PART 2 — THE SUPPER THAT SILENCED TWENTY-FIVE MEN

The moment Giannis Wells stepped into the mess hall, he stopped.

Twenty-five ranch hands were already gathered around the long wooden tables.

Nobody was complaining.

Nobody was arguing.

They were all staring toward the kitchen counter.

And behind it stood Josephine Cartwright.

Her navy dress was covered by a flour-dusted apron. A few loose strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed from hours beside the iron stove.

But she stood straight, her expression calm.

On the counter sat three enormous pots.

One held thick, dark beans glistening with molᴀsses and smoky pork. Another contained crispy pieces of salt pork mixed with fragrant wild onions. Beside them sat a basket piled high with golden biscuits.

Giannis looked at the food.

Then at Josephine.

“What is this?”

“Supper, Mr. Wells.”

“I can see that.”

“Then I believe we’re ready to eat.”

A few men chuckled.

Giannis ignored them.

He approached the counter and examined the beans.

“Where did you get the ingredients?”

“Your pantry.”

“My pantry doesn’t contain food like this.”

“It contained food that could become this.”

She placed a bowl in front of him.

“Try it before it gets cold.”

Giannis stared at her.

He wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do in his own kitchen.

But the smell was impossible to ignore.

He picked up a spoon and tasted the beans.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

The sweetness of the molᴀsses came first, followed by the smoky salt pork and the earthy fragrance of sage. The beans were tender, and the broth was thick enough to coat the spoon.

He took another bite.

Across the room, Wilbert watched him carefully.

“Well?” the foreman asked.

Giannis lowered his spoon.

“It’s good.”

Jebediah nearly dropped his tin plate.

“Good?”

Giannis looked at him.

“Do you need me to explain the word?”

The room erupted in laughter.

Josephine began serving the men.

At first, they approached cautiously. They had expected another miserable meal, perhaps even a reason to complain.

Then the first cowboy tasted his beans.

He stopped chewing.

The second took a biscuit.

The third reached for the pork.

Within minutes, the room was filled with the sounds of spoons scraping bowls and men asking for seconds.

“Miss Cartwright,” Caleb called, raising his empty plate. “I don’t suppose there’s more of that bread?”

“There is.”

“Then I may have to reconsider my entire opinion of this marriage business.”

Another man laughed.

“Forget marriage. Ask her to marry the kitchen!”

Josephine smiled politely.

For the first time since arriving, she felt the tension leave her shoulders.

She had done it.

She had fed twenty-five hungry men with a pantry that most cooks would have considered hopeless.

But Giannis wasn’t smiling.

He was watching her.

Not with the irritation he’d shown that afternoon.

With something closer to confusion.

When supper ended, every pot was nearly empty.

Jebediah leaned back in his chair.

“I haven’t eaten like that since my mother was alive.”

Caleb nodded.

“Old Henderson would have given his left boot for those biscuits.”

Josephine looked down.

“I’m sure he had his own good recipes.”

Wilbert cleared his throat.

“Well, I suppose you won’t be riding back to Chicago tomorrow.”

A few men laughed again.

But Giannis remained silent.

He rose, placed his empty bowl on the counter, and waited until the others had left.

“Come with me,” he said.

Josephine wiped her hands.

“Where?”

“My office.”

She followed him across the yard.

Inside, Giannis removed his hat and placed it on the desk.

“You worked in a professional kitchen.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“An establishment in Boston.”

“What kind?”

“A boarding house.”

“How many guests?”

“Fifty, sometimes more.”

Giannis stared at her.

“Every night?”

“Most nights.”

“Then why did the agency describe you as a simple farm girl?”

Josephine’s expression тιԍнтened.

“Because my aunt never allowed me to be anything else.”

He waited.

“My aunt owned the boarding house. I worked in the basement kitchen for ten years. She told guests that the meals were prepared by her hired cook. She kept the profits, and I received a small allowance.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“Because I had nowhere to go. And because she convinced me that nobody else would employ a woman who looked like me.”

Giannis looked toward the window.

For the first time, he seemed ashamed.

“I shouldn’t have judged you before you had a chance to prove yourself.”

“No,” Josephine answered quietly. “You shouldn’t have.”

He nodded.

“You’re right.”

She hadn’t expected an apology.

It was strangely unsettling to hear one.

Then Giannis opened a drawer and removed a stack of bills.

“The ranch needs a cook. The men need someone who can manage the kitchen. I’ll pay you properly for the work.”

Josephine glanced at the money.

“And what about being your wife?”

He paused.

“I won’t demand that you pretend to love me because you can cook.”

“That’s reᴀssuring.”

“But I would like you to stay long enough for us to get acquainted.”

Josephine studied him.

“You thought I was useless this morning.”

“I was wrong.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I’ll try not to be.”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Before she could answer, someone knocked sharply on the office door.

Wilbert entered without waiting.

“Boss, we’ve got trouble.”

“What now?”

“Three riders just came through the south gate. They’re from the Cheyenne bank.”

Giannis’s expression hardened.

“Tell them I’ll meet them tomorrow.”

“They say they won’t wait.”

Wilbert looked at Josephine, then lowered his voice.

“They brought a foreclosure notice.”

The room went quiet.

Josephine looked at Giannis.

He had not mentioned the bank during their conversation.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

Giannis folded his arms.

“It means the bank believes I owe more than I can pay.”

“And do you?”

He didn’t answer.

Wilbert shifted uneasily.

“There’s more. The men are talking about leaving if the ranch gets taken. They haven’t been paid in six weeks.”

Josephine turned toward him.

“Six weeks?”

Giannis’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“I’ve been trying to keep the ranch running.”

“By feeding twenty-five men hardtack?”

“That was before you arrived.”

She looked at the empty ledger on his desk.

Then at the papers stacked beside it.

“May I see your accounts?”

Giannis frowned.

“Why?”

“Because if the bank is threatening foreclosure, you need to know exactly where the money went.”

“That’s my business.”

“Then perhaps you should handle it yourself.”

She turned toward the door.

Giannis looked at her back.

“Wait.”

Josephine stopped.

He took a breath.

“Look at them.”

She returned to the desk.

For nearly an hour, she examined the books.

The first pages were ordinary: feed purchases, equipment repairs, wages, cattle sales.

But then she noticed something strange.

Three payments had been made to the same supply company.

All three carried identical amounts.

All three were listed as emergency purchases.

“Mr. Wells, who authorized these?”

Giannis leaned over.

“Those were supposed to be deliveries of grain and winter feed.”

“Did the ranch receive them?”

“Two deliveries.”

Josephine checked the dates.

“The third payment was made four days after the second delivery. But there is no receipt.”

Wilbert came closer.

“That can’t be right.”

Josephine turned another page.

“And someone has been charging you for supplies at nearly double the usual price.”

Giannis’s face darkened.

“Who?”

She pointed to the name written at the bottom of the ledger.

“Bennett Supply Company.”

Wilbert swore under his breath.

“That’s Caldwell’s company.”

Josephine looked up.

“Caldwell?”

“The banker,” Giannis explained. “He owns several businesses around here.”

She turned back to the figures.

“Then perhaps the bank isn’t the only problem.”

Giannis studied the page.

“Are you suggesting someone is stealing from me?”

“I’m suggesting someone has been making money from your desperation.”

Before he could respond, a voice came from outside.

“Mr. Wells!”

A man in a black coat stood in the doorway.

He carried a leather case and wore a polished silver watch.

“I’m Mr. Everett, representing the Cheyenne Agricultural Bank.”

Giannis stepped forward.

“You could have waited until morning.”

“I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

The man placed a document on the desk.

“Your loan is being called in. You have thirty days to settle the outstanding balance, or the bank will begin proceedings to take possession of Broken Spur Ranch.”

Wilbert cursed.

Giannis stared at the paper.

Josephine quietly read the amount.

It was nearly twice what she had expected.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

Everett turned toward her.

“I’m sorry, madam. This is a matter between the bank and Mr. Wells.”

Josephine lifted the ledger.

“Then perhaps you can explain these three payments to Bennett Supply Company.”

Everett’s eyes flickered.

Only for a moment.

But Josephine noticed.

“Those are legitimate expenses,” he said quickly.

“Where are the delivery receipts?”

“That information is not relevant.”

“Then why are you refusing to provide it?”

Everett closed his leather case.

“I suggest you concern yourself with the kitchen, Mrs. Wells.”

Josephine’s face grew still.

“I’m not Mrs. Wells.”

The banker gave a thin smile.

“Not yet, perhaps.”

He turned toward Giannis.

“Thirty days. Do not expect an extension.”

Then he walked away.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Giannis stared at the foreclosure notice.

Josephine placed the ledger beside it.

“Mr. Wells, I think I may be able to help you.”

He looked at her.

“How?”

She pointed to the three suspicious payments.

“First, we find out where that missing shipment went. Then we find out why someone is charging your ranch for goods it never received.”

Wilbert shook his head.

“You’re talking about taking on Caldwell. That man owns half this county.”

Josephine closed the ledger.

“My aunt used to tell me that powerful people never make mistakes.”

She looked at the banker disappearing down the road.

“But they do make records.”

Giannis studied her.

“Why would you risk getting involved?”

Josephine glanced toward the mess hall.

Because those men had eaten her food without laughing at her.

Because, for the first time in years, someone had apologized instead of making excuses.

And because she was tired of watching powerful people decide what her life was worth.

“Because I know what it feels like to have someone else control your future,” she said.

Giannis said nothing.

That night, Josephine returned to the kitchen to clean the last of the dishes.

As she lifted a heavy wooden flour bin, something slid from behind it and landed on the floor.

An envelope.

It was old, dusty, and addressed in a familiar handwriting.

Josephine picked it up.

The name on the front made her blood run cold.

MRS. HIGGINS — CHICAGO MATRIMONIAL AGENCY.

But it was the message written beneath the address that truly frightened her.

Do not send Josephine Cartwright to Broken Spur. The truth about her family must never reach Giannis Wells.

Josephine stared at the envelope.

Then she heard footsteps behind her.

Giannis stood in the doorway.

His face had lost all color.

“Where did you find that?” he asked.

Josephine slowly turned the envelope over.

“Why?”

He looked at the handwriting.

Then he whispered:

“Because the woman who wrote that letter was supposed to be ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

And before Josephine could ask another question, he added:

“She was my mother.”