They stole my clothes, cowboy. Please help me, said the Apache woman bathing in the lake. The sun was almost down when Cole Merrick rained in near the north pasture.
The day had been long, the kind that left his shirt damp with sweat and his shoulders stiff from riding fence. The creek ran slow this time of year, broken into pools under the cottonwoods, but it was enough for cattle and enough for him to check before heading back to the cabin. Cole was 37, a man who had spent half his life on the edge of war and dust.
He’d scouted for the army years back, seen what men could do to each other when no one was looking, and he’ buried a wife who died during the spring fever season 3 years ago. Since then, he kept it himself. The ranch was his whole world now. Quiet and honest work that kept his hands busy and his mind from drifting too far. He was thinking about the sagging stretch of fence by the north line when something caught his eye.
Movement down by the water. At first he thought it might be a deer, but the shape was wrong. He slid off the saddle, looped the rains loosely around a low branch, and stepped closer, boots crunching in the dry grass. That’s when he saw her. A young woman stood knee deep in the creek, her hair long and dark and dripping down her back, her shoulders tense like a cornered animal.
What was left of her dress clung to her frame, torn at the bodice and hanging open so low that Cole’s throat tightened before he forced his eyes away. Her feet were bare, raw from running. Bruises marked her arms, old and new. She saw him and froze. One arm crossed her chest, the other pointed toward the bank where scraps of fabric were scattered in the mud.
Her voice came out strained, broken from thirst and crying. They stole my clothes. Cowboy, please help me. Cole didn’t speak right away. He was weighing things who she might be running from. If someone was close behind, if bringing her home would mean trouble, but the fear in her face cut through all of it.
He shrugged out of his coat and held it out to her, moving slow so she wouldn’t think he meant harm. Her eyes stayed locked on his, searching for a lie or a trap. After a long pause, she snatched the coat and turned her back, shoulders hunching as she pulled it around her body. “All right,” Cole said quietly. He waited enough to take her elbow and help her to the bank.
Her skin was cold despite the heat of the day, her breathing shallow. Up close, he saw more scratches on her legs. The neckline of the torn dress showing the line of her ribs. Cole guided her to the horse, lifting her when her feet wouldn’t carry her. She clung to the saddle horn while he mounted, then wrapped her hands in the back of his shirt without being asked. They rode in silence.
The trail back was long and dusty, but Cole didn’t push the horse faster than she could bear. He could feel her shaking against his back. When they reached the cabin, he swung down first and steadied her as she slid off the horse. She almost fell but caught herself. Cole led her inside and lit a lantern.
The small flame throwing yellow light across the ruffune walls. The cabin was plain, a table, two chairs, a narrow bed, and a stove with a stack of wood beside it. He’d kept it that way since his wife died. It was easier not to let the place feel like a home. You can sit. he said, setting a folded blanket near the hearth.
She obeyed, sinking to the floor with the coat still wrapped around her. She was breathing fast, her eyes darting around the room like she expected someone else to burst in at any moment. Cole didn’t press her with questions. Not yet. He built a fire, set water to boil, and then took out his small kid of needle and thread.
The dress was torn nearly in half. He worked in silence, stitching it back together with rough, uneven lines, but careful not to pull too tight. She watched him the whole time, studying the way his hands moved, like she was trying to decide if she could trust him. By the time he finished, the fire had warmed the cabin.
She had stopped shaking, though her eyes were still weary. Cole sat back on his heels and met her gay for the first time since they came inside. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know why she had been down at the creek or what kind of men had left her there. But she was alive and out of danger for the night. And that was enough.
Cole set the dress aside, leaned back against the wall, and let the room go quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Tomorrow, he would have to ask questions, maybe ride into town to find out who had done this. Tonight, he would just keep watch. Cole didn’t sleep that night. He sat by the table with a rifle across his knees, eyes fixed on the door, listening to every sound outside.
The fire burned low, filling the cabin with shifting shadows. Behind him, the woman lay wrapped in his coat and blanket near the hearth, her breathing quiet but uneven, like she still half expected someone to burst through the door. It wasn’t the first time Cole had brought someone hurt or half starred to his cabin.
He had done it during the war years. Soldiers scouts, even deserters, when leaving them outside meant certain death. But this felt different. He didn’t know her name or what trouble might follow her, and that was the part that kept him from closing his eyes. When the first light came through the gaps in the shutters, Cole stirred the fire back to life.
The smell of smoke woke her. She sat up slowly, pulling the coat tighter around her body, her hair falling loose over her face. Cole set the coffee pot on the stove and waited until the water boiled before speaking. There’s a wash basin outside if you want it, he said. No one around this time of morning. She hesitated, then nodded once.
When she stood, the coat slid open just enough for Cole to see the deep red marks on her shoulder. Rope burns maybe before she pulled it closed again. He stepped outside with her, keeping his distance while she used the basin and splashed her face, her hands trembling for more than just the morning chill.
Cole busied himself with chopping kindling near the porch so she wouldn’t feel watched. Back inside, she settled near the fire again, her wet hair hanging down her back. Cole poured two tin cups of coffee and handed her one. She stared at it for a long moment before finally taking it. “You got a name?” he asked.
She looked up at him through the curtain of her hair. “Nia,” she said softly. “Cole nodded.” “I’m Cole Merrick.” He waited, gave her space, then asked, “You want to tell me what happened?” She sat quiet for a long time, hands wrapped around the cup. When she spoke, her voice was flat, almost too calm. Three boys, white.
I crossed near the town yesterday. They stopped me, laughed, took my things. Cole felt his jaw tighten. Just your clothes and food,” she said. I had some corn in a sack. They threw it in the dirt. Her words came short and clipped, but there was no mistaking the humiliation in her face.
She kept her eyes on the fire as she spoke, as though saying it out loud made it worse. Cole thought about the boys in town, about the kind who hung around the saloon too long and went looking for trouble when the whiskey ran out. 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, family 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. If they show up here, you stay inside, Cole said. Nia’s dark eyes met his. You fight them if I have to. His voice was steady, but she could hear the edge under it. They finished the fence just before sundown and headed back to the cabin.
When Cole struck a match and lit the lamp, he noticed Nia watching him closely as if weighing whether to speak. “You take me to town?” she asked quietly. Cole looked at her for a long moment. “Not yet,” he said. Not till I know it’s safe. She didn’t argue, but something in her shoulders eased as though she’d been afraid he might send her away.
That night, Cole cooked beans and salt pork while Nia sat at the table mending one of his torn work shirts. She worked with quick, sure hands, and when she was done, she set the shirt neatly on the table in front of him. “You sew better than I do,” he said. Her mouth almost curved into a smile, but she only said, “My mother, teach me.
” When the fire burned low, Cole rolled out his bed roll on the floor instead of taking the cot. Nia looked at him surprised. “You sleep there? C’s yours tonight.” Cole said simply. She hesitated, then laid down on the cot, still wrapped in his coat. It was the first time she’d slept off the floor since she came.
Cole stayed awake longer than he meant to, listening to the sounds of the night. The crickets outside, the soft hiss of the fire, the slow rhythm of her breathing as it finally evened out. He felt the old habit of watchfulness settle over him. The one that had kept him alive on scouting missions years ago. But tonight, it felt different.
He wasn’t just guarding himself. He was guarding her, too. Before he finally closed his eyes, he made a decision. Tomorrow he would ride to town quiet just to see who was hanging around and if anyone was talking about her. If there was trouble coming, he needed to know before it reached his door.
For now, the cabin was still. The fear in her face was fading bit by bit. And though he wouldn’t say it out loud, that was enough reason to keep her here another day. Cole was up before dawn the next day. The air outside was still and cold enough that his breath showed. He saddled the horse in silence, checking the cinch twice, then came back inside.
“Nia was awake, sitting on the edge of the cot with the coat still around her shoulders.” “You ride?” she asked. “Just in a town,” Cole said, pulling on his hat. “I need to see who’s hanging around.” Her jaw tightened. “Clay, maybe,” Cole said. “Better I find out than wait for him to come here.
” Nia stood as if ready to go with him, but Cole shook his head. “Safer if you stay put. Keep a doorbard. Rifles behind the table if you need it. She hesitated, then nodded once, her face pale but steady. The ride into town was quiet, the sky turning pale gold as the sun came up over the hills. Cole kept his shoulders loose, but every sound made him check the horizon.
When he reached the main street, the town was waking slow. A couple of wagons moving hay, someone sweeping outside the general store. He tied his horse near the feed lot and walked down the boardwalk toward the saloon. The place smelled of stale whiskey, even from outside. Inside, the bartender looked up, surprised to see him this early.
Cole bought coffee and took a seat near the back where he could see the door. It wasn’t long before he spotted them. Two boys, about 20, laughing too loud, one of them with hair too long under a sweatstained hat. Clay. Cole recognized him from roundups years back. The same smirk, the same mean glint in the eye.
They didn’t notice Cole right away, but when they did, the laughter cut short. Clay squared his shoulders and said just loud enough to be heard. Look who crawled in. Heard you’ve been keeping a pet up at your place. Cold didn’t move. Didn’t blink. You got something to say? Say it. Clay grinned.
