It was late, well past dinner, and she thought everyone was asleep. "You're going to work yourself to death before you even get to the competition." he said. Evelyn didn't look up from the dough she was rolling. "I need to get this right. The crust keeps cracking when I try to transfer it to the pan."
"You've made perfect pie crust a dozen times. I've eaten it." "Perfect in this kitchen with no one watching isn't the same as perfect in front of judges looking for any reason to dismiss me." He walked into the kitchen properly, close enough that she could feel his presence even though she kept her eyes on her work. "You know you don't have to prove anything to these people.
You've already proven yourself here." "With respect, sir, that's easy to say when you're not the one being called a harlot in public." The words came out sharper than she intended. She felt him stiffen beside her. "You're right," he said quietly.
"I apologize. That was insensitive." Evelyn finally looked up at him, surprised. Dawson Ridgwell didn't apologize often, and when he did, it usually came with qualifications. But this was simple and direct.
"I just meant," he continued, "that you have nothing to be ashamed of, regardless of what happens at this competition." "Easy for you to say. Your reputation isn't on the line." "Isn't it?" He leaned against the prep table, close enough that she had to resist the urge to step back.
"People are talking about me, too, saying I'm either a fool being manipulated or a man taking advantage of a desperate woman. Either way, I come out looking bad." "I'm sorry. I didn't think about how this affected you." "Don't apologize.
I can handle gossip. I've been handling it since my wife died and people started speculating about whether I killed her, drove her to illness, or was simply a negligent husband." The bitterness in his voice was raw. "People talk. It's what they do when their own lives are too small to fill their time."
Evelyn set down her rolling pin, giving him her full attention. "Did you? Kill her, I mean." He laughed, a short, harsh sound. "No.
She died of childbed fever 3 days after Lily was born. The doctor said there was nothing anyone could have done. But that didn't stop people from whispering that I'd worked her too hard, that the ranch mattered more to me than she did, that if I'd gotten her to a real hospital instead of using the local midwife, she might have survived." "I'm sorry." "Me, too.
Margaret deserved better than dying in a half-built ranch house in the middle of nowhere." He was quiet for a moment. "But I gave her what I could, and I've tried to give Lily the life Margaret would have wanted for her." "You're a good father." "I'm an adequate father who's doing his best.
He met her eyes directly. Just like you're doing your best in an impossible situation. So, stop apologizing for it. The air between them felt charged with something Evelyn didn't want to name. She forced herself to look away, back to her mangled pie crust.