“Thank you.”
He pointed toward coffee.
“You wrote ‘enough for six weeks.’”
“Yes.”
“Wrong.”
“Why?”
“Ben.”
Ben called from the next room:
“I heard that.”
Lara smiled.
The storm created intimacy faster than either wanted.
Not romance exactly.
Routine.
She learned Elias rose before dawn.
He learned Lara needed several minutes each morning before her knees loosened enough to walk comfortably.
She learned he hummed while repairing leather.
He learned she sang quietly when kneading dough.
She learned he hated carrots.
He learned she loved them.
She learned he read newspapers from back to front.
He learned she read anything left within reach, including his cattle journals.
On the fourth night, Elias found her reading by the stove.
“That's boring.”
Lara looked up.
“Your cattle inventory?”
“Yes.”
“You bought forty-eight head last March.”
“Forty-six.”
She turned the ledger.
“Forty-eight.”
He looked.
Damn.
“Two calves died.”
“You never removed them from initial count.”
Elias sat.
“You really like numbers.”
“I like things that cannot insult me without evidence.”
He smiled.
Then noticed something.
The page beneath Lara’s hand.
A water-rights map.
Her expression had changed.
“What?”
he asked.
She pointed.
“This line.”
Elias sat closer.
“The east diversion.”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
“This says Whispering Pines controls seasonal access to both riverbanks through Miller’s Cut.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Caleb Ryland build a fence across the southern approach?”
Elias stared.
“How do you know?”
“I saw it from the train road.”
He looked at the map.
“He claims a survey error.”
“Is there one?”
“No.”
“Then why haven't you removed the fence?”
“Because every time I do, he replaces it.”
“Law?”
“County judge says boundary unclear.”
Lara frowned.
“Is it?”
“No.”
“Then somebody benefits from pretending it is.”
Elias looked at her.
“What?”
She pointed toward the survey notations.
“This map was copied.”
“Yes.”
“Original?”
“County archive.”
“Did you compare?”
Elias shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because my father used the copy.”
Lara looked at him.
“That is not evidence.”
He laughed softly.
“You really don't trust paper.”
“I trusted one paper and traveled two thousand miles to marry a stranger.”
“Fair.”
She studied the map.
“Take me to the county archive when the road opens.”
Elias raised an eyebrow.
“You're staying long enough?”
The question slipped out.
Lara froze.
So did he.
“Until the road opens.”
she answered.
“Right.”
Something awkward entered the room.
Elias stood.
“I'll get wood.”
The box was full.
Lara noticed.
She said nothing.
On the fifth morning, the sky cleared.
The world outside glittered white.
Deadwood road remained rough, but passable by afternoon.
Lara packed.
Elias found her beside the trunk.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
“You're leaving.”
She looked toward him.
“I thought that was the arrangement.”
“It was.”
“Then yes.”
He wanted to ask where she would go.
Deadwood?
Boston?
Back to Thomas?
The last option made anger rise.
Instead:
“What do you want?”
Lara stared.
The question seemed harder than it should.
“I don't know.”