"I know."
"Forty-eight men."
"I know that too."
"We don't have enough flour."
"We have food."
"Not enough bread."
Rachel walked to the shelf and pulled down one of the black iron pans, the same size she had used the night Matthew first came into Cold Water. She set it on the ledger. He looked at it.
Then at her.
"You asked me for 36 loaves once."
Matthew's expression shifted. Rachel rested both hands on the table. "You never said they had to be wheat."
For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Eli leaned against the doorframe.
"I remember those."
Matthew gave him a look. Eli lifted both hands. "Just saying."
Rachel turned back to Matthew. "Andrew Sloan has cornmeal."
"How much?"
"Enough."
"You already asked him."
"This morning."
Matthew stared at her. "You went behind me?"
"No."
She met his eyes. "I went around Langley."
That stopped him. Rachel reached for another sheet. "Andrew wants cash, but his price is fair."
"He'll deliver in two loads. Rebecca said she'll help if I need another pair of hands."
"Rebecca?"
"His wife."
Matthew rubbed his jaw. "And you think you can feed roundup crews on cornbread?"
"Cornbread. Beans. Beef stew."
"Trail cakes. Potatoes. Apples. Gravy."
She pointed toward the smokehouse. "We own most of what those men are going to eat already."
"They're expecting bread."
"They're expecting supper."
Matthew looked toward the pantry, then back at the price on Baines's note. His face hardened. "Langley expects me to buy this."
"Yes."
"And if I don't?"
Rachel said, "Then for the first time, he learns you're not dependent on the road he controls."
That afternoon, Andrew Sloan arrived with the first wagon. Cornmeal sacks were stacked three high beneath a canvas cover. Rebecca Sloan sat beside him with a red wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders and two large cast-iron skillets tucked behind the wagon seat. Rachel came out smiling.
"You brought them?"