That was when Silas Boone sent for his enforcer.
Roy Ketchum rode in at midday on a fast bay horse and climbed down with the smooth confidence of a man accustomed to delivering unpleasant things for other men.
He was broad, handsome in a worn way, and mean around the mouth.
“You Eleanor Hart?”
She stayed on the ladder, hammer in hand. “Depends who’s asking.”
“Roy Ketchum. I handle matters for Mr. Boone.”
“Then I suppose your first matter is learning some manners.”
His smile did not reach his eyes. “You’re on Boone land.”
“I’m on land I came fifteen hundred miles to homestead under a written agreement.”
“That agreement was contingent on marriage.”
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