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offer.
    Bruce figured she probably came late to the stalls knowing sellers would want to offload their stock so they could leave early the following morning. Most of the traders he'd spoken to wanted to get a full day's travel in before the weather turned bad. He certainly did. Damn, she's good, he thought, a tinge of resentment eating away at his mind.
    “Four,” he said, making a counteroffer.
    Jane held her hand out and dropped three coins in his hand, saying, “Deliver the barrels to the blacksmith forge before dusk.”
    The audacity! Bruce started to say something, but she walked off, saying, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
    Bruce didn't like Jane. She wasn't pretty, her face had been badly scarred by pox as a child and her hair was thin and straggly. To him, she looked sickly and unhealthy. Her hard demeanor only reinforced that impression. A thousand comebacks started flooding through his mind as he watched her walk away. He'd been weak, and she'd sensed that and pounced like a mountain lion. He should have ignored her and driven the price toward ten credits. At the very least he could have wrestled her back to six! Bruce turned, kicking one of the barrels in disgust, but a deal was a deal. He was a man of his word, or so he told himself, the truth was, he had to get rid of these barrels and with the sun sitting low on the horizon buyers were thinning out and heading to their homes. He didn't want to be stuck with any leftover produce, so three credits was better than nothing.
    Bruce borrowed a hand-cart from one of the other traders, loaded up the produce and made his way across town to the blacksmith. As he approached, he could see Jane upstairs, but she didn't see him, she was facing to one side, looking out across the open fields at the dark forest beyond the village. She had the wooden shutters open and was airing out some blankets, draping them over the side of the windows.
    Below the rickety one-room hut lay the forge. With four walls of stone held together with thick layers of mortar, the forge was the sturdiest building in the village. A red glow emanated from within as smoke rose from the chimney, drifting to one side in the cool breeze. Bruce could hear the sound of metal being pounded.
    The old blacksmith saw him approaching and came out to meet him, leaving his apprentice at work inside the smoky building. Bruce pulled the cart up beside the cellar entrance on the western wall of the forge, immediately below Jane. He was sure she'd seen him, although she didn't acknowledge him, disappearing inside the second-story room.
    “Ah,” said the old man, reaching out and shaking Bruce's hand. “Jane said you'd be around before sunset.”
    Bruce responded to the old man's warm greeting. Jane's father was frail, but his handshake was firm. He smiled, revealing several missing teeth.
    “She said you were there at the tollgate and saw the fiasco with the tax collectors.”
    “Yeah,” Bruce replied sheepishly. He hadn't come for a conversation and so was a little taken aback by the man's jovial, chatty nature.
    “She's a fiery one, my Jane, full of vinegar, isn't she?” said the father, slapping Bruce on the arm. Clearly, that ran in the family, thought Bruce. Jane's father laughed, adding, “Oh, I'd love to have seen the look on that bastard's face when she dropped down beside him. I bet he went as white as a sheet.”
    “Yes, he certainly did,” Bruce replied smiling, warming to the old man.
    “These pricks think they can push us around,” the old man said. “Sometimes they need a reminder that life is a two-way street.”
    The old man smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few coins. Dropping them into Bruce's hand, he added, “There's the balance that was due you.”
    The look on Bruce's face must have revealed that something was wrong as the aging man quickly added, “It was six credits, right? Three to secure the purchase. The balance on delivery.”
    Out of the