Page 32 of The Fire Line

“Packed and weighed. Priya added a five-pound allowance because she believes we’re all lying about how much we’ll really pack.”

“Probably right.”

“She generally is. It’s exhausting.”

Everything added up. The configurations were sensible, the differences between the horses had been acknowledged, and the final column showed exactly what each person would cost them in supplies and equipment.

Annoying.

“You make this?” Harris asked.

“Eli gave me the equipment weights. Priya calculated consumables. I made the table.”

Harris reviewed it once more, mostly to see whether irritation could uncover an error.

“Looks fine.”

Jay leaned one hip against the table. “You sound almost disappointed.”

“What if I am?”

“I’ll make a deliberate mistake next time so you feel more useful.”

That really should have been the end of the visit. Harris could have closed the folder, and Navarro could have carried it back to the lodge. Instead, neither of them moved.

Outside, insects buzzed in the grass. The refrigerator clicked off behind Harris, and the kitchen went quiet. Jay tightened his grip on the beer bottle and looked at him, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided how.

Harris waited, which was another mistake.

For several seconds, Jay only looked at him. Then his gaze shifted past Harris toward the living room.

“That window is terrible.”

Harris frowned. “What?”

“The western one.”

Jay crossed the room and pulled the curtain aside. The narrow pane framed one slice of the ridge. The peaks still caught the last orange light, while the pasture below was already in shadow.

“You have that entire view,” he said, motioning toward the ridge, “and approximately fourteen inches of glass. It should cover most of the wall. Low enough to see the mountains from the couch, with a deep sill.”

“What the hell for?”

“Coffee. Books. Somewhere to sit when the light’s good.”

“Got chairs.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“You done, Navarro?”

Jay glanced at the couch like he was about to explain exactly why Harris’s chairs were insufficient, but mercifully seemed to change his mind. He released the curtain.

“Sorry. My best friend’s an interior designer. She’s ruined me.”

“Seems difficult.”

“You have no idea.”