“I know how.”
“Then demonstrate.”
Ethan removed his hat.
Placed it on the corner of the table.
Magdalena pushed the salt bowl toward him.
He reached.
Their fingers touched.
Neither moved immediately.
The contact lasted perhaps one second.
Long enough.
Ethan’s eyes lifted.
Magdalena cleared her throat.
“Not too much.”
“You just covered half the animal.”
“Because this is coarse salt.”
“I know what salt is.”
“I’m beginning to question that.”
He took a pinch.
Magdalena shook her head.
“Too little.”
Ethan added more.
“Now?”
“Still wrong.”
He looked offended.
She reached for his hand.
That was her mistake.
Or perhaps not.
Her large fingers closed around his.
She guided his hand above the lamb.
“Higher.”
“How high?”
“Here.”
She turned his wrist.
“Loose fingers.”
“I have loose fingers.”
“You grip everything like it owes you money.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Some things do.”
The salt trickled between his fingers.
Magdalena’s hand remained around his.
Neither mentioned it.
“Better,” she said.
His voice lowered.
“You seem pleased.”
“Do not mistake professional satisfaction for affection.”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
His thumb shifted slightly beneath her palm.
Magdalena’s heartbeat changed.
The barnyard suddenly felt too quiet.
Ethan looked at her mouth.
She saw it.
He saw that she saw it.
Neither moved.
Then Magdalena released him.
“Turn the lamb.”
Ethan obeyed.
She almost laughed.
The most stubborn ranch owner in Texas took instructions remarkably well when standing close enough to smell the rosemary in her hair.
He lifted one of the smaller cuts.
Magdalena reached underneath.
Her fingertips brushed something hard.
She frowned.
“Wait.”
Ethan stopped.
“What?”
She pushed aside the meat.
A small dark mark appeared near the ribs.
Not a butcher’s cut.
Too narrow.
Too precise.
Magdalena leaned closer.
A puncture.
Around it, the flesh carried a faint oily discoloration.
Her expression changed.
Ethan noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
“Don’t touch.”
She smelled her fingertips.
Not rot.
Not blood.
Oil.
Chemical.
Something bitter underneath.
Magdalena picked up a narrow knife and carefully opened the puncture.
A blackened strand of metal emerged.
Ethan leaned in.
“Wire?”
“Looks like it.”
She pulled gently.
The wire came free.
At one end hung a flattened metal tag smaller than her thumbnail.
Three stamped letters remained visible beneath grime.
A.V.S.
Ethan went completely still.
Magdalena looked at him.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Arthur Vale Supply.”
The warmth between them disappeared.
Ethan picked up his hat.
Magdalena looked toward the sheep pen.
“How long was this animal sick before slaughter?”
“Wasn’t.”
“Nothing?”
“Jacinto said it went weak yesterday.”
“Stopped eating?”
“Yes.”
“Then this morning it couldn’t stand.”
Magdalena stared at the meat.