Conviction maybe, or a lie she could call him on. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it because after a moment she nodded. "All right," she said quietly. "But I'm not hiding. If they come," I faced them.
"Didn't expect anything less," Wyatt said. They stood there in the yard, the wind picking up again, carrying the smell of coming snow. Finally, Ayla turned and walked back to the barn. Wyatt watched her go, then headed for the cabin. Inside, he pulled his rifle down from the rack above the door, checked the ammunition, and set it within easy reach of the table.
He hadn't needed it in months, hoped he wouldn't need it now. But hope wasn't a strategy. The rest of the day passed intense silence. They went through the motions of work, feeding the animals, checking the water troughs, splitting wood for the fire. But the easy rhythm they'd built over the past weeks was gone.
Every sound made them both look up. Every shadow drew their eyes. That night, Ayla didn't go to the barn. "I'll sleep in here," she said when Wyatt started to suggest it. "On the floor by the fire."
He didn't argue. He dragged a chair near the door, the rifle across his lap, and settled in for a long watch. Ayla wrapped herself in a blanket, and lay down near the hearth. But he could tell from her breathing she wasn't sleeping. Neither was he.
They stayed that way until dawn. two people pretending to rest while the darkness pressed against the windows. Morning came gray and cold. Wyatt made coffee and fried cornmeal cakes in bacon grease. They ate without talking, exhaustion sitting heavy between them. When the dishes were cleared, Ayla spoke.
"Teach me to shoot." Wyatt paused, his hand on the coffee pot. "You know how?" "A little, but not well enough." He considered that a woman who could handle a rifle was a woman who could defend herself.
And given the circumstances, it wasn't a bad idea. "All right," he said. "After we finish the fence line." They spent the morning working the north pasture, driving posts into the frozen ground and stringing wire between them. The work was brutal, the kind that left your hands raw and your back screaming, but it kept their minds occupied.
They didn't talk much, just the occasional instruction, the rhythm of labor filling the spaces where words might have been. By midday, they'd finished. Wyatt stepped back, surveying the line of fence stretching across the field and nodded. "That'll hold." Ayla pulled off her gloves and flexed her fingers.
Her hands were red. The skin split in a few places. She didn't complain, just wiped the blood on her pants and looked at him. "Now? Now," Wyatt agreed.