Six Years Earlier

Laurey forced herself to sit upright at the sound of a knock at her front door. She'd begun to hate anything that drew her from her bed and the warm comfort of her sheets. Aunt Eller always used to talk about life going on, about being tough, being hearty, but it no longer seemed possible. Laurey had always been more delicate, hadn't known any real heartache until the last four months.

After losing Aunt Eller, then losing Curly; it wasn't fair that she had to worry about the farm as well. She should be allowed to lie in bed for years, to not even think about petty things. She should do nothing but focus on the people she lost, the people she loved more than anything, and who had loved her more than anything.

There was another knock, more insistent this time. She threw on a robe—one of Aunt Eller's favorites—walked downstairs, and opened the door.

A stranger stood in front of her. She noted with relief that he was too dirty to be from the bank, or even be another farmer she owed money to.

"You Mrs. McClain?" His voice was as rough as the rest of him, and she got the sense he didn't do much talking, especially not to women.

"That's me."

"Name's Jud Fry. Lookin' for a job, and the folks at the Parker place said you needed a hired hand."

"Oh, right. Right, please come in." She pulled the robe tighter around her, suddenly aware of her immodesty. "Won't you sit down?" Acting as an employer was completely unfamiliar for her, especially in nothing but a robe and nightgown. She had never hired someone before, had always been on the farm as either a child or a wife, and most hired hands quickly learned not to ask her any serious questions. She stood at the kitchen counter and tried her best to sound professional, like running a farm came naturally to her. "I can't pay you very much, I'm afraid. It's good farmland, but my husband, he was no kind of farmer. Thought he knew better than the hired hands, but…well…"

"He dead?"

"Thrown from his saddle" she nodded, disarmed by his bluntness.

"You here all alone, then?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling downright naked under his penetrating, dark stare. Desperate, she tried to think of what to say, to get back to talking business.

"Like I say, I can't pay you much, but" she remembered what Aunt Eller had done during lean times; let some of the hired hands stay in the smokehouse, let them decide if they wanted a steady paycheck or a percentage of what the farm made, given them three meals a day. Laurey could do that, even if that meant cooking again. She steadied herself against the kitchen counter and twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, a nervous habit she'd always had. "I'm sure we can, uh, enter into some arrangement." She thought that sounded properly businesslike, and stared in confusion when Jud stood up and settled his hand on her waist. She stood, frozen, as he pressed his hips up against hers and cupped her face his hand.

"Yeah, I'd sure like that, Miss Laurey"

She slapped him across the face, quick and sharp, before he could kiss her. It was the one thing she could think to do in order to let a man know she wasn't interested. She'd only ever been with Curly, and no boy before him had ever been so fresh.

It was an instinct she regretted almost as she did it. He knew she was a woman alone, and for all she knew, he was armed. Even if he wasn't, it wouldn't be difficult for him to overpower her. Her hand still flung out, she stared wide-eyed, wondering what he was going to do to her.

"Christ, what was—" he seemed alarmed, and more than a little confused, but not as mad as he could have been.

She cringed internally as she realized her mistake. Of course that's what he had assumed, with her leaning back like that and playing with her hair taking about entering into arrangements. "Oh, no, you thought I wanted…I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't mean it that way. I meant, you know, like, a financial arrangement. Not like what you had in mind. I'm sorry," she repeated.

"All right, then." he rubbed his jaw, then looked at her as though nothing had happened, like he was used to women slapping him, which was no surprise, considering his forward behavior. "'Financial arrangement.' Sure. Uh, I got some money. Ain't much, but it'd be enough for some seeds, couple supplies. Then I get a cut if you make a profit."

She darted her gaze down to the pattern on the tablecloth, so she wouldn't be distracted by him, so that she could think objectively. It was absurd to think she'd get an offer as good, let alone a better offer. And in the meantime, the farm would yield less and less until she'd be forced to give up the place where she and Curly had been so happy, the place where she'd grown up under the loving gaze of her parents and Aunt Eller. It was worth anything to keep the farm.

What he did made her uncomfortable, but he didn't seem dangerous, just a little awkward. And a tiny part of her was glad that a man still found her attractive, attractive enough that he'd give up being paid if it meant being with her. She couldn't pretend it wasn't the tiniest bit flattering.

"All right, Mr…Fry, wasn't it? You put up some money, and I'll…I'll trust you."

"I'll do my best, Mrs. McClain."

"I'm sure you will." She cleared her throat, tried to think what Aunt Eller would have done to make a hired hand feel at home.

"What kinda" she was about to say 'sleeping arrangements', but knew that phrasing would be asking for trouble, or at least some kind of joke, "living…space would you like? Some other hired hands we've had like sleepin' outside or in the barn, but the last hired hand lived in the old smokehouse. It's small, but it's got a bed. Warm in the winter, not too hot in the summer"

"That sounds alright. I'll stay there."

D'you need my help fixin' it up for you? 'Sides gettin' you clean sheets, of course. Got some old flower vases, can make you some curtains or somethin'."

"Nah, just got some pictures to put up."

"Oh, I can help, I got an eye for things like that," she offered, eager to help and make up for slapping him over a misunderstanding.

He smirked. "They ain't pictures you'd like to see."

"Right." Maybe she didn't have to feel too bad for slapping him. "Well, take the sheets anyway." She grabbed a set from the linen cupboard and thrust it in his arms. "I'll take you there."

She walked him to the smokehouse, pointing out different parts of the farm along the way.