Biscuits went into Dutch ovens beneath hot coals. She browned onions in two skillets at once, while dried apples cooked down with molasses in a smaller pot. Near noon, a well-dressed rider came through the gate on a chestnut horse. He was perhaps 45, with silver beginning at his temples and gloves too clean for the work happening around him. Everett met him.
They shook hands. Franklin came past Rebecca carrying a water bucket. “Edwin Mercer,” he said quietly. “Barm M Ranch, neighbor, East Side.” Rebecca glanced toward the rider. Edwin Mercer was looking at her.
Not long, just long enough. Then his attention returned to Everett. Lunch began at 12:30. The men came in waves, dusty, sweating, hungry enough to stop talking when the first plates appeared. Rebecca stood behind the serving table with her apron marked by smoke and flour.
Beans first, biscuits on the end, coffees there. If you want more, finish what you've got. The first 10 men obeyed without comment. The 11th did not. He was broad through the chest, red-haired, perhaps 30.
He looked at Rebecca, then at the food, then back at Rebecca. Hope there's enough left for us, he said. A few men glanced over. Rebecca continued filling his plate. He grinned.
Cook looks like she might have sampled half of it already. The yard changed. Not much. Enough. Rebecca heard a boot scrape behind her.
Everett. She looked past the ranch hand. Everett was coming toward them. Slowly. His face had gone still.
The red-haired man saw him, too. His grin disappeared. Rebecca sat down the ladle. Mr. Hail.
Everett stopped. Rebecca picked up the plate. She held it toward the ranch hand. Eat first. He stared at her.
She kept the plate extended. Then decide whether you've got anything worth saying. Nobody laughed. That mattered. The man took the plate.
Rebecca looked toward the next cowboy. You eating? Yes, ma'am. Then move. The line started again.
Everett remained where he was. Rebecca did not look at him. She didn't need him to rescue her from a fool with a hungry mouth. After a moment, his boots moved away. The meal continued.
20 minutes later, the red-haired cowboy returned. Rebecca saw him coming. His plate was empty. He placed it on the table. She waited.
He looked at the beans. Anymore? Rebecca filled his plate. He looked uncomfortable. Biscuits, too?
She added too. He nodded once. Thank you. You're welcome. He stepped aside.