“Because of that.”
The woman nodded.
Only the deed.
Good.
That was safer.
He added:
“And because you’re supposed to rest.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The rescuing.”
“I told you I’m not rescuing you.”
“You’re hovering.”
“Different.”
“Barely.”
The cowboy looked around.
“Your roof still leaks.”
“So?”
“Winter starts in weeks.”
“I’ll finish.”
“With what hands?”
She glared.
The cowboy continued.
“You have money for labor?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
The woman hated him.
Mostly because he was right.
He offered something carefully.
“My ranch has carpenters finishing a bunkhouse extension.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“The answer is no.”
“Pay them later.”
“No.”
“Trade bookkeeping.”
She stopped.
“What?”
The cowboy had noticed her ledgers.
Precise columns.
Costs.
Material calculations.
Even the cabin construction had been tracked.
“My ranch books are a disaster.”
She stared.
“You’re wealthy.”
“That doesn’t mean organized.”
“Apparently.”
The cowboy smiled.
“I lend you two carpenters for six days.”
“You audit my supply accounts for six days.”
The woman thought.
“That sounds suspiciously convenient.”
“It is.”
“You get bookkeeping.”
“You get a roof.”
“No charity?”
“No.”
“No debt?”
“Trade.”
She considered.
Then extended her hand.
“Six days.”
The cowboy shook it.
Her hand was smaller than his.
Warm.
Rough from work.
He released it immediately.
That night he rode home.
The woman watched him disappear through timber.
The cabin felt strangely empty afterward.
She disliked that too.
Two carpenters arrived the next morning.
No laughter.
No pity.
The cowboy had clearly instructed them.
They worked efficiently.
The woman worked from a table under the finished roof, reviewing copied ranch accounts the cowboy sent.
By midday, she discovered three billing inconsistencies.
By the second day, seven.
By the third, she understood why.
The cowboy’s ranch was profitable enough to hide waste.
Suppliers padded small invoices.
Freight charges duplicated.
Timber subcontractors used outdated rates.
Nobody was stealing enough to threaten him.
They were simply taking advantage of a man too busy to check details.
The woman marked everything.
When the cowboy returned on the fourth day, she handed him a page.
“What’s this?”
“Money you’re losing.”
He read.
Then looked at her.
“How much?”
She told him.
His expression became unpleasant.
“That much?”
“Yes.”
“Per year?”
“Probably more.”
He sat.
“You did this in three days.”
“Yes.”
The woman smiled faintly.
“Pregnant women can count.”
He looked toward her.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
He read again.
Then laughed once.
“What?”
she asked.
“I rode here thinking you were going to freeze in an unfinished cabin.”
“And?”
“You might end up saving me money.”