Neither released immediately.
Audra noticed.
Reed noticed.
Both let go.
Too quickly.
That night Audra lay awake listening to wind.
Her room was indeed barely more than a box attached to cook shack.
One bed.
One washstand.
One chair.
Her trunk.
A tiny iron stove.
She had slept in worse places.
But she kept thinking about Reed’s hand.
That annoyed her.
She had not come north for romance.
Her husband, Thomas, had been dead eighteen months.
Thomas had loved her.
Not perfectly.
But genuinely.
He had been a baker.
Gentle hands.
Laughing eyes.
He died of pneumonia after working through winter illness because they could not afford to close the bakery.
Audra had sold the business to pay debts.
Since then she had avoided thinking about men.
Widowhood gave people strange permission to ask when grief should end.
Some thought six months.
Some a year.
Audra thought grief ended nowhere.
It simply learned furniture.
Thomas occupied one room in her heart.
That did not mean every other room stayed empty forever.
But Reed Mackay was dangerous in another way.
He watched.
Quietly.
He had not flirted.
Had not stared at her neckline when other men occasionally did.
Had not praised her cooking with the condescension of someone surprised a large woman possessed skill.
He simply noticed.
When Audra’s right wrist hurt after hours of kneading, a new heavier rolling pin appeared with better grip.
When she complained wood was stacked too far from cook shack, two men moved it the next day.
When her room window rattled, Reed repaired it without entering until she invited him.
That kind of attention had weight.
Audra distrusted it because she liked it.
December came hard.
Snow built along bunkhouse walls.
Daylight shrank.
Logging continued.
The men came back exhausted and soaked.
Audra adjusted food.
More fat.
More carbohydrates, though nobody used that word.
Porridge.
Bacon when available.
Beans with pork.
Stew.
Dumplings.
Bread.
Pie on Sundays.
She began keeping records of what made men sluggish and what kept them steady through long shifts.
Reed mocked notebook once.
“You treating them like cattle?”
“Cattle receive better nutritional planning than you gave these men before I arrived.”
He never mocked notebook again.
By Christmas, Blackwater had gone thirty-one days without a serious injury.
Reed mentioned at dinner.
“Longest run all year.”
Jasper raised biscuit.
“To Audra.”
She frowned.
“I did not prevent trees falling.”
Reed looked at her.
“No.”
“But men aren't working dizzy anymore.”
The room quieted.
Audra felt heat rise into cheeks.
“Eat.”
They did.
Christmas Day Audra cooked roast beef, potatoes, glazed carrots, biscuits, apple pie, and something close to plum pudding with ingredients she could find.
The men presented her with a gift.
A knife.
Not decorative.
Beautiful.
Heavy steel blade.
Walnut handle.
Balanced perfectly.
Audra held it.
“Who chose?”
Jasper pointed at Reed.
Reed glared.
“Traitor.”
Audra looked at him.
“You bought this?”
“The camp did.”
“You chose it.”
“Yes.”
She ran thumb carefully along handle.