She turned. He had remembered her name. "Yes?"
"Your father runs those chestnut mares off Parker stock, doesn't he?"
Rachel blinked. "Some of them."
"I saw a yearling at the fall sale. Narrow blaze. Good shoulders."
"That would be Daisy's colt."
"You bred him?"
Rachel looked back at the road. "I chose the pairing."
"Thought so."
She nearly stopped walking. "Why?"
"George Hart told everybody he wanted more height. That colt had better feet than height."
Rachel stared at him. Most buyers noticed color. Some noticed size. Very few noticed feet.
"You pay attention," she said.
Matthew's expression stayed mild. "I try."
The Hart gate came into sight through the gray afternoon. Rachel stopped. Matthew stopped his horse.
"I can manage from here."
He looked at the wagon, then June, then Rachel's bandaged hand. "I know."
The answer caught her off guard. He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Good day, Miss Hart."
"This wasn't a good day."
He looked toward Crow Creek behind them. "No. Suppose it wasn't."
Rachel almost smiled. "Thank you for the wheel."
"Thank you for not letting me pull the wagon apart."
That did make her smile. Small, before she could stop it. Matthew saw. He said nothing.
Rachel opened the gate. As she led June through, she glanced back once. Matthew Hail was still sitting his horse in the road, watching her. Not the farmhouse.
Not the windows where Lillian sometimes stood. Her. Rachel turned away before she could make anything of it.
Behind her, after a moment, hoofbeats began again and faded north toward High Mesa. For the next several days, she tried not to think about Matthew Hail. That would have been easier if George had not started mentioning him. At breakfast two mornings later, George unfolded the Cedar Ridge Gazette beside his coffee.
"Hail bought six more quarter horses from over near Laramie."
Rachel kept buttering a biscuit. "Did he?"
"Paper says so."
Lillian looked up from her tea. "Is that supposed to be interesting?"
George frowned at her. "High Mesa is one of the biggest outfits in the county."
"So?"
"So a girl ought to know who matters."
Rachel glanced at Lillian. Lillian noticed and rolled her eyes. George returned to the newspaper. Rachel hid the beginning of a smile behind her coffee mug.
By noon, Matthew Hail rode through the Hart gate. George saw him from the barn and nearly dropped the pitchfork. Rachel was mending a halter near the tack room when she heard her father's voice change into the particular cheerful tone he used around men with money.
"Hail. Didn't expect you."
Matthew dismounted. "Morning, Mr. Hart."
"Come in out of that wind."
"I won't take much time."
George looked toward the house. Rachel saw it happen. The calculation.
"Lillian's inside."