He stabbed the shovel down one last time, then leaned on it, chest heaving.
“That’s deep enough,” he said, his voice cracking. “Ain’t much, but it’ll have to do.”
He laid the shovel aside and walked back to her body. The blanket clung heavy with smoke, edges singed black, but it wasall he had to wrap her in. He crouched, slid his arms under her, and lifted her gently against his chest. His knees trembled.
“You always smelled of soap and bread,” Blaze whispered, pressing his cheek to her hair. “Now it’s just ash.”
He carried her slowly to the grave. Each step felt like it might break him in two. When he knelt and lowered her into the earth, he lingered, hands clutching the blanket.
“I should say somethin’,” Blaze said, closing his eyes. “Lord, I don’t know the words. She was good. She was strong. She deserved better than this world gave her. If you’re listening...if you ever cared...take her home.”
The silence pressed in, heavy as stone. Only the whisper of the wind through the cottonwoods responded.
Blaze picked up the shovel.
“I’ll finish it, Ma,” he said. “I’ll finish it right.”
He scooped dirt and dropped it gently over her. The soil hit with soft thuds, covering the blanket inch by inch. His arms shook, but he didn’t falter. He filled the grave, packed the earth firm, and smoothed it flat with the back of the blade.
When it was done, he sank to his knees at the mound, his chest hitching. He let the silence linger for a long while, broken only by the rustle of scorched timbers behind him.
“You told me once a boy becomes a man when he takes on somethin’ bigger than himself,” Blaze whispered. “Well, I reckon that time’s here.”
He reached for his belt and drew the Colt. The sunlight glinted along the worn steel. Blaze set it on the mound, his hand resting on the barrel.
“This was Pa’s,” Blaze said. “Now it’s mine. I swear on it. I’ll hunt Wilder down. I’ll tear his Riders apart, one by one, until it’s just him. And then I’ll put him in the ground. That’s my word.”
The vow hung in the morning air, sharper than any prayer.
Blaze stood slowly, holstered the Colt, and set the shovel upright in the earth beside the grave.
“That’s the last of the boy in me,” he said softly. “Ain’t nothin’ left but the man you raised.”
Chapter 8
“Gotta find a horse,” Blaze muttered, dragging the back of his hand across his face. His voice felt raw in the quiet morning, the shallow grave still fresh behind him. “Can’t walk the desert. Not if I’m gonna catch him.”
The words barely hung in the air when a rustle came from the cottonwoods. Blaze’s hand flew to the Colt at his hip.
“Who’s there?” he barked, his voice sharper than intended.
A soft snort answered, followed by the shuffle of hooves.
Blaze froze, heart thudding. “No . . .”
The branches parted, and out stepped a tan Thoroughbred mare, soot-streaked but alive. Its mane was tangled. One flank was scarred from flame, but its eyes were steady, ears flicking toward Blaze.
“Nancy,” Blaze whispered.
The horse lifted its head at the name, then picked its way forward carefully, as if unsure this boy standing here was real.
Blaze lowered the Colt and let his hand fall open at his side. “You made it.”
The mare snorted again, then pressed its nose to Blaze’s chest.
“I thought they had you. I thought...” he broke off, his voice cracking. He pressed his forehead against the horse’s mane, breathing in the mix of smoke, sweat, and dust. “You’re all I got left.”
The horse huffed, warm breath against his neck.
