“How many?”
Daniel pointed.
A list.
Wichita.
Kansas City.
Topeka.
Lawrence.
Omaha.
Several smaller towns.
Nora stared.
“These restaurants asked for my cattle?”
“For supply associated with your program.”
Nora frowned.
“My program doesn't have a name.”
“It does now.”
She looked sharply at him.
“What did you call it?”
“Tillman-finished.”
“No.”
Daniel laughed.
“What?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Too late.”
Ed Walker leaned over the fence.
“What’s happening?”
Nora ignored him.
Daniel handed her another page.
Price structure.
Volume.
Quality specifications.
Delivery schedule.
She read.
Then the last line.
Three-year preferred supplier option.
Nora’s hand tightened around the notebook.
This was not a cattle sale.
It was a business decision.
A dangerous one.
“Why me?”
Daniel looked toward the herd.
“Because customers ask.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Because your records are better than most suppliers twice your size.”
That surprised her.
He continued.
“You document feed changes.”
“Weight.”
“Health.”
“Sources.”
“Costs.”
“You don't promise what you can't prove.”
“You've rejected animals from delivery when you didn't like consistency.”
Nora nodded.
“That costs me money.”
“Yes.”
“It saves us more.”
She looked toward the cattlemen at the fence.
Ed was no longer smiling.
Not jealous.
Proud.
That bothered her almost more.
Daniel said:
“So?”
Nora closed the folder.
“I need a lawyer.”
He laughed.
“Good answer.”
“I need projections.”
“Better.”
“I need supply guarantees from the distillery.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know what happens if demand drops.”
“Contract addresses some of that.”
“I need—”
Daniel raised both hands.
“Nora.”
“What?”
“Take the folder.”
She did.
“Read it.”
“I will.”
“Then tell me no if it’s bad.”
Nora looked at him.
“You're not trying to pressure me?”
“No.”
“That’s suspicious.”
He laughed.
She walked toward the farmhouse.
Ed called:
“What does it say?”
Nora kept walking.
“None of your business.”
Pete shouted:
“Is it good?”
Nora turned.
The men waited.
She lifted the folder.
“Maybe.”
Ed grinned.
“That's practically celebration from her.”
They laughed.
This time Nora laughed too.
That evening she sat at the kitchen table alone.
The contract lay open.
Matthew’s photograph sat on the shelf.
Nora rarely talked to it.
She disliked performing grief.
But sometimes she looked.
“What would you do?”
Silence.
Of course.
She smiled faintly.