“Don’t move,” a woman’s voice snapped behind him.
He froze. The sound was sharp. It wasn’t panic. It was control.
“I said don’t move,” the voice repeated, lower now. “Hands where I can see ’em.”
Slowly, Blaze raised his hands. “I ain’t looking for trouble.”
“Then you found it anyway.”
He turned his head slightly, catching her in the edge of his vision. She stood about ten yards away with her Hawken Plains rifle aimed at his chest. Dust clung to her boots and skirt, and her hat was tilted low against the sun. Her dark hair was tied back. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion and something colder.
It was pain.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Name’s Blaze Buckeye,” he said. “Just passing through.”
“Liar,” she said flatly. “You’re a grave robber, maybe worse. I’ve seen your kind.”
“I ain’t touched a thing,” Blaze said. “I just found it.”
“Everyone just finds it,” she shot back. The rifle didn’t waver.
He turned slowly to face her, palms still open. “You think I did this?”
Her eyes flicked to the stage, to the bullet holes and the bodies. “I know who did it.”
“Then we might have something in common,” Blaze said. “I’m hunting the ones who did.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed further. “That so?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “Dean Wilder and his Hollow Creek Riders.”
The air changed. Her grip tightened, and her lips parted like she’d been struck. For a moment, the only sound was the wind.
“You know that name,” Blaze said quietly.
She lowered the rifle a fraction, still ready but no longer aimed to kill.
“I know it,” she said. “Too damn well.”
Blaze took a slow step forward. “You lost someone?”
“My brother,” she replied, clenching her jaw. “Emilio Vega. They hit this coach three days ago. He was driving it.”
“I’m sorry,” Blaze said. And he meant it.
“Don’t be,” she said, voice hardening. “They’ll pay for it soon enough.”
Blaze nodded once. “Then we’re after the same devils.”
Her eyes searched his face for a long moment, trying to read him. “You look too young to be hunting killers.”
“I got a reason,” Blaze said. “Wilder’s gang burned my home. Killed my ma.”
The words came out raw, scraping his throat. Her eyes softened just slightly, then cooled again.
“That makes two of us with graves to answer for,” she said.
