You picture them seeing her down by the road. Alone, tired, an easy target. You got family nearby? He asked. No.
Her voice was harder this time. I came north to find work. Maybe trade. Nothing left south. That told him enough.
He knew what had happened to some of the Apache settlements after the last push by the army. Burned camps, families scattered. She was lucky to be alive. Cole sat back, weighing the risk. He had no reason to keep her here.
Bringing her back toward town would probably draw questions he didn't want to answer, but turning her out with nothing meant she wouldn't last two days. "You can stay here a while," he said finally. "Till you figure where you're headed." Her dark eyes flicked to his sharp and suspicious. "Why? Because I got room and I don't let folks starve on my doorstep," Cole said simply.
Nia didn't answer. Just set the empty tin cup down and pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders. After breakfast, Cole brought her the men dress. The stitches were rough, but it would hold. He turned his back while she changed near the corner of the cabin, staring at the fire until she said, "Okay." When she stepped out, the dress was clean, but tight across her chest where he had pulled the thread too close.
Cole caught himself glancing before looking away. "I got work to do," he said, grabbing his hat from the peg. "You can rest or come with me." "Up to you. I come," she said quickly, as if staying inside alone was worse. Cole saddled the horse and they walked the fence line together.
Nia stayed close, not speaking, just watching how he checked the posts and tightened the wire. At first, she moved slow, limping from her cut feet, but after a while, she started carrying tools for him without being asked. By midday, the sun was high, and Cole stopped at the creek to water the horse. Nia knelt to wash the mud from her legs. And Cole noticed how carefully she kept her back to him.
Not out of modesty, he realized, but because she was still afraid to let anyone near her blind spot. You don't have to keep looking over your shoulder here, Cole said quietly. She didn't turn, just said, "I keep watch for myself." When I made it back to the cabin, Cole set her on the porch rail with a needle and a scrap of cloth. "You know how to sew?" he asked. She nodded once.
He left her there while he stacked wood. By the time the sun dropped low, she had finished the patch and was already threading the needle again. That night, Cole sat on the porch with his rifle across his knees, watching the tree line. Inside, Nia lay near the fire again. But this time, her breathing came easier.
He knew this wasn't over. Whoever those boys were, they might come looking. And if they did, he'd be ready. For now, the cabin was quiet except for the sound of the crickets outside and the fire snapping low. It was the first time since finding her that Cole felt something other than anger, a thin, cautious sense that maybe she had decided not to run.
The next morning, Cole woke early as usual. The sky was just starting to gray at the edges when he opened the door and stepped outside, the air cooler than the night before. The fire had burned down to embers, and he heard Nia stirring behind him, pulling the coat tighter around her shoulders as she sat up from her blanket. Cole set water to boil and handed her a plate with the last of the cornbread from the night before. She ate it slowly, glancing toward the door as if still expecting trouble.
"You can stay inside today if you want," Cole said as he poured coffee. Nia shook her head. "I work," she said, her voice low but firm. Cole studied her for a moment, then nodded. He didn't want her pushing herself too hard.
Her feet were still cut and sore, but he understood what she meant. Sitting inside all day would make her feel cornered, helpless. He handed her a pair of worn socks he'd dug out of a trunk and told her they'd make it easier to walk. She pulled them on without complaint, then stood near the door, waiting. They spent the morning hauling water from the creek to the trough near the corral.
Nia worked quietly, carrying one bucket at a time, her shoulders stiff with effort. Cole noticed how determined she was, refusing to rest, even when her arms began to shake. "You can sit a spell," he told her. She just shook her head and kept walking. By midday, they had the trough full and Cole brought the horse in a drink.
Nia stayed near the gate, watching carefully, her body tense when the animal moved too quickly. You ever worked around stock before? Cole asked. She shook her head. Not horses, goats, chickens.
You'll get used to him, Cole said, keeping his tone calm. He won't hurt you. Nia nodded but didn't move closer until Cole had finished brushing the horse down. After they ate a quiet meal back at the cabin, Cole went to the shed to grab tools. When he came out, Nia was sweeping the porch with a makeshift broom, her dark hair falling loose around her face.
"You don't have to do that," Cole said. "I do." She replied simply and kept sweeping. Cole didn't argue. It wasn't about cleaning. It was about proving something.
Maybe to him, maybe to herself. In a late afternoon, he took her down the line to check a section of fence he'd been meaning to mend. As they worked, Cole kept watch on the horizon. His eyes tracing the distant road toward town. He hadn't seen anyone come near since the night he found her, but he couldn't shake the thought of those boys and whether they might come looking.
You know their names? He asked finally. Nia hesitated. One called Clay, she said. Others I didn't know.
Cole nodded slowly. Clay. He'd heard the name before. A ranch hands kid who spent too much time in the saloon. Trouble looking for somewhere to happen.