The salt fell from Magdalena Reed’s thick fingers in a glittering white stream.
She held her hand high enough for the coarse crystals to scatter evenly across the lamb shoulder laid on the butcher table, then used her broad palm to press them firmly into the meat.
The morning sun was already hot despite the season.
Dry Creek, Texas, had forgotten that autumn was supposed to feel like autumn.
Beyond the table, yellow grass stretched toward broken hills and weathered rock formations that looked almost purple where distance softened them.
Castle Ridge’s main barn stood behind Magdalena.
Weathered cedar.
Tall sliding doors.
A roof that needed replacing before another serious storm.
Cattle moved slowly behind the rail fence to her left.
She counted them without appearing to.
Thirty-eight in the nearest pen.
Three weeks earlier there had been forty-six.
Some had been moved.
Some had died.
That difference was why she was salting lamb instead of preparing beef.
“You missed a corner.”
The voice came from behind her.
Magdalena did not turn.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
She pinched another measure of salt.
“If you know so much, perhaps you should do it.”
Silence.
She smiled.
Then a tall shadow stretched across the table beside hers.
Ethan Casteel stopped several feet away, hat low over his eyes.
He had rolled his sleeves to the elbows.
Dust covered his boots.
The brown leather vest he wore had been repaired so many times that Magdalena suspected every section contained a different year of his life.
He folded his arms.
“You asked whether I saw you miss the corner.”
“I did not ask anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
“That must be difficult for you.”
“What?”
“Hearing thoughts.”
His mouth moved.
Barely.
It had taken Magdalena seventeen days to discover Ethan Casteel possessed a sense of humor.
Most people in Dry Creek would have called that information unbelievable.
Ethan owned Castle Ridge Estate, though lately the ranch seemed to own him.
Thirty-two years old.
Unmarried.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark-haired.
Quiet enough to make strangers uncomfortable.
People said he had inherited one of the richest livestock properties in West Texas and somehow managed to turn it into a failing ranch in less than five years.
Magdalena had learned quickly that people told stories about money more eagerly than they learned facts.
The drought had begun before Ethan inherited.
A livestock illness had followed.
A freight company canceled a crucial shipping contract.
Two wells failed within the same summer.
Then experienced hands began leaving for better wages.
Loss stacked upon loss until the ranch looked like evidence of one man’s incompetence.
Ethan carried that judgment without defending himself.
Magdalena found that infuriating.
She sprinkled another layer of salt.
Ethan continued staring.
She finally turned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been standing there three minutes.”
“I’m allowed to stand on my own ranch.”
“Not while pretending you’re inspecting lamb.”
His eyebrows lifted.
Magdalena wiped her hand against her apron.
“What are you actually looking at?”
Ethan’s gaze shifted toward her face.
“Dangerous question.”
“Only if the answer is foolish.”
His eyes traveled briefly over her.
Not crude.
Not hurried.
Still unmistakable.
Magdalena felt warmth rise into her cheeks.
Her body had always announced itself before she could.
Very full.
Heavy.
Broad through the hips.
Thick arms and wrists.
Large hands.
Powerful thighs built from years carrying buckets, laundry, firewood, sacks, children who did not belong to her, and burdens that rarely came with wages.
She had learned to recognize every possible expression a person could make after noticing her size.
Judgment.
Amusement.
Pity.
Disgust.
Curiosity.
Calculation.
Ethan’s look contained none of those.
It contained something much more troublesome.
Interest.
Magdalena turned back toward the table.
“You should go inspect something.”
“I am.”
She looked at him again.
He did not smile.
That made it worse.
“Mr. Casteel.”
“Magdalena.”
“You are distracting.”
“That makes two of us.”
She blinked.
Ethan stepped closer to the table.
For a man who spent most of his life speaking as though every word cost him money, the sentence was almost indecent.
Magdalena recovered first.
“You want to learn?”
“To salt meat?”
“Yes.”