The storm reached them two miles north of Ironwood Creek.
At first it was only snow.
Then the mountains disappeared.
Euan rode ahead.
Hester followed with three pack horses tied behind her.
Frank and Ned handled the others.
Every animal carried preserved meat wrapped against moisture.
Two hundred pounds.
Not much compared with the thousands Hester hoped eventually to sell.
Enough to decide whether anyone trusted Ironwood Creek again.
Wind tore across the trail.
Ned shouted, “We should turn back!”
Hester could barely hear him.
Euan looked toward the sky.
They had perhaps two hours before travel became impossible.
“We push to Tanner’s Cut!” he called.
Frank nodded.
Hester did not ask where it was.
She followed.
At one point her horse slipped.
Euan was beside her before the animal regained footing.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Hester—”
“I said yes.”
Then she saw blood.
His glove had torn.
“You’re hurt.”
“Scratch.”
“That’s blood.”
“Still a scratch.”
“Men are astonishing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Despite everything, Euan laughed.
It was the first time Hester had heard the sound.
Not a polite chuckle.
A real laugh.
It changed his face completely.
For one ridiculous second, in a mountain storm carrying two hundred pounds of beef through a sabotaged delivery route, Hester thought:
Oh.
That could be dangerous.
Not the storm.
The man.
They reached Tanner’s Cut near sunset.
An abandoned line cabin provided shelter.
Frank got a fire started.
Ned collapsed against the wall.
“I have reconsidered every decision that brought me here.”
Hester pulled off her gloves.
“You mocked me on my first day.”
“Especially that one.”
She laughed.
By dawn the storm weakened.
They reached the railway camp shortly before noon.
The supply agent stood outside the commissary.
“You’re late.”
Hester dismounted.
“By four hours.”
“Contract says morning.”
“Contract also allows weather delays.”
He stared at the horses.
“You brought it over the pass?”
“Yes.”
“In that?”
“Yes.”
The man looked toward the mountains.
Then at Hester.
“Sample from your first shipment was good.”
“This one is better.”
“You always this confident?”
“When I have numbers.”
She opened one bundle.
The agent tasted a slice.
His expression changed.
“How much can you supply?”
Hester answered.
“Now? Four hundred pounds a week.”
“And next month?”
“Eight hundred.”
Euan looked at her.
Eight hundred?
She continued.
“Provided I have a written commitment.”
The agent smiled.
“You negotiate before breakfast?”
“I ate at four.”
An hour later, Hester walked out with the contract.
Ned shouted loud enough to frighten three horses.
Frank shook her hand.
Euan simply stared.
“What?”
“You said eight hundred pounds.”
“Yes.”
“We can’t produce eight hundred.”
“Not yet.”
“Hester.”
She smiled.
“Then we’d better get home.”
Back at Ironwood Creek, production doubled.
A third curing room went up.
Hunters began selling game legally where regulations allowed.
Ranchers who had once been unable to profit from old livestock found Hester willing to buy at fair prices.
Copperbell noticed.
So did Wallace Kums.
At first he attacked indirectly.
Salt shipments became mysteriously delayed.
Hester responded by ordering from two suppliers.
Then hauling rates increased.
She organized Ironwood Creek’s own wagon schedule.
Then rumors began.
Hester heard the first in town.
She was purchasing flour when two women whispered near the fabric shelf.
“She isn’t really marrying him.”
“Course not. She’s taking over.”
“He’ll wake up one morning and find the deed in her name.”
Hester kept measuring sugar.
The clerk looked embarrassed.
She paid.
Outside, Euan waited with the wagon.
“You heard?”
“Yes.”
“Ignore them.”
“I was.”
“That sounded like anger.”
“I can multitask.”
He smiled.
She climbed aboard.
Then he did something unexpected.
He took her hand.
Not romantically.
Not exactly.
Just openly.
In front of everyone.
Hester looked down.
Then at him.
Euan seemed suddenly unsure of himself.
“Thought it might help with the rumors.”
“Which rumors?”
“That you’re stealing the property.”
“And holding my hand proves?”
“That you’re stealing the owner too.”
Hester laughed so hard she had to look away.
Half the street stared.
Euan grinned.
The laughter changed something between them.
That evening they walked to the smokehouse.
The western sky burned orange.
Hester leaned against the stone wall.
“I should tell you something.”
Euan became serious.
“All right.”
“I did not come expecting love.”
“Neither did I.”
“I came because I wanted a place where my work mattered.”
“It matters.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the camp.
“That is the problem.”
He waited.
“I expected to be useful.”
Her voice softened.
“I didn’t expect to belong.”
Euan swallowed.
“You do.”
Hester looked at him.
The moment stretched.
Then Ned ran from the bunkhouse.
“Fire!”
Flames erupted from the new storage shed.
Men rushed with buckets.
Hester ran faster than Euan had ever seen her move.
“Salt first!” she shouted. “Get the salt out!”
Smoke filled the yard.
A wall collapsed.
Frank dragged two barrels away.
Euan and Samuel formed a bucket line.
After twenty minutes, they stopped the fire from reaching the smokehouse.
The storage building was ruined.
Half their cure salt was gone.
Several finished orders were destroyed.
Hester stood blackened with soot.
She looked at the remains.
Euan touched her shoulder.
“We rebuild.”
She did not answer.
Frank emerged from the wreckage carrying something.
“Found this.”
A bottle.
Kerosene.
Ned swore.
This time nobody pretended it was an accident.
Euan’s jaw hardened.
“I’m going to Kums.”
Hester blocked him.
“No.”
“He’s burning my property.”
“We still don’t have proof.”
“How much proof do you need?”
“Enough to win.”
He stepped closer.
“Somebody could’ve died.”
“Yes.”
Her voice suddenly broke.
That stopped him.
Hester inhaled.
Then more quietly:
“That is exactly why we do this properly.”
Euan realized she was afraid.
Not of Kums.
Of losing them.
She turned toward the men.
“Anybody hurt?”
No.
“Then tonight we count what survived.”
Ned stared at the ruins.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Hester, the shed is ash.”
“And tomorrow it will still be ash.”
She pointed toward the intact smokehouse.
“That building is not.”
Men looked.
“The contract is not.”
Another pause.
“We are not.”
Frank straightened.
That night, Ironwood Creek worked.
Again.
And this time Copperbell helped.
The blacksmith donated hinges.
A rancher brought lumber.
The general store extended salt on credit.
Three women from town arrived with bread.
One of them was the woman who had laughed when Hester stepped from the stage.
She set down two baskets.
“I said something ugly that day.”
Hester looked at her.
The woman’s cheeks reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
Hester nodded once.
“Thank you.”
“Can I help?”
“Yes.”
Hester handed her an apron.
By dawn, Ironwood Creek had become more than Euan’s camp.
It had become something Wallace Kums had not calculated.
A community with a reason to resist him.
Forty-one days remained.
The books improved.
But not enough.
Even with the railway contract, the payment would fall short.
Hester discovered it at three in the morning.
She stared at the ledger.
Euan found her there.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pushed the book toward him.
He read.
His shoulders sank.
“How short?”
She told him.
“That much?”
“Yes.”
“So Kums still wins.”
“No.”
“Hester.”
“No.”
She stood.
“There is another way.”
“What?”
She opened one of her old notebooks.
Inside were recipes.
Curing ratios.
Smoking temperatures.
But also something else.
A product she had developed years ago in New Westminster.
Portable preserved beef.
High protein.
Stable longer than ordinary smoked cuts.
Designed for miners, logging crews, railway men, trappers.
Euan examined the notes.
“Why didn’t you make this before?”
“Because it needs more labor.”
“We have nineteen men.”
“It also needs packaging.”
“We’ll find it.”
“And buyers.”
“We found them once.”
Hester looked at him.
Euan closed the notebook.
“What do we do?”
For the first time since arriving, Hester did not say I.
She said:
“We gamble.”