Caleb watched as the slaves were marched into the plaza. Chains clinked together in a solemn, haunting melody. The stench of hundreds of unwashed bodies assaulted his senses. He grimaced at the network of scars crisscrossing the slaves' backs. "Let's leave. There has to be another way."

"We've been over this hundreds of times. If you'd like this venture to succeed, THIS is the only way."

Caleb sighed. "I know, but how much slower will we be with a bunch of untrained men?"

"They'll learn. Fast."

"Jeremy, the idea of owning another man turns my stomach."

"Don't say that too loud. These people aren't partial to Yanks."

Caleb smiled. "I'm not a Yank."

"Close enough."

"Mr. Kirkland."

Hearing his name, Caleb glanced over his shoulder. A slender, well-dressed man waved a sheaf of papers. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Jeremy. "Do you know him?"

"Nope."

The man hurried over. "Mr. Kirkland? Are you Mr. Caleb Kirkland?"

"Depends. Who are you?"

My name is David Hannon. If you are Caleb Kirkland, I am your father's solicitor."

Caleb's eyebrows knitted. "He's dead then?"

"No sir. He sent me to find you in regards to his will."

"You've come a long way for nothing," Caleb scoffed. "If he's not dead, why do I need to know about his will?"

"There are certain conditions you need to be aware of. Is there somewhere we can meet to discuss this? A little less noisy?"

Caleb shook his head. "I've got business here that won't wait. If its so urgent, this is as good a place as any." He turned his attention back to the auction.

"Very well. Your father's will was drafted some time ago. In it, it states you must be married by your twenty-seventh birthday in order to inherit anything."

Caleb glared. "That's next week."

"Yes. Which is why I was sent to find you. It has taken me quite a long time to track you down." He studied the papers again before continuing. "Additionally, you must be at the home ranch by Christmas this year."

Caleb turned to the man. His long neck and overlarge nose gave him the appearance of a vulture. "And if I don't meet these conditions?"

"Your cousin will inherit everything. You will end up with nothing."

"That freeloader? He's never worked a day in his life. I'd rather die than let that snake get his hands on that land." Caleb spat on the ground. "And if I meet the terms?"

"Derek will inherit a small property in Colorado territory."

"What if I only meet some of these terms?"

"Again, you'll end up with nothing. It's an all-or-nothing deal."

Caleb gestured emphatically as he spoke. "He has NO right to make these conditions. I worked that ranch nonstop from the time I could ride a horse. Never got a 'great job' or even wages like the rest of the men. I should've earned that spread. Now you're telling me because I have no use for women other than a quick roll now and again that I'll not inherit what should have been mine?"

"Sir, the ranch cannot thrive without the owner present."

"I'm NOT getting married. I don't mind Montana, but I'll not bring a wife there."

Jeremy interrupted. "It just says you need to be married, right? Find an old maid, tie the knot and leave her here."

The lawyer shook his head. "I'm afraid not. The woman would need to accompany you. And there's the matter of children."

"Children?" Caleb shook his head and pointed north, toward his father hundreds of miles away. "That man has gone too far."

"Caleb, stop," hissed Jeremy.

Caleb turned his rage toward his friend. "I won't stop. The old man thinks he can keep meddling in my affairs even from his deathbed."

"Sir, he just wants you happy."

Caleb returned his fury to the lawyer. "I refuse to believe THAT man wants ME happy! He's done nothing but make my life miserable from the time I could walk."

"Caleb, the slaves! You're bidding too high!"

"What? I'm not bidding." His gaze fell on the rag-tag group of slaves shackled together, then back to the auctioneer.

"Sold!" the auctioneer was pointing right at him. The man almost immediately moved on, his rhythmic chanting tapping its staccato beat against Caleb's eardrums.

Shock and dismay engulfed him as he watched the group of near-starving slaves shuffle away. He turned to his best friend and croaked, "How much?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Too much. Way too much."

Buyer's remorse overtook him. He sank into his chair, his head in his hands.

Jeremy clapped him on the back. "We'll figure it out."

"Mr. Kirkland. I'll need you to sign these papers. They state that I've discussed the terms of the will with you and that you are fully aware of its conditions."

Caleb pushed the papers away as he lunged to his feet and past the attorney. "Jeremy, take care of things here."

Jeremy nodded. "Sure. Where can I find you later?"

"Drowning."

A knowing look passed between the pair.

"Drowning? Sir, I must protest! Mr. Kirkland! Caleb!"

The lawyer's protests chased him into the street. "What have I done? I've just blown every chance I might have had to make this work." He ducked into the nearest tavern and rushed to the counter. "Whiskey. Make it a bottle."

Caleb poured glass after glass. He threw back the contents, letting the whiskey burn its way down his throat. The comforting heat settled into his stomach. Burlesque girls rushed onto the stage, starting their leggy show.

"I should show up with a girl like that." He shook his head before downing another drink.