"Holloway Basin is safe now."
His face went completely still. Rachel's voice softened.
"You don't need me anymore."
For a moment, Matthew said nothing. The storm had passed far enough east that morning light reached the basin in broken pieces. Water dripped from the canvas shelter.
Smoke curled low over the cookyard. Men slept where they had dropped, boots still muddy, hats pulled over their faces. Matthew looked at Rachel as though she had said something in a language he understood but wished he did not.
Then his eyes went to the canvas bag. Back to her.
"No," he said.
Rachel's fingers tightened around the edge of her apron.
"No?"
He took one step closer. "No. I don't need a cook anymore."
The words landed exactly where she had feared they would. She looked down. "All right."
Matthew's face changed. "Rachel."
She reached for the bag. "I'll wait until the herd moves out. I don't want to be in the way."
His hand closed around the handle before hers did. She froze. Matthew did not pull the bag toward himself. He simply held it there between them.
"That's not what I meant."
Rachel raised her eyes. He looked exhausted. Mud dried in streaks along his coat. His hair was wet at the temples.
One sleeve had torn near the cuff. He had been on horseback most of the night and should have been thinking about cattle, the rail schedule, washed-out crossings, anything except this. Instead, he stood in front of her holding her bag.
"What did you mean?" she asked.
Matthew opened his mouth. Nothing came. Rachel almost laughed, but there was no humor left in her.
"You see?"
"Give me a minute."
"You've had months."
That struck him cleanly. He looked away once. Toward the pasture.
Toward the men sleeping around the yard. Toward the ranch Rachel had helped steady. Then he looked back.
"You're right."
Rachel waited. Matthew let go of the bag. Then slowly, he removed his hat.
The simple gesture changed him. Made him look less like the giant rancher everyone in Cold Water talked about and more like a tired man standing in wet mud who had finally run out of places to hide.
"I've spent most of my life knowing what to do next," he said.
Rachel said nothing.
"Fence breaks, you mend it. Horse goes lame, you rest it. Account comes short, you find the money."
"Men quit, you hire more."
He rubbed one hand over the crown of his hat. "You came here and every problem stopped being that simple."
Rachel's breathing slowed. Matthew continued.
"At first, I needed someone to feed 36 men."
A faint, tired smile touched his mouth. "You did that with 14 loaves and 22 pans I didn't ask for."
Rachel almost smiled too. Almost.
"Then I needed somebody to fix the cookhouse. You did."