One shortage of feed could weaken the herd before spring.
One injured hand could leave too few people to finish essential chores.
February brought the kind of cold that made men speak less and work faster.
Water froze inside the troughs unless someone broke the ice. Leather straps stiffened. Horses stood close together beneath blankets, and the ranch hands began every morning with the same question: whether the day would remain merely uncomfortable or become dangerous.
Eleanor had learned enough by then to understand why Silas treated the weather with such seriousness.
One poorly secured gate could scatter cattle across miles of frozen pasture. One shortage of feed could weaken the herd before spring. One injured hand could leave too few people to finish essential chores.
And one unusually severe storm could destroy the financial plan she had spent six weeks preparing.
The eighteen-thousand-dollar note remained due on April first.
Fifty-seven days.
Eleanor knew the number because she counted it every morning when she opened the leather-bound ledger she'd given Silas for Christmas.
Fifty-seven days to persuade a lender to refinance part of the debt, find buyers willing to pay reasonable prices for selected cattle, and prevent her father from using the financial arrangements to force her back to Boston.
The work was difficult enough without the weather.
But Wyoming seemed determined to test everything she had learned.
On the first Monday of February, the northern wind changed direction before sunrise. Owen Mercer arrived at the house while Silas was pulling on his boots.
The foreman's beard was crusted with frost.
"Boss, we've got trouble in the east pasture."
Silas looked up.
"What kind?"
"Two cows down near the lower creek. Might be three. One of the hands says the drift's covered part of the fence."
Silas took his coat from the hook.
"Get the wagon ready."
Eleanor looked up from the stove.
"How bad is it?"
Owen hesitated.
"Bad enough I'd prefer you stayed inside, ma'am."
Four months earlier, Eleanor would have heard that sentence as another man telling her where she belonged.
Now she heard the honest concern beneath it.
She set down the wooden spoon.
"Tell me what you need prepared."
Owen glanced toward Silas.
The rancher smiled faintly.
"Blankets. Hot water. Extra rope. And coffee when we get back."
Eleanor nodded.
"How many men are going?"
"Four."
"Then I'll prepare enough food for six. Somebody may be colder than expected."
Owen grinned.
"Good thinking."
Silas moved toward the door.
Then stopped beside her.
For a moment, he looked down into her face.
His hair was tousled from sleep. A few strands fell beneath the brim of his hat. He wore his oldest work coat, patched twice at the elbow, and the knitted scarf Eleanor had made for him after Christmas.
She reached up and straightened it.
"Don't be reckless."
He raised one eyebrow.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
He smiled.
"I'll endeavor to disappoint you."
She gave a quiet laugh.
Then he kissed her forehead.
The gesture had become familiar.
That was one of the things Eleanor loved most about their marriage.
Affection no longer needed an elaborate occasion.
A kiss before chores.
A hand resting briefly at her waist as he passed behind her chair.
The way he brought her tea without asking when she stayed up working on accounts.
Small gestures.
Repeated often.
Freely given.
They made the house feel more intimate than any extravagant mansion she had known.
Silas turned toward Owen.