Samuel noticed.
Abigail said:
“The wind is already pulling loose hay from the outer rows.”
“If you plan for ten percent waste, you'll discover fifteen after the next storm.”
Samuel folded his arms.
“What do you suggest?”
Abigail thought.
“Move feeding lines closer to shelter.”
“Separate pregnant cows from the yearlings.”
“Don't feed them the same ration.”
“Inventory actual spoiled hay instead of counting every stack as usable.”
Samuel stared.
Then looked at Gideon.
Gideon said:
“Why are you looking at me?”
Samuel cleared his throat.
“No reason.”
“Good.”
He folded the telegram.
“Do what she said.”
Abigail looked at him.
“Don't.”
Both men turned.
She continued:
“He asked what I suggest.”
“I suggested.”
“Samuel decides whether it works.”
Samuel blinked.
Gideon leaned back.
Interesting.
Abigail looked at Samuel.
“If I am wrong, I want to know before seven hundred cattle discover it.”
Samuel's mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
“I'll check the western stacks.”
“Thank you.”
When he left, Gideon stared at her.
“What?”
Abigail asked.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“So I've been told.”
“What is it?”
“I married a cattle accountant.”
“My father owns three feed warehouses.”
“I know.”
“I kept his books from sixteen to twenty-two.”
Gideon stared.
“You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked.”
“I asked what you did at your father's business.”
“I said I helped.”
“That was not a complete answer.”
Abigail drank coffee.
“You said government men tell the truth by giving only the useful part.”
“I've never worked for government.”
“Then I attributed the quotation poorly.”
He smiled.
“You handled Whitmore accounts?”
“Until Father decided customers might think the business belonged to a woman.”
Gideon's smile vanished.
“He removed you?”
“He gave the books to my cousin Robert.”
“Was Robert better?”
“No.”
“How much worse?”
Abigail considered.
“By his second month he forgot to deduct freight from two cattle contracts and lost nine hundred dollars.”
Gideon stared.
“What did your father do?”
“Blamed the clerk.”
“Of course.”
Abigail looked toward the window.
“Robert still runs the office.”
Gideon said something under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing gentlemanly.”
She smiled.
Over the next three weeks, Crosswind Ranch began to change around Abigail.
Not because Gideon announced new authority.
He never introduced her as co-owner or manager.
He simply answered questions by saying, “Ask Abigail.”
At first the ranch hands hated this.
Abigail could tell.
Not personally.
Practically.
They knew Gideon.
They knew Samuel.
They did not know a woman from Cheyenne whose wedding gown had probably cost more than a good saddle horse.
So Abigail did not demand trust.
She worked.
She inventoried feed.
Reviewed accounts.
Found that the ranch's freight contractor charged different rates for identical routes depending on which clerk prepared the invoice.
She sent the invoices back.
The contractor objected.
Abigail sent them again with arithmetic written in the margins.
The rate dropped.
Mrs. Bell’s wrist worsened, so Abigail helped in the kitchen without pretending she was excellent at it.
She burned biscuits twice.
Gideon ate them both times.
The third batch improved.
“You could say something,” Abigail told him.
“They're food.”
“That is not praise.”
“I've learned marriage is dangerous.”
“Coward.”