He looked almost irritated at having admitted it.
“You made the bed?”
“Yes.”
“You washed the curtains?”
“No.”
She touched the clean fabric.
“Then who did?”
The cowboy’s eyes narrowed.
“I paid a woman in town.”
“So you thought about curtains.”
“I thought you would want them.”
The ranch woman smiled softly.
“That was thoughtful.”
He immediately looked uncomfortable.
“There’s supper at six.”
Then he left.
She watched him walk down the hall.
The station clerk had forgotten one important detail.
The cowboy was not merely large.
He was shy.
Not socially timid.
He could command four men without raising his voice.
He could bargain cattle prices without hesitation.
He could ride into a storm while everyone else stayed under shelter.
But kindness embarrassed him.
Praise made him leave rooms.
Personal questions made him stare at fences.
And if the ranch woman thanked him for anything, he usually discovered urgent business somewhere else.
By the second week, she had learned to enjoy this.
“Thank you for fixing the desk drawer.”
He would nod.
“Very considerate.”
He would look toward the door.
“I appreciate you.”
Gone.
She once thanked him for repairing the kitchen latch.
He left before she finished the sentence.
The ranch woman laughed until she cried.
One ranch hand saw the entire exchange.
“You figured him out.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Figured what out?”
“He can face wolves.”
The hand smiled.
“But compliments terrify him.”
That evening she deliberately told the cowboy his shirt looked good.
He nearly dropped his coffee.
She had to bite the inside of her cheek.
“What?”
He looked suspicious.
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Perhaps.”
He stared.
“You and the hands have been talking.”
“I speak with people sometimes.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“You should try it.”
The ranch slowly became familiar.
She spent mornings at the accounts desk.
Invoices.
Feed bills.
Rail contracts.
Cattle sales.
Payroll.
Maintenance costs.
The previous bookkeeper had left chaos behind.
Numbers were missing.
Receipts hidden.
Payments duplicated.
The ranch woman reorganized everything.
Three ledgers became one system.
She separated personal costs from ranch expenses.
Caught overcharges from a feed supplier.
Found an unpaid cattle invoice worth more than three months of her wages.
The cowboy stood behind her one afternoon while she showed him.
“They owe you this.”
He stared at the page.
“How did I miss that?”
“You didn’t.”
She pointed.
“Your cousin marked it paid.”
The cowboy’s expression hardened.
The ranch woman immediately regretted reminding him.
He looked at the false entry.
Then at her.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
“You could have hidden it.”
She frowned.
“Why would I?”
“Money.”
“I’m paid.”
“Not that much.”
She leaned back.
“Is this another trust test?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
The cowboy considered.
“Habit.”
She softened.
“You expect people to disappoint you.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds exhausting.”