The kitchen revealed the real state of the ranch.
Lena opened the flour barrel.
Nearly empty.
Potatoes sprouting in a wooden crate.
Beans beginning to sour.
Salt pork gone gray at the edges.
Two jars of peaches.
Half a sack of onions.
A small amount of cornmeal.
Coffee.
Enough molasses to last perhaps three weeks if nobody became enthusiastic.
She looked toward Reid.
“When did you last order provisions?”
“Last month.”
“This is last month’s delivery?”
“Some.”
“What happened to the rest?”
He glanced toward the boys.
“They eat.”
Seven pairs of eyes became innocent.
Lena stared at them.
“How much?”
Reid rubbed his beard.
“A lot.”
Thomas objected.
“We work.”
“So do horses,” Lena said. “I’m still not giving one an entire barrel of flour.”
Jacob laughed.
Thomas glared at him.
Lena pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
Nobody moved.
She pointed at Thomas.
“You first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
His stomach growled audibly.
Peter burst out laughing.
Thomas kicked him under the table.
Lena pretended not to notice.
She took stock.
Beans could be washed.
The ham bone could flavor them.
Two onions.
A handful of dried herbs.
Cornmeal.
A small piece of smoked meat.
She found yeast wrapped in cloth near the stove.
Alive, barely.
She rolled up her sleeves.
Reid stood in the doorway.
“You don’t have to cook tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
“We can manage.”
“I’ve seen your pantry.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You’re very direct.”
“It saves time.”