“Timber buyers.”
“They need food.”
Reed stared.
“You want restaurant here?”
“Near camp, not inside.”
“A boardinghouse.”
Her old dream.
“But mine.”
“Not yours.”
“Not company.”
She pointed toward lower meadow.
“That land?”
“Company owns.”
“I’ll lease.”
Reed thought.
“Or sell.”
Audra’s heart jumped.
“You'd sell?”
“Two acres.”
“To you.”
“At fair price.”
“No gift?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Negotiations lasted three weeks.
Audra was ruthless.
Reed accused.
She agreed.
By autumn, Audra owned two acres beside creek.
Her own.
Construction began next spring.
In meantime, winter returned.
Harder.
The men now numbered sixteen.
Audra hired assistant cook, Ruth Harper, widow with two children.
Ruth was thin, nervous, quick.
First day she stared at Audra’s body just a second too long.
Audra noticed.
Ruth flushed.
“I'm sorry.”
“For looking?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone looks.”
“Just don't turn looking into conclusion.”
Ruth nodded.
She learned.
Audra learned leadership.
Harder than cooking.
She had to correct without humiliating.
Delegate.
Not redo everything.
Pay fairly.
Reed teased:
“You’re becoming employer.”
“Terrible.”
“Enjoying?”
“Some.”
By second winter, Blackwater kitchen ran so well Audra could spend afternoons planning lodge.
Then accident struck Reed.
A log skid chain snapped.
He was thrown against stump.
Broken arm.
Concussion.
Audra arrived at infirmary bunk.
He woke.
“You look terrible.”
She said.
Reed smiled weakly.
“You always know what to say.”
She sat.
Fear surged.
Thomas’s pneumonia.
Death.
Loss.
Audra gripped blanket.
Reed noticed.
“I'm not him.”
She closed eyes.
“I know.”
“You don't have to be calm.”
Her tears came.
“I hate that I love people.”
Reed reached with good hand.
“Seems inconvenient.”
She laughed through tears.
He survived.
Recovery.
No grand transformation.
But accident forced conversation.
Reed said:
“I want to marry you.”
Audra stared.
He was still in sling.
“You hit head.”
“Doctor says clear.”
“He's incompetent.”
“Audra.”