“Then we’ll find those tracks,” Blaze replied. “And when we do, we’ll make him wish he never opened that chest.”
They crested a ridge as the first drops of rain began to fall, darkening the dust. Blaze reined in and looked back the way they’d come. The long trail stretched east, toward the towns that no longer wanted them.
He took a breath, heavy with dust and storm air.
“From here on,” he said, “we ride where no one can follow.”
At that, Marisol pulled her hat lower. “Then lead the way.”
And as the storm rolled across the plains, the trio disappeared into the rain.
Chapter 24
The afternoon hung heavily over the valley. The heat made the air shimmer over the grass.
Rachel wiped her brow with the back of her hand and shifted the pail to her other arm. The barn wasn’t much. It was half-leaning and patched with boards of different colors, but it was shelter enough for the horses and for her thoughts.
She tried to keep busy. That’s what Blaze always told her when bad things happened.
Keep busy, and don’t let the dark thoughts in.
So, she did. She swept the feed aisle twice a day, even when there was hardly any straw left to move. She polished the tack until her fingers blistered, mended blankets with crooked stitches, and scrubbed the troughs until her reflection swam faintly on the surface.
Still, the quiet got to her.
Every time a rider passed on the road, her heart kicked, thinking maybe it was him. But it never was.
Blaze had been gone nearly two weeks now. Rachel hadn’t argued much. She knew better. Blaze carried the hurt that made men restless. Still, she couldn’t help worrying what that kind of hurt might make him do.
She lifted the pitchfork and turned the hay in the stall, trying not to think of it. Dust rose around her, catching in the light like smoke. The mare snorted softly, brushing her muzzle against Rachel’s shoulder.
“You would have loved him,” she murmured.
The horse blinked, and Rachel smiled faintly.
“He’ll come back,” she said. “He always does.”
But even as she said it, doubt tugged at the edges of her voice.
Outside, the sound of wagon wheels drifted faintly down the road, then faded. She stopped working for a moment, listening to the emptiness return.
Somewhere in the distance, a crow called. The sound was sharp and lonely.
This barn belonged to Robert Kane. She knew he had done business with their father before his death. After Blaze rode off, Kane offered her a place to stay.
She’d been grateful then, too tired and scared to ask questions. But lately she’d started noticing things...how he kept the ledgers locked tight, how he watched her a little too closely when she passed him in the yard.
She tried to stay out of his way, working from sunup to sundown. It gave her an excuse not to talk. She fed the chickens, carried water from the well, and brushed down the horses until their coats shone.
When she wasn’t working, she sat by the fence with her sewing, glancing at the hills where Blaze had disappeared.
She remembered the last thing he said before he left. She’d smiled, but now the memory just ached.
Rachel reached for the water bucket and carried it toward the stalls, the boards creaking beneath her boots. Sunlight slanted through the gaps in the wall, casting bright stripes across the straw.
For a moment, everything was still. The smell of hay, the warm breath of the horses, and the rhythmic cluck of hens outside felt familiar.
Then she heard a step behind her. It was slow.
