"You take charge of the cookhouse, pantry, smokehouse, whatever food is coming in and going out. See what the trouble is."
Rachel held the biscuit tray against her hip. "And after a week?"
"If it works, we talk about longer."
June came around the desk. "I don't think that's suitable."
Rachel's eyes remained on Matthew. "What would the wage be?"
"Two dollars for the week. Room and board."
June laughed once. "Rachel earns wages here."
Rachel finally looked at her. "I earn $1.25."
June's face tightened. "You also have your room."
"So would she at my place," Matthew said.
June turned on him. "This is not a cattle transaction, Mr. Holloway."
"No." His voice stayed level. "That's why I'm asking her."
That quieted the room. Rachel shifted the tray slightly. June's expression changed first to irritation, then something more practical.
"If she leaves, who handles the morning bread?"
Rachel looked at her. "You told me last month Lydia could manage it."
"Lydia can handle simple baking."
"Then she'll manage."
"Rachel."
There was warning now. Rachel set the biscuit tray on the sideboard. For most of the last year, she had heard June say she was better suited to the back kitchen.
Better with ovens. Better where the work was. Better away from the front room. Now suddenly she was necessary.
Rachel untied her apron. "I'll take the week."
June stared at her. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe."
Rachel folded the apron neatly and set it beside the tray. "But it'll be mine."
Matthew did not smile. He did something Rachel noticed more. He stepped back.
Gave her room to pass. By noon, her belongings were packed into the same canvas bag she had brought to Cold Water 11 months earlier. Two dresses. A comb.
Her mother's sewing roll. Peter's photograph wrapped in cloth. Her grandmother's skillet, which June complained did not belong to Rachel until Rachel reminded her exactly whose initials were scratched beneath the handle. They left town shortly after one.
The snow started before they reached Miller's Crossing. Matthew drove the buckboard with his shoulders slightly hunched beneath a heavy brown coat. Rachel sat beside him under a buffalo robe, her bag wedged between her boots. The silence was different from the boarding house silence.
There, silence usually meant people had nothing they wished to say to her. With Matthew, it simply seemed to mean no words were required yet. The road narrowed as they climbed. Pine-covered slopes rose on both sides.
Dark rock showed through patches of snow. Once, a mule deer stood above the road, watching the wagon pass, ears forward, perfectly still. Rachel drew the robe closer.
"How far?"
"Another three miles."
"You weren't exaggerating about being out of the way."
"No."
"Do you ever answer anything with more than three words?"
Matthew looked at her. "Yes."
Rachel waited. He looked back at the road. She laughed before she could stop herself.
The sound surprised both of them. At the next bend, Holloway Basin opened below. Rachel forgot the cold. The ranch sat broad across a high valley beneath snow-covered mountains.