“Yes.”
“Why are you making it sound complicated?”
“Because there’s another part.”
There always was.
Lena waited.
“I have an old smokehouse beside the barn.”
“So?”
“It hasn’t been used in years.”
“You want me to bake inside a smokehouse?”
“I could convert it.”
“For what?”
“A second kitchen.”
She stared.
Reid continued.
“You’re running out of room in town.”
“How do you know?”
“I stand in your bakery every morning.”
She frowned.
He had noticed.
The bakery oven could handle only eight loaves at once.
Orders exceeded capacity most Saturdays.
She had turned down a hotel order because she could not produce enough.
Reid continued.
“You could use the building here.”
“No rent for the first six months.”
“Then we work out something fair.”
Lena’s defenses came up immediately.
“Why?”
He looked confused.
“Because it benefits both of us.”
“How?”
“You get room.”
“I get food.”
“I’m not moving into your ranch.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You made me a chair.”
“For dinner.”
“You want me to use your building.”
“For business.”
“You buy bread every day.”
“My daughter eats it.”
Emma looked between them.
Reid lowered his voice.
“Lena.”
She stood.
The chair held without a sound.
“I need air.”
She moved toward the door.
Reid followed only as far as the porch.
Lena stepped outside.
Cold hit her face.
Behind the barn, sunset burned orange beneath the mountains.
Reid remained several feet away.
“Did I insult you?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I said no.”
“Your face says yes.”
She turned.
“My face does not owe you explanations.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
That made anger harder.
She looked away.
After a long silence, she said:
“People have offered to help me before.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He waited.
“They help until they can tell themselves they own part of you.”
Reid said nothing.
She continued.
“My uncle gave me a room.”
“Then treated me like unpaid labor.”
“A church woman gave me a chair.”
“Then told everyone how charitable she was.”
“A baker gave me work.”
“Then hid me because he thought customers wouldn’t want to see me.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I don’t want to owe anybody.”
Reid looked toward the field.
“You’d pay rent.”
“Eventually.”
“Yes.”
“You’d buy food from me.”
“Yes.”
“At my prices?”
“If you stop undercharging.”
She almost smiled.
He continued.
“And I don’t own your business.”
“No.”
“I don’t own your recipes.”
“No.”
“I don’t own you.”
Lena looked at him.
Reid’s voice stayed calm.
“If the arrangement ever feels like charity, you leave.”
She searched his face.
“What do you get?”
“Reliable food.”