She took Lena’s glove.
“Come.”
Inside, the cabin was warm.
The table had been set for three.
And beside it sat the chair.
Wide.
Solid.
Handmade.
Smooth planks.
Cross-braced legs.
A cushioned seat covered with dark blue wool.
Lena stopped.
Reid removed his coat.
“I can change it.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“If it’s uncomfortable.”
“You made this?”
“Yes.”
“From scratch?”
“Mostly.”
Emma said:
“I sanded.”
Reid looked at Lena.
“She sanded one corner.”
“A whole corner.”
Lena touched the chair back.
No ornament.
No attempt to disguise why it existed.
It was simply built to fit her.
She had spent years squeezing herself into other people’s spaces and pretending it did not hurt.
This chair did not ask her to become smaller.
She looked toward Reid.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
No joke.
No pity.
Just:
“You’re welcome.”
Emma had already climbed onto her own chair.
Lena noticed four plates.
Not three.
She looked around.
“Who else is coming?”
Emma grinned.
“You.”
“There are four plates.”
“One is bread.”
Lena laughed.
The fourth small plate sat in the center waiting for the loaf.
She unwrapped what she had brought.
Emma clapped.
Reid carried stew to the table.
Dinner was simple.
Beef.
Potatoes.
Carrots.
Bread.
Emma ate slowly but steadily.
Lena tried not to watch.
Reid failed.
His eyes tracked every bite.
Emma noticed.
“Papa.”
“What?”
“You’re counting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Lena said, “He counts everything.”
Reid looked betrayed.
“You’ve known me three weeks.”
“Long enough.”
Emma smiled.
Then something remarkable happened.
She asked Lena:
“More stew?”
Reid froze.
Lena reached for the pot.
“Of course.”
She gave the child a small serving.
Emma ate half.
Reid looked down quickly.
Lena pretended not to see his eyes shining.
After dinner Emma carried her plate to the basin.
Then said:
“Papa, now tell her.”
Reid’s shoulders stiffened.
“Tell me what?” Lena asked.
Emma looked at him.
“You said after supper.”
Reid exhaled.
Lena crossed her arms.
“This sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t.”
He sat opposite her.
“I wanted to ask whether you’d bake for the ranch.”
Lena blinked.
“I already sell you bread.”
“More than bread.”
“Why?”
“I have four hired men during spring work.”
“So?”
“They cook badly.”
“That sounds like their problem.”
“It becomes mine when they stop working because they're sick.”
Emma whispered:
“Papa cooks badly too.”
Reid looked at her.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Lena’s.”
Lena tried not to smile.
Reid continued.
“I’m not asking you to become household staff.”
“Good.”
“I thought maybe I could buy pies, bread, biscuits twice a week.”
“That is called being a customer.”