Cole caught himself glancing before looking away. "I got work to do," he said, grabbing his hat from the peg. "You can rest or come with me." "Up to you. I come," she said quickly, as if staying inside alone was worse. Cole saddled the horse and they walked the fence line together.
Nia stayed close, not speaking, just watching how he checked the posts and tightened the wire. At first, she moved slow, limping from her cut feet, but after a while, she started carrying tools for him without being asked. By midday, the sun was high, and Cole stopped at the creek to water the horse. Nia knelt to wash the mud from her legs. And Cole noticed how carefully she kept her back to him.
Not out of modesty, he realized, but because she was still afraid to let anyone near her blind spot. You don't have to keep looking over your shoulder here, Cole said quietly. She didn't turn, just said, "I keep watch for myself." When I made it back to the cabin, Cole set her on the porch rail with a needle and a scrap of cloth. "You know how to sew?" he asked. She nodded once.
He left her there while he stacked wood. By the time the sun dropped low, she had finished the patch and was already threading the needle again. That night, Cole sat on the porch with his rifle across his knees, watching the tree line. Inside, Nia lay near the fire again. But this time, her breathing came easier.
He knew this wasn't over. Whoever those boys were, they might come looking. And if they did, he'd be ready. For now, the cabin was quiet except for the sound of the crickets outside and the fire snapping low. It was the first time since finding her that Cole felt something other than anger, a thin, cautious sense that maybe she had decided not to run.
The next morning, Cole woke early as usual. The sky was just starting to gray at the edges when he opened the door and stepped outside, the air cooler than the night before. The fire had burned down to embers, and he heard Nia stirring behind him, pulling the coat tighter around her shoulders as she sat up from her blanket. Cole set water to boil and handed her a plate with the last of the cornbread from the night before. She ate it slowly, glancing toward the door as if still expecting trouble.
"You can stay inside today if you want," Cole said as he poured coffee. Nia shook her head. "I work," she said, her voice low but firm. Cole studied her for a moment, then nodded. He didn't want her pushing herself too hard.
Her feet were still cut and sore, but he understood what she meant. Sitting inside all day would make her feel cornered, helpless. He handed her a pair of worn socks he'd dug out of a trunk and told her they'd make it easier to walk. She pulled them on without complaint, then stood near the door, waiting. They spent the morning hauling water from the creek to the trough near the corral.
Nia worked quietly, carrying one bucket at a time, her shoulders stiff with effort. Cole noticed how determined she was, refusing to rest, even when her arms began to shake. "You can sit a spell," he told her. She just shook her head and kept walking. By midday, they had the trough full and Cole brought the horse in a drink.
Nia stayed near the gate, watching carefully, her body tense when the animal moved too quickly. You ever worked around stock before? Cole asked. She shook her head. Not horses, goats, chickens.
You'll get used to him, Cole said, keeping his tone calm. He won't hurt you. Nia nodded but didn't move closer until Cole had finished brushing the horse down. After they ate a quiet meal back at the cabin, Cole went to the shed to grab tools. When he came out, Nia was sweeping the porch with a makeshift broom, her dark hair falling loose around her face.
"You don't have to do that," Cole said. "I do." She replied simply and kept sweeping. Cole didn't argue. It wasn't about cleaning. It was about proving something.
Maybe to him, maybe to herself. In a late afternoon, he took her down the line to check a section of fence he'd been meaning to mend. As they worked, Cole kept watch on the horizon. His eyes tracing the distant road toward town. He hadn't seen anyone come near since the night he found her, but he couldn't shake the thought of those boys and whether they might come looking.
You know their names? He asked finally. Nia hesitated. One called Clay, she said. Others I didn't know.
Cole nodded slowly. Clay. He'd heard the name before. A ranch hands kid who spent too much time in the saloon. Trouble looking for somewhere to happen.
If they show up here, you stay inside, Cole said. Nia's dark eyes met his. You fight them if I have to. His voice was steady, but she could hear the edge under it. They finished the fence just before sundown and headed back to the cabin.
When Cole struck a match and lit the lamp, he noticed Nia watching him closely as if weighing whether to speak. "You take me to town?" she asked quietly. Cole looked at her for a long moment. "Not yet," he said. Not till I know it's safe.
She didn't argue, but something in her shoulders eased as though she'd been afraid he might send her away. That night, Cole cooked beans and salt pork while Nia sat at the table mending one of his torn work shirts. She worked with quick, sure hands, and when she was done, she set the shirt neatly on the table in front of him. "You so better than I do," he said. Her mouth almost curved into a smile, but she only said, "My mother, teach me." When the fire burned low, Cole rolled out his bed roll on the floor instead of taking the cot.
Nia looked at him surprised. "You sleep there? C's yours tonight." Cole said simply. She hesitated, then lay down on the cot, still wrapped in his coat. It was the first time she'd slept off the floor since she came.
Cole stayed awake longer than he meant to, listening to the sounds of the night. The crickets outside, the soft hiss of the fire, the slow rhythm of her breathing as it finally evened out. He felt the old habit of watchfulness settle over him. The one that had kept him alive on scouting missions years ago. But tonight, it felt different.
He wasn't just guarding himself. He was guarding her, too. Before he finally closed his eyes, he made a decision. Tomorrow he would ride to town, quiet, just to see who was hanging around and if anyone was talking about her, if there was trouble coming, he needed to know before it reached his door. For now, the cabin was still.
The fear in her face was fading bit by bit. And though he wouldn't say it out loud, that was enough reason to keep her here another day. Cole was up before dawn the next day. The air outside was still and cold enough that his breath showed. He saddled the horse in silence, checking the cinch twice, then came back inside.
"Nia was awake, sitting on the edge of the cot with the coat still around her shoulders." "You ride?" she asked. "Just in a town," Cole said, pulling on his hat. "I need to see who's hanging around." Her jaw tightened. "Clay." "Maybe," Cole said. "Better I find out than wait for him to come here." Nia stood as if ready to go with him, but Cole shook his head.
"Safer if you stay put. Keep a doorb rifles behind the table if you need it. She hesitated, then nodded once, her face pale but steady. The ride into town was quiet, the sky turning pale gold as the sun came up over the hills. Cole kept his shoulders loose, but every sound made him check the horizon.
When he reached the main street, the town was waking slow, a couple of wagons moving hay, someone sweeping outside the general store. He tied his horse near the feed lot and walked down the boardwalk toward the saloon. The place smelled of stale whiskey, even from outside. Inside, the bartender looked up, surprised to see him this early. Cole bought coffee and took a seat near the back where he could see the door.
It wasn't long before he spotted them. Two boys, about 20, laughing too loud, one of them with hair too long under a sweatstained hat. Clay. Cole recognized him from roundups years back. The same smirk, the same mean glint in the eye.
They didn't notice Cole right away, but when they did, the laughter cut short. Clay squared his shoulders and said just loud enough to be heard. Look who crawled in. Heard you've been keeping a pet up at your place. Cold didn't move.