Two were older men with sun darkened faces, and dust worked deep into their shirts. Everett could easily have walked to the counter first. He didn't. He let them eat. By the time he reached Rebecca, only one serving of beef remained.” What'll it be?
“She asked.” That stew. “” What stew? “” The one at Miller's Crossing. “Rebecca folded her arms. That meal existed because 20 hungry people were trapped in a storm with half a pantry. I remember I couldn't make it again if I tried. He considered this.
What was in it? Whatever Amos Bell had forgotten in his cupboards. That's not helpful. It wasn't meant to be. His eyes held hers.
There it was again. That quiet attention. Rebecca turned toward the stove before she spent too long noticing it. What kind of day have you had? Everett frowned.
What your day? I came for lunch and I'm deciding what to feed you. He glanced at the food. Beef seems fine. Rebecca looked at his shirt.
Dust covered one shoulder more heavily than the other. His left hand rested against the counter, but his fingers stayed slightly curled. There was dried mud along the side of one boot. You've been repairing fence. His eyebrows rose.
Since before sunrise, wire mostly. That explains the hand. He looked down at it. Old injury. Rebecca said nothing else.
She put the remaining peppered beef into a skillet with onions and potatoes, added a spoonful of drippings, and let the edges brown. Then she cut him two thick pieces of skillet bread. When she set the plate down, Everett looked at it. I didn't order all this. You asked for lunch.
He placed a coin on the counter. Rebecca pushed part of it back. That's too much. Keep it. No.
Most men would have turned the moment into an argument. Everett picked up the returned coin. All right. He sat at the end of the rough counter Harvey had helped her build from two pine planks. Rebecca went back to work.
She heard Everett take the first bite. Against her better judgment, she looked over. He caught her. Rebecca immediately reached for the coffee pot. Well, different.
You wanted the same thing? No. He took another bite. This is better for today. Rebecca stopped.
Everett looked at the plate, then at her. You asked about my day. He had understood. She poured his coffee. That's the idea.
Everett ate slowly. When he finished, he wiped the plate clean with the last piece of bread and set it neatly beside his cup. Thank you, Miss Foster. You're welcome, Mr. Hail.
He stood. Need anything from town? Rebecca glanced at him. You came from town. I'm going back through.