“I know.”
“I signed for winter slaughter and preservation.”
“I know.”
“The work is finished.”
“No.”
Martha looked at him.
Josiah leaned back.
“The work we wrote down is finished.”
“That is generally how contracts work.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“You have not asked one.”
He exhaled.
“Are you leaving?”
Martha sat opposite him.
The chair had been reinforced during winter. She had discovered the extra crosspiece beneath the seat weeks earlier.
Nobody had mentioned it.
She preferred that.
“I don’t know.”
Josiah nodded once.
His face gave away almost nothing.
That annoyed her.
“You seem remarkably calm.”
“I’m trying not to tell you what to do.”
“Why?”
“Experience.”
She almost smiled.
Then looked down at her coffee.
“I came here for a season.”
“I know.”
“I expected to cure meat, collect wages, and move on.”
“You’ve done two of those.”
“Three, if you count nearly being shot.”
“That was not in the contract.”
“Your contracts have omissions.”
He smiled briefly.
Then grew serious.
“Martha, if you want to go, I will take you to Silver City myself.”
She looked up.
“No argument?”
“No.”
“No speech about what the ranch needs?”
“No.”
“No explanation that the mine contract requires my curing process?”
“No.”
“That is suspiciously mature.”
“I’ve had a difficult winter.”
She laughed softly.
Josiah continued.
“If you stay because you feel responsible for saving this place, then eventually you will hate the place.”
“And you.”
“Possibly.”
“You especially.”
“Likely.”
Martha studied him.
“What if I stay because I want to?”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Enough.
“Then I would like that.”
She looked away.
Those six words frightened her more than Dead Man’s Gulch had.
A person knew what to do with danger.
Love was less organized.
Love made promises no ledger could verify.
She had loved before.
She had buried before.
And she had spent six years building a life where nobody’s death could remove the roof over her head.
The idea of attaching herself to another man, another home, another set of hopes—
It felt reckless.
Josiah said nothing more.
Good.
Martha drank her coffee.
Then asked, “What will you do with the smokehouse?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“The south wall is ruined.”
“I know.”
“The roof beam is charred.”
“Yes.”
“The mine contract begins regular delivery in six weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And you need twice the curing capacity if you’re serious about expanding.”
Josiah stared.
Martha continued.
“The drainage trench is wrong.”
“I built that trench.”
“I know.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It should.”
His mouth twitched.
She reached for a pencil.
“Also, the loading door needs to be on the east side.”
“Why?”
“Prevailing wind.”
“Explain.”