He leaned back. "I know that."
"Then act like it."
The words came sharper than she intended. Both of them heard it. Rachel looked down.
For a moment, the only sound was the stove. Then she said, "I'm sorry."
Matthew's voice was quieter when he answered. "No."
Rachel looked up.
"You were right."
He rubbed one hand over his face. "I don't like hearing it."
"That isn't the same thing."
"No." He exhaled slowly. "It isn't."
Something eased between them. Not entirely. Enough. Rachel pulled another sheet of paper toward him.
"I made a list."
"Of course you did."
She ignored that. "Cornmeal from Andrew Sloan's place is cheaper than freighted wheat. You have beans already. Squash."
"Potatoes. Beef. Rendered fat. Dried apples."
Matthew scanned the list. "You want to feed grown men cornmeal all winter?"
"I want to stop paying freight on flour every time somebody gets nervous."
"They'll complain."
"Then I make food worth complaining less about."
One corner of his mouth moved. Rachel continued. "We don't cut meals."
"We change what they're built around."
"How much?"
"If we cut wheat orders by half and stop buying meat we already have, maybe 25% off the monthly food cost."
Matthew looked at her. "That much?"
"Possibly more."
"You're certain?"
"No."
That surprised him. Rachel tapped the page. "I am certain we can do better than this."
Matthew went quiet again. Rachel let him. She had learned his silences had different shapes. This one was not anger.
It was calculation. He stood and crossed to the window. Beyond the glass, two riders were moving cattle from the north pasture. Matthew watched them for a while.
"My father used to say land made a man rich."
Rachel said nothing.
"He'd walk the ridge and point at the grass like grass was money."
"Sometimes it is."
"Not if you can't afford coffee."
That almost made her laugh. She didn't. Matthew turned.
"You think I should have seen this?"