Her eyes narrow. I resist the urge to check the wrapping around my chest or lower my hat brim even more. “Don’t have that many today,” she says, “but I’ll give you a half dozen for three pennies.” Which is a fair price.

After eating so little last night, I need a good meal, and badly. “Do you have a burning pit nearby where I could fry them up?”

“Come on in, and I’ll fry them myself. Split an armful of wood and bring it inside with you.” She nods toward a stack out by a shed. A maul leans against the wall.

I’m not keen to delay. Or go inside a cozy cabin where someone might get too close a look at me. Then again, I can’t afford to turn down a good meal.

I hop down and hitch Peony to the post beside the watering trough. I work hard and fast, one eye on the road. The effort loosens my cramped legs and makes my shoulders sing. When I’m done, I split and stack a little extra, just by way of saying thanks.

I carry my armful of firewood to the house and find the door propped open. A chubby baby, not even a year old, plays in a rail crib. Bacon pops in the frying pan on the box stove. A plate of fried eggs and a steaming bowl of grits wait for me at the table.

The woman reminds me of my mama, with hair that won’t stay neat and a skirt hem that won’t stay clean. Her husband is probably off at work somewhere, maybe panning in a nearby stream or working one of the smaller mines.

“Drop that wood in the basket,” she says when she sees me hovering. “Then have a seat. I made extra since you seemed so determined to work up an appetite.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I tip my hat to her, which reminds me that I ought to take it off while inside.

Her gazes catches on my ragged hair, and I suddenly feel like a rabbit about to bolt, but the moment passes and she scoops some bacon onto my plate. “Eat up.”

My mouth waters as I sit down and grab a fork.

“It’s early to be on the road,” she says. “Getting cold out there too, though your pretty mare looks to be putting on a nice coat.”

Stopping here was another mistake. She’ll remember Peony for sure, if someone comes asking. “She’s always been a good winter horse,” I say around a mouthful of food. After swallowing, I add, “Heading to Dalton to see family. Guess I’m in a hurry to get there.”

“Oh. Thought for sure you were heading west after gold. Anyway, pace yourself. You won’t make Dalton today, no matter how early you start or how hard you go.”

“No, ma’am.”