“My husband believes we should challenge the deed.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
The cook studied her.
“Why tell me?”
“Because they'll meet a lawyer in Helena.”
There it was.
The first warning.
The daughter-in-law continued.
“They intend to say the late owner wasn't competent.”
“They have medical statements against them.”
“They'll say you pressured her.”
The cook almost laughed.
“I pressured her?”
“They'll say you isolated her.”
“Her brother visited once in fourteen years.”
“I know.”
“They'll say whatever sounds useful.”
“Yes.”
The daughter-in-law hesitated.
“And they'll use your weight.”
The cook became still.
“How?”
“They're already saying a woman your size couldn't possibly run a ranch, so the neighboring rancher must be planning to control it through you.”
The cook looked toward the window.
The rancher was outside checking a wagon wheel.
He had no idea.
The daughter-in-law continued.
“They'll say the late owner could not have intended to leave the ranch to someone physically incapable of managing it.”
The cook's face hardened.
“They haven't seen me manage anything.”
“That has never stopped them.”
The cook nodded slowly.
The daughter-in-law turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
The cook handed her a wrapped loaf.
“For the children.”
Tears appeared instantly.
“I don't deserve—”
“They didn't laugh.”
The woman accepted it.
“Thank you.”
By noon, the family was gone.
The patriarch climbed into the final wagon.
He looked back at the house.
Then at the cook standing on the porch in a proper coat this time.
“You'll lose it.”
She said nothing.
“By spring.”
Still nothing.
He smiled coldly.
“And when you do, don't expect me to buy it at yesterday's value.”
The cook looked at him.
“You assume I'll offer it to you.”
“You'll have no one else.”
The neighboring rancher stood several feet behind her.
The cook felt his presence.
She did not need him to answer.
She did it herself.
“I had no one yesterday.”
The patriarch's smile weakened.
“And yet here I am.”
He drove away.
The cook watched until the wagons disappeared.
Then she turned toward the house.
Empty.
Too empty.
The rancher asked, “What now?”
The cook looked at the roof.
Smoke curled from the chimney.
At the barn.
At the snowy fields.
At the enormous responsibility suddenly waiting.
“Inventory.”
He laughed.
She looked at him.
“What?”
“You inherit thousands of acres and your first thought is inventory.”
“What would yours be?”
“Coffee.”
“That's why your books are terrible.”
“They are not terrible.”
“I've seen them.”
“That was years ago.”
“They were terrible then.”
He smiled.
Something unfamiliar moved between them.
Not romance yet.
Recognition.
The cook returned inside.