They stole my clothes, cowboy, please help me," said the Apache woman bathing in the lake. The sun was almost down when Cole Merrick rained in near the north pasture. The day had been long, the kind that left his shirt damp with sweat and his shoulders stiff from riding fence. The creek ran slow this time of year, broken into pools under the cottonwoods, but it was enough for cattle and enough for him to check before heading back to the cabin. Cole was 37, a man who had spent half his life on the edge of war and dust.
He'd scouted for the army years back, seen what men could do to each other when no one was looking, and he'd buried a wife who died during the spring fever season 3 years ago. Since then, he kept it himself. The ranch was his whole world now, quiet and honest work that kept his hands busy and his mind from drifting too far. He was thinking about the sagging stretch of fence by the north line when something caught his eye. Movement down by the water.
At first he thought it might be a deer, but the shape was wrong. He slid off the saddle, looped the rains loosely around a low branch, and stepped closer, boots crunching in the dry grass. That's when he saw her. A young woman stood knee deep in the creek, her hair long and dark and dripping down her back, her shoulders tense like a cornered animal. What was left of her dress clung to her frame, torn at the bodice and hanging open so low that Cole's throat tightened before he forced his eyes away.
Her feet were bare, raw from running. Bruises marked her arms, old and new. She saw him and froze. One arm crossed her chest, the other pointed toward the bank where scraps of fabric were scattered in the mud. Her voice came out strained, broken from thirst and crying.
They stole my clothes. Cowboy, please help me. Cole didn't speak right away. He was weighing things who she might be running from. If someone was close behind, if bringing her home would mean trouble, but the fear in her face cut through all of it.
He shrugged out of his coat and held it out to her, moving slow so she wouldn't think he meant harm. Her eyes stayed locked on his, searching for a lie or a trap. After a long pause, she snatched the coat and turned her back, shoulders hunching as she pulled it around her body. "All right," Cole said quietly. He waited enough to take her elbow and help her to the bank.
Her skin was cold despite the heat of the day, her breathing shallow. Up close, he saw more scratches on her legs. The neckline of the torn dress showing the line of her ribs. Cole guided her to the horse, lifting her when her feet wouldn't carry her. She clung to the saddle horn while he mounted, then wrapped her hands in the back of his shirt without being asked.
They rode in silence. The trail back was long and dusty, but Cole didn't push the horse faster than she could bear. He could feel her shaking against his back. When they reached the cabin, he swung down first and steadied her as she slid off the horse. She almost fell but caught herself.
Cole led her inside and lit a lantern. The small flame throwing yellow light across the ruffune walls. The cabin was plain, a table, two chairs, a narrow bed, and a stove with a stack of wood beside it. He'd kept it that way since his wife died. It was easier not to let the place feel like a home.