Jake, nothing special. No. His voice was firm. It's more than that. Sarah used to do this.
Turned the kitchen into the heart of things when trouble came. I'd forgotten how much it matters. Having someone who just handles things, who makes sure there's light in the darkness. Margaret's throat tightened. Anyone would have.
No, he interrupted. They wouldn't. The last three cooks hid in their rooms during storms. You turned this into a field hospital and refuge center without anyone asking. He stood, swaying slightly.
Thank you, Margaret. The use of her given name here in the kitchen with his men sleeping all around felt dangerously intimate. "You should thank me by getting some rest before you fall over, " she said, trying for lightness. "Heroes who collapse from exhaustion are very inconvenient. " A smile ghosted across his face.
"I'm no hero, just a stubborn fool who couldn't leave his men behind. " "Same thing in my book. " She steered him toward the door. Go sleep. I'll keep watch and wake you if anything changes.
He paused at the door, looking back. Margaret, at the dance, when we go to bed, Jake, she said gently. We can talk about dancing when you're not dead on your feet. After he left, Margaret surveyed her kingdom. The kitchen was a disaster.
Muddy bootprints everywhere, dishes piled high, wet clothes dripping from every available surface, but it was warm and full of life with snoring cowboys and the smell of bread and coffee creating an oddly peaceful atmosphere despite the storm still raging outside. She made herself a cup of tea and settled into the chair by the stove. Someone should keep the fire going, make sure there was hot food when the men woke. It wasn't heroic work, not like riding into a storm to save lost cowboys, but it was necessary work. And more than that, it was satisfying in a bone deep way she'd never experienced in her Philadelphia life.
The storm began to ease around dawn, its fury spent. Pale light crept through the windows, revealing a landscape transformed by water and wind. But the Circle M had survived. All souls accounted for, and Margaret's kitchen had played its part in that survival. Jake found her there as the sun broke through the clouds, still in her chair, but awake, fresh coffee already brewing.
"Did you sleep at all? " he asked. "Did you? " she counted. They looked at each other across the kitchen, the stern rancher and the Philadelphia widow, both exhausted, both exactly where they needed to be, and smiled.
"I'll make breakfast, " she said, rising. You wake the men and Jake. Next time you decide to be heroic, try to do it before midnight. These late nights are terrible for my complexion. His laugh, rusty from disuse, but genuine, followed her to the stove, and if her heart fluttered at the sound, well, that was probably just exhaustion.