And when he looked up, she turned away fast. After the meal, Nia surprised him by speaking. Before I was taken, I had a husband. He died when soldiers come. My people scattered.
Her voice was flat, but the words carried weight. I thought I would die, too. Klay listened, his fork still in his hand. He didn't push her for more, but the fact she had offered this much at all told him something had shifted. I'm sorry, he said simply.
You come back maybe, Klay admitted. But I'll handle it. Her eyes narrowed slightly. You protect me. Why?
He set the knife down, looking at her straight. Because you deserve it. Simple as that. For a moment, she didn't move. Her eyes stayed on his dark and searching as though weighing the truth of his words against every betrayal she had known.
Then she looked back at the fire, her lips pressing tight, but her shoulders eased. The night wore on, the storm beating hard against the cabin walls. Nia lay on her blanket near the fire, but sleep didn't come easy. She shifted, restless. Clay watched from the cot, his chest tightening as he saw her curling on herself against the chill.
Finally, he stood pulling his blanket with him. He knelt beside her, holding it out. You'll freeze if you don't take this. She looked up at him, her eyes flashing with something between suspicion and something softer. And you?
I'll be fine. His voice was firm, steady. Slowly, she reached for the blanket. Their fingers brushed again, longer this time, neither of them pulling back quickly. She spread the blanket over herself.
Then, after a pause, shifted it slightly, leaving room. Her eyes lifted to his, a question unspoken. Clay's throat went dry. His body achd to lie down beside her, but his mind fought against it. He stayed still until she whispered, "I'm not afraid." The words hit him harder than he expected.
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.