“I work here.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She stopped.
Caleb watched.
Marta turned slowly.
“You ask strangers about family business often?”
“Only when I'm deciding whether the person selling me an animal understands the animal better than the owner.”
Her mouth tightened.
“My brother signs papers.”
“I do the rest.”
“Profits?”
She laughed once.
“What profits?”
“You get paid?”
A beat.
“No.”
“Why?”
Marta crossed her arms.
“Because I live above the stable.”
“Because I eat from the kitchen.”
“Because apparently that counts.”
Caleb frowned.
“You're thirty-four.”
“I know my age.”
“You work full time.”
“Also aware.”
“And your brother pays nothing?”
“He owns everything.”
Caleb looked toward the well-kept stalls.
Fresh hay.
Clean troughs.
Repair work done properly.
He looked back at her.
“Doesn’t look like his work.”
Marta’s jaw hardened.
“You came for mules.”
“I did.”
“Then buy mules.”
Caleb nodded.
“Fair.”
They continued.
He chose Millie, Jonah, and Peter.
Marta approved.
That surprised him.
“You agree?”
“You picked correctly.”
“I expected argument.”
“I don't argue for entertainment.”
“That may make you unique in Red Creek.”
She looked at him.
This time both nearly smiled.
They reached tack table.
Marta pulled a ledger from drawer.
“Three hundred eighty dollars.”
“For all three?”
“Yes.”
“Too low.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You trying to bargain upward?”
“They’re worth four-fifty.”
“My brother wants cash.”
“That usually means debt.”
Marta’s expression became guarded again.
“Sign here.”
Caleb took pencil.
Before he signed, male voice came from doorway.
“Marta!”
She closed her eyes.
Her brother Henrik entered carrying yesterday’s shirt and today’s hangover.
He was thirty-nine, handsome in the worn way men sometimes remained handsome long after responsibility left them.
Henrik saw Caleb.
His posture improved immediately.
“Mr. North.”
“Henrik.”
“You buying?”
“Three.”
Henrik looked at Marta.
“What did you quote?”
“Three-eighty.”
His face changed.
“Four-twenty.”
Marta stared.
“You told me three-eighty this morning.”
“Market changed.”
“In three hours?”
Henrik smiled toward Caleb.
“Women don’t always understand horse prices.”
Marta went very still.
Caleb set down pencil.
Henrik continued.
“Four-twenty.”
Caleb said, “Three-eighty.”
Henrik’s smile faded.
“Mr. North.”
“She quoted.”
“She’s not owner.”
“No.”
Caleb looked at Marta.
“She should be.”
The stable seemed to become quieter.
Henrik laughed.
“That's a good one.”
Marta did not.
Caleb signed.
Then counted cash.
Exactly three hundred eighty.
Henrik stared.
Caleb folded purchase paper.
“Pick them up Friday.”
Henrik said, “Tomorrow would be better.”
“Friday.”
He looked toward Marta.
“Need them ready with winter shoes.”
She nodded.
“I’ll do it.”
Caleb left.
Henrik waited until hoofbeats faded.
Then turned.
“What was that?”
Marta returned ledger.