Page 184 of The Lonely Road

Taya sets her files in order. She does it calmly, without rushing. She’s not afraid of this room. Pride surges through me.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Mac murmurs.

“She’s remarkable.” And she is in her charcoal Hugo Boss suit and her silver earrings, with a determined look on her face.

Clara is nervous. She knows everything that’s been going on but this is her life, the legacy her husband left behind for her children. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I’ll forgive myself for what I almost took from her—would have but for Taya.

Colbeck comes in at nine-thirty exactly.

He settles. He scans both tables over his reading glasses.

He looks, briefly, at the gallery—at Mac in the back row, at Clara in the front, at the various people of Wildflower Canyon who have found their way into Room 214 on a Thursday morning because this is what the valley does when something matters.

He nods, apparently satisfied, and opens the file. Taya produces documents that she shares with opposing counsel and the judge, and she doesn’t look at her notes once.

The junior associate raises the supplemental decree defect because he has to raise it—it’s on the record, and his firm has obligations. She addresses it in four minutes.

Colbeck writes something. He looks through some documents. He takes his time. And after, he looks up.

“The court finds,” he says without inflection, “that the defendant’s 1948 water right is valid, senior, and continuous. The supplemental decree defect does not affect the underlying right, which predates the decree by nineteen years and is supported by an unbroken record of beneficial use. High Mesa Development Group’s challenge fails to establish grounds to proceed.” He closes the file. “Case dismissed.”

He stands.

He leaves.

The fluorescent lights hum.

I watch Clara Whitman.

She doesn’t move for a moment. She has her hands in her lap, her chin up, the dark green jacket, her hair done, and the mascara she put on this morning—and then Taya turns and something between them—some accounting that has been running since the first day Taya walked into Silverbell Ranch—settles.

They hug, and Clara breaks. Finally, when it’s done, she breaks. Crying helplessly as Taya holds her.

Mac, in the back row, taps the railing twice.

Kaz is waiting for us when we come out. He’s leaning against the wall, jacket on, hiding his badge and gun—which he still has for another two weeks—and hands in his pockets.

He turns to Taya first. “Clean?”

“Clean.”

He leans down and hugs Clara. “You did good, Clara.”

Her phone rings, and she glances at the screen, sniffling. ”It’s Wiley. He’s with the kids.” She answers and walks away from us.

We watch her, excitedly telling her family that the ranch is safe.

“Taya.” Kaz puts his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to know that the federal package that put Jessup in front of a grand jury was built with documentation that Mason accumulated. The connection between Jessup’s office and the Whitman case—the explicit instruction, the authorization of Trafton, the financial chain—none of that moves without what he brought.” He holds her gaze. “He could have walked away from this valley and never looked back. He didn’t. He came back, and he gave us everything, including the parts that cost him.” He lets go of her. “I want that on the record. Between us.”

“Mason, I think you made a new friend.” Her tone is light, but I know she appreciates Kaz talking me up.

I do as well, but I’d cut my tongue off before I told him that.

She pats Kaz’s shoulder. “Thank you, Kaz. It’s noted.”

“In the plus column?” I ask.

Her eyes dance with delight. “We’ll see.”