He wasn’t a man to pay much attention to girl children, but this one was different. She didn’t seem interested in cooking or clothes. More likely, she’d be in the canyon, fishing the Cimarron River. Her brother was the dreamy one, the one watching the fish swim ’stead of trying to catch ’em.
So the man was surprised when she came around the curve of the path and stopped to watch him cook the wild carrot root. He’d cut off the flowers and was slicing the root into the pot on the fire.
“Good eatin’,” he told her. “Back home, they say these make your eyes strong.”
She frowned. “Not that,” she said, shaking her head.
He was hungry. He lifted the last piece to his mouth.
“No!” she said sharply.
He raised an eyebrow at her and lowered his hand.
“That isn’t carrot,” she said. “It’s poison hemlock.”