"Kitchen's yours if you'd like it. " She frowned. "What if I don't cook the way you like? " "Then we'll both eat burnt biscuits. " For the first time in many months, the corner of her mouth lifted. Inside the cabin, everything was clean, but simple. A quilt rested neatly on one bed. Family photographs covered a shelf.
An old Bible sat beside a brass lamp. Nothing expensive, everything cared for. Cole placed fresh bread, beans, and smoked venison on the table. "You've probably had enough people telling you where to sit. " He pulled out a chair. "So, you choose. " Clara remained standing.
Years of cruel commands had taught her that kindness often disappeared after dark. She ate slowly. Cole never stared. Never questioned why she flinched whenever a chair scraped across the floor. After supper, he carried another bucket outside.
She followed quietly. Moonlight shimmered across the creek. "You wondering why I bid? " he asked. She nodded. "I needed help. " "That's all? " He smiled. ""No. "" She looked at him carefully.
"I saw everyone laughing. " The breeze stirred the cottonwood leaves. "They laughed because they judged what they could see. " He picked up a smooth stone and tossed it into the creek. "I judged what they couldn't. " She swallowed hard. "You don't even know me. " "I know enough. " "What? " "You stood straight while strangers tried to shame you. " He looked toward the dark pasture where horses grazed peacefully. "That takes strength. " No one had ever called her strong.
Not once. The word settled deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself against the evening chill. Cole noticed. Without a word, he removed his heavy coat and draped it across her shoulders.
It smelled of cedar smoke, leather, and fresh mountain air. "You'll catch cold. " "What about you? " "I've had colder nights. " Their eyes met. For just a heartbeat. Then hoofbeats echoed faintly from somewhere beyond the ridge. Cole turned immediately.
His calm expression disappeared. He listened carefully. Three riders, maybe four. Moving fast, not travelers, hunters. He stepped in front of Clara without thinking.
"Go inside. " Her voice came quietly. "Are they looking for me? " Cole rested one hand near his revolver while keeping his eyes fixed on the dark hillside. "I don't know yet. " The hoofbeats grew louder. Lantern light flickered between distant trees. Someone was coming to the ranch.
Fast, very fast. And whoever they were, they already knew exactly where to find them. Cole waited until the hoofbeats came close enough to count. Four riders. Their horses carried no ranch brands that he recognized.
Each man wore a long trail coat despite the warm night, and each saddle held a rifle within easy reach. Cole lowered the lantern flame beside the porch. Darkness settled over the little ranch. He spoke without taking his eyes from the ridge. "Stay behind me. " Clara nodded, though her pulse hammered inside her chest.
She had spent too many nights waiting for angry voices outside a door. She refused to hide forever. The riders stopped at the front gate. The oldest among them raised one hand. "We're looking for a man named Cole Dawson. " Cole answered calmly.
"You found him. " The stranger glanced toward the cabin. "We don't want trouble. " "Neither do I. " The rider removed his hat. "My name is Walter Briggs. " "We work for Judge Harper in Cotton Ridge. " Cole did not lower his guard. "What brings a judge's men out here after sunset? " Walter looked over his shoulder before answering. "Someone has been buying people with forged contracts. " Clara felt the air leave her lungs.