They just ate.
And the relief in the room was thick enough to taste.
After supper, Harlon found Charlotte's supplies still stacked in the kitchen and stood there for a long moment, his hand on a sack of flour.
"I should have asked for help sooner," he said to Norah.
"Yes."
"Should have swallowed my pride weeks ago."
"Yes."
"You're not going to make this easier, are you?"
"Would you want me to?"
Norah was mending again.
Always mending.
The pile never seemed to shrink.
"You need to hear it. Your pride almost killed your family."
Harlon flinched, but didn't argue.
"What do I do now?"
"You learn. You remember. You don't make the same mistake twice."
She bit off thread.
"And you find a way to pay Charlotte back that matters, because people like her don't come around often."
"She said we could help her in spring."
"Then you make sure you're in a position to help come spring. That means keeping this ranch alive through winter. That means accepting help when it's offered. That means teaching your boys that asking for help isn't weakness. It's survival."
Harlon sat down heavily.
"I don't know if I can do that."
"Then learn. Same as the rest of us."
He looked at her with something between frustration and respect.
"You don't pull punches, do you?"
"Would you prefer I did?"
"No."
He stood, grabbed his coat.
"I'm going to check the livestock one more time before bed."
"Harlon."
He paused at the door.
"Thank you," Norah said. "For listening. For trying. For not giving up even when it would be easier."
He nodded and disappeared into the cold.
The next week brought more snow, but less of it.
Enough to keep them isolated.
Not enough to bury them.
The days fell into a rhythm dictated by survival.
Wake before dawn.
Work until dark.
Fall into bed exhausted.
Repeat.
Thomas spent hours each day breaking ice on water troughs.
Eli kept the animals fed with dwindling hay supplies.
Cade and Porter handled firewood, a never-ending job in cold this brutal.
Reeve helped where he could, still silent, still watching everything with those dark eyes.
And Ru stayed close to Norah.
Helping in the kitchen.
Asking endless questions.
Soaking up attention like someone who'd been starving for it.
"Tell me about St. Louis," he said one afternoon while they were baking bread.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. What it looked like. What people did there. Why you left."
Norah measured flour carefully.
Their supplies were better now, but still needed rationing.
"It was big. More people than you've probably ever seen in one place. Buildings so tall they blocked out the sun on some streets."