“What?”
“You showing off?”
“For him?”
“Don’t act stupid.”
“I'm not.”
“You quoted wrong price.”
“You told me three-eighty.”
“You should know when customer has money.”
Marta stared.
There it was.
The logic that had governed her life since their father died.
Take what you can.
Promise what you must.
Fix consequences later.
Henrik reached for the cash.
Marta placed one hand over it.
He frowned.
“Move.”
“Feed supplier comes tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“We owe eighty-six.”
“I know.”
“Farrier iron, twenty.”
“I know.”
“County stable fee, fifteen.”
“Marta.”
“And Mr. Jensen still hasn’t been paid.”
Henrik’s face reddened.
“I said move.”
She stared into his eyes.
Then removed hand.
Henrik took money.
“How much will be left after feed?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?”
He looked away.
Marta knew.
Whiskey.
Cards.
Debt.
She said nothing.
That evening she ate alone above stable.
A small room.
Iron bed.
Washbasin.
One window facing alley.
Her brother occupied family house three streets away.
He had promised she could move back after mother died.
That was nine years ago.
Marta never did.
Not because there was no room.
Henrik’s friends disliked her.
His cards took the dining table.
His drinking made the house unpredictable.
The stable room became safer.
If lonely.
She opened the drawer beside bed.
Inside lay twelve dollars and sixty cents.
Her savings.
Not much.
But hers.
She counted again.
Then put them back.
Across town, Caleb North sat at Lou’s dining room while Travis Bennett poured coffee.
“You bought mules?”
“Friday.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?”
Caleb looked at him.
“Why?”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one before you make somebody’s business your business.”
Caleb drank coffee.
Travis smiled.
“Marta.”
Caleb’s gaze sharpened.
“Didn't say name.”
“Didn't need.”
Caleb looked toward window.
Travis continued.
“She’s good woman.”
“Town treats her poorly.”
“I noticed.”
“Brother worse.”
“How bad?”
Travis leaned back.
“How much time?”
Caleb said nothing.
Travis’s expression became serious.
“Henrik inherited stable from father.”
“Also inherited loans.”
“Then made new ones.”
“Cards.”
“Whiskey.”
“Bad contracts.”
“Marta kept horses alive.”
“Business would’ve failed five years ago without her.”
“Why doesn’t she leave?”
“Where?”
Caleb disliked answer.
A woman could technically go anywhere.
Practically, frontier towns offered fewer choices.
Unmarried woman with no property.
No wages.
No references except brother who needed her labor.
And a reputation town had already decided.
Caleb asked:
“Bank?”
“Red Creek Mercantile Bank.”
“Debt?”
Travis whistled softly.
“More than stable’s worth.”
Caleb looked at him.
“How much?”
“You're thinking loudly.”
“How much?”
Travis leaned closer.
“Maybe eight hundred.”
“Maybe nine.”