Everett looked toward the station. Snow slid from the roof with a soft rush. All right, he said. Rebecca blinked. All right.
I asked the wrong question. He stepped closer, stopping with plenty of space between them. “Ask me again,” Rebecca said. Everett thought, then his eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want?” “That was better.” Rebecca reached inside her coat.
She pulled out a folded sheet of paper worn soft at the creases. Everett stared at it. You already had something planned for 11 days. Rebecca opened the paper against the station wall. It was a rough drawing, a rectangular timber building, a long serving room, kitchen at the rear, pantry on one side, hitching rail outside.
Across the top, she had written two words. Fosters's table. Everett studied it. Rebecca pointed toward the road. There's a rise beside Hail Creek where the stage road bends before your south gate.
Travelers already stopped there to water horses. I know it. I could lease the ground from you. Everett looked at her. Lease?
Yes. He seemed about to object. Rebecca raised one eyebrow. He reconsidered. Fair price, he said.
Fair price, she continued. A proper cookhouse, not a shed. Enough tables for cattle crews when they come through. A counter for travelers who only have 10 minutes before the stage leaves. Everett looked back at the drawing.
Big stove. Two. Pantry here. She pointed. Cold room, north wall, stable.
Not my business. Probably wise. Rebecca folded the paper halfway, then stopped. I want a place where a widow traveling with children can get something hot without having to explain why she's short on money that day. Where ranch hands can eat whether their employer owns 10,000 acres or 10.
Where people coming through the mountains know there's a table waiting. Everett was quiet. Rebecca watched him carefully. Finally, he said, “Where do we start?” Not I'll build it. Not I'll pay for it.
Where do we start? Rebecca smiled. With timber. Everett nodded. I've got timber.
I'll buy it. You drive a hard bargain. You knew that. I did. By spring, the building stood beside Hail Creek.
Harvey made the iron hinges. Franklin helped raise the roof beams. Walter Briggs appeared one morning carrying a toolbox and stayed four days without accepting wages until Rebecca threatened to stop feeding him. Even Commissioner Dyer passed through once and paid for his coffee despite Rebecca telling him it was on the house. The creek ran full again.
And Everett. Everett came nearly every evening. Sometimes he helped. Sometimes Rebecca sent him away because his idea of helping involved moving things she had already arranged. On opening day, a painted timber sign hung above the porch.