“Thank you.”
“Walk.”
They moved.
The first step was ugly.
The second worse.
By the sixth, Penny was sweating.
Nathaniel's breath rasped beside her ear.
People watched from windows.
Nobody offered assistance.
Penny stopped expecting it.
Two blocks later, they reached Mrs. Henderson's boarding house.
The landlady opened the door.
Then screamed.
“Absolutely not.”
Penny tightened her grip on Nathaniel.
“He needs a bed.”
“He needs a jail.”
“No.”
Mrs. Henderson lowered her voice.
“Penny, that is Nathaniel Cross.”
“I know.”
“He's dangerous.”
Nathaniel opened one eye.
“I'm standing here.”
Mrs. Henderson stepped backward.
Penny said, “He will stay in my room.”
“No.”
“I pay rent.”
“You pay for one person.”
“He'll be there one night.”
Nathaniel murmured, “Maybe less.”
Penny looked at him.
“You are not leaving tonight.”
Mrs. Henderson pointed at Penny.
“If anything happens—”
“I'll take responsibility.”
The landlady stared.
Penny rarely argued.
That may have frightened her more than Nathaniel.
Finally Mrs. Henderson stepped aside.
“One night.”
Penny nodded.
They climbed the stairs.
Nathaniel nearly collapsed twice.
When they reached her room, he lowered himself onto the narrow bed.
The bed protested.
Penny removed her satchel.
“Don't move.”
Nathaniel laughed once.
The sound hurt him.
“I wasn't planning to dance.”
Penny fetched water.
Clean cloth.
Needle.
Whiskey.
Bandages.
She had no medical training beyond helping injured brothers on her childhood farm.
But she knew cleanliness.
She knew pressure.
She knew fever.
She knew when something looked wrong.
Nathaniel's shirt had to come off.
Penny hesitated.
He noticed.
“You bought me.”
Her head snapped up.
“I did not.”
“One hundred forty-three dollars says otherwise.”
“I paid a false debt so they would stop hurting you.”
“Difference may depend on who is telling it.”
Penny frowned.
“I don't own you.”
Nathaniel studied her.
“You certain?”
“Yes.”
“Then cut the shirt.”
She did.
The fabric peeled away.
Penny stopped.
Nathaniel's chest and shoulders were covered in scars.
Old ones.
New ones.
Thin white lines.
Dark bruises.
A recent gash near the ribs.
He watched her face closely.
Waiting.
For disgust.
Fear.
Judgment.
Penny simply reached for the cloth.
“This will sting.”
It did.
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
She cleaned the injuries slowly.
When she reached his ribs, he inhaled sharply.
“Broken?”
“Probably two.”
“Maybe three.”
“You can tell?”
“I've broken ribs before.”
“How?”
“Horse.”
Penny looked skeptical.
“The horse win?”
Nathaniel's mouth moved.
“You always talk this much when treating injured men?”
“I've never treated a man your size.”
“That an answer?”
“No.”
She continued.
After almost two hours, Penny sat back.
Her arms ached.
Nathaniel looked exhausted.
“You should sleep.”
“You should be afraid.”
Penny looked at him.
“Of you?”
“Yes.”
“Should I?”
He did not answer immediately.
People had said many things about Nathaniel Cross.
That he trapped where he pleased.
That he fought men in saloons.
That he disappeared into the mountains for months.
That he had killed wolves with a knife.
That he was half Shoshone, half white, and loyal to neither.
Most stories contradicted each other.
Penny had never thought about that before.
“How many people have you killed?” she asked.
Nathaniel's eyebrows lifted.
“Direct woman.”
“You told me to be afraid.”
“Two.”
Penny swallowed.
“Why?”
“One tried to kill my brother.”
She waited.
“The other tried to kill me.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Then I'm not afraid of you.”
Nathaniel stared.
“That easy?”
“No.”
Penny wrung out the cloth.
“But I saw what happened today.”
“You saw ten minutes.”
“I saw you tied.”
He said nothing.
“You could barely stand and still told me not to spend my money.”
Nothing.
“You warned me Brennan would come after me before you worried about yourself.”
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.
Penny continued.
“That tells me more than people whispering outside shops.”
He looked toward the window.
“You're foolish.”
“Probably.”
“You spent everything you have.”
“Yes.”
“For a stranger.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Penny opened her mouth.
Closed it.
She could have told him the truth.
Because she knew what it felt like to be watched and judged before speaking.
Because cruelty recognized vulnerability and called it permission.
Because she had spent years pretending humiliation hurt less if she acted invisible.
Instead she said:
“Because everyone else was watching.”
Nathaniel looked back.
Penny's voice softened.
“Someone had to stop.”
Something changed in his face.
He looked at her as if seeing her properly for the first time.
“I won't forget.”
Penny lowered her eyes.
No one had looked at her like that in years.
Perhaps ever.
She stood.
“Sleep.”
Nathaniel obeyed.
Mostly because his body gave him no choice.
Penny slept in the chair.
At sunrise, he tried to leave.
She woke to the bed creaking.
Nathaniel had one foot on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“No.”
He looked over.
“You cannot stop me.”
Penny stood.
“You can't even stand straight.”
“I'll manage.”
He rose.
His knees buckled.
Penny caught his arm.
Nathaniel muttered something in a language she did not recognize.
“Was that a curse?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“At ribs.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Penny brought water.
Nathaniel drank.
“We have to leave town.”
She froze.
“We?”
Nathaniel looked toward the door.
“Brennan won't let yesterday stand.”
“You paid him.”
“You paid him.”
“That matters.”
“Not to Colt.”
Penny's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“Because the debt was never real.”
She sat slowly.
“Explain.”
Nathaniel's expression hardened.
“Brennan cattle crossed into my trapping ground two winters ago. Their men started charging me for using land my father claimed before Colt was born.”
“Do you have papers?”
“Had.”
“What happened?”
“My cabin burned when I was sixteen.”
Penny waited.
“Records went with it.”
“Then how do you know where the boundary is?”
“My father showed me.”
“That won't satisfy a court.”
“I know.”
Penny thought of Colt.
The promissory note.
The performance in the street.
“You've fought them before?”
“Yes.”
“Legally?”
Nathaniel gave a humorless smile.