“Silas,” someone called, amused. “What in hell are you doin’?”
“What I gotta,” Silas said. “Banks crawlin’ up my backside. Need me a fair price. Ain’t no use pretendin’ these girls don’t need husbands anyhow.”
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?”
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