Her lips pressed into a tight line before she finally lowered her gaze. By evening, the sky beyond the ridge had turned the color of hammered copper. Cal sat near the fire, running his knife slowly across the sharpening stone. Tala remained wrapped in the blanket nearby. For the first time since Cal had carried her into that cabin, she spoke without waiting for him to ask a question.
"They'll come." Her English remained rough, but there was nothing uncertain about the words. She kept staring at the door. The certainty in her voice made the room feel colder. Cal stopped drawing the blade across the stone.
He did not ask how she knew. Some truths did not require explaining. He slid the knife into its sheath, reached for the rifle, and laid it across his knees. "Then let them try." The fire cracked sharply.
A handful of sparks climbed towards the chimney and disappeared into the darkness above. Tala watched him without speaking, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. Neither of them looked away. The scars from the ropes still marked her body, but something inside that cabin had changed. For the first time since whatever had happened to her, Tala was no longer standing alone.
And Cal Ransom knew one thing for certain. If Boone Kersey or any of his men rode up to that cabin, they would not find a helpless Apache woman waiting to be taken. They would find Cal Ransom standing between them and her. The next morning came cold and clear, the kind of sharp frontier air that filled a man's lungs and carried the scent of pine stronger than good whiskey. Cal stepped onto the porch and swept his eyes across the ridge.
Nothing moved. The country was silent. Too silent. He stood there listening for several moments before going back inside. Tala was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the blanket around her shoulders.
Her eyes followed Cal as he moved across the room. The old distrust was still there. But now something else lived beside it. Curiosity. She pointed toward a sack of dried corn resting on a shelf.
Work? Cal raised one eyebrow. You want to try? Tala gave a slow nod. He brought down the hand mill, set it on the table, and poured in a handful of corn.
Tala sat in front of it and wrapped her still weakened fingers around the handle. The mill groaned as metal turned against metal. Her arms began trembling almost immediately. Still, she kept turning. Cal leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.
Not bad. Tala stopped long enough to catch her breath and looked up at him. She pressed her lips together trying to hide it, but Cal caught the faint spark of pride behind the exhaustion. By midday, Tala decided she was ready to cross the cabin without help. She took several careful steps.
Her legs gave beneath her. She caught the bed post before falling, but Cal was already moving. He reached her in time and caught her around the waist. Tala stiffened instantly beneath his hands. Her breathing sharpened.
But this time, she did not fight him. Their faces were only inches apart. For once, there was no wall of suspicion between them. "Take it slow," Cal whispered. Neither moved for several seconds.