Rage surged like fire in Grey Horse’s veins.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t waste breath. He moved.
Thomas barely had time to turn before Grey Horse struck him. The force knocked Violet free. She tumbled to the ground, scrambling as far away from Thomas as she could.
The two men collided.
Thomas roared, swinging wild, his fist glancing Grey Horse’s jaw. Grey Horse staggered, then answered with a blow of his own, driving his knuckles into Thomas’s gut. The man wheezed, doubling, but came up snarling.
They grappled, fists and elbows, feet scraping dirt. Thomas was thick, heavy, fueled by rage. Grey Horse was faster, honed by years of battle. They crashed to the ground, rolled, came up again.
Ezra stood ready, pistol drawn but lowered, his eyes sharp. “End it, Grey Horse,” he muttered.
Thomas lunged, trying to lock his arms around Grey Horse’s neck. Grey Horse twisted free, drove his knee into Thomas’s belly, then his fist across the man’s temple. The crack was sharp.
Thomas staggered, eyes rolling, and collapsed into the dust.
?
Violet stared, trembling, her hands pressed to her mouth. Grey Horse stood over Thomas, chest heaving, his hair wild, his eyes burning.
Then he turned to Violet, and the fire in his gaze softened into something fierce but tender.
“You are safe,” he said, voice low, steady.
Her heart broke and healed all at once. She crawled toward him, then rose to her feet, swaying. His hands came to her shoulders, grounding her, steadying her as if the earth itself had caught her fall.
Behind them, Thomas lay sprawled, unconscious, dust rising in faint clouds with each ragged breath he still drew.
Ezra stepped forward, his voice even. “Best we move fast. He’ll wake, and he’ll come after us.”
“He won’t get far without a horse … and with no gun,” Grey Horse said as the picked up the rifle Thomas had leant against a tree while he was tracking Violet.
Grey Horse’s hand tightened gently on Violet’s arm. “He will not touch you again.”
And in that moment, Violet believed it.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Flight
They wasted no time. Ezra scanned the tree line, his eyes narrowing. “Toward the river,” he said. We’ll use the bends to cover us. It’ll buy distance.”
Grey Horse nodded, already steadying Violet as she stumbled on torn feet. “We go to my people,” he said.
Violet gave a sharp breath of relief. “Yes. Please.”
No thought of Thomas bound her anymore. He was no husband, no savior. Only a liar and an abuser who had stolen her peace. Whatever future she had, it would not be with him.
They turned their backs on the clearing, leaving Thomas to the dust and silence, and slipped into the sheltering woods.
?
The trees closed around them, tall cottonwoods leaning with their long limbs like watchmen. The ground sloped toward the river, where its wide silver surface caught the sun in quick, flashing sparkles. Violet moved as quickly as she could, but each step was a thread pulled taut with pain. Her feet, raw from the night’s desperate run, felt as though they would tear apart with every pace.
Grey Horse noticed before she said a word. He paused, lifted her lightly, and set her on the back of his pony, guiding the animal himself while he walked beside. She clung to the mane, ashamed of her weakness, but grateful for the strength at her side.
Ezra kept a sharp pace ahead, glancing back now and then. “He’ll wake sore and mean,” he muttered. “Best be miles gone before he returns to his ranch and gets a horse under him.”
Grey Horse’s reply was quiet but certain. “We will be gone.”
