You can sit," he said, setting a folded blanket near the hearth. She obeyed, sinking to the floor with a coat still wrapped around her. She was breathing fast, her eyes darting around the room like she expected someone else to burst in at any moment. Cole didn't press her with questions. "Not yet." He built a fire, set water to boil, and then took out his small kid of needle and thread.
The dress was torn nearly in half. He worked in silence, stitching it back together with rough, uneven lines, but careful not to pull too tight. She watched him the whole time, studying the way his hands moved, like she was trying to decide if she could trust him. By the time he finished, the fire had warmed the cabin. She had stopped shaking, though her eyes were still weary.
Cole sat back on his heels and met her gay for the first time since they came inside. He didn't know her name. Didn't know why she had been down at the creek or what kind of men had left her there. But she was alive and out of danger for the night. And that was enough.
Cole set the dress aside, leaned back against the wall, and let the room go quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Tomorrow, he would have to ask questions, maybe ride into town to find out who had done this. Tonight, he would just keep watch. Cole didn't sleep that night. He sat by the table with a rifle across his knees, eyes fixed on the door, listening to every sound outside.
The fire burned low, filling the cabin with shifting shadows. Behind him, the woman lay wrapped in his coat and blanket near the hearth, her breathing quiet but uneven, like she still half expected someone to burst through the door. It wasn't the first time Cole had brought someone hurt or half starved to his cabin. He had done it during the war years. Soldiers scouts, even deserters, when leaving them outside meant certain death.
But this felt different. He didn't know her name or what trouble might follow her, and that was the part that kept him from closing his eyes. When the first light came through the gaps in the shutters, Cole stirred the fire back to life. The smell of smoke woke her. She sat up slowly, pulling the coat tighter around her body, her hair falling loose over her face.
Cole set the coffee pot on the stove and waited until the water boiled before speaking. There's a wash basin outside if you want it, he said. No one around this time of morning. She hesitated, then nodded once. When she stood, the coat slid open just enough for Cole to see the deep red marks on her shoulder.
Rope burns maybe before she pulled it closed again. He stepped outside with her, keeping his distance while she used the basin and splashed her face, her hands trembling for more than just the morning chill. Cole busied himself with chopping kindling near the porch so she wouldn't feel watched. Back inside, she settled near the fire again, her wet hair hanging down her back. Cole poured two tin cups of coffee and handed her one.
She stared at it for a long moment before finally taking it. "You got a name?" he asked. She looked up at him through the curtain of her hair. "Nia," she said softly. "Cole nodded." "I'm Cole Merrick." He waited, gave her space, then asked, "You want to tell me what happened?" She sat quiet for a long time, hands wrapped around the cup.