Chest.
Stomach.
Hips.
Judgment.
Instead his eyes remained on her face.
“How much were you promised?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“For the job that brought you here.”
“How do you know I came for work?”
“Your trunk is beside the door.”
“Travel coat is too clean for somebody local.”
“You've looked at the hotel twice and haven’t gone in.”
The store owner smiled.
“He notices things.”
The woman folded her arms.
“Twenty dollars monthly.”
“Room and food?”
“Yes.”
The mountain cowboy considered.
“I'll pay thirty.”
The men by the stove became interested.
“For what?”
“Cooking.”
“Household accounts.”
“Basic ranch records.”
“Three months minimum.”
“Room.”
“Meals.”
The woman stared.
“You haven't asked whether I'm good at any of that.”
“The store owner did.”
“He barely knows me.”
“He knows everyone’s business.”
The store owner looked offended.
The mountain cowboy continued.
“And you corrected the sum on his invoice ten minutes ago.”
The woman looked down.
She had.
She had noticed him calculating a sack order incorrectly and quietly pointed it out.
“You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“What if I'm a terrible cook?”
“I've survived mine.”
“That does not answer the question.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“You can leave if we poison each other.”
Several men laughed.
The woman did not.
“Where is this ranch?”
“Black Ridge.”
The room changed again.
One of the stove men muttered:
“No woman stays there.”
The mountain cowboy turned his head.
The man immediately found the floor interesting.
The woman looked between them.
“Why?”
The mountain cowboy answered before anyone else.
“Because nobody has tried.”
That was clearly not the complete answer.
She looked at the store owner.
He suddenly became fascinated with flour.
Interesting.
“How far?”
“Half a day in clear weather.”
“Two days in snow.”
“Any other women?”
“No.”
“Neighbors?”
“Five miles.”
She laughed once.
“You're making this sound extremely inviting.”
“I’m not selling it.”
“Apparently not.”
He waited.
She had fourteen dollars.
No job.
No room.
Winter approaching.
And an entire store full of people clearly convinced going anywhere with this man was a terrible idea.
She looked at him.
“Separate room?”
“Yes.”
“Lock?”
“Inside.”
“My wages remain mine?”
“Yes.”
“If I decide to leave after a month?”
“I bring you back.”
“Why are you paying thirty?”
“Because you're going somewhere most people don't want to go.”
Fair.
She looked at his hands.
Scarred.
Callused.
One knuckle crooked.
Then his eyes.
Hard.
But not hungry.
“Fine.”
The store owner nearly dropped his pencil.
The mountain cowboy simply nodded.
“We leave tomorrow.”
The woman lifted one finger.
“I have not agreed to tomorrow.”
“Storm after noon.”
She looked outside.
“How do you know?”
“Mountain disappeared behind the western cloud.”
She turned.