Page 75 of In These Hills

That got Josephine’s attention, as did the flicker of uncertainty in Mr. Coburn’s eyes.

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“Then do what you need to do. Whatever Doc says, too. And Dodge . . .” Mr. Daniel’s voice gentled. “However this turns out, I’m grateful you’ve decided to stay here.”

Hope warmed Mr. Daniel’s features. The opposite settled in Mr. Coburn’s.

“You and Bethie aren’t going to Wyoming?” Josephine blurted before she could stop herself.

Dodge Coburn finally looked at her. “No, ma’am. We’re staying put.”

“And Lynchburg is the better for it.” Jack Daniel turned to Josephine. “Anything Dodge needs, Mrs. Dunham, already has my approval.”

“I understand, sir.” What she didn’t understand was the small spark of pleasure she felt at learning Dodge Coburn wasn’t leaving.

Mr. Daniel checked his pocket watch. “Tom Motlow asked me to stop by the bank this morning. Dodge, would you stay and help Mrs. Dunham with payroll? Just get her started.”

“Will do, sir.”

“My meeting won’t take long. I’ll head up to the farm after.”

He left the door open, and Dodge Coburn knelt and withdrew a thick leather pouch from the safe. “Has he gone over payroll details with you?”

“Some. I’ve prepared the ledger and addressed the envelopes with each employee’s name.” Josephine removed the stack from the desk drawer. “But I don’t know what each employee earns.”

He thumbed through the envelopes, whistling low. “Alphabetical. We usually just scribble names as they come in.”

“I like order, and things being in their proper place.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m sure you do.”

She felt a prickle of defensiveness. “Mr. Daniel is paying me to organize this office, Mr. Coburn, which means—”

“I meant no disrespect, ma’am.” He lifted a hand. “Truth is, I’m impressed. Uncle Jack is, too.” He looked around. “This place hasn’t looked this good since . . . well. Ever. He says you’re doing a fine job. And I appreciate it.”

She let out a breath. “And I apologize for misreading you.”

His gaze held hers. “Friends again?”

She made a show of weighing her options. “Perhaps . . . if you’ll tell me where to get the jerky you gave me that day in the wagon.”

He studied her. “From memory, that didn’t sit too well.”

“That’s because I hadn’t eaten and was not in a good way. I usually don’t like jerky, but that was . . . delicious.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that compliment.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You made it?”

His brow furrowed. “Now that I think I should definitely take offense at.”

“Probably,” she admitted, grinning. “But I’m surprised, that’s all. And—fine—a little impressed. What do you put in it that makes it taste so good?”

A shadow crossed his expression.

Then she understood. “Ah . . . An old family recipe you don’t share.”

“No, ma’am, it’s not that. I just—”