Eli snorted.
"Finished."
His tone made it sound like a transaction.
"Pa's inside?"
"South pasture. Won't be back till dark."
Norah stepped forward, trying to project confidence she didn't entirely feel.
"I'm pleased to meet you all. I know this is strange, but I hope..."
"We don't need hope," the sharp-eyed boy interrupted. "We need someone who can cook and clean without making things worse."
"Cade," Thomas said sharply. "Shut it."
Cade didn't shut it.
"What? It's true. Last woman who came out here lasted three days before she ran back to town crying about how we were animals."
"That was a housekeeper," Eli said.
"Same difference."
Cade's eyes stayed on Norah.
"You know how to cook?"
"Yes. For eight people if that's what's needed."
"You know how to sew? Mend clothes? Fix things that break every damn day?"
"Cade," Thomas warned again.
But Norah held up a hand.
"I know how to sew. I worked in a dress shop for six years before I was married the first time. I can mend anything that can be mended. And yes, I can cook for eight people, or 10, or however many need feeding."
Cade studied her for a long moment, then shrugged.
"We'll see."
The younger boys still hadn't spoken.
Norah crouched down slightly, trying to make herself less imposing.
"You must be Porter and Reeve."
The taller of the two nodded.
Nine years old, Thomas had said.
Porter.
His eyes were wide and cautious, like a deer deciding whether to bolt.
"I'm Porter," he confirmed quietly. "That's Reeve."
Reeve said nothing.
Just stared at her with an expression Norah couldn't quite read.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Something else entirely.
"Where's the youngest?" Norah asked, standing. "Ru?"
The boys exchanged glances.
Thomas sighed.
"Probably in the kitchen. He's always in there around supper time."
"He cooks?"
Norah couldn't hide her surprise.
"Tries to," Eli's voice was flat. "Usually makes a mess, but at least he tries."
Norah's chest tightened.
A four-year-old trying to cook supper because no one else had time.
She'd seen poverty before.
Seen families stretched beyond breaking.
But something about that image hit harder than expected.
"Show me inside," she said.
Thomas led the way.
The house smelled like wood smoke, unwashed laundry, and something burnt.
The main room was larger than the exterior suggested, with a stone fireplace dominating one wall and a rough wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs.
Dishes were stacked haphazardly.
Dust coated every surface.
A basket of mending sat in the corner, overflowing.
And in the kitchen, barely visible over the counter, stood the smallest boy Norah had ever seen trying to cook.