"Miss Hart."
She stopped. Matthew was walking toward her. He carried his hat instead of wearing it.
"You forgot something?"
"No."
"Need horse advice?"
"Not today."
That made her uneasy in a way horse questions did not. He fell into step beside her. "Your hand really healed?"
She showed him the faint pink line across her palm. "Nearly."
"Good."
They reached the wagon. Matthew touched the wheel. Rachel gave him a look.
He said, "Checking the pin."
Despite herself, she smiled. "Still there."
"I'd hate to spend another afternoon standing in a creek."
"You complained very little."
"I was afraid you'd give me another order."
She laughed once. It escaped before she could catch it. Across the yard, Lillian had gone quiet. Matthew looked toward the sound.
Not at Lillian. At Rachel. That was the first time Rachel felt something close to alarm.
Not because of him. Because she knew how these stories ended. The next week, Matthew returned with a question about winter hay. Three days later, he came to inspect a saddle George wanted to sell.
Then he rode over on a Saturday afternoon carrying a broken bit. He claimed one of his hands had found it and wanted it identified. Rachel held it up.
"This is a plain snaffle."
"I know."
She stared at him. Matthew took the bit back. "Thought you might know who made it."
"There's a maker's mark underneath."
He turned it over. The mark was obvious. Rachel folded her arms.
"Mr. Hail."
"Yes?"
"You own a ranch."
"I do."
"With employees."
"Quite a few."
"Some of whom presumably know how to read a maker's mark."
"Presumably."
She waited. Matthew looked entirely unashamed. The corner of Rachel's mouth betrayed her.
From behind them, Lillian called, "Mr. Hail, would you like coffee?"
Matthew turned. Lillian stood on the porch wearing a blue wool dress and carrying herself as though she had been placed there by a portrait painter.
"Thank you," he said.
Rachel felt foolishly relieved. Then Matthew added, "If Rachel's having some."
Lillian's smile held. "I'll bring enough."
Rachel looked down at the bit in Matthew's hand. "This is getting peculiar."
"What is?"