“Swear to it,” Marisol said. “He probably came out holding a six-shooter and frownin’ at the doctor.”
Rachel laughed. Blaze tried to hide his smile but failed. “Alright,” he said. “That’s enough of that.”
They worked until the light faded to gold. The air grew cooler, and the smell of mesquite smoke rolled across the field.
Blaze and Marisol set their tools down and walked toward the cabin, the sky burning crimson behind the hills. For the first time in a long while, Blaze felt the world quiet around him. No danger, no dread, just the slow heartbeat of home.
Inside, the small table was set. Rachel ladled beans into bowls. Chato came in last, brushing sawdust off his sleeves.
“Smells like heaven,” he said.
“Eat slow,” Rachel said. “There ain’t no seconds.”
They sat together, the sounds of spoons and quiet laughter filling the little room. Marisol brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes catching the firelight. Blaze found himself watching her again. He always did, and she always noticed.
The talk faded after supper. Rachel cleared the dishes, humming a tune their mother used to sing. Chato went to check the horses. Marisol and Blaze stepped outside.
Outside, the night air was cool and still. Blaze remembered how it had all ended: the cave consumed by fire and gun smoke, the shouting, the silence that followed.
Weeks later, word came from the deputy in Red Rock. One of Wilder’s men had been found downriver, shot clean through and clutching what remained of the gang’s gold. The chest lay beside him like a curse he hadn’t lived to spend.
The law called it justice, and since Blaze and his folks were the ones who’d put an end to Wilder’s lot, they sent him a share. Blaze hadn’t wanted it at first. That gold had never brought him anything but trouble. However, when the time came to raise thebarn and lay new boards over old ground, he thought it better to turn blood into timber.
He split what he could with Marisol, Rachel, and Chato, and together they rebuilt the place from the ground up.
The moon was high tonight, casting the land in silver. The grass moved like water in the breeze, and the stars burned brightly above the ridge. Blaze felt the cool air on his face.
Marisol crossed her arms next to him.
“Hard to believe it’s the same place I saw a few months ago,” she said.
“There wasn’t much left when I left it,” Blaze replied. “Just ashes and fence posts.”
“Now look at it,” she said. “Feels like home.”
“Feels like it,” Blaze said. He watched her face in the moonlight. “You think you’ll stay?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I thought about leavin’,” she said finally. “After Wilder, after it was all over. I didn’t think there was any reason to stay anywhere.”
“And now?” Blaze asked, his eyes hopeful.
“Now I got one,” she said softly.
Blaze turned to her. “You sure?”
She looked up at him. “You want me to stay?”
He took a breath. His chest felt heavy, as if the words had been sitting there a long while waiting to be freed. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then I will,” Marisol replied, smiling at him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The moon spilled silver over the barn and the open field. Blaze glanced down, his hat brim shadowing his eyes. He wanted to say more—something plain and honest—but the words caught in his throat.
Marisol seemed to understand anyway. She gave his arm a light touch, just enough to steady him.
Behind them, the cabin door creaked open.
