Matilda's brow tightened.
“I don't remember.”
“You were sleeping in a basket under blankets.”
She almost laughed.
“A basket?”
“A large one.”
“How old?”
“Maybe three.”
“That wasn't the winter you said.”
“No.”
He looked toward her.
“That was the first time.”
She became still.
“You said I was eight when she saved you.”
“The second time.”
“What happened?”
Jedodiah looked across the room.
Abigail was near the office doorway.
Watching.
He noticed.
So did Matilda.
He lowered his voice further.
“Not here.”
Anger sparked.
“You've already dragged half my mother’s ghost into the dining room.”
“I didn't drag anything.”
“You slammed your fist hard enough to make everybody think you were about to beat the cook.”
His mouth tightened.
“That was poorly considered.”
Matilda stared.
He said:
“I wanted the cook.”
“I got excited.”
“Excited?”
“That stew shouldn't exist outside Black Ridge.”
She folded her arms.
“All right.”
“I'll add table manners to the list of things mountain men don't possess.”
He almost smiled again.
This time she caught it.
Then Abigail approached.
“Matilda.”
The smile vanished.
“Yes?”
“Kitchen.”
“The bread's burning.”
Matilda smelled it.
Damn.
She hurried away.
Behind her, she heard Jedodiah say:
“We're not finished.”
Abigail answered: