"Yes."
Silas gave a faint grin.
"She claims she does."
Eleanor turned.
"I don't claim anything. I ride."
Owen's eyebrows rose.
Silas looked delighted by the challenge.
"Well, we've a mare that's been making fools of us since Tuesday."
Eleanor glanced toward the stable.
"Does she have a name?"
"Temper."
Eleanor laughed.
"How imaginative."
Owen grinned.
"Named herself."
They led her toward a chestnut mare standing in the lower enclosure.
The animal was alert, restless, and clearly unhappy with the saddle one of the hands had placed nearby.
Eleanor watched carefully.
She didn't approach immediately.
Instead, she asked Owen about the mare's training, how she behaved when handled, and whether pain or poorly fitted tack might explain some of the resistance.
The foreman seemed surprised.
Silas noticed.
Eleanor examined the saddle placement.
Then asked whether the mare had developed soreness near her shoulder.
Owen looked toward Silas.
"She might have."
Silas approached.
Together, they examined the tack and found that a worn strap had allowed the saddle to shift awkwardly during previous rides.
Eleanor nodded.
"That would make me angry too."
Owen laughed.
Silas looked toward her.
For a moment, admiration appeared openly on his face.
"You noticed that?"
She shrugged.
"My riding instructor in Boston was a former cavalryman. He said half the supposedly vicious horses he encountered were simply uncomfortable."
Silas smiled.
"Smart man."
They corrected the tack.
Allowed the mare to settle.
And later took her through a short, controlled ride without forcing her into unnecessary difficulty.
Eleanor handled the horse confidently.
Not perfectly.
But with enough skill that Owen stopped teasing.
When she dismounted, he tipped his hat.
"Well, Mrs. Boone, I believe I owe you an apology."
Eleanor smiled.
"For what?"
"Assuming those clean boots meant you didn't know one end of a horse from the other."
She laughed.
"An understandable mistake."
Silas leaned against the fence.
His eyes followed her with unmistakable interest.
For the first time since the wedding, Eleanor felt she had brought something useful into his world.
Not because she was wealthy.
Not because of her family name.
Because she knew something.
And he'd allowed her to demonstrate it.
That afternoon, Silas brought the ranch ledgers to the kitchen table.
Eleanor sat opposite him with sharpened pencils, a ruler, and a clean sheet of paper.
There were accounts for feed, cattle sales, equipment purchases, labor, hay supplies, and the bank loan that Philip Graves had threatened to use against them.
Silas looked almost embarrassed.