Matthew did not look away. Rachel did. She reached for the nearest towel.
"The mare needs water."
Matthew stood. "I'll get it."
Lillian looked between them. Rachel pretended not to notice.
Matthew stopped at the stall gate. "Rachel."
She looked up despite herself.
"You did good."
The words were simple. No admiration polished into flattery. No surprise that she had known what to do. Just fact.
Rachel folded the towel once. "So did you."
Matthew's eyes held hers another second. Then he went for the water. Rachel looked down at the newborn foal, trying weakly to gather its legs beneath itself.
Lillian sat beside her. For once, her younger sister said nothing. Outside, snow covered every old track in the yard. Inside the barn, the foal finally managed to stand.
When Matthew returned carrying the water bucket in one hand as though it weighed nothing, his eyes found Rachel before they found anything else. By morning, the storm had weakened. George and Eli came home shortly after sunrise with snow packed against the wagon hubs and irritation written across George's face from spending the night above the mercantile. That irritation disappeared when he saw the foal.
"You got him through."
Rachel was tightening the mare's blanket. "Matthew helped."
George looked toward the other end of the barn. Matthew was fixing a loose hinge on the stall door. George's expression sharpened with interest.
"Stayed all night?"
"Most of it."
Lillian, who had slept less than an hour, leaned against the stall rail and said, "We would have lost both without him."
Rachel looked at her. "Without both of us."
Lillian met her eyes, then nodded. "Yes. Both."
Matthew did not appear to hear, or pretended not to. He finished the hinge, wiped his hands on his coat, and said he needed to get back to High Mesa before the lower road thawed into mud. George followed him out. Rachel did not.
She stayed with the mare. But when the yard went quiet, she found herself looking at the open barn door. Three days later, Matthew returned with a book. Not flowers.
Not candy. A book. He held it out to Rachel near the gate.
The cover was worn dark at the edges. "Found it in Cheyenne last fall."
Rachel read the title. Practical Notes on the Breeding and Care of Stock Horses.
She looked up. "You bought this for me?"
"I bought it before I knew you."
"That helped a little. Why are you giving it to me?"
"I have another copy."
Rachel turned the book over. There were pencil notes in the margins. "You've read this."
"Some."
"Then it's yours."
"I know what's in it."
She stared at him. Matthew shifted his weight. For a man who could stand calmly beside a laboring mare for two hours, he suddenly seemed strangely uncertain.
"I thought you'd use it more."
Rachel opened to a page about hoof conformation. A dried blade of grass fell out. She picked it up. "You mark books with hay."
"Apparently."
She smiled before she meant to. "Thank you."
His shoulders eased. That was when George came around the corner. He saw the book, then Rachel, then Matthew.
For one brief second, Rachel thought her father might understand. Instead, George called toward the house, "Lillian, Mr. Hail's here." Rachel closed the book. Matthew's mouth went flat.