Too many nervous cooks moved food because movement felt like progress.
Sometimes progress was leaving a thing alone long enough to change.
The goat browned.
Deep brown.
Not gray.
Not pale.
Dark enough that the smell changed from raw meat to roasted richness.
A shadow passed the screen door.
Abigail did not turn.
“Door’s there for a reason.”
Caleb’s voice came from outside.
“Didn’t open it.”
“You’re standing in it.”
“I’m checking on supper.”
“You’re checking on me.”
Silence.
Then, “Maybe both.”
Abigail glanced over.
Caleb leaned against the doorframe.
Hat pushed back slightly.
No mockery now.
Just attention.
She returned to the pot.
“You have thirty men who need supervising.”
“They’re working.”
“Then join them.”
He did not move.
“What are you putting in there?”
“Food.”
“I can see that.”
“Then your eyes work.”
He smiled.
Abigail hated that she noticed.
She added onion.
Garlic.
Dried oregano.
Cracked cumin.
A little chili.
The spices struck hot fat and released immediately.
Caleb inhaled.
His expression changed.
“Smells better than goat has any right to.”
Abigail looked at him.
“That sentence is why you deserve bad food.”
He laughed.
Again that deep, easy sound.
She felt it in her chest before she decided she did not want to.
“Need anything?” he asked.
That was new.
Abigail paused.
“Water.”
“I’ll send someone.”
“No.”
She wiped her hands.
“I need enough to control the amount.”
“You think one of my men can’t carry water?”
“I think if Wyatt carries it, I’ll somehow receive half a bucket and a dead frog.”
Caleb’s smile disappeared.
“You think he’d sabotage you?”
“I think men who need someone else to fail are often creative.”
Caleb looked toward the yard.
“I’ll watch him.”
Abigail studied him.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you care?”
Caleb’s expression became more guarded.
“This is my ranch crew.”
“Not your ranch.”
“My responsibility.”
“That still doesn’t answer me.”
He stepped into the doorway.
Sunlight caught the dust on his vest.
“You challenged thirty hungry men.”
“Yes.”
“And if this goes badly, they’ll make your life miserable.”
“They already do.”
“Not like they can.”
Abigail set the spoon down.
“You warning me?”
“I’m telling you how they are.”
“I know how men are.”
“That so?”
“Yes.”
Something changed between them.
Not hostility.
Not exactly.
He looked at her longer than necessary.
Abigail held his gaze.
Then she said, “Water.”
Caleb blinked.
She pointed toward the bucket.
“If you insist on being useful.”
His mouth curved.
“Yes, ma’am.”