“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He removed his hat.
“To offer you work.”
That surprised her.
“What kind?”
“Winter shirts.”
She looked at him.
“For who?”
“My ranch hands.”
“How many?”
“Forty.”
Nellie stared.
Josiah nodded toward his wagon approaching behind him.
The red flannel was inside.
“I hear you’re the best seamstress in the valley.”
“Who told you that?”
“Three people.”
“Name them.”
“Higgins.”
“That’s one.”
“Mrs. Delaney.”
Nellie’s expression softened slightly.
“The schoolteacher?”
“Yes.”
“Third?”
“My foreman.”
“Amos?”
“He has two shirts you made six years ago.”
Nellie almost smiled.
“Those ugly things?”
“He says they’re the only shirts that survived him.”
“That speaks poorly of your other suppliers.”
“Probably.”
She folded her arms.
“I don’t need charity, Mr. Langden.”
“I’m not offering charity.”
“You bought forty yards of cloth because Harriet insulted me.”
“I bought forty yards of cloth because Harriet wanted five.”
“That proves my point.”
Josiah’s mouth moved slightly.
Almost a smile.
“I’m offering a contract.”
“How much?”
He named a price per shirt.
Nellie stared.
“That’s too much.”
“It’s what I pay in Cheyenne.”
“Then order from Cheyenne.”
“I don’t want to wait for freight.”
“You said this wasn’t charity.”
“It isn’t.”
“You’re paying above valley rate.”
“I’m paying below winter emergency rate.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You argue like a lawyer.”
“I pay lawyers so I don’t have to.”
Nellie looked toward the wagon.
Red flannel.
Enough fabric to fill her workroom.
“And the cloth?”
“Already paid.”
“I pay for my own materials.”
“Then deduct it.”
“How much?”
Josiah gave the amount.
Nellie’s eyes widened.
“That would eat half the contract.”
“Then don’t deduct it.”
“Mr. Langden.”
“I can’t return the cloth.”
“You can.”
“I won’t.”
She stared at him.
He held her gaze.
Finally she said:
“Why?”
He looked toward the fields.
For a moment, the confident rancher seemed older.
“Twelve years ago, I buried my wife.”
Nellie said nothing.
“Sarah.”
His voice lowered.
“She died giving birth.”
Nellie knew that story.
Everyone did, vaguely.
Josiah continued.
“Afterward, people kept bringing food.”
A bitter smile.
“Pies. Stew. Bread.”
“That sounds kind.”
“It was.”
“But?”
“But none of them knew how to talk to me.”
Nellie understood immediately.
“They wanted to help without looking directly at the hurt.”
“Yes.”
He looked back at her.
“My ranch almost failed that year.”
“That part I didn’t know.”
“Most people don’t.”
“How close?”
“Closer than I like remembering.”
“What happened?”
“Your grandfather.”
Nellie froze.
“Samuel?”