Somewhere that matters." "It's just food." "No, it's not. It's care. It's someone giving a damn whether we eat well or eat garbage."
He set down the dried plate carefully. "My mom used to say you could tell how much someone valued you by what they put on your table. You put good things on our table every day. That means something." The unexpected emotion in his voice made Evelyn's throat tight.
"Well, I can't have you all starving. You'd be useless workers." "There's the practical Miss Harper we all know." But he was smiling. "You're going to do great at that competition.
Show those county ladies what real cooking looks like." Two days before the competition, a package arrived with Coop's supply run. It was addressed to Evelyn in handwriting she recognized immediately as Thomas's. Inside was a single item, their mother's apron, carefully cleaned and pressed with a note pinned to it. "Evie, Ma would want you to wear this.
Show them what a Harper can do. Proud of you. Love, T." Evelyn held the apron against her chest, breathing in the faint scent of home that still clung to the fabric despite the cleaning. Her mother had worn this apron for 20 years, had cooked countless meals in it, had built a reputation as one of the finest cooks in Red Hollow before circumstances had torn it all down.
Now Evelyn would wear it and try to build something her mother would have been proud of. The night before the competition, she couldn't sleep. She lay in bed running through recipes in her head, mentally checking and rechecking her ingredient list, worrying about everything that could go wrong. Finally, around 2:00 in the morning, she gave up and went to the kitchen to make tea. She wasn't the only one awake.
Through the window, she could see a light burning in Ridgewell's office at the main house. He was probably working on ranch accounts or correspondence, the kind of endless paperwork that kept an operation this size running. On impulse, she made a second cup of tea and carried both across the yard to the main house. She knocked softly, not wanting to wake Lily. "Come in."
Ridgewell called. He looked up in surprise when she entered, setting down his pen. "Evelyn, is everything all right?" "Couldn't sleep. Thought you might want some tea."
She set one of the cups on his desk, suddenly feeling foolish. "Or not. I can take it back." "Tea's perfect. Thank you."
He picked up the cup, cradling it in both hands. "You're not the only one who can't sleep, apparently." "Ranch business?" "Always." He gestured at the papers spread across his desk.
"End of year accounts, supply orders for winter, salary calculations. The glamorous life of a ranch owner. Evelyn sat down in the chair across from him without being invited, too tired to stand on formality. Do you ever regret it, building all this? Some days.