He found a pair of wool socks that went to Lily's knees and put them on her feet while she sat on the hearth watching him with those grave calculating eyes. He warmed water and cleaned the rope burns on Martha's wrists which were raw and deep and would scar. He spooned warm broth between her lips when she surfaced from unconsciousness. He held her steady when the shaking got bad. He checked the door twice an hour because something in his gut told him the two men he'd sent away were not the end of it.
Around the second hour, Lily said from her spot by the fire, "Wade said Mama deserved what she got." Sam was cutting bandage cloth. His hand slowed. When did he say that? This morning.
Before the men took her outside. She was turning a wooden button over and over in her small fingers. Something she'd found in the seam of his spare coat hanging by the door. He said she wasn't a real Briggs and she never was. He said real Briggs women don't cause problems.
Sam set down the cloth. He looked at this child. Three years old. She had bare feet in enormous wool socks and sat in a stranger's cabin after watching her mother be dragged outside and tied to a fence post. She turned a button over and over in her hands with the focused calm of someone who has learned that panic doesn't help.
You're safe here, he said. Both of you. She looked up at him. Wade has a gun. So do I.
She considered this. She apparently found it satisfactory and went back to the button. Martha woke fully around midnight. Sam heard the change in her breathing and was at the bedside before she could sit up. She tried to do so immediately, swinging her legs over the edge with the automatic urgency of a woman whose body had decided sleep was a liability she couldn't afford.
Easy. He put a hand on her shoulder. His touch was careful and light. You're all right. Lily's sleeping by the fire.
You're in my cabin. You're safe. She looked at Lily. She stared at her for a long ten seconds, watching the rise and fall of her daughter's small chest. Then she pressed both hands over her mouth.
Her shoulders shook once, hard. She pulled it back. How long was I out? About five hours. She looked down at her bandaged wrists.
She turned them over, examining his work. Then she looked at him with those amber eyes that the firelight made into something startling. You didn't have to do this. I know. Most men in this county would have ridden past.