About the first dress she'd sewn for herself.
About the books she borrowed secretly because her father believed reading made women argumentative.
The mountain man listened with quiet fascination.
One evening, she told him she'd once dreamed of opening a small business.
"What kind?"
She hesitated.
"A bakery."
He smiled.
"That suits you."
She looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because I've eaten your bread."
She laughed.
Then her expression grew wistful.
"I used to imagine a little shop near the town square. Fresh bread every morning. Pies cooling near the window. Perhaps a few tables where travelers could sit."
The mountain man listened.
She continued.
"I wanted to make enough money that nobody could tell me where I had to live."
He nodded.
"Sounds like a good dream."
She looked down.
"My father said I was foolish."
"Your father has terrible business judgment."
She laughed.
"That's probably true."
The mountain man leaned forward.
"Have you ever calculated the costs?"
She blinked.
"What?"
"Flour. Rent. Firewood. Wages if you needed help."
She stared.
"You're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Her eyes brightened.
"I've written some figures."
"Show me."
She retrieved her notebook.
For nearly an hour, they examined her calculations.
She had recorded prices from the trading post.
Estimated how much bread she could produce daily.
Included expenses for fuel, supplies, and transportation.
The mountain man asked practical questions.
What would happen if flour prices increased?
How much could she sell during winter?
Would she need a larger oven?
She answered where she could.
Where she didn't know, she wrote down the question.
By the time they finished, she was laughing with excitement.
"Nobody's ever taken this seriously before."
The mountain man looked toward the notebook.
"Seems you've done more planning than half the merchants I know."
She smiled.
Then her expression changed.
A page near the back of the notebook had caught her attention.
It contained figures she'd copied from her father's accounts.
Several payments.
Unusual dates.
And an entry involving the northern meadow.
The young woman frowned.
The mountain man noticed.
"Something wrong?"
She studied the page.
"I don't know."
"What is it?"
She turned the notebook toward him.
"Do you recognize this company?"
He leaned closer.
The entry named a timber and freight syndicate operating near the northern pass.
The mountain man's expression hardened.
"Yes."
She looked up.
"Who are they?"
"Men who've been buying land along the valley."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"They want control of the road and water access."
She looked toward the figures again.
The payment listed was substantial.
Far more than her father typically earned from cattle.
She read aloud.
"Two hundred seventy-five dollars."
The mountain man remained silent.
She continued.
"Father recorded it as an advance against northern meadow rights."