She did it quietly without being asked, but also without warmth. It wasn't kindness, it was survival. At night, they stayed on opposite sides of the cabin. Cleon is caught, boots on, rifle within reach. Nye on the blanket near the fire.
They didn't speak much, only enough to pass the day. But something began to shift. The silence between them was no longer jagged, no longer a thing that threatened to snap. It was stillness that carried weight. And in that stillness, they learned the shape of each other's presence.
Clay noticed the way she held herself, always upright, proud, even with exhaustion weighing her down. He noticed a faint limp when she walked, likely from a knee she had bruised on the trading post plank. He wondered if she had been beaten before, but he never asked. He noticed, too, how her eyes softened slightly when she worked near the horse. The only time she seemed less guarded.
Nia, in turn, studied him. She watched the way he moved, slow, deliberate, never rushing her, never crowding her. She saw how he set his tools aside at the same place each day. How he muttered under his breath when a fence post wouldn't hold. She noticed he never raised his voice, never touched her without cause.
It didn't erase her mistrust, but it was different than what she expected. On the fourth day, a rider passed along the ridge beyond the creek. Klay was outside repairing the gate when he spotted him. A neighbor, a man named Jeb Rollins, who had a mouth as loose as his morals. Clay's chest tightened.
If Jeb caught sight of Nia, word would spread through town before sunset. He walked back inside, his boots heavy on the floor. Nia looked up from where she sat, mending the hem of the new dress with strips of cord. Someone, she asked, "Neighbor?" Clay answered, voice low. "Keep away from the window." Her brows pulled tight, but she obeyed, drawing back into the corner where the shadows fell deeper.
Placed it near the door until the sound of hooves faded into the distance. Only then did he exhale. He knew it was only a matter of time before others learned she was here. And when they did, the questions would come hard. That night, as they sat by the fire, Nia finally asked the question that had been in her eyes since the start.
Why you do this? Why spend your coins? Clay stared at the flames a long while before answering. His voice was steady but low. Couldn't stomach watching.
That's all. She studied him, eyes searching for the peace that didn't fit. In her world, men didn't do things without reason. They didn't give without expecting. But Klay didn't say anything more.