Water hauling continued.
The south fence was only partly restored.
She had no livestock.
No revenue.
The water existed.
But physical possession of water did not automatically create legal permission to use it.
In the arid West, those could be very different things.
Grant understood that.
His next offer arrived through an attorney.
$210,000.
Written.
Forty-eight-hour deadline.
Reina placed the letter on the kitchen table.
She made coffee.
Read it again.
Four months earlier, she had paid $5,500.
Two hundred ten thousand dollars was not merely a profit.
It was escape.
She could repay every dollar she had spent.
Restore her savings.
Buy another property later.
Maybe one with working water and no litigation.
She called Kelsey.
“Tell me to sell.”
Kelsey was quiet.
“That’s not my job.”
“Pretend.”
“No.”
“Two hundred ten thousand.”
“I heard you.”
“For land I bought for fifty-five hundred.”
“You didn’t buy it for fifty-five hundred anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve put money into it.”
“I know.”
“More importantly, you now know more about it.”
“That doesn’t make the water right valid.”
“No.”
“Grant could win.”
“Yes.”
“County could say abandoned.”
“Yes.”
“I could spend everything.”
“Yes.”
Reina closed her eyes.
“You’re terrible at emotional support.”
“You called a hydrogeologist.”
That made Reina laugh despite herself.
Kelsey softened.
“Reina.”
“Yes?”
“Make the decision based on the probability you can establish lawful use, not on what Grant wants you to feel.”
“What probability?”
“I don’t know.”
“Helpful.”
“You need records.”
That brought Emmett back into the problem.
The next morning Reina met him at the county records office.
Historical water files existed for Juniper Crown.
Older than she expected.
One filing referenced water use associated with the ranch from the early twentieth century.
Then the record trail weakened.
Decades passed.
A notation from the 1980s appeared in the digitized file.
Inactive.
Presumed abandoned.
Reina stared at the words.
In New Mexico, the precise legal question around abandonment, forfeiture, non-use, intent, and historical water rights could become complicated quickly.
She knew enough not to pretend otherwise.
But the notation was dangerous.
If the historical right had been treated as abandoned, she could own the land containing the spring and still face severe limits on using enough water to restore agriculture.
Emmett sat beside her.
“I should’ve known.”
Reina kept reading.
“Known what?”
“Dad should’ve maintained this.”
“Maybe.”
“Granddad too.”
“Maybe.”
“We lost it.”
“We don’t know that.”
Emmett rubbed his face.
“My family had that water and forgot it.”
Reina looked at him.
“They lost the infrastructure.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
She closed the digital file.
“That distinction is the only reason I’m here.”
On the drive back, Emmett apologized again.
Reina stopped him.
“You didn’t sell me a guaranteed spring.”
“I sold you trouble.”
“You sold seventy-two acres at auction.”
“I knew it was dry.”
“So did I.”
He looked through the windshield.
Grant’s $210,000 offer sat on Reina’s kitchen table when they returned.
Forty-eight hours.