She turned toward the ranch.
“We need to see a judge.”
“Yes.”
“We need proof.”
“Yes.”
“You can sleep in the bunkhouse.”
Jonah glanced at the leaning structure.
“Does it have a roof?”
“Most of one.”
“Generous.”
“You can leave.”
“I’ll take the bunkhouse.”
Evelyn walked toward the house.
Behind her Jonah called:
“What about wages?”
She turned.
“You said nothing.”
“I was hoping for supper.”
For the first time in four days, Evelyn laughed.
It startled her enough that she stopped.
Jonah smiled.
That irritated her.
“Feed your own horse first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Miss.”
His smile widened.
“Yes, Miss Hart.”
That night Evelyn ate at the table with another person for the first time since her father died.
Jonah’s injured arm was worse than he had admitted.
She noticed when he tried cutting bread.
His fingers shook.
“Give me that.”
“I can manage.”
“You are sawing the plate.”
“I’m close.”
“To breaking it.”
She took the knife.
Jonah watched while she sliced bread.
“I thought my hand was none of your concern.”
“It isn’t.”
“This is concern.”
“This is concern for the plate.”
“Of course.”
Evelyn slid bread over.
They ate beef stew.
Jonah took the first spoonful and stopped.
Evelyn immediately stiffened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“It’s good.”
“That was not a good face.”
He took another.
“It is the first hot meal I’ve had in four days.”
Something in her softened despite herself.
She pushed the bread basket closer.
“Then stop inspecting it and eat.”
He did.
Halfway through the meal, Evelyn asked:
“Did my father say anything else when he gave you the receipt?”
Jonah’s spoon stopped.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He said if he couldn’t get back, you would understand his ledger.”
Evelyn frowned.
“I have every ledger he kept.”
“All?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Office.”
Jonah stood.
She pointed her spoon.
“Sit.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You’re injured.”
“We have time.”
“Twenty-nine days.”
“Twenty-nine days is time enough to finish stew.”
He sat.
After supper they searched Samuel Hart’s office.
Evelyn had gone through those drawers a hundred times since his death.
Tax notices.
Cattle receipts.
Seed orders.
Veterinary bills.
Nothing.
Jonah examined the old desk.
“Your father kept two ledgers when I worked here.”
Evelyn looked.
“He kept one.”
“No.”
“One for ranch.”
“One personal.”
“I never saw personal.”
Jonah tapped underside of desk.
“Neither did most.”
He crouched.
His injured arm made the movement awkward.
Evelyn pushed him aside.
“Move.”