He wasn't a man given to thinking much about what things meant. But this was different. She wasn't just a stranger under his roof anymore. She was inside his chest in a way he hadn't let anyone in for years. Ayoka moved about the cabin with a new steadiness.
She folded the blanket neat, stoked the fire, and swept the floor without being asked. When she brushed against him passing the table, she didn't flinch. For the first time, she looked comfortable in the small space. By midm morning, Clint saddled his horse and rode the ridge to check for strays. The air carried that tight stillness that came before trouble, though maybe it was only his nerves.
He turned back sooner than planned. As he approached the cabin, he saw smoke rising from the chimney and felt that same strange warmth in his chest. But then he saw the dust trail behind three riders cutting across the valley floor. His jaw tightened. He rode hard back, tied off his horse, and stepped into the cabin.
Ayoka looked up from the stove, her face shifting when she saw his expression. "Men coming," Clint said flat. He mobmed horses with his hand pointing toward the valley. She stiffened eyes wide. He grabbed his rifle from a wall and checked the chamber.
His revolver was already on his hip. He turned to her. "Stay inside. Don't open the door." She shook her head sharply. No hide.
Her voice was rough, but firm. She picked up the small knife she had been using at the stove, holding it tight in both hands. Clint met her eyes, the fight there clear. For a moment, he wanted to argue to push her behind the door where she'd be safe, but he saw the stubborn fire in her and knew it would do no good. He gave one short nod.
The riders came fast, pulling up in front of the cabin, horses stamping in the mud. Clint stepped outside onto the porch. The men from Dry Creek, faces he recognized from the saloon, drunk and loud that day. The one in front leaned forward on his saddle, grinning wide. "You made a fool of us, Morgan," the man said.
"We can't take back what's ours." "She ain't yours," Clint answered, voice low, steady. The man's grin dropped. "You think you could just walk out with her? You think we let that stand?" He pulled his revolver, letting it dangle loose in his hand. The others followed suit.
Clint raised his rifle slow, leveled it steady, turned back. The leader spat, "You ain't got the guts to fire." Before Clint could answer, the door creaked behind him. Ayoka stepped out, knife in hand, blanket falling from her shoulders. Her hair whipped in the wind, eyes dark and sharp. The men laughed when they saw her.