It was quiet.
Not the old quiet.
This one rested rather than suffocated.
He looked at her.
“Why cooking?”
Avalene glanced up.
“What?”
“You could do many things.”
“Yes.”
“Why does cooking matter so much?”
She considered.
“My mother.”
Wyatt waited.
“She taught me before I could read properly.”
Avalene smiled slightly.
“She said people tell you things when they're eating.”
“Like what?”
“Whether they feel safe.”
Wyatt looked at his plate.
“Food tells you that?”
“No.”
“How they eat does.”
She set down the shirt.
“A frightened person eats quickly.”
“Someone expecting scarcity saves part.”
“Somebody lonely talks too much when finally given a table.”
Wyatt thought about his men.
“And ranch hands?”
Avalene smiled.
“Ranch hands eat everything.”
He laughed.
She joined him.
Wyatt looked at her.
The kitchen lamp softened the edges of her face.
Her brown hair had loosened.
A curl rested against her cheek.
Without the apron, the charcoal dress fitted her full figure gently.
For the first time, Wyatt consciously thought:
My wife is beautiful.
Not useful.
Not kind.
Not capable.
Beautiful.
He looked away too late.
Avalene noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“No.”
“You were.”
Wyatt took another bite.
She smiled.
That night he went to the study.
Then stopped outside his own bedroom.
Avalene was inside.
He could hear the movement of her trunk.
He raised his hand.
Almost knocked.
Did not.
He slept poorly.
The next morning Cecilia Ward arrived again.
This time she brought trouble.
A carriage stopped while ranch hands were eating breakfast.
Cecilia entered without waiting for invitation.
Avalene stood beside the stove.
Wyatt was outside.
Higgins immediately rose.
“Miss Ward.”
“Where is Wyatt?”
“Working.”
“I’ll wait.”
Her eyes moved toward the table.
Biscuits.
Eggs.
Ham.
Preserves.
Coffee.
Cecilia smiled.
“So this is the famous breakfast.”
Avalene stiffened.
“Famous?”
“Oh, everyone is talking about it.”
Higgins looked suspicious.
Cecilia continued:
“Apparently the Calder men won't eat anywhere else.”
Dobs spoke around a biscuit.
“Correct.”
Higgins kicked him beneath the table.
Cecilia looked at Avalene.
“You've certainly found your talent.”
The words were pleasant.
The meaning was not.
Avalene returned to the stove.
“Coffee?”
“No.”
Cecilia moved around the kitchen.
“You know, Margaret once told me this room required a certain kind of woman.”
Higgins set down his cup.
“Miss Ward.”
Cecilia ignored him.
“She believed a ranch wife needed breeding.”
Avalene turned.
“Cattle need breeding.”
Halfpint coughed into his sleeve.
Cecilia’s smile disappeared.
Avalene continued:
“Women usually need character.”
Higgins stared into his coffee to hide amusement.
Cecilia stepped closer.
“You think feeding hired men makes you mistress of this ranch?”
“No.”
“Then what does?”
Avalene met her eyes.