Thomas returned then, and Ezra said no more.
?
The next evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Violet wandered to a stream’s edge alone. She bent to wash her face, the cool water shocking her skin. Her reflection trembled in the ripples—hair loose and tangled, eyes wide and wary.
She hardly recognized herself.
A movement stirred in the trees beyond, a shadow shifting against the light. Her breath caught. She knew that shape, that stance. Grey Horse.
Her heart lurched. He was following. Watching.
For a long moment their eyes met across the water. His gaze held hers, steady, unbroken. She wanted to run to him, to fling herself into the current and let him pull her out. But she could not. Thomas’s claim bound her like a chain.
She lowered her eyes, trembling. When she looked again, the trees were empty.
Had she only dreamed him? Or had he slipped back into shadow, waiting?
She returned to camp, her heart hammering, her guilt heavier than ever.
?
From the trees, Grey Horse watched her walk away from the stream, her head bowed, her step heavy. He felt the rage twist inside him again, but he held it, banked it, as a blacksmith banks the fire. Heat must be guided, not loosed.
He would wait.
The river was long. The trail was longer. And sooner or later, the chance would come to strike.
For now, he watched.
For now, he remembered the weight of her hair in his hands, the promise of her eyes in the firelight.
She had walked with another, yes, but her spirit had not left Grey Horse. Not yet.
And he would not let it.
Chapter Eighteen: The Hollow Ranch
The trail toward Thomas’s ranch was harsher than she had expected. Each day the sun rose hard and bright, burning the prairie bare, and each night the air cooled to a chill that crept beneath her dress. The land seemed endless, a sea of parched grass and dust. But the miles were made longer by Thomas’s temper.
He grew more unbearable with every hour, barking orders as though she were already bound to him by law and vow. “Wake up,” he snapped when he sensed her grow weary. “Hold the horn tighter. No … tighter! Sit straighter!” His words struck like stones, relentless, unyielding.
She bore it with bowed head, guilt binding her tongue. She had promised. She had chosen. This was her road now.
But sometimes, in the hush of twilight, she felt the weight of eyes from the trees. Once she thought she glimpsed a shadow where no man should be. Another time, she heard a distant cry that might have been a hawk, but stirred her heart with hope.
Grey Horse is near,she whispered to herself in secret.He must be.
?
Thomas’s cruelty showed itself more openly as the days dragged. He scorned her questions, mocked her silence. When she stumbled once on a rock at their overnight camp, he yanked her arm so roughly she cried out.
“Do better,” he snarled. “You’ll learn quick enough. I don’t care for weakness.”
Ezra’s head turned at the sound, his eyes narrowing, but he said nothing. Later, when Thomas had gone to water the horses, Ezra’s voice came low, steady.
“You’ve more strength than he sees. Hold on to it.”
Her throat ached with unshed tears. “Why does he hate me so?”
