“Bet you belonged to one of Wilder’s men, huh?” he asked. “Don’t matter now. You’re free of them. Just like I am.”
The horse took a half-step forward, nostrils flaring at the scent of food. Blaze’s hand trembled slightly, but he held it steady.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Easy, boy.”
The horse’s muzzle brushed his palm—warm breath, rough whiskers. Then, in one quick movement, it took the biscuit.
Blaze froze, then smiled faintly. “See? Not so bad.”
The horse lifted its head again, still uncertain but less wild now. Blaze dared to reach out until his fingers brushed the side of its neck. The skin twitched, but it didn’t pull away.
He kept talking. It was soft nonsense, words that didn’t matter except for their calm sound.
“You’re alright,” he continued. “No one’s gonna shoot. No one’s gonna burn you out again.”
Behind him, Marisol lowered her rifle. He could feel her watching, curiosity breaking through her usual steel. Graycloud stepped closer too, his shadow long in the morning light.
“He remembers your smell,” Graycloud said quietly. “You were close when he fled.”
“Maybe he saw Nancy go down,” Blaze murmured, fingers moving slowly along the horse’s mane. It was tangled, full of burrs and sand. “Maybe he remembers the sound.”
The horse’s breath slowed. Its head dropped an inch.
Blaze moved around to its flank, studying the scratch on the hind leg. The wound was shallow. He crouched to get a better look, careful not to startle the animal.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said. “Bullet just grazed him.”
Marisol approached, her boots crunching softly. “You plan on doctoring him too?”
“Someone’s gotta,” Blaze said.
“And then what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “We’ve got two horses already. You think we need another mouth to feed?”
The Indian answered before Blaze could. “A wounded horse that runs still has worth.”
Blaze smiled a little, grateful for the ally. He tore a strip from the edge of his shirt and dipped it in his canteen. The water was warm, but it would do.
The horse tensed when the cloth touched the wound, but Blaze soothed him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Easy, Shadow,” he said instinctively.
Marisol tilted her head. “Shadow?”
“That’s his name,” Blaze said without thinking.
The black Morgan flicked an ear as if answering.
“Shadow,” Marisol repeated. “You sure he belongs to you already?”
Blaze looked at her, then back at the animal. “He does now.”
“The spirits favor names given in truth,” Graycloud said.
“If the spirits want to carry your pack next time, I won’t stop them,” Marisol said, rolling her eyes playfully.
Blaze ignored her teasing. He ran his fingers through the horse’s mane again, untangling knots. The animal leaned into the touch.
Something eased in Blaze’s chest too—a small knot of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying since Nancy’s death. He hadn’t thought he’d ever want to ride again, not after seeing her fall.
