"That is where the food records were."
His expression hardened. Rachel felt heat rise into her face. Not fear.
Anger. "If you want me out of your accounts, say so."
Matthew stared at the bills. "You should have asked before digging into debts."
"I did ask for the receipts."
"Not my debts."
"Your food bills are part of my work now."
"That's not the same thing."
"No." Rachel stood. "It's worse."
He looked up. She turned the ledger around.
"Because if these don't get paid, Dawson's Mercantile cuts your credit. If they cut your credit, you start buying in cash. If you buy in cash at these freight prices, you burn through what you have before roundup."
Matthew's face changed. Very slightly. Rachel continued.
"You wanted me to tell you why food was becoming a problem. This is why."
Silence filled the cookhouse. Outside, someone drove a hammer into frozen wood. Three blows.
Then another. Matthew looked back at the invoices. "How long?"
Rachel sat again. "If nothing changes?"
"Yes."
She took a breath. "Six weeks before it becomes painful."
He did not move.
"Eight before it becomes dangerous."
Matthew's thumb ran over the edge of one receipt. "The spring cattle payment comes after delivery."
"I saw that."
"You read that too?"
"It was in the same ledger."
He gave her a look. Rachel met it. After a moment, he looked away.
"If the herd makes the rail contract, we're fine."
"If you can hold the crew until then."
"I can."
Rachel did not answer. That silence bothered him more than if she had argued.
"What?"
"You've already lost six men."
"We kept five from leaving because you fed them one good breakfast."
"And since then, they've stayed."
"Yes, because they're being fed better."
Matthew's eyes narrowed. Rachel pointed toward the door. "That is not criticism. It's proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That men do not work only for wages."