There's hay in the loft," he said finally, jerking his head toward the ladder. "It's dry up there. You can wait out the storm. " The eldest sister's shoulders sagged slightly with relief. "Thank you. We're We're grateful.
Name's Jake Sullivan. This is my place. He didn't phrase it as a question, but the expectation hung in the air between them. The sisters exchanged glances. The eldest straightened.
I'm Margaret. These are my sisters, Rose and Catherine. False names. Jake was certain of it. The slight hesitation, the way Margaret's eyes didn't quite meet his when she spoke.
But then plenty of folks in the territory had reasons for not using their real names. Jake himself had known men who'd left everything behind, including their identities. To start fresh in the unforgiving landscape of the West. There's a pump out back for water, Jake said. I'll bring some blankets from the house.
That's kind of you, but Margaret began. Wasn't a question. Jake cut her off. You'll catch your death in those wet clothes. He left before she could protest further, jogging through the rain to the main house.
Inside, he grabbed an armful of blankets in his mother's old medicine box. On second thought, he added some bread and dried beef from his stores, whatever these women were running from. They looked like they hadn't eaten properly in days. When he returned to the barn, he found them huddled together in the corner, as far from the door as possible. Catherine, the youngest, was crying silently, tears mixing with rainwater on her cheeks.
Rose had an arm around her, murmuring something Jake couldn't hear. Margaret stood apart, keeping watch. Here, Jake set the supplies down at a respectful distance. There's some food there, too. Margaret's eyes widened slightly.
We can't. You can, and you will, Jake said firmly. I've got plenty. Rose looked up at him then. really looked at him and something passed across her face that Jake couldn't quite read. "Think you can handle us all? " she asked, a challenge in her voice despite her exhaustion.
"Three strange women showing up in your barn? " There was something in the way she said it. Part defiance, part something else that made heat rise in Jake's neck. He kept his expression neutral. I reckon I can manage. Thunder crashed again, making Catherine whimper.
The storm was getting worse. The barn door rattled in its frame, and Jake moved to secure it better. As he did, he caught sight of Margaret's hands. Her knuckles were scraped raw. Dried blood visible beneath the dirt.
Fighting wounds, running wounds. "You can stay the night," he heard himself say. "Storm like this won't blow out before morning. " Margaret nodded slowly. "We'll be gone at first light. " Jake didn't comment on the obvious lie. Wherever these women were headed, they weren't going to get far on foot with no supplies, and at least one of them already half broken from whatever they'd endured.
He climbed up to check the loft, making sure there were no leaks, no weak boards that might give way. When he came back down, he found the sisters had already wrapped themselves in the blankets, sharing the meager food he'd brought. They ate like they were starving, but trying to hide it, taking small bites, chewing slowly. I'll be in the house, Jake said. You need anything?