"The same way you fix everything else. One piece at a time. One day at a time. Stop trying to solve everything at once and just do the next right thing."
Harlon looked at their joined hands like he'd forgotten what human comfort felt like.
"What's the next right thing?"
"Talk to Thomas. Really talk to him. Tell him what you just told me."
"He won't want to hear it."
"He's desperate to hear it. He's been waiting two years to hear it."
Norah squeezed his hand once more, then let go.
"Tell him you're sorry. Tell him you're trying. Tell him you need his help. Those three things will matter more than any fence you fix or cattle you save."
Harlon nodded slowly.
"And after that?"
"After that, you keep trying every day until trying becomes living again instead of just surviving."
He finished his coffee in silence, then stood at the door.
He paused.
"Norah."
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're here. Even if everything else is falling apart, I'm glad you're here."
He left before she could respond.
Norah sat alone in the kitchen, listening to the house settle around her.
Upstairs, floorboards creaked as someone shifted in sleep.
Outside, wind rattled the shutters.
In the distance, a coyote called, and another answered.
Three weeks ago, she'd arrived at this ranch expecting hardship.
What she'd found was harder than hardship.
It was a family so broken they'd forgotten what whole looked like.
Boys who'd lost their mother and then lost their father to grief.
A man drowning in responsibility and pride and inability to ask for what he needed.
She couldn't fix all of it.
Maybe couldn't fix any of it.
But she could stay.
She could try.
She could keep pushing them toward honesty and connection even when they resisted.
That would have to be enough.
Norah finished Charlotte's preserves, cleaned the jar, and went upstairs to bed.
Tomorrow would bring new problems.
More work than hours to do it.
More evidence of everything falling apart.
But it would also bring another chance to build something from the wreckage.
And for now, that possibility was enough to sleep on.
The first real snow came in November, three weeks earlier than anyone expected.
Norah woke to silence.
The kind that happens when the world gets buried under something it can't fight.
She dressed quickly in the cold room, her breath visible, her fingers clumsy with buttons.
Downstairs, she found Harlon already awake, staring out the window at a landscape transformed into something white and unforgiving.
"How bad?" she asked.
"Bad enough."
His voice was flat.
"Brecket Road's going to be impassable. Won't see supply wagons for weeks, maybe longer."
"We have enough if we're careful."
"If nothing else goes wrong."
He pulled on his coat.
"That's a lot of ifs."
Thomas appeared on the stairs, already dressed for outside work.
"I'll get the livestock closer to the barn. Eli can reinforce the chicken coop before the weight of the snow collapses it."
"I'll help," Harlon said.
They left without breakfast, driven by the urgency of weather that didn't wait for preparation.