“Get down, both of you.
” Vanessa Brooks yanked the wagon to a stop in the middle of nowhere and shoved the 5-year-old out into the dust.
Then she dropped the newborn into Emma’s shaking arms like a sack of flour.
“Mama, please don’t.
” “I ain’t your mama.
Never was.
” The reins snapped.
The wagon lurched forward.
Emma stood barefoot in the Arizona dirt, holding her baby brother against her chest, watching the only thing she had left disappear into the heat.
She looked down at Noah and whispered, “I won’t let nothing happen to you.
I promise.
” Before we ride out into that desert with little Emma, do me a favor.
If you’re new here, go on and hit that subscribe button and ring the bell so you can follow this story all the way to the end.
And while you’re there, drop a comment and tell me which city you’re watching from tonight.
I read every single one and it warms my old heart to see just how far this story is traveling.
Now let’s go find that little girl standing all alone in the dust.
The sun didn’t care that Emma Brooks was 5 years old.
It beat down on her shoulders the same way it beat down on the buzzards circling above and Emma’s bare feet pressed into dirt so hot it felt like coals from a stove.
She didn’t cry.
She’d learned a long time ago crying didn’t fix nothing.
Noah though, Noah cried for both of them.
The newborn squirmed in her arms, his tiny face red as a beet, his little fists punching at the air.
“Hush now, Noah.
” Emma whispered.
“Hush.
I got you.
” The baby kept wailing.
“You got to be quiet, baby.
Coyotes hear you crying and they come running.
You don’t want that.
Hush now.
” The wailing softened to a whimper.
Emma rocked him the way she’d seen women rock babies in church back when there’d still been a church to go to.
Back when her daddy was still alive.
That’s it.
That’s my boy.
She kept walking.
The wagon ruts in the dirt went on forever.
Two thin lines disappearing into the shimmer of heat where the sky met the ground.
Emma didn’t know where they led.
She didn’t know how far.
All she knew was the wagon had to come from somewhere and somewhere meant people and people meant water for Noah.
So she walked.
A mile passed.
Then another.
Noah started crying again weaker this time.
Don’t you do that? Emma scolded him gently.
Don’t you give up on me Noah Brooks.
Daddy said you was a fighter.
Said the day you was born you came out screaming loud enough to wake the dead.
So you fight.
You hear me? You fight.
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She swallowed it down.
I’m going to find us water.
I’m going to find us somebody.
You just hold on.
Three miles east on the edge of his own land, Cole Turner reined in his horse.
The big bay snorted and shook his head stamping at the ground.
Easy now Buck, Cole said.
What’s gotten into you? The horse refused to move.
Cole had been working this stretch of the Triple T ranch for going on 12 years and Buck had carried him over every inch of it.
The animal had never balked at nothing.
Not rattlers, not coyotes, not even the time a mountain lion stepped out onto the trail not 20 feet ahead of them.
But now Buck stood frozen, his ears swiveled forward, his nostrils flaring.
What you hear boy? The wind shifted.
And then Cole heard it too.
A baby crying out here in the middle of nothing.
Cole’s hand went to the rifle at his saddle out of habit and his jaw set hard.
All right Buck.
All right.
Let’s go find it.
He nudged the horse forward at a slow walk, listening.
The crying came and went with the wind, weak and broken.
Cole’s blood went cold the closer he got.
He’d been a hard man for 42 years, and there wasn’t much that scared him.
But a baby crying out in the open desert, that scared him.
Then he came over the rise and saw her.
A little girl, barefoot, filthy, walking down the middle of the wagon track with a bundle pressed against her chest.
Cole stopped his horse.
“Lord have mercy,” he breathed.
The girl heard him.
She froze.
Then she turned slow as a deer hearing a twig snap, and looked up at him with the biggest, darkest eyes he’d ever seen on a child.
She didn’t run.
She didn’t speak.
She just stepped between Cole and the bundle in her arms.
Cole eased down off his horse.
“Easy now, little miss.
Easy.
I ain’t going to hurt you.
” She didn’t answer.
He took one step forward.
She took one step back.
He stopped.
“My name’s Cole,” he said.
“Cole Turner.
I got a ranch about 4 miles back that way.
This here’s my land you’re walking on.
” Her chin trembled, but she held his eyes.
“You got a name?” he asked.
A long silence.
Then, in a voice no bigger than a whisper, “Emma.
” “Emma.
” Cole nodded slow.
“That’s a real pretty name.
Emma what?” “Brooks.
>> [snorts] >> Emma Brooks.
” He crouched down so he wasn’t towering over her.
“Miss Emma Brooks, you got any idea how you came to be standing on my land all by your lonesome?” The bundle in her arms made a tiny sound.
Cole’s eyes flicked to it.
“Sweetheart,” he said slow.
“Is that a baby?” Emma’s grip tightened.
He’s mine.
Yours? He’s my brother.
His name’s Noah.
He’s a baby and he’s hungry and he’s hot and you can’t have him.
I don’t want him, Miss Emma.
I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby if you handed him to me on a silver platter.
Cole pulled his canteen off his belt slow, making sure she could see what he was doing.
But I do got water and I reckon Noah might want some.
You too, I’m guessing.
Emma stared at the canteen.
She didn’t move.
Go on, Cole said holding it out.
It’s just water.
Take it.
What do you want? The question stopped him cold.
A five-year-old standing out in the desert holding a newborn and the first thing out of her mouth was, “What do you want?” Cole felt something turn over hard in his chest.
I don’t want nothing, sweetheart, he said.
I just want you to drink some water.
She took it.
She didn’t drink first.
She tipped the canteen against Noah’s tiny lips and let a few drops dribble down into his mouth.
The baby coughed.
Then he latched on and Emma’s whole face crumpled with relief.
Drink slow, baby.
Drink slow.
Cole watched her.
Then he watched her until she finally lifted the canteen to her own mouth and the way she drank like she’d forgotten what water tasted like was the worst thing he’d ever seen.
He didn’t say nothing while she drank.
He just watched.
When she was done, she handed the canteen back.
Thank you, mister.
You’re welcome, Miss Emma.
You mind telling me how long you’ve been out here? Since this morning.
Since this morning? He looked at the sun.
It was past three.
Who brought you out here? Her jaw set hard.
Sweetheart.
Vanessa.
Vanessa who? My new ma.
Not my real ma.
My real Ma died when I was little.
Cole’s voice went very quiet.
And where’s Vanessa now? Emma pointed down the wagon track in the direction the ruts went on forever.
She left.
Cole’s fists closed slow at his sides.
She left you out here.
She said Noah cried too much.
She said I asked too many questions.
She said nobody’d miss us.
She said it flat.
Like she was reading off a list of chores.
Cole had to look away.
He looked at the horizon for a long time before he could trust his voice not to shake.
Miss Emma, he said finally, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me.
Can you do that? Yes, sir.
You hurt anywhere? A pause.
My feet hurt.
Anywhere else? She didn’t answer.
Cole nodded once like he’d expected as much.
All right.
Here’s what’s going to happen.
I’m going to pick you up, you and Noah both, and I’m going to put you on my horse and we’re going to ride back to my ranch.
I got a woman there name of Martha who cooks for me and she’s going to feed you and we’re going to get a doctor out and ain’t nobody going to touch you or Noah without you saying it’s all right.
You understand me? Emma stared at him.
Why? Why what? Why you helping us? Cole almost laughed.
Almost.
It came out more like a breath.
Cuz my horse stopped in the trail, Miss Emma.
And in 12 years, he ain’t never stopped in the trail.
I figure he stopped for a reason.
I figure he stopped for you.
She looked at the big bay.
The big bay lowered his head and snuffled at her hair.
For the first time since Cole had laid eyes on her, something soft moved across Emma’s face.
Not a smile, just a flicker.
His name’s Buck, Cole said.
Hello, Buck.
The horse blew warm air into her face.
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her arms shifted and Noah let out a thin weak wail and the almost smile was gone.
He needs milk, Emma said.
Real milk from a woman or a cow.
He ain’t ate since yesterday morning.
We got cows, sweetheart.
We got plenty of cows and Martha will know what to do.
You promise? I promise.
Cross your heart.
Cole drew a slow X across his chest with his finger.
Cross my heart, Miss Emma Brooks.
She stood there one more long second.
Then she walked toward him slow at first, then faster and when she got within arms reach, she stopped and held Noah out toward him.
Take him first, she said.
Sweetheart.
Take him first.
If you was going to hurt us, you’d take him and leave me.
So take him first.
And if you ride off, I’ll know.
Cole stared at her.
A five-year-old.
A five-year-old making him prove he wasn’t a monster.
He reached out and took the baby with hands that suddenly seemed too big and too rough for something so small.
Noah was lighter than a sack of beans.
Cole could feel every rib through the thin blanket.
I got him, Miss Emma.
I got him.
She watched him for a moment.
Then she let out a breath that seemed bigger than her whole body and her shoulders sagged and she swayed where she stood.
Cole caught her by the elbow.
Easy.
I’m fine.
You ain’t fine.
When’s the last time you ate? I’m fine, mister.
That ain’t what I asked.
She looked up at him and her dark eyes filled and for one second, Cole thought she was going to cry.
But she didn’t.
She just whispered, There wasn’t nothing for me.
There was only one biscuit.
So, I gave it to Noah.
Cole closed his eyes.
Get on the horse, Miss Emma.
I can’t reach the stirrup.
I’m going to lift you.
That all right? She nodded.
He set Noah down careful on the saddle blanket and crouched and put his hands under Emma’s arms and lifted her up like she weighed nothing.
She did weigh nothing.
She felt like a bundle of sticks wrapped in a dress.
Cole settled her in the saddle and handed Noah back up to her and she clutched the baby against her chest like he was made of glass.
You hold on tight, you hear me? Yes, sir.
I’m going to walk Buck slow so you don’t get shook around.
It’s going to take us a while to get back.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah.
You ain’t going to leave us, are you? He looked up at her.
He’d been a rancher all his life.
He’d buried his wife eight years back.
He’d buried his daddy before that.
He’d watched cattle die in droughts and friends die in winters and he’d built his whole life around being a man who didn’t need nothing and nobody.
And this little girl was looking at him like he was the only thing left in the world.
“No, Miss Emma.
” He said, “I ain’t going to leave you.
” “Promise.
Cross my heart.
” Martha saw them coming from the porch.
She didn’t say a word at first.
She just stood there with her apron in her hands watching as Cole led the horse up the long road to the ranch house with a barefoot child clutching a baby in the saddle.
When they got within earshot, she finally spoke.
“Cole Turner, what in the name of heaven?” “Martha, this here’s Miss Emma Brooks and that there’s her brother Noah.
They’re going to be staying with us a spell.
” “Staying with us? She Yes, ma’am.
” “Cole.
” “Martha.
” “That baby ain’t ate since yesterday and Miss Emma ain’t ate since the Lord knows when and we ain’t having this conversation till they got food in their bellies.
Martha looked from Cole to Emma, and from Emma to Noah, and whatever she’d been about to say died in her throat.
Lord, she breathed.
Oh, Lord.
She came down off the porch fast.
Sweetheart, look at you.
Just look at you.
You come here.
Cole hand her down.
Hand her down, I said.
Cole lifted Emma out of the saddle.
Martha reached for her, and Emma flinched back so hard she almost fell out of Cole’s arms.
Martha froze.
All right.
Martha said, her voice gone soft as flannel.
All right, sweetheart.
I ain’t going to touch you.
You don’t want me to touch you, I ain’t going to touch you.
You hear me? Nobody’s going to touch you in this house lest you say so.
Emma looked at her.
You promise? I promise, baby.
Cross your heart.
Martha drew an X across her chest slow as Cole had.
Cross my heart.
Emma let Cole set her down on her own feet.
She wobbled.
Martha crouched down to her level.
She didn’t reach out.
She just stayed there eye to eye.
What’s the baby’s name, sweetheart? Noah.
That’s a fine, fine name.
You know what, Miss Emma? I had a baby boy once, long time ago.
He didn’t get to grow up.
But I remember how to feed a baby, and I got cow’s milk fresh from this morning, and I got a clean rag, and we are going to get little Noah fed right this minute.
That all right with you? Emma’s eyes filled again.
Yes, ma’am.
Yes, ma’am.
There’s a good girl.
Martha stood up.
Cole, get the doctor.
On my way.
And Cole, he stopped.
Whoever did this, Martha said low, I hope the Lord forgives them, cuz I sure as hell ain’t.
Cole tipped his hat.
Reckon I ain’t either, Martha.
He swung back up into the saddle and rode out hard.
Inside the ranch house, Martha sat Emma down at the long pine table and warmed milk on the stove and tore a clean handkerchief into a feeding rag.
Emma watched her every move.
You hungry, sweetheart? Noah first.
Noah first.
All right.
We’ll do Noah first.
Martha brought the warm milk over and showed Emma how to dip the rag and let Noah suckle the drops.
Emma’s small hands shook so bad she could barely hold the cloth steady.
Martha put her own big weathered hand under Emma’s to steady it, careful not to touch skin.
Drop by drop, Noah drank.
Emma watched him like she was watching the sun come up.
He’s drinking, Martha.
Look, he’s drinking.
He sure is, baby.
He sure is.
He ain’t going to die, is he? No, sweetheart.
He ain’t going to die, not today, not on my watch.
Emma’s whole face crumpled and for the first time all day, she finally let the tears come.
They came quiet.
No sound, just sliding down her dusty face onto Noah’s blanket.
Martha didn’t say nothing.
She just sat there beside her hand, hovering near ready the second the child wanted to be held.
It was dark by the time Cole got back with the doctor.
Doc Whitfield was a small man with white hair and a kind face, and he took one look at Emma sitting at that table holding her brother, and he set his bag down slow.
Hello, Miss Emma, he said.
My name’s Dr.
Whitfield.
I’m here to make sure you and your brother are all right.
Can I take a look at the baby? He’s drinking.
I see that.
That’s mighty fine.
May I? Emma looked at Martha.
Martha nodded.
Emma handed Noah over.
The doc worked slow and gentle.
He checked the baby’s eyes and his color and his breath, and he listened to his little chest with the ear trumpet, and he frowned, and he kept on working.
When he was done, he handed Noah back.
Miss Emma, your brother is one tough little fellow.
He’s going to be just fine.
He needs feeding every 2 hours day and night for a long while, but he’s going to make it.
Emma nodded like she’d known that all along.
Now, the doc said, my turn for you.
I’m fine.
I bet you are.
But I’d surely appreciate it if you’d let me check anyway.
Emma’s eyes flicked to Cole.
Cole was standing against the wall with his hat in his hand.
He hadn’t said a word in 20 minutes.
Mr.
Cole? Yes, Miss Emma.
You stay right there.
I ain’t moving.
Promise.
Cross my heart.
She let the doctor look.
What the doctor found he didn’t say in front of her.
He just got that tight look around his mouth that Cole had seen before on men who were trying not to say things out loud that needed saying out loud.
When the doc was done, he packed his bag.
He motioned for Cole to follow him out onto the porch.
Cole? Yeah, doc.
That little girl ain’t been beat once.
She’s been beat for months, maybe years.
There’s old bruises on top of old bruises.
Cole said nothing.
And the baby? That baby is so dehydrated another 2 hours out there and he’d have been gone.
You hear me? 2 hours.
I hear you, doc.
Who done this? Stepmother.
Where is she? Somewhere up the wagon road.
Drove off and left them.
Doc Whitfield was a peaceable man.
Cole had known him 15 years and never heard him curse once.
He cursed now, quiet, long, and steady.
When he was done, he looked Cole in the eye.
What are you fixing to do, Cole? Cole stared out into the dark.
He thought about a barefoot child standing in the dirt holding a baby.
He thought about a wagon disappearing into the heat.
He thought about Buck stopping dead in the trail.
I’m fixing to keep them, he said.
Cole, I know what you’re going to say, Doc.
You can’t just keep two children.
There’s law about Then I’ll learn the law.
I’ll hire every lawyer between here and Tucson.
I’ll do whatever needs doing.
But that little girl ain’t going nowhere she don’t want to go, and that baby ain’t going anywhere without her.
You hear me? Doc Whitfield looked at him a long time.
Then he nodded.
I hear you, Cole Turner.
Good.
Lord help the woman who left them.
Lord ain’t going to help her, Doc.
Cole settled his hat back on his head.
I am.
Inside the house, Emma had fallen asleep at the table with her cheek against Noah’s blanket.
Martha was holding the baby now, rocking him slow in her arms while he slept.
Cole came in quiet.
He stood in the doorway a long moment.
Martha looked up.
Cole? Yeah.
Where they going to sleep? My bedroom, both of them.
I’ll take the porch.
Cole, you can My bedroom, Martha, where I can hear them if they cry.
Martha’s eyes filled.
She nodded.
All right, Cole.
All right.
He walked over to the table and looked down at the sleeping child.
She was so small.
He had no idea what he was doing.
He didn’t know the first thing about raising a child.
He didn’t know how to comb a little girl’s hair, or what to feed a baby, or what to do when one of them cried in the middle of the night.
He didn’t know nothing.
But Buck had stopped in the trail.
In 12 years, that horse had never stopped in the trail.
And Cole Turner figured if a man’s horse stops in the trail for a reason, the only thing a man can do is get down and go see why.
He bent down slow, and he slid one arm under Emma’s knees and one behind her shoulders, and he picked her up the way you pick up something that might break if you breathed wrong.
She didn’t wake.
She just curled against his chest and grabbed a fistful of his shirt in her sleep.
Cole carried her down the hall.
Behind him, Martha started to hum to the baby, an old hymn Cole hadn’t heard in 20 years.
He laid Emma down on his bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
He stood there looking at her, a 5-year-old asleep in his bed holding a fistful of his shirt like she wasn’t ever letting go.
You’re safe now, Miss Emma Brooks.
Cole whispered.
He didn’t know if she heard him.
He hoped she did.
Then he sat down in the chair by the bed, and he watched her breathe.
And somewhere out in the dark, miles away across his land, a wagon was rolling on toward a town where a woman with blood on her hands believed she’d gotten away clean.
She hadn’t.
She just didn’t know it yet.
The chair creaked under him sometime before dawn.
Cole hadn’t slept.
He’d watched Emma’s small chest rise and fall all night long, and twice he’d had to lean forward and put his fingers near her mouth just to make sure she was still breathing.
Down the hall, Martha had stayed up with Noah feeding him every 2 hours like the doctor said.
Emma stirred.
Her eyes opened slow.
She didn’t move.
She didn’t sit up.
She just looked across the room at Cole sitting in that chair, and for a long second, her whole face went tight with something that wasn’t fear and wasn’t relief, but something worse than both.
You stayed.
She whispered.
Told you I would.
” “All night.
All night.
” She blinked at him.
“Why? Cuz I said I would, Miss Emma.
Man’s word ain’t worth much if he only keeps it when it’s easy.
” She thought about that.
Then she sat up slow and the blanket fell away and Cole saw what he hadn’t been able to see in the dark the night before.
The bruises on her arms went all the way up under her sleeves.
There was a yellow one fading on her jaw he hadn’t even noticed.
He didn’t say nothing.
He didn’t trust his voice.
“Noah,” Emma said, “Where’s Noah?” “In the kitchen with Martha.
” “He’s still breathing.
” “He’s still breathing, sweetheart.
He’s eating good.
Martha’s been with him all night.
” Emma nodded.
Then she swung her little legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
She swayed.
Cole started to reach for her and she flinched and he stopped and she steadied herself on the bed post.
“I can walk, mister.
” “I know you can.
” “I been walking on my own a long time.
” “I know that, too.
” She walked past him slow.
At the doorway, she stopped without turning around.
“Mr.
Cole?” “Yeah.
” “Daddy used to sit by my bed, too, when I was little, before he died.
” Then she walked out before he could answer.
Cole sat there a long moment with his hat in his hands and he didn’t know if he was about to laugh or about to cry or about to ride out and burn something to the ground.
He didn’t do any of the three.
He just stood up and followed her to the kitchen.
Martha had Noah on her shoulder patting his back slow.
The baby had pink in his cheeks for the first time since Cole had laid eyes on him.
“Look at her, Cole.
” Martha said quiet, “Look at her face.
” Emma had walked straight to Martha and stopped.
She didn’t reach for the baby.
She just stood there staring up at him like she was checking he was still real.
He’s fatter.
Emma whispered.
He sure is.
He looks like Daddy when he’s sleeping.
Does he, sweetheart? Daddy had brown eyes, too.
Like Noah’s.
Mine are brown, but not like theirs.
Mine are darker.
Martha looked at Cole over Emma’s head.
Cole gave the smallest nod.
Miss Emma.
Martha said.
You reckon you might want some breakfast? I got biscuits warming and bacon and eggs and milk.
Emma’s eyes flicked to the table.
There was a plate already set.
Three biscuits.
Two strips of bacon.
An egg.
A glass of milk.
Emma didn’t move toward it.
That for me? That’s for you.
All of it? Every bite, baby.
Emma stared at the plate.
Then she did something that broke Cole clean in half.
She walked over to the plate, picked up one of the biscuits, and slid it into the pocket of her dress.
She didn’t eat it.
She just put it in her pocket and walked back toward Martha.
What you doing, sweetheart? Martha asked soft.
Saving it.
Saving it for what? For later.
In case there ain’t none later.
Martha closed her eyes.
Cole had to turn his face to the window.
Miss Emma, he said, and he had to clear his throat before he could keep going.
Miss Emma, there’s going to be more later.
I swear it on my daddy’s grave.
Every meal, every day.
Long as you want it.
You don’t got to save.
She looked at him with those big dark eyes.
You can’t promise that.
I can.
I just did.
Vanessa promised, too.
That stopped him.
Vanessa promised, too.
He took a slow breath.
Miss Emma, I ain’t Vanessa.
I ain’t never going to be Vanessa.
And I tell you what, you go on and save that biscuit.
You save every biscuit you want.
You fill up your whole pockets.
You put them under your pillow.
You stash them wherever makes you feel safe.
Cuz it ain’t the biscuit that matters.
What matters is you knowing you got one when you need one.
You hear me? Emma’s chin trembled.
She didn’t answer.
She just sat down at the table, real slow, and she picked up the second biscuit, and she ate it in tiny, careful bites, like she was afraid somebody’d snatch it.
Cole sat down across from her.
He didn’t talk while she ate.
Halfway through the bacon, she set down her fork.
Mr.
Cole.
Yeah.
Vanessa’s going to come looking for us.
He’d been waiting for her to say it.
I know.
She ain’t going to let us stay.
She ain’t got a choice in the matter.
You don’t know her.
No, I don’t.
But I know me.
And I know that woman ain’t taking you out of this house.
Not while I’m breathing.
Emma looked at him a long time.
Then quiet as anything, she killed my daddy.
Cole went still.
The kitchen went still.
Martha turned slow from the stove.
What did you say, sweetheart? She killed my daddy.
She didn’t think I knew, but I knew.
Cole leaned forward.
How do you know, Miss Emma? I heard her.
Heard her say what? Heard her say it to a man.
Big man with a black hat.
He came to the house when Daddy was sick.
They was in the parlor.
I was on the stairs.
What did she say, sweetheart? Emma’s hands started to shake.
Martha walked over fast and sat down next to her, still holding Noah.
And she didn’t touch Emma, but she put her free hand flat on the table, close enough that Emma could grab it if she wanted to.
Emma stared at Martha’s hand for a long second.
Then she reached out and laid her own tiny fingers across Martha’s knuckles.
Martha’s eyes filled.
“She said the medicine wasn’t working fast enough.
” Emma whispered.
“She said the man owed her a favor.
” “She said when Daddy was gone she’d split it with him 50/50, the money from the bank.
” Cole’s hand went flat on the table.
“What money, Miss Emma?” “Daddy’s money.
He had a lot.
He told me one time.
He said when I grew up I wouldn’t never have to worry about nothing.
He said the bank in Tucson was holding it for me.
And for Noah when Noah came.
Daddy said even if something bad happened to him the bank would still hold it.
Said the paper said so.
” Cole and Martha looked at each other.
“What paper, sweetheart?” “Daddy’s paper with all the writing.
He showed it to me once.
He said, ‘Emma, you remember this.
Anything happens to me you tell Sheriff Briggs about the paper.
You tell him to look in the floor.
‘” “In the floor?” “Under the rug in the bedroom.
There’s a board comes up.
Daddy showed me.
He made me promise.
” Cole sat back slow.
He looked at Martha.
Martha had gone the color of bone.
“Emma.
” Cole said careful as if he was setting down nitroglycerin.
“Emma, where’s your Daddy’s house?” “Outside Blackwells.
Big white house past the church.
” “Blackwells is two days ride.
” “Yes, sir.
” “And the paper’s still there?” “Vanessa never went looking.
She didn’t know about it.
She thought she got everything.
But she didn’t.
” Cole stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.
“Martha.
” “I’m right here.
” “Send for Sheriff Briggs today.
Now.
Tell him I need him at this ranch by nightfall.
” “Cole, Briggs is sheriff over in Blackwell’s County.
He ain’t got jurisdiction.
He’s going to have jurisdiction when he hears what Miss Emma just said.
Send the boy.
Tell him to ride hard.
All right, Cole.
And Martha, Yeah.
Don’t say nothing to nobody else.
Not the hands, not the cook, not the preacher.
Nobody.
Cole, you’re scaring me.
Good.
Be scared.
Cuz if that woman gets wind we know what we know, we ain’t going to have a chance to fix nothing.
Martha nodded sharp and went out the door with Noah still on her shoulder.
Cole sat back down across from Emma.
Emma was watching him with eyes that didn’t belong on a 5-year-old face.
Mr.
Cole? Yes, sweetheart.
You believe me? Every word, Miss Emma.
Every single word.
Nobody else ever did.
Who’d you tell? The doctor.
Back home.
The one that came when Daddy got sick.
I told him Vanessa was putting something in the soup.
He said little girls shouldn’t tell stories.
He said I’d get a whipping if I kept talking.
Cole’s jaw locked so tight he thought a tooth might crack.
Miss Emma? Yeah.
That doctor was a liar and a coward.
And I want you to know something right now.
In this house, in this kitchen with me and Martha and Doc Whitfield, you tell every single story that’s in your head.
You tell us all of them.
You hold nothing back.
Cuz every word you say from now on is going to be believed.
You hear me? She nodded.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
She didn’t wipe it.
“Daddy used to say believing was the most important thing.
” she whispered.
He said folks could survive almost anything if just one person believed them.
Your daddy was a smart man.
He was the best man.
I reckon he was, Miss Emma.
She looked down at her hands.
He was real sick at the end.
He couldn’t talk much, but he held my hand.
He held it so tight and he told me, “You take care of your brother, you hear me, Emma? You take care of him no matter what.
Don’t let nobody hurt him.
Don’t let nobody take him.
” And I said, “Yes, Daddy.
” I said, “Yes.
” She looked up at Cole.
I almost let him die, mister.
No, sweetheart.
No, you didn’t.
I did.
In the desert.
He almost died and it was my fault.
Miss Emma Brooks, you look at me right now.
She looked.
You walked that baby through 5 mi of desert when grown men would have died doing it.
You gave him your water.
You gave him your biscuit.
You shielded him with your own body.
There ain’t a soul on this earth could have done better.
You hear me? You saved him, not me.
You.
I just found you.
Her face crumpled.
She didn’t cry loud.
She never cried loud.
She just folded up at the table with her little arms wrapped around her own ribs and the tears came silent like they’d been coming for years and nobody’d ever noticed.
Cole couldn’t take it.
He got out of his chair and he crouched beside her and he held out his big rough hand palm up on the table close enough that she could grab it if she wanted to and he waited.
She grabbed it.
She grabbed his whole hand in both her tiny ones and she held on like he was a rope at the edge of a cliff.
It’s all right, Miss Emma.
It’s all right.
I got you.
You ain’t got to carry it alone no more.
You hear me? I got you.
She nodded against his hand.
He stayed crouched there a long time.
It was nearly noon when the hoofbeats came.
Martha heard them first.
She set Noah down in the cradle and went to the window.
Cole, riders.
How many? Sue, three.
Coming up the south road.
Briggs.
Briggs ain’t due till sundown.
Call it ain’t Briggs.
Cole crossed the kitchen fast and looked out.
Three riders.
A wagon behind them.
And in the wagon sitting straight backed and dressed in morning black like a widow at a funeral, was a woman Cole had never seen but knew anyway by the way Emma went bone white the second she got close to the window.
That her? Emma couldn’t answer.
She just nodded once.
Get in the back, Cole said.
Take Noah.
Get in the cellar with Martha.
Don’t come out till I say so.
Mr.
Cole.
Go, Miss Emma.
Now.
Martha was already moving.
She scooped up Noah and grabbed Emma’s hand and the two of them disappeared down the cellar stairs and Cole shut the door behind them and slid the heavy bar across.
Then he took down his rifle off the wall.
He didn’t load it.
He just held it loose at his side and walked out onto the porch.
The wagon stopped 50 feet from the house.
Vanessa Brooks climbed down delicate like she was stepping out of a church carriage.
She had a black lace handkerchief in one hand and a fresh bruise of grief painted across her face that wasn’t fooling nobody, least of all Cole.
She looked up at him.
Mr.
Turner.
That’s me.
My name is Vanessa Brooks.
I believe you have my children.
Cole didn’t answer.
I’ve come to take them home.
That’s so.
They were lost two days ago.
There was an accident with the wagon.
I thought they were dead.
I’ve been searching the country ever since.
Have you now? I heard from a passing rider that a rancher named Turner brought in two children matching their description.
So I came as fast as I could.
I am as you can imagine beside myself.
Cole studied her.
She was pretty.
Cole would give her that.
The kind of pretty that fooled men in dark rooms and made juries lean forward in their seats.
She had practiced tears in the corners of her eyes and a tremble in her lip that wouldn’t have shamed a stage actress in St.
Louis.
Mr.
Turner, may I see my children, please? No, ma’am.
The tremble stopped.
For just a flicker, the mask slipped.
It came right back, but Cole had seen it.
I beg your pardon.
I said no.
Mr.
Turner, those children are mine by law.
Their father is dead.
I am their stepmother and their legal guardian and I will be taking them with me when I leave this property.
Then I reckon you ought to come back with a piece of paper that says so.
I have papers.
Then show them.
She reached into the wagon and pulled out a folded envelope and held it out toward him.
Cole didn’t move from the porch.
One of her riders slid down off his horse and walked the envelope up to Cole.
The rider was a big man, black hat.
Cole took the envelope without taking his eyes off the man’s face.
You got a name, friend? Eli Driskell.
Eli Driskell.
Cole let the name sit on his tongue a moment.
You from Blackwells? What of it? J- Just asking.
The big man’s eyes narrowed.
Cole opened the envelope one-handed, keeping the rifle loose in the other.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, a guardianship decree, signed by a judge Cole had never heard of, stamped and sealed and proper looking as the day was long.
He folded it slow.
He held it out and let it drop onto the porch boards.
That paper ain’t worth the ink it’s printed in, ma’am.
Vanessa’s face hardened.
Mr.
Turner, you are interfering with a legal and I’ll keep on interfering till the Lord himself comes down and orders me to stop.
Now, I’m going to tell you this one time and I’m going to tell you slow, so you remember it.
Get back in your wagon, take your boys with the black hats, and ride off my land.
And don’t you come back without a federal marshal.
You think a federal marshal is going to side with a stranger over a mother? I think a federal marshal is going to ask some real interesting questions about a husband who died young, and a fortune that ended up in his widow’s name, and two children who showed up in the desert with bruises that didn’t come from no wagon accident.
So, yes, ma’am.
I think a federal marshal is going to be just delighted to make your acquaintance.
The mask dropped all the way.
What was underneath was the coldest thing Cole had ever seen on a human face.
She looked at him a long moment.
Then, she smiled.
Not the grieving widow smile, a real one.
Mr.
Turner, you don’t know what you’ve stepped in the middle of.
Reckon I do, ma’am.
You’re a rancher.
I am a woman with money and lawyers and very patient friends.
You are going to lose this fight.
Maybe.
There’s no maybe about it.
Well, ma’am, here’s the thing.
Cole shifted the rifle, so it was hanging just a little less loose.
I’ve been ranching 12 years.
I’ve buried a wife.
I’ve fought a drought.
I’ve shot two wolves with my bare hands.
And I ain’t got one damn thing left in this world to be scared of.
So, you bring your lawyers.
You bring your judges.
You bring whatever army you got.
I’ll be right here.
She held his eyes.
You’ll regret this.
Already do, ma’am.
Wish I’d found him a day sooner.
The big man in the black hat stepped forward.
Cole’s hand tightened on the rifle.
Eli, Vanessa said sharp.
Not today.
The big man stopped.
Vanessa climbed back into the wagon.
She gathered her skirts.
She looked at Cole one last time, and her voice when it came was quiet and pleasant and pure poison.
I’ll be back, Mr.
Turner, with more than papers.
I’ll have the coffee on.
The wagon turned.
The riders followed.
Cole watched them go all the way to the bend in the road and around it and out of sight.
Then he turned and walked back into the house and crossed to the cellar door and pulled the bar free.
Martha, Emma, y’all can come up now.
He waited.
He heard Martha’s heavy step on the stairs.
He heard Emma’s lighter one.
When Emma came up into the kitchen, she was holding Noah herself and her little face was the white of a sheet and her dark eyes were dry.
She’s gone.
For now.
She’ll come back.
I know.
Emma walked over to where the envelope lay on the porch through the open door and she stared at it.
Then she looked up at Cole and she said something that froze the marrow in his bones.
That man in the black hat with Vanessa.
Eli Driskell.
That’s him, Mr.
Cole.
That’s the man from the parlor.
That’s the one she paid to put the medicine in Daddy’s soup.
Cole closed his eyes.
He’d suspected, but hearing her say it out loud made it real.
You sure, Miss Emma? I’d know his face anywhere.
Cole opened his eyes.
He looked out across his land toward the bend in the road where the wagon had disappeared.
Then he reached up slow and pulled his hat down tight on his head.
Martha.
Yeah.
Saddle buck and the spare.
I’m riding to Blackwell’s tonight.
Cole, that’s 2 days.
Then I best leave before sundown.
Emma stepped forward.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah, sweetheart.
You said you wasn’t going to leave us.
He turned around and crouched down in front of her and he put both his big hands on her tiny shoulders.
So gentle a breath could have blown them off.
Miss Emma Brooks, you listen to me.
I ain’t leaving you.
I’m going to get the thing that’s going to keep you.
You hear me? I’m going to your daddy’s house.
I’m going to find what he hid under that floorboard, and I’m going to bring it back here, and I’m going to put it in front of every judge in the territory, and that woman is never going to come near you again.
You hear me? Her eyes filled.
What if she gets here first? Martha’s going to be here.
Doc’s going to be here.
Half my hands are going to be on that porch with rifles loaded.
She ain’t getting past them.
What if you don’t come back? I’m coming back.
Promise.
He drew the slow X across his chest.
Cross my heart, Miss Emma Brooks.
She stared at his chest where his finger had been.
Then she reached up with her own small hand, and she drew an X across her own chest mirroring him.
Then I’ll wait, mister.
You do that.
He stood up.
He looked at Martha.
Two days there, two days back.
You hold this house till I get home.
I’ll hold it, Cole.
And if she comes back before I do? I know what to do.
Cole nodded once.
He kissed the top of Emma’s head so quick she almost didn’t feel it.
Then he was out the door and across the yard and swinging up onto Buck.
And the dust rose behind him as he rode out hard toward the South Road and the long ride into Blackwells where a dead man had hidden the truth in his bedroom floor and was waiting for somebody, finally after all this time, to come and pick it up.
Blackwells was sleeping when Cole rode in on the second night.
He’d pushed Buck hard and the spare harder switching saddles every few hours, and his bones felt like they belonged to a man twice his age.
He didn’t care.
He rode past the dark saloon and the shuttered general store and turned down the road past the church the way Emma had said.
And at the end of that road, sitting alone on a rise above the prairie, was a big white house with every single window dark.
Cole tied the horses to a cottonwood out of sight from the road.
He walked the rest of the way on foot.
The front door was locked.
He didn’t bother with it.
He went around to the back and tried the kitchen door, and that one was locked, too.
But the window beside it slid up easy as a man lifting his hat.
Cole slid through it and dropped onto the kitchen floor and stood there listening.
The house was empty.
He could feel it.
A house with people in it has a sound even when it’s quiet.
This one didn’t have nothing.
Vanessa had cleared out and gone hunting and left her dead husband’s house to the ghosts.
Cole moved through it slow.
He found the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Big four-poster bed still made up neat.
Heavy rug on the floor.
He rolled the rug back.
He got down on his knees and pressed each board until he found the one that gave a little under his palm.
He worked his knife into the seam and pried, and the board came up clean as anything.
Underneath, wrapped in oilcloth, was a bundle.
Cole pulled it out and unwrapped it on the bed, and his hands started to shake.
There was a sheaf of legal papers tied with twine.
There was a small leather book.
There was a small canvas bag that clinked when he set it down.
And there was a folded letter sealed in wax with one word written across the front in shaken handwriting.
Emma.
Cole sat down on the edge of the bed.
He didn’t open the letter.
That one wasn’t for him.
But he opened the legal papers and what he saw made the blood drain out of his face.
It was a trust.
A real one.
Drawn up by a Tucson lawyer named Holloway six months before the man’s death.
It put the entire fortune, every dollar of it, in trust for Emma Brooks and any future siblings.
Vanessa Brooks was named in writing as expressly forbidden from touching a single cent of it.
The trustee was the lawyer himself.
The widow had no claim.
None.
Whatever paper she’d waved at Cole on his porch, it was a forgery or a fraud or both.
Cole opened the leather book next.
It was a journal.
The dead man’s journal.
Cole read fast.
The handwriting got worse the further in he went.
The last entries were near unreadable, but he made out enough.
Vanessa changed my medicine again.
The doctor says nothing helps, but it’s worse when she gives it.
Eli Driscoll was in the parlor again.
He thinks I’m too sick to know.
I’m not too sick to know.
If I’m gone before this is finished, I pray Emma remembers the floor.
If anyone reads this, my wife is killing me.
My wife is killing me.
My wife is killing me.
Cole closed the book.
He held it in his hands a long moment.
Then he put it in the bundle with the rest and tied the oilcloth back up tight and slid the whole package inside his coat.
He stood up.
He left the floorboard where it lay.
Then he walked out the way he came in.
And when he got to the cottonwood, he didn’t even mount up.
He just stood there with one hand on Buck’s neck breathing.
And a sound came out of him that wasn’t quite a word and wasn’t quite a curse.
“I’m coming, Miss Emma.
” He said.
“I’m coming home.
” He rode out hard.
Two miles outside Blackwells, the shot came.
It cracked across the prairie and a chunk of bark exploded off a tree 6 in from Cole’s head.
Buck lunged sideways.
Cole stayed in the saddle by pure stubbornness and dug his heels in and tore down the trail flat out.
Hoofbeats behind him, three sets, maybe four.
Cole didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
He knew exactly who was on his back.
He drove Buck off the trail into the brush and the riders came after him hollering.
And Cole pulled the rifle out of the scabbard and fired one shot blind over his shoulder.
He heard a horse scream and a man cuss.
Then he rode.
He rode through brush that tore his sleeves to ribbons and across washes that nearly broke Buck’s legs and up a draw that climbed sharp into the rocks.
And at the top of the draw, he pulled up hard and turned and waited.
The first rider came up over the rim.
Cole shot him out of the saddle.
The second rider stopped cold.
Driscoll! Cole shouted down.
That you down there? Silence.
Then a voice came up out of the rocks below.
You done made a real bad enemy, Turner.
Already had one.
Reckon you ain’t nothing new.
Hand over what you took out of that house.
Ride off.
Live a long time.
Come up and take it.
Silence.
Cole heard horses backing up.
He heard hooves turning.
He heard the riders ride off the way they’d come.
He stayed in the rocks a long time.
He didn’t trust it.
Driscoll wasn’t the type to give up easy.
Cole figured the man was riding for Vanessa Riding to tell her what Cole had Riding to get to the ranch before Cole could.
Cole spurred Buck back out of the draw and onto the trail.
He didn’t have 2 days.
He had maybe one, maybe less.
He rode.
He rode through the night and through the dawn and through the heat of the second day.
And the second day’s sun was high overhead when he came over the ridge above the Triple T and saw what was waiting for him in his own yard.
A wagon.
Vanessa’s wagon.
And four riders.
And standing on the porch was Martha with a shotgun across her chest and Doc Whitfield beside her and three of Cole’s ranch hands flanking them with rifles at the ready.
Cole rode down hard.
The riders in the yard heard him coming and turned and one of them put a hand on his pistol and Cole pulled Buck up sliding 20 ft from the porch with his rifle already trained.
Hand off the gun.
The man hesitated.
Hand off the gun.
He moved his hand.
Cole swung down off Buck without lowering the rifle.
Vanessa stepped out of the wagon.
There was a man in a fancy suit beside her now.
Spectacles, soft hands.
The kind of man who’d never sat a horse in his life.
“Mr.
Turner.
” The man said.
“I am Judge Harlan Pike of the Pinal County Circuit.
I have come at the request of Mrs.
Brooks to take custody of two minor children unlawfully held on this property.
” “That’s so?” “I would advise you, sir, to lower your weapon and cooperate.
The penalty for obstructing “I know the penalty, Judge.
” “Then Doc.
” Doc Whitfield stepped forward.
“Yeah, Cole.
” “Get Sheriff Briggs.
” “He’s already here, Cole.
He’s inside with the children.
” “Send him out.
” The screen door opened and Sheriff Briggs came out.
He was a big man weathered with a star on his vest that had been pinned to him for 30 years.
“Cole.
” “Tom.
” “You got what I sent for?” “I got everything you sent for and then some.
” “Good.
” Cole reached into his coat.
He pulled out the oilcloth bundle.
“Then I got the rest of it right here from under the floor in his bedroom just like Miss Emma said.
” Vanessa’s face went the color of the dust under her boots.
“Mr.
Turner, whatever you have there is the private property of Judge Pike.
Cole turned.
You’re a judge of the territorial court, real one.
I checked on you during the ride.
Pinal County, 20 years on the bench.
I am.
Then I’d be obliged if you’d open this here bundle and read it, right here on this porch, out loud, so everybody hears it together.
Mr.
Turner, I will not be ordered.
You won’t be ordered? I’m asking, as a citizen, with evidence I believe pertains to the murder of a man and the abuse of two children.
You read it, Judge, or I’ll ride to Tucson with it and find a judge who will.
The judge looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa shook her head sharp.
The judge took the bundle.
He untied it on the porch rail.
He read the trust paper first.
His face changed.
He read the journal next.
His face changed more.
When he was done, he set the bundle down very slow, and he looked at Vanessa, and his voice was different than it had been a minute before.
Mrs.
Brooks, Judge Pike, I can explain.
Mrs.
Brooks, when you came to my chambers 2 weeks ago, you presented me with a will that named you as sole heir.
You did not present me with any trust.
There was no trust, Judge.
That paper is a forgery.
The signature of Mr.
Holloway is on it.
Mr.
Holloway is my brother-in-law.
I know his hand.
The silence that fell over the yard was the kind of silence that has weight.
Vanessa’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Sheriff Briggs walked down off the porch.
Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me.
You can’t.
Yes, ma’am, I can.
On suspicion of fraud, perjury, conspiracy, and the unlawful abandonment of two minor children in conditions likely to cause death.
We’ll add the rest as we go.
Vanessa took a step back.
She looked at her riders.
The riders looked at the rifles on the porch.
The riders did not move.
“Eli!” Vanessa shouted.
“Eli, do something!” The big man with the black hat was standing beside the wagon.
He hadn’t spoken since Cole rode in.
He didn’t speak now.
He looked at Vanessa for a long second.
Then he looked at the ground.
“Eli.
” He shook his head once.
“It ain’t worth it, Vanessa.
Not for what you’re paying.
” “You.
” He told me, the old man, before he died.
Eli’s voice was tired, like a man setting down a load he’d carried too long.
“He looked me in the eye and he said, ‘Eli, you was raised better than this.
‘ And I rode away from him.
Took your money and rode off.
But he was right.
” He looked at the sheriff.
“I’ll tell you what I done, Tom.
I’ll tell you all of it.
Just keep that woman away from them kids.
” Vanessa screamed.
It wasn’t a word.
It wasn’t a sentence.
It was the sound of every mask she’d ever worn tearing off her face at once.
She lunged at Eli.
The sheriff caught her by the arm and held her, and she fought him, and a second hand grabbed her other arm, and between the two of them, they wrestled her down off the porch into the dust and put irons on her wrists right there in front of the wagon.
When it was done, she was on her knees.
Her hair had come loose.
The black mourning dress was filthy.
She looked up at Cole, and she said low enough that only he could hear, “She’ll never forget what you did, the little one.
She’ll wake up screaming the rest of her life and think of me.
” Cole crouched down.
He got real close to her face.
“Lady,” he said, soft as Sunday, “she’s going to wake up screaming a while.
That’s the gospel truth.
But every time she does somebody’s going to be there, and it ain’t going to be you.
And every year that passes, the screaming’s going to get a little quieter.
And one day, ma’am, she’s going to wake up and she ain’t going to scream at all.
And on that day, you’ll still be rotten in whatever cell they put you in.
And she will not remember your name.
He stood up.
He walked past her toward the porch.
The screen door opened.
Emma was standing there.
She had Noah in her arms.
She’d seen the whole thing.
Cole stopped on the porch step.
Miss Emma? I heard her.
You wasn’t supposed to.
I wanted to.
He crouched down at the edge of the porch.
You all right? She didn’t answer right away.
Then she looked past him at Vanessa kneeling in the dust with the irons on, and she said something Cole would remember the rest of his life.
She looks small.
Yes, sweetheart, she does.
She was so big before, in the house.
She seemed so big.
She ain’t big, Miss Emma.
She was never big.
She just told you she was.
Emma nodded.
She looked at Cole.
I want to tell the judge.
Tell him what? Everything.
About Daddy.
About the soup.
About the man in the black hat.
About what she said in the desert.
I want to tell him.
You don’t have to, sweetheart.
The papers are going to tell him.
I want to.
Cole looked up at Judge Pike.
The judge had heard.
The judge took off his hat and held it against his chest.
Miss Emma, he said gentle.
If you want to tell me, I will hear every word.
Right here on this porch.
And when we get to Tucson, I will write it all down.
And I will read it from the bench myself.
And there will not be a soul in that courthouse who does not believe you.
Is that all right? Emma stepped out of the doorway.
She walked across the porch slow holding Noah careful, and she stopped right in front of the judge.
She had to crane her neck to look up at him.
Mr.
Judge? Yes, Miss Emma.
” “Are you a man what believes little girls?” The judge bent down.
He bent all the way down till he was at her level.
“Today, Miss Emma, I am.
” Then he sat down right there on the porch boards with his back against the wall like he was settling in for a long time, and he said, “Tell me from the start.
Take all the time you need.
” Emma sat down across from him.
She arranged Noah careful in her lap, and she started to talking.
Cole stood up and stepped back to give her room.
Martha came up beside him.
Doc Whitfield came up on his other side.
Sheriff Briggs led Vanessa and Eli away from the porch toward the wagon.
Vanessa screamed something as they passed, but Cole didn’t listen, and Emma didn’t look up, and the sound of it faded into the wind without ever quite reaching the porch where the little girl was talking quiet to a judge.
Cole listened.
He listened to all of it.
He’d thought he’d known.
He hadn’t known a third of it.
The medicine in the soup, the whippings with a riding crop, the locked closet on hot afternoons, the night Noah was born and Vanessa had said, “One more mouth and now I’ve got to get rid of two of you instead of just the one.
” The walk in the desert, the biscuit, the carrion.
Cole’s hands made fists at his sides without him telling them to.
Doc Whitfield put a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, Cole.
” “I know, Doc.
” “You did the thing that needed doing.
” “It ain’t enough.
” “Nothing ever is.
” Emma kept talking.
The judge wrote.
The sun moved across the sky.
When she finally finished, it was near sundown, and Noah was sleeping in her lap, and Emma’s voice was hoarse like an old woman’s, and she looked up at the judge with eyes that had nothing left in them.
“That’s all, Mr.
Judge.
” Judge Pike closed his book.
He took a long breath.
“Miss Emma Brooks, in 30 years on the bench, I have not heard a finer or braver statement from any witness of any age in any case.
I want you to know that and I want you to know that the woman who hurt you and your father is going to spend the rest of her life answering for it.
You have my word.
Emma nodded.
Will you write it down? I will.
Will you read it? To every judge in the territory as loud as I can.
Good.
She stood up slow.
She held Noah tighter against her chest.
She walked across the porch to where Cole was standing and she stopped and she looked up at him.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah, sweetheart.
I’m real tired.
I bet you are.
Can I sleep in your room again? He bent down.
He didn’t pick her up.
He held out his arms and he let her come to him and she came walking the last two steps on her own and leaning against his side with no between them.
You can sleep wherever you want, Miss Emma.
Long as you want.
As many nights as you want.
She pressed her face against his shirt.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah.
You came back.
Told you I would.
You really did though.
Yeah, Miss Emma.
I really did.
He picked her up then careful of the baby in her arms and he carried her inside past the judge still sitting on the porch boards and past Martha wiping her eyes with her apron and past Doc Whitfield turning his face to the sunset so nobody’d see it.
He carried her down the hall.
He laid her on his bed.
He pulled the blanket up over her and over Noah both.
She was asleep before he made it to the chair.
Cole sat down in that chair the way he’d sat in it the first night and he watched her sleep and somewhere out across the territory the wagon with Vanessa Brooks in it was rolling toward a jail cell she would never come out of and Cole Turner didn’t move from that chair until the dawn came up gold over his land and the new day began.
Dawn came up gold and Cole hadn’t slept.
He’d watched her breathe all night.
Around 6:00 in the morning, Emma’s eyes opened slow.
She didn’t sit up.
She didn’t speak.
She just looked across at him in the chair the same way she had the first morning.
And something in her face this time was different.
Softer at the edges.
Like she’d finally let herself believe a little.
“You stayed again?” she whispered.
“Yeah, Miss Emma.
” “You ain’t going to do this every night, are you?” “You’re going to get tired.
” “I’m going to do it as long as you need.
” She thought about that.
Then she did something that nearly undid him.
She reached one tiny hand across the blanket and pressed her fingertips against his stubbled jaw soft as a butterfly, like she was checking if he was real.
“You’re warm,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.
” Vanessa was always cold, even her hands, even in summer.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say nothing.
He just covered her tiny hand with his own big one, careful as if he was holding a baby bird.
She let him.
That was a first.
Down the hall, Noah started fussing for his morning feed and Martha’s voice came soft through the wall humming the same old hymn she’d hum the first night and Emma sighed once like a child finally setting down a load she’d carried too long.
“Mr.
Cole?” “Yeah.
” “Is she really in jail?” “She’s really in jail.
” “Forever?” “Forever and a day, sweetheart.
” “You sure?” “Cross my heart.
” Emma closed her eyes again.
She slept another 2 hours.
The days that came after didn’t move fast.
They didn’t need to.
Cole had figured he’d have to do something big, that there’d be some moment where everything would change.
But healing didn’t work that way.
Healing worked in the small things.
The third morning, Emma stopped putting biscuits in her pocket.
She still saved one.
Just one.
She slid it into her dress every breakfast, and Martha never said a word about it, but the other two stayed on the plate and got eaten, and that was enough.
The fifth morning, she let Martha brush her hair.
The seventh morning, Cole heard a sound from the kitchen he hadn’t heard since he was a boy.
He stopped in the hallway.
He listened.
It was a giggle.
A real one.
High and surprised, like the child who made it hadn’t quite known the sound could come out of her.
Cole leaned against the wall.
He pressed his hat against his chest, and he stood there a long minute, and he didn’t trust himself to walk in just yet.
When he finally did, Emma was sitting at the table with flour on her nose.
Martha had a wooden spoon in her hand and was pretending to fence with her like a sword fight, and Noah was on the rug in a basket cooing up at the ceiling.
“Cole Turner, you get in here.
” Martha said.
“Miss Emma is fixing to make her first biscuits, and we need a taster.
” “Reckon I can do that.
” “You sit yourself down, and don’t you laugh at her shape.
She’s a beginner.
” “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.
” Emma was concentrating so hard, her tongue was poking out of the corner of her mouth.
Cole sat down across from her.
He watched her flour-dusted little hands kneading the dough too hard, and something in his chest cracked open a little wider.
“How’s it looking, Miss Emma?” “It’s looking lumpy.
” “Lumpy’s fine.
Lumpy is what biscuits are supposed to look like.
” “Martha said mine look like rocks.
” “Martha says lots of things.
” Martha smacked him with a dish rag.
He grinned.
He hadn’t grinned in a long time.
He felt the muscles in his cheeks pull like he was using tools he’d forgotten he owned.
Emma looked up at him.
She saw the grin.
She didn’t grin back.
Not yet.
But something in her dark eyes flickered.
You smile funny, mister.
That so? Looks like you ain’t used to it.
Maybe I ain’t.
You should do it more.
Reckon I’ll work on it, Miss Emma.
That afternoon the trouble came.
Cole was out by the corral when he heard a horse on the south road.
Single rider.
He squinted into the sun and saw a man on a dappled gray coming on at a steady walk, dressed in a black suit and a stiff round hat that didn’t belong on no horse.
Cole walked back to the porch.
Martha came out wiping her hands.
Who is it, Cole? Don’t know yet, but he ain’t a rancher.
The man rode up and dismounted neat.
He took off his hat.
He had thin hair plastered down with pomade and a face that looked like it had never spent more than 10 minutes outdoors in its life.
Mr.
Turner? That’s me.
My name is Mr.
Whitfield.
No relation to your good doctor.
I am an agent of the Arizona Territorial Department of Indigent Affairs.
I have been sent by the office of the governor.
Martha and Cole looked at each other.
That so? Yes, sir.
I have been instructed to make an assessment of the present living conditions of the two minor children currently in your custody.
Miss Emma Brooks, Mr.
Noah Brooks.
Following the arrest of their stepmother, the territory has assumed jurisdiction over their welfare.
I’m here to determine if their current placement is suitable or if they should be removed to the children’s home in Phoenix.
Cole’s hand closed slow on the the rail.
Removed? Yes, sir.
Pending a formal hearing.
Mr.
Whitfield.
Yes.
You ain’t taking those children off this property.
Mr.
Turner, I am not here to argue.
I am here to assess.
May I come inside? Martha stepped forward.
You may, sir.
Mind your boots.
Cole shot her a look.
She shot it right back.
Cole, let the man in.
We got nothing to hide.
The agent walked in.
He walked through the kitchen with his hands behind his back.
He looked at the stove and the pantry.
He looked at the bedroom where Emma had been sleeping.
He bent down at the cradle where Noah was napping.
And he made a tiny ticking sound with his tongue like a man inspecting a chicken.
Emma stood in the corner the whole time.
She didn’t speak.
She watched him.
When he finished, he came back to the kitchen and pulled out a small leather notebook.
Mr.
Turner, you are a widower.
I am.
For how long? Eight years.
You have no woman in this household other than Mrs.
Crane, who is your employee.
Martha lives in the house.
As an employee.
As family.
That is not how the law sees it, Mr.
Turner.
The law sees a single man unmarried attempting to raise two small children including an infant girl.
Cole’s jaw went tight.
Emma’s a girl.
Yes, sir.
That’s my point.
The territory does not as a general matter grant guardianship of female minors to unmarried men.
There are reasons for it.
I’m sure you understand.
Cole understood.
He understood real well.
His knuckles went white on the rail.
Mr.
Whitfield.
Yes, sir.
You implying something? I am not implying.
I am reporting facts.
The hearing in Phoenix will weigh those facts.
When’s the hearing? Three weeks.
Until then? Until then, Mr.
Turner, the children remain in your custody.
After that, the territory will decide.
Emma stepped out of the corner.
She walked across the kitchen slow and stopped in front of the agent.
He looked down at her.
Hello, little miss.
Emma did not say hello.
She said, “Are you taking me away?” Not today, sweetheart.
Are you taking Noah? Not today.
But you might.
That will be decided by people more important than me.
Emma stared at him.
Then she walked past him to the cradle, and she picked Noah up, and she carried him back across the kitchen, and stood in front of Cole, and she pressed the baby against Cole’s chest and made Cole take him.
What you doing, Miss Emma? Cole asked low.
He’s safer with you.
Then she turned around to face the agent.
Mister? Yes.
My daddy died because of a woman.
I am aware.
My daddy died because nobody believed me when I said she was bad.
Yes, miss.
Now I’m telling you about a man.
This man here, Mr.
Cole Turner.
I’m telling you he is good, and I’m asking you to believe me the way nobody believed me about her.
Will you believe me, mister? The agent’s pen stopped moving.
He stared at her.
He did not have an answer.
Emma waited.
Then she said quiet, “I figured.
” She walked back to Cole and stood pressed against his leg with her arms around his thigh.
The agent cleared his throat.
“The hearing is in 3 weeks, Mr.
Turner.
I would advise you to retain counsel.
” I already got counsel.
Then I’ll bid you good day.
He left.
Cole watched him ride off down the South Road until the dust settled.
Then he sat down on the porch step real heavy and Noah squirmed in his arms and Emma climbed up onto the step beside him and leaned her whole little weight against his side.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah.
They’re going to take us.
They ain’t.
They might.
They might, but they ain’t.
How you going to stop them? Cole looked out across his land.
I’m going to get married, Miss Emma.
She sat up sharp.
To who? Don’t know yet, but I’m going to find a woman who’s a real woman with a real heart and I’m going to ask her if she’ll stand in front of a judge with me and I’m going to do it inside of 3 weeks cuz I ain’t letting nobody take you.
You hear me? You do that for us? I do that for you.
She stared at him.
She stared a long time.
Then she said, “Martha.
” Martha what? You should marry Martha.
Cole laughed.
It came out before he could stop it.
A real laugh.
Miss Emma, Martha’s like a sister to me.
Sisters get married in books.
Not the kind that’s like a sister.
Oh.
She thought about it.
Doc Whitfield’s got a sister.
She come to visit twice.
She’s nice.
She’s old like you.
Cole laughed again.
I’m 42, Miss Emma.
That’s real old.
I know.
Will you ask her? Maybe I will.
The lawyer arrived from Tucson 2 days later.
His name was Mr.
Holloway and he was thin and sharp-eyed and he had the kind of voice that filled a room without being loud.
He sat at the kitchen table with the bundle of papers from under the floorboard spread out in front of him and he read every page twice.
When he was done, he took off his spectacles.
Mr.
Turner.
Sir, this trust is ironclad.
There is not a court in this territory that can break it.
Emma and Noah Brooks are the rightful and only beneficiaries of an estate valued at $140,000.
Martha sat down.
Hard.
“A hundred and forty thousand.
” She whispered.
“Yes, ma’am.
” Cole stared at the lawyer.
“That’s enough to buy three of my ranch.
” “Yes, sir.
” “What about Vanessa?” “Mrs.
Brooks will not see a single dollar.
She forged the will she presented in Phoenix.
She forged the guardianship decree she brought to your door.
Combined with the journal and the testimony from Mr.
Driscoll, she is facing a minimum of 20 years for fraud.
The murder charge will take longer to build, but Mr.
Driscoll’s confession places her squarely at the center of it.
I would estimate she will not see daylight as a free woman again.
” Cole nodded slow.
“And the children?” “That is a separate matter.
” “Tell me.
” “The trust does not name a guardian.
Mr.
Brooks intended to name one before his death.
He did not finish the document.
That leaves the question of who raises these children up to the territorial court.
Three weeks from now?” “Three weeks from now.
” “What are the chances they let me keep them?” The lawyer was quiet a long moment.
“As things stand, Mr.
Turner, slim.
” Cole’s hand tightened on the table.
“What changes the odds?” “A spouse, a formal home study, established community standing, a petition signed by neighbors.
” “How many neighbors?” “As many as you can get.
” Cole stood up.
He walked to the door.
He looked out across his land at the South Road, the same road where the agent had ridden in, and the same road where Vanessa had come and gone twice, and he made up his mind right there.
“Martha.
” “Yeah, Cole.
” “Send word to every rancher within 50 miles.
I want them here Sunday, all of them.
Tell them I got something to say.
” Sunday came and they came with it.
Wagons and horses and buckboards strung out down the South Road.
Old Joe Caldwell from the Bar Seven, the Wallace brothers from Snake Creek, the widow Patterson and her three grown sons, the McAlister family, Reverend Hayes from the church in Black Wells who’d ridden two days to be there.
And behind them all of Cole’s hands and Martha and Doc Whitfield and Sheriff Briggs and Judge Pike who’d stayed in the territory just for this.
Cole stood on his porch.
He held Noah in one arm.
Emma stood beside him with her hand in his free one.
He looked out at them.
He cleared his throat.
“I ain’t no good at speeches.
” “You ain’t no good at much, Cole.
” Old Joe shouted and the crowd laughed.
“Reckon that’s true.
” He took a breath.
“You all know me.
Some of you a long time.
You know I’ve been alone since Mary died.
You know I keep to myself.
You know I ain’t asked any of you for nothing but the occasional cup of coffee.
” Murmurs.
“Well, I’m asking now.
” He held up Noah a little.
“This baby and this little girl, they got family.
They got a trust.
They got a name.
What they ain’t got is a daddy.
Their daddy was killed by their stepmother.
Their stepmother is sitting in jail and the territory is fixing to take them and put them in a home in Phoenix on account of I am a widower and a man alone and the law don’t trust me.
” The crowd went quiet.
“Now I figure you all know whether to trust me.
I figure you all know me long enough.
So I’m asking you, every man and woman among you, if you believe these children belong on this ranch with me and Martha, I’d be obliged if you’d sign your name to a paper saying so.
And if you don’t, I’d be obliged if you’d ride home and forget I asked.
Nobody rode home.
Old Joe walked up first, then the Wallace brothers, then the Widow Patterson, then the McAllisters, then Reverend Hayes who shook Cole’s hand and said, “Son, that paper’s going to run out of room.
” One by one they came, 43 names by sundown.
Emma watched them.
She watched every single one.
When the last man had signed and ridden out, she looked up at Cole and her dark eyes were shining.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah, sweetheart.
All those people came.
Yeah.
For us.
For you.
She held his hand tighter.
Mr.
Cole? Yeah.
Can I ask you something? Anything.
Can I call you something else? He looked down at her.
Like what, Miss Emma? She bit her lip.
She looked away.
Then she looked back.
Cowboy Dad.
He didn’t answer for a second.
He couldn’t.
His throat had closed up too tight.
She watched his face scared.
Maybe she’d said the wrong thing and her little fingers loosened in his hand like she was already starting to pull back.
Cole crouched down.
He set Noah careful in the crook of his arm.
He took Emma’s face in his other rough hand and he tilted her chin up so she had to look at him.
Miss Emma Brooks.
Yes, sir.
You can call me anything you want for the rest of your life, but Cowboy Dad, Cowboy Dad’s the one I’m going to answer to first.
Her face broke open.
Not a smile.
Not yet a smile, but something close to it.
Something on its way.
She pressed her forehead against his and stayed there a long second with her eyes closed and Noah cooed once between them like he was saying amen.
Then she stepped back.
Cowboy Dad? Yeah, Miss Emma.
I’m going to go check on Noah’s cradle.
Make sure it’s still soft.
You do that.
She ran inside.
Cole stayed crouched on the porch with Noah in his arm, and he watched the door swing shut behind her, and a wind came up off the prairie and stirred the dust at his feet, and somewhere far off a coyote called once to the coming night.
Cole didn’t move for a long time.
When Martha came out to fetch them in for supper, she found him still crouched there with his hat tipped back and tears running down his face.
He didn’t bother to wipe and Noah asleep against his shoulder and his other hand pressed flat against the spot on the porch where a 5-year-old’s footprints in the dust still hadn’t blown away.
Three weeks went by faster than Cole wanted and slower than Emma could bear.
The ranch settled into a rhythm.
Noah grew.
Emma laughed twice on a Tuesday and three times on a Friday.
And Martha kept a tally in her head like she was counting miracles.
Cole learned how to braid hair sort of.
The first time he tried, Emma stared at herself in the mirror and said, “Cowboy Dad, that looks like a snake fighting a rope.
” And then she laughed so hard she had to sit down, and Cole laughed too, and Martha came around the corner and saw the two of them on the floor laughing, and she had to walk out before they saw her crying.
The night before they rode for Phoenix, Emma couldn’t sleep.
Cole found her on the porch in her nightgown.
What you doing up, sweetheart? Thinking.
About what? What if the judge says no? He sat down beside her on the step.
Miss Emma.
Yeah.
You remember what your daddy said about believing? Yeah.
43 people signed that paper.
I know.
43.
That’s a whole lot of believing.
She nodded slow.
But what if it ain’t enough? He thought about it.
He didn’t lie to her.
He’d promised himself a long time ago he wouldn’t ever lie to her.
Then we keep fighting, Miss Emma.
We don’t stop till we win.
You and me and Martha and Doc and Holloway and every one of those 43.
We don’t stop.
Forever? Forever and a day.
She leaned against his shoulder.
Cowboy Dad? Yeah.
If they take us, I want you to know something.
What? You was the best part.
You was the best part of my whole life.
He couldn’t answer her.
He just put his arm around her and they sat there on the step till the moon went down behind the barn.
Phoenix was bigger than any town Emma had ever seen.
She rode in on the wagon seat between Cole and Martha with her small hands gripping the rail and her eyes went wide at every storefront and every passing carriage.
Noah slept in Martha’s arms through all of it.
The courthouse was a big stone building on the corner of the main street.
Cole stopped the wagon out front.
He helped Emma down.
She stood on the sidewalk holding his hand so tight his fingers went numb.
Cowboy Dad? Yeah.
I’m scared.
I know, sweetheart.
Real scared.
I know.
He crouched down.
He took her face in both his hands.
You listen to me, Miss Emma Brooks.
You walk through them doors with your head up.
You hear me? Your daddy would want you to.
You ain’t done nothing wrong.
Not one thing.
So you walk in there like you own the place.
She nodded.
He stood up.
She let go of his hand and she walked through the courthouse doors ahead of him, her tiny back straight as a board.
The courtroom was packed.
Half of it was strangers.
The other half was every one of the 43.
Old Joe Caldwell had ridden two days to be there.
So had the Wallace brothers.
So had Reverend Hayes.
Doc Whitfield was in the second row.
Sheriff Briggs was beside him.
Judge Pike, who wasn’t presiding over this case, but had come anyway, sat in the back with his hat in his lap.
And in the front at the prosecutor’s table, sat Mr.
Whitfield, the agent.
Beside him sat another lawyer Cole didn’t know.
And in chains brought in from the territorial jail just to testify, sat Vanessa Brooks.
Emma stopped in the aisle.
She saw her.
She went bone white.
Cole bent down quick.
You don’t got to look at her, Miss Emma.
Yes, I do.
Sweetheart.
I got to look at her, cowboy dad, so I know she’s small.
She walked the rest of the way to her seat without taking her eyes off Vanessa.
Vanessa stared back.
Then Vanessa looked away first.
Emma sat down.
She did not look at her again.
The judge was a man named Tobias Reed.
He was old and gray and had a voice that came out of his chest like rocks rolling down a hill.
He banged his gavel once and the room went still.
This hearing is to determine the placement of the minor children, Emma Brooks age five and Noah Brooks age four months.
Mr.
Holloway, you represent the petitioner.
I do, Your Honor.
And Mr.
Vance, you represent the territory.
Yes, sir.
Begin.
The territory’s lawyer stood up.
He was smooth.
He talked for half an hour about the dangers of placing young children, especially a young girl, with a single unmarried man on an isolated ranch.
He talked about modern standards of child welfare.
He talked about the children’s home in Phoenix, where they would have a Christian education and a proper female caretaker and a future.
He never once looked at Emma.
When he was done, he sat down.
Holloway stood.
Your Honor, I will be brief.
He walked to the front of the courtroom.
The petitioner, Mr.
Cole Turner, is a widower of 8 years standing.
He has run his ranch successfully for 12.
He has employed the same housekeeper, Mrs.
Martha Crane, for 15 years.
He has no criminal record.
He has no debts.
He found these children dying in the desert and saved their lives at considerable personal risk.
He rode 2 days to Blackwell’s and recovered evidence that resulted in the arrest of their stepmother for fraud, perjury, and murder.
He has gathered the support of 43 of his neighbors who have signed this petition asking the court to grant him custody.
He held up the paper.
It was three pages long.
He set it down on the judge’s bench.
Your Honor, the territory has argued that Mr.
Turner is unmarried.
That is true.
They have argued that he is a man alone.
That is not true.
He has Mrs.
Crane.
He has Dr.
Whitfield.
He has Reverend Hayes.
He has Sheriff Briggs.
He has, by my count, every rancher within 50 miles of his property.
These children would not be raised by a man alone.
They would be raised by a community.
And Your Honor, with respect, I would put that community against any orphanage in this territory.
He sat down.
The judge read the petition.
It took him a long time.
When he was done, he looked up.
Mr.
Vance, call your first witness.
The territory’s lawyer stood.
Your Honor, the territory calls Mr.
Edmund Whitfield, agent of the Department of Indigent Affairs.
The agent walked to the stand.
He was sworn in.
He sat down.
He looked at Cole across the courtroom, and Cole looked right back.
Mr.
Whitfield, the The began.
You visited Mr.
Turner’s ranch.
I did.
What was your assessment? The agent was quiet a moment.
My official assessment, sir, was that the placement was by the standard rules inadequate.
A single man, no female head of household, an isolated location.
Thank you.
No further That was my official assessment.
The lawyer paused.
I’m sorry.
I said that was my official assessment.
I would like your honor to add to the record my unofficial one.
The judge nodded.
Go on.
The agent looked at the judge.
Sir, I have been doing this work 11 years.
I have visited maybe 140 children in homes across this territory.
Most of them are placed proper.
Some of them are not.
I have learned to tell the difference quick.
I have learned to tell when a child is scared and pretending not to be.
I have learned to tell when a child is safe and pretending to be scared.
I have learned the look of a good home and the look of a bad one.
He paused.
The home I visited last month was the best one I have ever set foot in.
The lawyer turned the color of buttermilk.
Your honor, I object.
To your own witness, Mr.
Vance.
I Sit down.
Mr.
Whitfield, continue.
The agent kept going.
There was a 5-year-old girl in that house, your honor.
She walked across the kitchen and she stood in front of me and she said something I have not been able to stop thinking about for 3 weeks.
She said, “My daddy died because nobody believed me when I said she was bad.
” And then she asked me to believe her about a good man.
And I did not answer her.
And I have not slept right since.
He looked at the judge full on.
That little girl is sitting in this courtroom.
She is sitting beside a man named Cole Turner.
Mr.
Turner is not married.
He is not soft.
He is not what the rule book says is right.
But, your honor, in my professional opinion, that child belongs with that man, and the law that says otherwise is a poor law, and I will say so on the record, and I will say so to the governor, and I will say so to anybody who asks.
” He stopped.
The courtroom was so quiet, you could have heard a button drop.
The judge took off his spectacles.
He rubbed his eyes.
He put the spectacles back on.
“Mr.
Whitfield, are you telling this court, as the official agent of the territory, that you do not support the territory’s petition?” “I am telling this court I am going to resign at the end of this hearing, your honor.
And before I resign, I am going to say what I should have said 3 weeks ago.
Yes, that is what I am telling this court.
” He stepped down.
The lawyer for the territory sat with his mouth open.
The judge looked at him.
“Mr.
Vance, do you have further witnesses?” “I Your honor, the territory calls Are they going to say anything Mr.
Whitfield did not?” Long silence.
“No, your honor.
” “Then, sit down.
” The lawyer sat.
The judge turned.
“Mr.
Holloway, Your honor, with the court’s permission, I would like to call Emma Brooks.
” The judge looked at Emma.
“Miss Emma, would you be willing to come up here and answer a few questions?” Emma looked up at Cole.
Cole nodded once.
She stood up.
She walked to the front of the courtroom with her shoulders square and her chin up.
She climbed the two steps to the witness chair on her own.
Her feet didn’t reach the floor.
The judge bent over the bench so she could see his face.
“Miss Emma, I am going to ask you something real important, and And want you to think about it before you answer.
You don’t have to rush.
You take all the time in the world.
You hear me? Yes, sir.
Miss Emma, where do you want to live? The whole courtroom held its breath.
Emma did not answer right away.
She looked at the judge a long time.
Then she looked at Vanessa sitting in chains at the prosecutor’s table, and she looked at her so long the woman finally had to drop her eyes.
Then she looked at Martha holding Noah in the second row.
Then she looked at the 43 neighbors filling up the benches.
Then she looked at Cole.
She looked at him longest.
She looked at him the way a person looks at the only home they’ve ever known.
And finally, her voice clear and small and sure as the sound of a hammer hitting a nail straight, she said, “He stopped for us, Your Honor, when nobody else did.
His horse stopped right in the middle of the trail, and he got down, and he gave us water, and he carried Noah on his own horse with his own hands, and he sat by my bed all night, and he rode two days to find my daddy’s paper, and he held us when she came back, and he said cross my heart, and he meant it.
” She took a breath.
“I want to live with my cowboy dad.
” The courtroom did not move.
Cole pressed his hand against his mouth.
The judge looked down at his papers a long second.
When he raised his head, his eyes were wet.
Miss Emma, you may step down.
She stepped down.
She walked back to her seat and sat next to Cole and slipped her tiny hand into his big one.
The judge banged the gavel once.
This court hereby grants full and permanent guardianship of Emma Brooks and Noah Brooks to Cole Turner of Pinal County.
The petition of the territory is denied.
The trust shall be administered by Mr.
Holloway on behalf of the minor children until each reaches the age of majority.
Mr.
Turner shall upon completion of the standard paperwork be permitted to legally adopt both children granting them his name and all rights pertaining thereto.
So ordered.
He banged the gavel again.
Court is adjourned.
The room ex-
