“Until I find them,” she said. “And when I do, I’ll put one bullet in each.”
“Then maybe I’ll ride with you for a while,” Blaze said.
Her hand went to her hip. “I told you, I don’t need—”
“I ain’t saying you do,” Blaze said. “But we’re after the same men. Might be we get further together than apart.”
She studied him again, weighing the offer. Her fingers brushed the worn wood of her rifle. “You any good with that Colt?”
“Good enough,” Blaze said. “Better when it counts.”
“Hmm,” she said. “You look like a kid.”
“I ain’t a kid anymore,” Blaze said. His tone left no room for doubt.
For the first time, Marisol smiled. Just barely. “We’ll see about that.”
She turned back toward the wreck, pulling a small tin from her satchel.
“There’s water in the coach,” she said. “If you’re stayin’ close, take what you can. I’m movin’ on soon.”
Blaze nodded, walking toward the shattered door. Inside, the floorboards were slick with old blood, the smell thick and metallic. He found a canteen wedged behind the seat, half-full, warm but drinkable. He swallowed hard, then offered it toward her.
“You want some?”
“I’ve got mine,” she said, eyes still scanning the horizon.
Blaze corked it, tucking it to his belt. “They can’t be far,” he said. “If they hit three days ago, they’ll be slowed by what they stole.”
“They’re clever,” Marisol said. “They scatter, double back, move by night.”
“Then we’ll do the same,” Blaze said.
Her head tilted slightly. “You talk like you’ve hunted men before.”
“I’ve hunted worse,” Blaze said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
Blaze’s hand rested on the Colt at his hip. “I was ready the moment they took everything.”
Marisol looked away. “Careful with words like that. Revenge will rot you from the inside.”
“Maybe so,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “But it’s all I got left.”
The wind carried silence between them. Marisol looked at him again, her face softer this time.
“You remind me of him,” she said quietly. “My brother. Always thought he could fix the world if he tried hard enough.”
“Maybe he could’ve,” Blaze said.
“Not anymore.”
Blaze looked back toward the wrecked stagecoach. “Then let’s make sure they don’t do it again.”
He turned to go, but Marisol called after him. “Buckeye.”
He stopped, half turning.
