The fire was low.
She found him sitting awake.
Blue cloth in one hand.
The brass key in the other.
She approached slowly.
He looked up.
“Couldn't sleep?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
She sat on a reinforced kitchen bench.
He remained on the floor opposite the hearth.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Matilda asked:
“What did my mother make you promise?”
Jedodiah looked toward the dying fire.
“To find you.”
“You said that.”
“And give you Black Ridge.”
“Why you?”
“My uncle had no children.”
“His half eventually came to my father.”
“Then me.”
“So you own half.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother owned half.”
“Yes.”
“You came to give me mine.”
“Yes.”
“Not buy it.”
“No.”
“Not marry it.”
His head snapped toward her.
Matilda almost smiled.
“Men marry property.”
“I know.”
“I've watched it.”
Jedodiah's face hardened.
“I'm not asking to marry you.”
The speed of his answer stung.
She hated that it stung.
Then he added:
“I barely know you.”
Better.
Still.
She looked toward the fire.
“Good.”
He studied her.
“You sound disappointed.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“I sound tired.”
“Fair.”
Silence.