At the Whitaker Ranch, Samuel and Peter were waiting.
Samuel had a new deed prepared for review.
One-third exactly as their father had intended.
He placed it on the kitchen table where Hannah had once spent nights correcting their accounts.
"This doesn't fix what we did," Samuel said.
"No."
"I know."
Peter stood near the window.
He had spoken less since Boise.
There was something different in him now.
Not peace.
Not forgiveness.
Just fewer places left to hide.
Samuel pushed the papers toward Hannah.
"You should have had this before."
"Yes."
He nodded.
Hannah picked up the pen.
Her hand stopped above the line.
For 12 years, she had wanted her name on something permanent.
A deed.
A partnership.
Proof.
Now the paper sat in front of her, and she understood it could never give her what she had once thought it could.
Still, fairness mattered, so she signed.
Not because she needed the land to prove she belonged, but because the land was hers.
There was a difference.
When they stepped outside, Nathan was waiting beside the wagon.
He had refused to come into the room.
Hannah knew why.
This was not his reconciliation to witness.
Samuel walked out behind her.
"Cole."
Nathan looked over.
Samuel cleared his throat.
"I owe you thanks."
Nathan shook his head.
"No."
Samuel seemed confused.
"My sister came here because she chose to."
Nathan glanced toward Hannah.
"She did the rest herself."
Samuel studied him for a moment, then nodded.
Peter came out last.
He stopped several feet from Nathan.
"I'm sorry."
Nathan's expression gave nothing away.
Peter swallowed.
"For knowing about the papers. For not warning you."
Nathan looked at him a long time.
"Don't apologize to me first."
Peter's eyes shifted toward Hannah.
"I already did."
Nathan said, "Then live different."
That was all.
They left before noon.
The wagon road toward Black Pine was soft with thawing mud, and in places snowmelt ran across it in clear little streams.
Hannah sat beside Nathan.
The deed rested inside her satchel.
For several miles, neither spoke.
Then Nathan said, "You staying there?"
Hannah looked at him.
"At the Whitaker place?"
The question was careful.
Too careful.
"I don't know."
Nathan nodded.
That annoyed her.
"You could ask me to come back."
His eyes stayed on the road.
"I could, but you aren't."
"No."
"Why?"
Nathan drew a breath.
"Because you spent most of your life being told where you belonged."
The horses pulled steadily uphill.
"I won't do it, too."
Hannah looked toward the mountains.
"What if I want you to?"
Nathan turned.