Cole waited a long minute before following, making sure they were riding out of town. He didn’t like leaving them angry, but at least he knew their faces now, and that meant he could prepare. By the time he rode back, the sun was already high. He spotted smoke from the chimney before the cabin came into view.

Nia was outside, crouched near the small garden patch, a stick in her hand as she turned the soil. She stood quickly when she saw him.

“You saw them?” she asked.

“I saw them,” Cole said, swinging down from the horse.

Her eyes searched his face. “They come here?”

“Not yet,” Cole said. “They might try. But they know I’m watching.”

Her shoulders loosened slightly, though she still held the stick as if it were a weapon.

“Come inside,” Cole said. “I brought flour. We can make bread.”

It was a small thing, but she followed him in. She set the stick by the door and washed her hands. Together they mixed the dough at the table, her hands working beside his. For the first time since she’d arrived, a trace of calm softened her face.

After the bread went into the stove, Cole showed her how to load the rifle properly. She listened closely, her brow drawn tight with concentration. When she tried it herself, her hands were steady.

“That’s good,” Cole said. “Only if you need to.”

“I know,” Nia said quietly.

That night they ate the fresh bread with beans and sat near the fire. Nia stayed close, her knee nearly touching Cole’s where he sat on the floor. She didn’t speak much, but when he stood to check the door latch, she watched him as if trusting him to keep it closed.

Later, when Cole lay down on his bedroll, Nia stayed awake a while, staring into the fire. Then she rose, crossed the room, and spread her blanket closer to where he lay. Cole glanced at her but said nothing. She offered no explanation.

The fire crackled, the wind picked up outside, but inside the cabin there was a stillness that hadn’t been there before—the kind that meant she was no longer just a guest, but someone beginning to belong. Cole stared at the ceiling until sleep took him, one hand near the rifle, the other close enough that if she reached out, she would touch it first.

The wind shifted just after sundown the next evening, carrying a scent of wood smoke that wasn’t from their fire. Cole noticed it while standing on the porch with a lantern, listening to the night. The horses in the corral were restless, ears flicking toward the ridge.

Inside, Nia was wiping down the table, her dark hair tied back with a strip of cloth. When Cole stepped inside, she saw his expression and froze.

“What?” she asked.

“Smoke,” Cole said quietly. “Someone’s camped near the north trail.”

Her face tightened. She glanced toward the rifle by the door.

“Could be them,” Cole said. “Could be just drifters passing through.”

He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

Cole checked the rifle chamber, then nodded toward the lamp. “Blow that out.”

She did without hesitation, plunging the cabin into near darkness except for the low glow of the fire. Cole stepped outside and crouched near the edge of the porch, scanning the tree line until his eyes adjusted.

Nearly an hour passed before he saw movement.

Two figures, low and careful, moving along the fence line. Too cautious to be travelers.

Cole slipped back inside and closed the door silently. “Two of them,” he said. “Can’t be sure yet, but they’re watching.”

He barred the door and motioned her closer. “If they go for the horses, we wait till they’re near the corral. Then I step out.”

“You fight?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“If I have to,” Cole said. “You stay behind the door. Rifle ready if they come for the house.”

Nia nodded, swallowing hard, and crouched near the wall by the door.

The next hour dragged. Sounds drifted in and out—boots scuffing dirt, a horse snorting. Once Cole heard a low laugh and knew exactly who it was.

When a shadow moved near the corral gate, Cole acted.

He unbarred the door and stepped out fast, rifle leveled. “Leave the gate,” he said, his voice hard as iron.

The figures froze. One of them was Clay. Cole recognized him in the moonlight, hat low, that same smug look on his face.

“Evening, Merrick,” Clay said lightly. “Didn’t mean no harm. Just passing through.”

“You’re a long way from the saloon,” Cole said. “Turn around and keep walking.”

Clay didn’t move. “Heard you got company. Thought we’d see for ourselves.”

Cole’s finger hovered near the trigger. “You’ve seen enough. Go.”

The other boy shifted nervously, glancing toward the trees. “Come on, Clay,” he muttered. “Ain’t worth it.”

Clay stared at Cole a moment longer, then spat in the dirt. “You can’t keep her forever.”

“Watch me,” Cole said.

Clay finally backed away, muttering under his breath. They vanished into the trees. Cole stayed outside until the sounds faded completely.

When he went back inside, Nia was still crouched by the door, rifle clutched tight. Her breathing was quick, but her eyes were steady.

“They gone?” she asked.

“For now,” Cole said, sliding the bar back into place.

She rose slowly and set the rifle against the wall. For a moment she stood there, arms crossed tight against her chest.

“They come back,” she said.

“Maybe,” Cole admitted. “But they know I’ll be waiting.”

She stepped closer to the fire, staring into it as if trying to see beyond the flames. “You could send me away. No trouble.”

Cole leaned against the doorframe and shook his head. “Not happening. Trouble isn’t you. It’s them. And running only makes it worse.”

Nia looked at him for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes. She didn’t thank him. Instead, she reached for the coat he’d given her that first night and pulled it around her shoulders again, just like she had by the creek.

Cole saw the change.

The fear was still there—but now it was paired with something steadier.

Trust maybe you’re the start of it. Neither of them slept much. Cole sat near the door with a rifle across his lap, and Nia stayed by the fire until it burned down to Coohl’s. When she finally laid down on the cot, she didn’t wrap herself as tight in the blanket as before.
At first light, Cole went out to check the corral. The horses were unharmed, but he found boot tracks in the soft dirt, proof they had been closer than he liked. He erased them with his heel before Nia came outside. They worked together that morning, hauling water, feeding stock. Nia didn’t speak until they sat down to eat.
“You not afraid?” she asked suddenly. Cole looked at her. Of what? Of them, she said. You took a long drink of coffee before answering. I’ve been afraid of worse. Learn fears. Just something that keeps you awake. You don’t let it run you. Nia nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of the tin cup. I try, she said.
You did fine last night, Cole said. That brought the faintest hint of a smile to her lips. Small but real. By evening, the cabin felt different. less like a place they were hiding in, more like a place they were both holding together. Cole sharpened his knife at the table while Nia mended another shirt. And when the wind outside shifted again, they both looked toward the door at the same time, ready.
Whatever came next, they wouldn’t face it as strangers anymore. The day after the men came, the air felt heavier, as if the whole place was holding its breath. Cole noticed that when he stepped out at dawn, the sky was flat and gray. No breeze in the cottonwoods. Even the horse moved slower, ears turning toward the ridge every few minutes.
Inside the cabin, Nia was already awake, sitting cross-legged near the fire with the coat pulled around her. She didn’t look as tense as she had the night before, but her eyes followed him when he moved, as if making sure he was really still there. Cole brought in water from the well and set it to boil.
We’ll stay close today, he said. No need to ride out far. Just keep watch. Nia nodded. I watched too, she said, and went to the door, scanning the yard the way he did. For most of the morning, they worked without speaking. She helped gather kindling, ground some of the new flour for bread and swept the porch until the boards were clear of dust.
Cole stayed near the corral, repairing a loose rail and keeping an ear out for anything moving along the tree line. By midday, the sky had darkened enough that Cole decided they’d better bring everything in undercover. Nia helped him carry tools to the shed. Her hands dirty but steady. “You’re not scared?” she asked quietly as they stacked the last of the firewood near the cabin. “Scared enough,” Cole said.
“Just don’t let it make me stupid.” She was quiet a moment, then said, “You stand there with your rifle. You didn’t shake.” Cole paused, leaning against the doorframe. I shook plenty on the inside, he admitted that made her look at him differently, softer, almost relieved to know he wasn’t made of stone.
The rain started just before dark, light at first and then steady. They stayed inside, the sound of water on the roof filling the room. Nia sat on the cot, brushing her wet hair with her fingers. Cole sat at the table, carving a new handle for the shovel with his knife. After a long time, Nia said, “You fought for me.
” Cole didn’t look up. “You didn’t need to see them take another thing from you.” She was silent, and when he finally glanced at her, her eyes were shiny in the fire light. “You could have sent me away,” she said. “I told you before,” Cole said. “I don’t leave folks to fend for themselves.
” Nia stood slowly and crossed the room. She stopped just in front of him, close enough that he could smell the smoke in her hair. You still look away,” she said quietly. Cole set the knife down and met her eyes, trying to do right by you. Nia didn’t speak. She just reached down, took his rough hand in hers, and placed it against her shoulder where the rope burn had been.
The skin was healing, but still marked. Cole’s breath came slow. “You sure?” She nodded once. He didn’t rush. He stood, still holding her hand, and brushed back a strand of her hair that had fallen forward. When he touched her cheek, she didn’t flinch. “You’re safe here,” he said softly. “I know,” she whispered.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t hard or hurried, just careful, almost testing. She leaned into it, one hand clutching his shirt like she was anchoring herself there. When they finally pulled apart, she stayed close, resting her forehead against his chest. Cole wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her still.
Neither of them said much after that. They ate supper quietly and when it came time to sleep, Cole didn’t unroll his bed roll on the floor. Instead, he sat on the edge of the cot and looked at her waiting. Nia didn’t tell him no. She just slid over enough to make room. They lay side by side in the dim light of the dying fire, not touching at first.
Then, slowly, Nia shifted closer until her head rested near his shoulder. Cole let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. and rested his hand lightly over hers. Outside, the rain softened, the wind carrying the smell of wet earth through the cracks and shutters. For the first time since finding her at the creek, Cole felt the cabin wasn’t just a place to guard.
It was a place that might hold both of them, if they let it. When sleep finally came, it came easier. And when Cole woke once in the night, reaching for the rifle by habit, he felt Nia’s hand still resting against him and let himself relax. The morning after the rain, the sky was washed clean, the air sharp and cool.
Cole woke to find Nia still lying beside him, her dark hair spilling across his shoulder. For a long moment, he just stayed there, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. When she opened her eyes, there was no startle this time. Only a steady look that made his chest feel tight. “You sleep?” he asked quietly. Nia nodded.
“First time,” she said. Cole sat up, pulled on his boots, and went to stir the fire back to life. The cabin smelled of damp wood and last night’s ashes, but it felt different now. Lived in, not just a place to wait out trouble. When they finished breakfast, Cole saddled the horse. “I’m riding into town,” he said. Nia’s face shifted, the calm she had gained the night before slipping just a little. “You stay here,” she asked.
“You can come,” Cole said, watching her carefully. “Your choice, but if you do, you stay close to me.” She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “I come.” The road into town was still muddy from the night’s rain, so they rode slow, the horse picking its way carefully. Cole felt Nia’s hands grip the back of his shirt.
Not in fear exactly, but like she was bracing herself. When they reached the main street, people were out early hauling water, sweeping the front of the stores. Conversation slowed when they saw Nia riding behind him. Cole felt the eyes on them, but he didn’t turn his head. He tied the horse outside the general store and helped Nia down.
She kept her chin high, shoulders squared, though Cole could see how tight her jaw was. Inside, the storekeeper looked up from behind the counter, eyebrows raising slightly when he saw who had come in. Cole nodded once. “Need flour, sugar, coffee, nails,” Cole said. The man packed the order without comment, though his eyes flicked to Nyan now and then. 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 a 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.
They know you got a place here. Nia’s grip on the rifle loosened. She set it back near the wall, then stepped off the porch and came to him. Her hands were dirty from the door frame, but she placed one flat against his chest. “You stand for me,” she said. Cole nodded every time. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Cole didn’t hesitate. He bit his head and kissed her. this time, not careful, but certain. She didn’t flinch, she leaned into him, her hands gripping his back. When they finally stepped apart, the tension in her shoulders was gone. Inside the cabin that night, they sat close by the fire. Cole cleaned the rifle, set it within reach, then looked at Nia.
“If they come again, we might have to go to the sheriff.” “Make it official,” Nia tilted her head. Official means no one can touch you without paying for it,” Cole said. She was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. “Then we go.” Later, when they lay down on the cot, Nia didn’t wait for him to reach for her. She pressed herself against him, her head under his chin, and let out a long, slow breath.
Cole rested his hand against the curve of her back. For the first time since he’d found her, he let himself think past tomorrow, past the fence repairs, past watching the horizon for riders, and pictured a life where she was here because she chose to be, not because she had nowhere else to go.
Outside, the night was quiet again, but it wasn’t the fragile quiet of fear. It was the kind that came after a line had been drawn and held. The next morning, Cole saddled the horse before the sun was fully up. The air was cool, the sky pale, and the sound of boots on the porch brought Nia outside. “You go,” she asked, her voice calm but watchful.
“Into town,” Cole said. “Best we end this before it starts again. You coming?” She hesitated for just a heartbeat, then nodded. “I come?” They rode in together, slower this time, not hiding. When they reached town, people turned to watch just like before, but Cole didn’t look away. He tied the horse in front of the sheriff’s office and helped Nia down, keeping his hand on her back as they walked inside.
The sheriff, a man in his 50s with a tired face, looked up from his desk. “Merrick,” he said, then glanced at Nia. “Heard some talk.” “You heard right,” Cole said. “Three boys, Klay Jensen, and two others, came to my place at night. Tried to spook my stock, threatened her.” The sheriff leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath.
Clay’s been trouble before. I’ll ride out, speak to his old man. Make sure it don’t happen again. Talking’s not enough, Cole said flatly. If they set foot on my place again, it won’t be words next time. The sheriff studied him, then nodded. I’ll make it clear. His gaze shifted to Nia. You want to press charges? Nia stood straighter.
I want them stay away, she said. I want a man take my clothes, my food, my name. The sheriff nodded again, slower this time. Reckon we can make that happen. I’ll put it down in writing. By the time they left, Cole could feel some of the tension ease from Nia’s shoulders. Outside, she stood for a moment, looking down the street. The same men who had whispered the last time were there, watching.
This time, Nia didn’t look away. On the ride home, she was quiet, but not in the same weary way as before. When they reached the cabin, she slid down from the saddle and turned to face him. “You make it safe,” she said simply. Cole untied the parcels from the saddle and set them on the porch. “Safe’s not just my job,” he said. “But yeah, it’s safe now.
” That evening, Nia cooked stew while Cole mended a broken strap on the saddle. When they sat down to eat, the cabin felt warmer than it ever had, not just from the fire, but from the quiet understanding between them. After supper, Nia took out the comb Cole had bought for her weeks earlier and braided her hair carefully.
When she was done, she turned to him. You give me this, she said, touching the comb. You fix my dress. You fight for me. Why? Cole set the strap aside and met her eyes. Because I want you here. Not because you need a place. Because you choose it. Nia was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. I choose, she said.
She crossed the room, knelt in front of him, and took his hand. I stay. Cole’s throat tightened, but he nodded. Then we make this home for good. Later, when the fire burned low, they sat on the porch together. The air was still, the stars sharp overhead. Cole’s arm rested around her shoulders, and Nia leaned against him, her eyes half closed.
“They not come back,” she said. “No,” Cole said. “And if they do, they’ll find we’re ready. For a while, they just sat there, the night quiet around them. Cole thought about the past weeks. The first night by the creek, the fear in her eyes, the bruises on her skin. All of that felt far away now, not gone, but changed into something that no longer owned her.
When they finally went inside, Cole didn’t bother with his bed roll on the floor. He lay beside her on the cot, the fire light soft across the room. And for the first time, it felt less like shelter and more like a home built for two. The next morning, Cole went out to check the fence. And when he turned back, Nia was standing on the porch, her hair braided, the mended dress fitting clean and proud.
She was holding a small bundle of seed he bought on her last trip, ready to plant. Cole smiled, the kind of smile he hadn’t felt in years. Let’s get to work, he said. They worked side by side that morning, hands in the soil, the sun coming up warm and bright. For the first time, there was no urgency, no fear, just the quiet rhythm of building something that would last.
When Cole stood and looked at her, dirt on her hands and a small, rare smile on her face, he knew without doubt that she wasn’t just passing through. She was part of the land now, part of him. And this time, he wasn’t letting go.