The boys eat it at noon and again near sundown. Though there ain't many boys left anymore. Nia continued kneading the dough. Hank said two men left for this railroad. Jed Carver and Asa Quinn, both good with cattle.
Virgil Shaw walked off not long after, and May Larkin decided an empty kitchen was worth more than staying on a ranch that's dying. Clay looked through the window toward the black remains of the storage shed. Lost near all our winter hay last night. Nia's hand stopped for only a moment. How much is left?
Enough to keep the herd alive this week. Not enough to carry them through October and the water. Clay turned back toward her. Drops lower every day. Creek barely reaches the eastern troughs now.
North pastures finished. Flint Cattle Company canceled the contract because Rhett couldn't guarantee delivery. He said it without self-pity. Men like Clay Boon did not dress disaster in pretty words. Out west, ruin was spoken of much the same way as wind or drought.
Something real that did not improve because a man complained about it. Nia returned to the dough. Was the fire an accident? Something shifted in Clay's eyes. That's the question.
He left before she could ask anything more. Dusty Wade and Luke Mercer came in first at noon. Dusty wore an easy grin and had a small gap between his front teeth. Luke looked younger, though he seemed determined to hide it behind a serious expression. Both men studied Nia with open curiosity.
Neither mentioned the black braids falling down her back. Neither said anything about her moccasins. But Nia knew that kind of silence. She had heard it in other kitchens. It was the silence that came before a joke, an insult, or a judgment, the quiet of people who had already decided what you were worth before watching you do a day's work.
They ate quickly. Clay took his usual place at the far end of the table. Red arrived last with a ledger tucked beneath one arm. He sat without greeting anyone, spooned beans onto his plate, opened the book, and began reading while he ate. Nia watched him turn the pages.
Columns of figures, names crossed out, payments overdue, debts stacked against debts. Rhett lifted food to his mouth without tasting it, as if even the few minutes spent sitting at a table were another expense the ranch could barely afford. When his glass emptied, Nia filled it. Rhett barely looked up. She returned to the kitchen.
She did not need thanks. Nia had worked in houses where a woman could keep a man fed, clothed, and alive for years and still be treated like another chair pushed against the wall. While she washed the dishes, voices carried in from the yard. The first belonged to Rhett, low controlled. The second belonged to a man Nia had never heard before.
You can't keep losing cattle, contracts, and hired hands, the stranger was saying. This ranch is bleeding itself dry. I know exactly what shape my ranch is in, Rafe. Nia slowed the movement of her hands. Rafe Crow.
Then you know my offer is fair, he continued. Western Range and Trust would pay you enough to start over somewhere else. Somewhere with water. I'm not selling. That's what you say today.