Deputy Miles watched him like a hawk, even as he began to walk toward the sheriff’s office. He must have wanted to prepare. Perhaps he had another lawman inside to back him up.
Rachel stood rooted to the spot, her pulse racing.
Mrs. Albright came to her side, resting a gentle hand on her arm.
“You did right, child,” she said softly. “Truth’s a hard thing to speak, but it’s what the town needed to hear.”
Rachel nodded, though her throat felt tight. “I just...I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did what was brave,” the pastor said. “And sometimes that’s the same thing as what’s right.”
She looked toward the edge of town, where the desert shimmered under the sun. A dust cloud had begun to rise far off. It was faint but growing. The shape of a rider, maybe, or two.
Her breath caught. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
The pastor followed her gaze. The deputy turned too, squinting into the light.
“Could be the Hollow Creek Riders,” Mrs. Albright said.
“No,” Rachel said softly. “It’s him. It has to be.”
She could feel it. It was deep in her chest, like a heartbeat answering another across the distance.
Chapter 41
Dust clung to Blaze’s coat as he rode down the ridge, his horse limping slightly from the long ride back. Behind him, Marisol and Chato followed at a distance, silent and watchful.
Blaze didn’t look back. His mind was still half in the tunnels. He couldn’t forget the smell of gunpowder, the sight of Wilder falling, and that old wanted poster folded in his pocket. The mine had buried the gold, buried half the past with it, but not the ache in his chest.
He could see the town ahead now. The church steeple, the saloon’s cracked sign, the still silhouettes of townsfolk watching from their porches.
“Looks quiet,” Marisol said behind him.
“It does,” Chato muttered.
Blaze nudged Shadow forward.
“He’s still here,” he said softly. “I can feel it.”
They reached the edge of town. A few people scattered when they saw him ride in. His name must have become a whisper since the gunfire in the hills. He just didn’t know it yet.
If Rachel knew, she might have told them what Kane had done. There was no doubt about it.
“Stay back,” Blaze said.
Marisol frowned. “You sure?”
Blaze nodded. “This one’s mine.” He dismounted, boots thudding against the ground. “Kane!” he called, voice echoing off the storefronts. “You’d best come out where I can see you!”
Nothing at first. Just the creak of a sign and the distant flap of a shutter. Then the saloon doors swung open, and Kane stepped out.
He looked rougher than before. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted, and his coat dustier than ever. A Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolver hung at his hip. It was like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“Well,” Kane said, his voice hoarse. “Ain’t that a sight. The hero comes home.”
“Step into the street,” Blaze said.
Kane smirked. “Always was fond of makin’ a show, weren’t you, kid?”
