A laugh rolled through the doorway, warm and cruel. Ada felt it hit her like thrown stones. She’d heard men joke about her before, the way they did when they wanted to pretend their words weren’t sharp enough to cut.
A cowhand leaned out, squinting at the three of them. “Which one cooks?”
“Which one’s pretty?” another shouted.
June flinched. Lila swallowed hard. Ada instinctively stepped a half-step closer to her sisters, shoulders rounded like she could shield them from the world with the simple fact of her size.
Silas’s hand jerked Ada forward. “Got two slim ones,” he crowed, gesturing with his chin toward June and Lila like he was pointing out horses at auction. “And this one—” His fingers squeezed Ada’s arm harder, as if her body was a thing he could measure and sell by pressure. “This one’s sturdy. Winter-proof.”
The men howled. One of them slapped the doorframe, delighted with himself.
“Reckon she could feed a man through February,” a voice said, and another voice answered, “Or eat him out of house and home.”
Ada’s face burned so hot it felt like it might melt the snow at her boots. She stared down at the packed dirt, the ice crusted in ruts, and tried to breathe without letting anyone see the shake in her throat.
