She stayed near Cole, her hands clasped in front of her. But when another customer came in, a man about Clay's age, she went rigid. Cole saw it. He stepped just enough to put himself between her and the door, his voice even. "You got a problem?
You take it somewhere else." The man held up his hands. "No trouble, Merrick. Just shopping." When they left the store, Nia let out a slow breath as though she'd been holding it the whole time. "You did not look away," she said softly as Cole tied the parcels to the saddle. Wouldn't have mattered if I did, Cole said.
Folks see what they want to see. Let him. They stopped at the blacksmith before heading out of town, and Cole heard the talk from two men standing nearby. Whispers about Clay being thrown out of the saloon the night before, drunk and yelling about the woman up at Merrick's place. Cole didn't speak of it until they were halfway home.
"Words out," he said. Nia was silent for a while. "Then they come," she said. "Maybe," Cole admitted. "But I'll be ready." When they got back to the cabin, Nia helped him unload the supplies, moving with more purpose than before.
She swept out the cabin, start a pot of beans, and even took the wash down to the creek. Cole watched her for a while before joining her, kneeling beside her as she scrubbed the cloth against the rock. "You're not running?" he asked. Nia looked at him, her eyes steady. "I ran before.
No more." That night they sat outside on the porch while the sky turned orange with sunset. Cole had his rifle across his lap and Nia sat close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. "They stare in town," she said finally. "They can stare," Cole said. "Doesn't change a thing." Nia was quiet for a long moment, then said, "You tell them I stay here." "I just did," Cole said simply.
Nia turned her face toward him, and there was something almost like relief in her expression. She didn't smile, not fully, but her hand found as where it rested on his knee. Cole's fingers closed around hers. When they went inside, Nia moved to the cot without waiting for him to ask. Cole sat down beside her, and for the first time, she reached for him first, pulling him close.
Later, after the fire burned down low, they lay side by side again, but there was no distance between them now. Cole's arm rested over her waist, and Nia's breathing was calm, no longer tight with fear. Outside, the night sounds returned, crickets, the distant howl of a coyote. But inside, the cabin was steady and warm. Whatever might come down the trail, they would face it together.
The next two days passed with an uneasy quiet. Cole stayed close to the cabin, working the fence, and keeping the rifle within reach. Nia worked beside him, hanging wash, cooking, even patching the garden beds, but the way her eyes cut toward the tree line told him she hadn't forgotten the night Clay came. It was near sundown on the third day when the sound of hooves broke the calm. Cole was stacking with near the shed and froze, listening.
Not one horse, three. They were coming fast. The sound carrying sharp through the evening air. Nia, he called his voice low but urgent. She was on the porch already gripping the rifle heed left near the door.
Cole took it from her and checked the chamber before handing it back. Stay inside, he said. I stay by the door, she said, her jaw set. Cole didn't argue. He stepped off the porch and stood near the corral, rifle loose in his hands but ready.
The riders came into view. Clay and two others, dust rising behind them. They slowed as they neared the cabin, stopping just far enough that Cole had to raise his voice to be heard. "You're trespassing," Cole called. Clay grinned from the saddle.
"Easy, Merrick. We just came to talk." "Talk from the road," Cole said. Klay swung the leg over and dropped to the ground, taking a few steps closer. "You got no right keeping her up here like she's yours," he said. Cole felt his jaw tighten.
She's not yours either. The second rider spat in the dirt. She don't belong here. You know it. She stays where she wants, Cole said.
Clay's grin widened. Does she? Or is she too scared to run? Cole heard the floorboard creek behind him. Nia had stepped just inside the door.
Her voice came steady, louder than he'd ever heard it. "I stay here," she said. Clay's grin faltered for a second. "Girl, you don't know what you're saying." "I know." Nia cut him off. You take my clothes.
You laugh. I not run again. The air went still. Klay's face hardened and he took another step forward. That was enough.
Cole raised the rifle steady sighting down the barrel. "Mount up," he said. Klay stared at him, weighing whether to push it. The other two were already backing toward their horses. "This ain't over," Klay said finally.
"It is if you keep riding," Cole said. Clay spat once more, then swung into the saddle and wheeled his horse around. They rode off slow at first, then faster as they hit the trail. Cole stood there until the sound of hooves faded completely, then lowered the rifle. He turned back toward the cabin.
Nia was still by the door, her hands tight around the rifle she held. "You all right?" Cole asked? She nodded, though her chest rose and fell fast. "They not stop." No, Cole said, stepping closer. But they know now.