Clay looked at her, then at the cot. He hesitated before speaking. Cot's warmer. I'll take the floor. She studied him a long moment, then shook her head.
No, you stay. She pulled the blanket tighter. I stay here. But when he lay down on the cot, he could hear her shivering still. He lay awake, the sound clawing at him.
Finally, he pushed up, grabbed his own blanket, and laid it gently across her without a word. Her eyes opened at the touch. Dark and unreadable. For a moment, their hands brushed, hers lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth. He pulled back quickly, retreating to his cot again.
The next day, while Clay worked outside, a rider appeared on the ridge, Jeb Rollins again. This time, he slowed, raining in his horse to watch Clay hammering at the fence. His eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Heard you got company out here, Mercer," he called out. Voice carrying across the open ground.
Word is she's Apache. That true? Clay straightened slowly, hammer still in his hand. Ain't your business, Jeb? Jeb chuckled, spitting in the dirt.
Town's talking plenty. Don't look good, man. Living alone, bringing home a squad he bought off a trader. Folks say what they will. Clay's jaw locked.
He stepped closer to the fence, his voice low but edged with steel. You mind your land, I'll mine mine. Jeb lingered a moment, eyes sharp with curiosity, then turned his horse and rode off. Clay watched him go, the unease gnawing at him. He knew the man's words wouldn't stop at the ridge.
They'd spread like fire on dry grass. Back in the cabin, Nia noticed his tight shoulders. "Trouble?" she asked. "Just talk," he answered, hanging his hat on the peg. "But talk and turn ugly.
You stay close to the cabin. Don't show yourself unless you have to." She nodded once, though her jaw was firm. I'm not afraid. Clay looked at her, admiration stirring despite himself. She had endured more than most, yet still carried herself with pride.