“He tried to salt it.”
Caleb said nothing.
“Caleb.”
“Yes.”
Anger went through her cleanly.
“How much?”
“None.”
“You stopped him?”
“Yes.”
Abigail stared at the pot.
She should have been relieved.
Instead she felt humiliated.
Not because Wyatt had tried.
Because she had been right to expect it.
Caleb watched her.
“He won’t get another chance.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.”
She looked at him.
“How?”
His voice dropped.
“Because I told him if he touches your food again, he’ll be looking for work from horseback.”
That surprised her.
“You’d fire a hand over stew?”
“No.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“I’d fire a man over deliberately humiliating someone under my protection.”
The words hung there.
Under my protection.
Abigail’s spine stiffened.
“I don’t need protecting.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You just did.”
“No.”
His eyes held hers.
“I said you’re under it.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not to me.”
Abigail folded her arms.
“Explain.”
Caleb stepped closer again.
Not touching.
Near enough that she could smell leather, dust, and sun on him.
“Protection isn’t believing you’re weak.”
His voice had gone quieter.
“It’s deciding anyone who comes after you answers to me too.”
Abigail’s breath slowed.
That was dangerously close to something she wanted to hear.
So she pushed back.
“I’ve known you three days.”
“I’m aware.”
“You laughed at my goat.”
“It was funny.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Caleb smiled.
“Still is.”
Abigail picked up the wooden spoon.
He raised both hands.
“Careful.”
“You should leave.”
“I probably should.”
He did not.
She glanced toward the door.
“Caleb.”
“Yes?”
“You are standing too close.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.
The moment sharpened.
Abigail hated how quickly her pulse changed.
Caleb leaned slightly toward her.
Not enough to touch.
Enough that she could hear the breath behind his words.
“If that stew tastes half as good as you smell right now, I may forget how to behave after dark.”
Abigail stared at him.
No man had spoken to her that way in years.
Not as a joke.
Not as an insult disguised as flirting.
Not with that steady seriousness beneath the tease.
The familiar instinct rose immediately.
Distrust it.
Large women learned early that some male attention came with an audience waiting for the punchline.
Abigail glanced toward the door.
No cowboys.
No laughter.
Just Caleb.
Watching her.
She lifted her chin.
“Then eat first, cowboy.”
His smile widened.
“I don’t reward men who faint before dessert.”
Caleb laughed softly.
This time he stepped back on his own.