She hesitated, then shook her head. "White men. Not my people." That explained the fear in her eyes the night she'd slipped under his blanket. It explained why she hadn't gone back south.
"You stay here until your feet heal," Calder said firmly. "We'll figure the rest after." Something eased in her shoulders at that. She pulled the blanket around herself and sat closer to the stove.
For the first time since she'd arrived, Calder saw the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Later, when he banked the fire, she didn't climb into the cot right away, but stayed near the warm coals, sewing until her eyes grew heavy. When she finally lay down, she didn't curl as far from him as before. Calder lay awake listening to the wind and the soft sound of her breathing.
For a man who'd spent the last few years with only cattle and silence for company, it was a strange thing to have another person filling the cabin. But it no longer felt like an intrusion. It felt like the beginning of something he wasn't ready to name. The next day dawned bright but biting cold, frost glazing the troughs and the low grass outside.
Calder rose early as always and found Naya already awake, sitting on the edge of the cot with the blanket around her shoulders. She had been watching the fire burn down to embers, eyes distant. "You sleep?" Calder asked, pulling on his boots. She shrugged one shoulder, then looked up at him.
"Enough," she said, voice low but steadier than before. He nodded and busied himself with coffee. As it boiled, he brought out his small supply of jerky and set some on the table with the last of the bread. She joined him without being asked, sitting opposite him this time instead of keeping her distance.
The shift was small, but Calder noticed. After breakfast, he checked her feet again. The cuts were closing nicely, the swelling almost gone. "You'll walk better today," he said, rewrapping the cloth.
She gave a faint smile. "Good." They spent the morning working in silence. Calder split wood outside while Naya gathered the smaller pieces into a neat pile by the stove.
When he came back in, he found her wiping the table with a damp rag, then rearranging the few tools and supplies on the shelves. She wasn't just passing time now. She was ordering the space, making it hers in some small way. At midday, Calder saddled the horse and gestured to her.
"Ride with me. Slow, just the south pasture." She hesitated, then nodded and followed him outside. He lifted her up onto the horse behind the saddle, careful of her feet, and they rode out under a pale blue sky.
The wind was cold, but she sat straight, holding the back of his coat lightly. Calder used the ride to check the fence line, stopping once to tighten a loose wire. Naya stayed quiet, scanning the horizon like she had been trained to watch for movement. When they turned back toward the cabin, she asked, "No men?"
"Not today," he said. She seemed to relax slightly, her hands loosening on his coat. Back at the cabin, she helped him unsaddle the horse, carrying the blanket to the fence rail and shaking the dust from it. Her movements were sure now, less guarded, and Calder found himself watching her longer than he should have.
That evening, after supper, the cabin was warm from the fire and smelled faintly of beans and wood smoke. Calder sat at the table cleaning his revolver, the task so familiar it let his mind wander. He thought of how she had sat the horse that afternoon, how she had looked around the yard like she was memorizing every inch of it. He had half expected her to bolt the first day she could walk.
But she hadn't. She was still here. When he put the revolver away and turned, he found her sitting on the cot, knees drawn up, watching him. "You should be by the fire," he said, surprised.
She shook her head slowly. "Not cold." Calder stood there for a long moment before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the cot. The air between them felt charged, quiet but full.