"The flour was infested. Three sacks. I found it before midnight."
"There wasn't enough clean wheat for more than 14 proper loaves."
Matthew stared at the bread. "You couldn't get more?"
"Not at midnight in a snowstorm."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Rachel could see him counting time. Road miles.
Men waiting. A meeting at the ranch. She pointed to the other crates.
"So I made those."
Matthew looked down. "What are they?"
"Cornbread."
"I know what cornbread is."
Rachel raised an eyebrow. His eyes came back to hers. For half a second, something eased in his face.
Then it was gone. "I ordered bread because my men are tired of cornmeal mush and beans."
"This isn't mush."
"I can see that."
"And it's not what they've been eating."
He looked at the dark-edged squares. Rachel picked up a knife, cut through one pan, and lifted a piece onto a plate. Steam escaped from the center.
She held it out. "If you hate it, take the 14 loaves and your remaining money."
Matthew did not immediately reach for the plate. June held perfectly still beside the stove. Finally, Matthew took the cornbread.
His hand looked almost absurd around the small square. He broke off a corner. A little steam touched his fingers. He ate it.
Rachel watched his face carefully. No theatrical widening of the eyes. No sudden smile. He simply chewed.
Then he looked down at the piece in his hand. He took another bite. This one larger.
"What did you put in it?"
"Buttermilk, bacon drippings, sorghum, cracked corn, salt."
"No sugar?"
"Sorghum's enough."
He nodded once, then asked, "How much of this can you make?"
Rachel looked at the 22 pans. "You're looking at most of what I can make before sunrise."
"No." He swallowed. "I mean regularly."
She studied him. "How regularly?"
"Enough to feed 36 men twice a day."
June made a small sound behind them. Rachel thought he was joking. Matthew Holloway did not appear to be a man who joked before breakfast.
"You haven't fed it to them yet," she said.
"I've eaten enough bad food to know good food when it's in my hand."
Rachel looked away first. Not because of the compliment. Because he had said it like a fact.
No softening. No attempt to charm her. Just an assessment. He finished the piece, then reached for another without asking.
Rachel noticed and said nothing. By 6:10, the crates were strapped into Matthew's wagon beneath waxed canvas. He paid June the agreed amount and added another two dollars for the ruined flour. June opened her mouth.
Rachel said, "That wasn't your loss."
Matthew looked at her. "It became my problem when I asked for 36 loaves in the middle of the night."