“What part is funny?”
“All of it.”
“I don’t see it.”
“They spelled my name wrong.”
Mateo looked at the paper again.
“They did.”
Abigail folded it.
“If they’re going to ruin my reputation, they could at least ruin the correct woman’s.”
Isaiah nearly fell from his chair laughing.
They eventually reached a small valley near the San Pedro River. Cottonwoods grew thick along the water, and an abandoned homestead stood beneath a rocky slope. The roof sagged, one window was missing, and the chimney leaned slightly east.
Isaiah stopped his horse.
“Home.”
Mateo stared at the cabin.
“That?”
“You expecting a hotel?”
Abigail walked toward it.
The door opened with a noise that suggested it objected to visitors.
Inside, dust covered everything.
An owl flew from the rafters.
Mateo ducked.
Abigail laughed.
He looked around.
“I hate this place.”
She smiled.
“I love it.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody sentenced me to live here.”
That silenced him.
They stayed.
For the first week, they worked from sunrise until darkness. Mateo repaired the roof and built shutters for the missing window. Isaiah helped fix the stable and complained continuously about being too old for every task while somehow doing more work than either of them.
Abigail cleaned the cabin.
She scrubbed the floor.
Washed the walls.
Mended old curtains.
Built shelves from abandoned boards.
For the first time since her mother died, she arranged a room exactly as she wanted without wondering whether someone else approved.
Isaiah left after eleven days.
He packed his saddle before sunrise.
Abigail stood beside him.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere people are making poor choices.”
Mateo leaned against the fence.
“That narrows nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Isaiah shook Mateo’s hand.
Then Abigail hugged him.
The old scout stiffened.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“I have a reputation.”
“For what?”
“Being unpleasant.”
Abigail smiled.
“I won’t tell.”
Isaiah mounted his horse.
“You two stay alive.”
Mateo nodded.