He continued.
“That is exactly why I won't tell you what to do.”
Lena swallowed.
“What is it then?”
Nathaniel took another step.
They were close enough now that she could see tiny ice crystals in his beard.
“I don't know what you're willing to call it.”
His voice dropped.
“I know I notice when you're not in a room.”
Lena’s heart hammered.
“I know the dining hall sounds different when you're laughing.”
“I know I have begun inventing reasons to walk through the kitchen.”
She almost smiled.
“I noticed.”
Nathaniel’s mouth moved.
“I know I don't particularly like Denver anymore.”
Lena laughed softly.
Then his expression became serious.
“But I am not asking you to give up nine hundred dollars because I like hearing you laugh.”
Something inside her ached.
“Nathaniel.”
It was the first time she used his first name.
He became still.
Lena felt suddenly shy.
Ridiculous after commanding eighty men through food shortages and illness.
“I need time.”
“You have it.”
He stepped back.
Again.
Correct.
Respectful.
Infuriating.
Lena watched him walk toward the barn.
Then shouted:
“Nathaniel.”
He turned.
She had no idea what she intended.
So she said:
“Bread needs salt?”
He smiled.
“Still does.”
She threw a snowball.
It struck his coat.
His expression changed.
Lena realized her mistake.
“Oh no.”
Nathaniel bent toward the snow.
She ran.
For a large woman in deep snow, Lena moved surprisingly fast.
Not fast enough.
He caught her near the woodpile.
Not roughly.
His arms went around her waist to prevent both from falling.
Lena laughed.
Nathaniel laughed too.
Then neither did.
They stood too close.
His hands remained at her waist.
Her hands rested against his chest.
Breath clouded between them.
Nathaniel looked at her mouth.
Lena saw.
Her body went warm despite the snow.
He whispered:
“Tell me to move.”
She could have.
Instead:
“You're crushing my coat.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“That isn't what I asked.”
Lena looked at him.
“I know.”
He waited.
She did too.
Then the dining-hall bell rang.
Ben shouted from fifty yards away:
“MISS HARTWELL! POT BOILING OVER!”
Lena closed her eyes.
Nathaniel groaned.
She pushed away.
“Your ranch is ruining my life.”
“My ranch?”
“You own it.”
She ran toward the kitchen.
Behind her, Nathaniel shouted:
“Potato bread tonight?”
“Maybe no bread at all!”
Men throughout Black Ridge soon learned something had happened.
Nobody knew what.
But Nathaniel Reid stopped teasing the cook for three days.
That alone became evidence.
Lena threatened Ben with dish duty for a month if rumors continued.
Rumors continued.
Ben did dishes.
February arrived.
The Denver offer remained folded inside Lena’s recipe book.
She had not answered.
She told herself she was waiting until March.
The truth was harder.
She loved Black Ridge.
Not romantically.
Not only.
She loved the kitchen at five in the morning.