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Keegan climbed on the wheels and over the wagon tongue, and Kelsey followed him, no doubt having been assigned guard duty. Andrea hefted a roaster to a table by their rig and stopped to talk to Mrs. Blake. They chatted for a few moments, Dre touching the old woman’s shoulder as she so often did with anyone, and then she waved to someone out of Paul’s line of vision.
    The Pickle Lady stepped around the wagon, responding to Dre’s beckon. A groan vibrated his core.
    Andrea introduced the pair, and the three women stood in a loose circle. Dre smiled and talked. Mrs. Blake nodded. The Pickle looked awkward. Timid. Exactly like she’d looked at the top of her stairway. He thought it cute then. Not so much now.
    What was she doing out on that place all alone? She was clearly afraid—incapable. Fifteen miles from town, attempting work for which she’d never been seasoned. That kind of undertaking required confidence and strength—for a man or a woman. Timidity would only get her into trouble.
    It didn’t suit at all. Why was she so set on staying? It wasn’t like she was stuck. He’d made an offer himself. So had Chuck. And Jim. Why was she being so stubborn?
    “So, have you talked to her anymore?” Chuck nudged Paul’s bicep with his elbow.
    Caught staring. That can’t be good.
    “Stopped by earlier this week.” Paul hopped to the ground, shrugging like the subject was inconsequential. Because it was. “She needed a hand with...something that wasn’t working right.”
    Did he need to cover her ignorance? The sooner she figured out she was in over her head, the better—for her. He had no reason to feel bad about it.
    “Did you get some sense talked into her?”
    Paul scowled. “Don’t know what you mean.”
    “She doesn’t belong out there.” Chuck seemed perfectly at ease slamming a stranger.
    Paul’s jaw clamped hard, and a muscle near his eye twitched. He couldn’t understand his reaction. He’d just thought the same thing. “It’s her property, legal and fair. Her dad worked awful hard to reclaim the land. Don’t know that we have any right to begrudge her.”
    Chuck’s eyebrows twitched. “Maybe so, nobleman, but you’re not thinking of others.”
    He tossed his head, not trying to disguise irritation. “How’s that?”
    “Doesn’t affect you the way it does those of us east of her property.” Chuck took a swig from his paper cup before he crushed it. “That spring water doesn’t flow to your land. Did you know she inherited senior water rights pertaining to Rock Creek?”
    No. He didn’t know that. Didn’t know why that rumpled Chuck, either. “That a fact?”
    “’Tis. Mike was a reasonable man, and the work he did on that place benefitted everyone. But now we’ve got this little upstart lady runnin’ things and who knows—”
    “How do you know she’s not reasonable?”
    Chuck unfolded his former linebacker body and planted his feet a little too close to Paul. “You think she’s reasonable?”
    Paul swallowed, hating that he allowed Chuck to intimidate him. The man was all wind. Well, no, that wasn’t true. He was a cunning businessman, and he kept manipulation in his back pocket. He held notes on almost every business in town, including the Cottonwood County Sale Barn and Rock Creek Meats. Two operations necessary to Paul’s.
    “Don’t know either way.” Paul pulled his shoulders back and forced his eyes to meet Chuck’s challenge.
    “She’s refused offers five times over. Offers that come close to doubling the actual value of the property. That’s not reasonable at all, is it?”
    Double the value? What was Chuck afraid of? Paul’s fist closed behind his back as heat spread over his skin. He’d just landed himself in the middle of something, and he didn’t want any part of it. Not for Chuck. Not for Suzanna Wilton.
    He glanced back to the wagon—to the Pickle. She smiled at Andrea. A small, timid smile.
    Chuck would run her over.
    “Doesn’t seem