“I remember you jumping from the barn roof because somebody dared you.”
The frontier woman looked at her husband.
“You did what?”
The cowboy pointed at the foreman.
“Unnecessary history.”
The foreman continued:
“You landed in manure.”
The frontier woman laughed until she had to sit.
The cowboy stared at the old foreman.
“You're dismissed.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Correct.”
The midwife reacted differently.
She congratulated them once.
Then became practical.
Food.
Sleep.
Swelling.
Breathing.
Movement.
Pain.
The frontier woman's body size required considerations that ordinary frontier medicine handled poorly even under good circumstances.
The midwife did not pretend otherwise.
“I need you closer to town near the final weeks.”
The cowboy immediately said:
“Done.”
His wife looked toward him.
The midwife noticed.
“To be clear, I'm asking her.”
The cowboy went quiet.
The frontier woman smiled.
She liked the midwife.
“I'll consider it.”
The cowboy looked horrified.
The midwife ignored him.
“You have time.”
On the ride back to the cabin, he lasted seven minutes.
Then:
“You should move closer to town.”
She kept looking forward.
“I knew you wouldn't make ten minutes.”
“This isn't controlling.”
“No?”
“It is informed panic.”
She smiled.
“That's almost worse.”
He leaned toward her.
“The midwife said—”
“I heard her.”
“Then—”
“I said I'll consider it.”
The cowboy closed his mouth.
They rode another mile.
Then he muttered:
“I hate personal growth.”
The frontier woman laughed.
“So do I.”
His father learned from someone else.
Of course he did.
Powerful men rarely accepted being the last person informed of events they believed belonged to them.
The old cattle baron arrived at the cabin with no invitation.
No judge.
No deputy.
No armed men.
Just a carriage and one driver.
The cowboy saw him from the corral.
His entire posture changed.
The frontier woman was inside kneading bread when her husband entered.
“My father.”
Her hands stopped.
“Alone?”
“Appears so.”
“That doesn't mean alone.”
“I checked.”
She wiped flour from her fingers.
“What does he know?”
The cowboy's expression answered.
She sighed.
“Who?”
“No idea.”
“Foreman?”
“Wouldn't.”
“Midwife?”
“Wouldn't.”
“Then someone saw us.”
“Probably.”
She looked toward the window.
The old man was climbing the porch steps.
The frontier woman breathed slowly.
“Remember something.”
“What?”
“This is my pregnancy.”
The cowboy nodded.
“Not your confrontation.”
Another nod.
“I talk first.”
He looked unhappy.
“Yes.”
A knock came.
She opened the door.
The old cattle baron stood outside wearing a black coat despite mild weather.
He looked older than she remembered.
The investigation had damaged him.
Not financially yet.