A Seat at the Table

The first thing she noticed in the ranch house dining room was the sound of chairs shifting as men made room for her. The second was the smell of coffee and warm bread. The table was already set with plates, and the bread basket waited near the center.

Charles stood by the hearth, one hand on the chair back, watching her cross the room.

“You finished the parcel?” he asked.

“I did.”

“Good. Sit.”

She blinked once, then obeyed.

He slid the bread basket toward her first, not to the men beside him. The crust gave under her fingers with a soft crack.

“Take some,” he said. “You earned the first piece.”

Margaret broke off a warm roll and held it in her palm. Around them, the ranch hands had gone quiet, not from fear now, but from the easy habit of listening for what mattered.

She lifted the bread to her mouth and smiled before she meant to.