He had let them in out of instinct, maybe decency, but now he wondered what came next. The valley was long, and the winter was hard, and supplies didn't stretch far even for one man. Still, he hadn't bolted the door. That meant something, and he knew it. The night grew quiet.
The sisters drifted into uneasy sleep. The youngest breath hitching softly now and then. Rowan stayed awake longer, listening to the fire crackle. His mind caught between the silence he had chosen for years and the weight of three lives now lying under his roof. For the first time in a long while, he felt unsettled.
Not because of fear, but because he knew tomorrow would no longer look the same as yesterday. Morning came slow. The first light of day leaked through the cracks in the shutters, gray and cold. The kind of light that made everything look harsher than it had the night before. Rowan was already awake.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he had built himself years earlier. Boots laced, shirt pulled on. He listened to the steady breathing from the hearth where the three women slept curled together under the blanket. For a moment, he thought about how strange it was to hear more than his own breath inside this cabin. Strange, but not unwelcome.
When he stood, the eldest stirred first. She blinked at him then sat up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter over her shoulders. Her hair was tangled, strands falling across her face, but her eyes were sharp and watchful. Rowan noticed that she did not look at him with fear, only with a kind of guardedness, as if waiting to see if he would change his mind about allowing them to stay. The middle sister rose next.
Without asking, she moved toward the table and began gathering what little there was for breakfast. Rowan had a habit of eating cold bread or jerky in the mornings, but she filled the pot with water and dropped in the last handfuls of dried corn, stirring it over the fire with quick, official motions. She did not waste words, but her actions said enough. They intended to pull their weight. The youngest woke last, shivering as she sat up.
Rowan noticed her bare feet again, skin split at the heels. He realized he hadn't given them shoes or even asked about it. Any man in town would have, out of suspicion or cruelty, but Rowan had kept silent. Now he understood the unspoken question hanging in the air. How long could they stay here with nothing but rags on their backs?
He stepped to the corner where he kept a few things he no longer used. An old pair of wool socks, a smaller pair of boots left behind by a passing trader years ago. He set them by the fire without a word. The youngest looked at him, startled, and only after a pause did she reach for them. The eldest murmured something in Apache to her sisters, a quiet thanks he didn't need translated.