“Thirty.”
“Why are you here?”
“Eli works for me.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Nathaniel looked toward the sleeping patient.
Lena waited.
Finally he said:
“You looked cold.”
Her face softened.
She pulled the coat tighter.
It smelled like pine, leather, smoke, winter.
And Nathaniel.
That was inconvenient.
Eli survived.
Three days later, the ranch celebrated with Lena’s apple cake.
Nathaniel found her outside afterward carrying scraps to the chickens.
“Lena.”
She turned.
He rarely used her first name.
Usually “Miss Hartwell.”
Sometimes “Cook” when teasing.
“Yes?”
He held a letter.
“Denver.”
She recognized the seal.
The investor.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Nathaniel extended it.
Their fingers touched.
Neither moved immediately.
Then Lena took the letter.
“Thank you.”
“You going to open it?”
“Not while you stare.”
He looked toward the barn.
“I'll stare there.”
“Go.”
He walked ten steps.
Stopped.
Turned his back dramatically.
Lena laughed.
Then opened the envelope.
The investor offered to meet her in Cedar Hollow in March.
He had plans for a restaurant near Denver’s Union Station.
Wanted a baker and kitchen manager.
Salary: nine hundred dollars annually plus housing.
Lena stopped breathing.
Nine hundred.
Permanent.
Denver.
A city.
Opportunity.
She read again.
Nathaniel remained with his back turned.
Lena looked at him.
Wolfskin coat.
Snow in his hair.
Broad shoulders.
A ranch she had somehow begun thinking of as home.
That was foolish.
Contracts ended.
Men changed.
Opportunity did not wait.
She folded the letter.
“You can turn around.”
Nathaniel did.
Her expression told him enough.
“Good offer?”
“Yes.”
“How good?”
“Nine hundred.”
His jaw tightened almost invisibly.
“Good.”
“Again with good.”
“It is.”
“You could at least pretend the ranch will collapse without me.”
“It might.”
“Better.”
Nathaniel smiled.
Then:
“You should take it.”
The words hurt.
Lena became angry enough to be grateful.
“You know, Mr. Reid, for a man who once ordered me into a snowstorm because he liked bread, you have become remarkably eager to send me away.”
His eyes darkened.
“I am not eager.”
“Sounds like it.”
He stepped closer.
Lena’s heartbeat accelerated.
Nathaniel spoke quietly.
“I am trying not to make my wanting you here become another reason you feel obligated to stay.”
She froze.
Wanting you here.
The words landed differently.
Nathaniel looked away first.
“I've seen what happens when employers convince people gratitude is part of wages.”
Lena stared.
“This isn't only employment anymore, is it?”
Silence.
Snow fell between them.
Nathaniel looked back.
“No.”
Her breath caught.