“Flank him!” Wilder barked.
Thomas heard boots pounding on both sides. He rose, fired twice more, and dropped one man in the dust. His gun clicked empty. He cursed and reloaded fast.
A shadow loomed. One of the bandits rushed him with a knife. Thomas slammed his shoulder into the man, then drove the Colt into his gut and fired point-blank. The Rider sagged dead.
Pain exploded across Thomas’s side as a bullet tore into him. He staggered and clenched his teeth, blood soaking his shirt.
Wilder strode forward through the smoke, revolver steady in his hand.
“Stubborn bastard,” he said. “Should’ve just given it up.”
Thomas’s knees buckled, but he forced himself upright. He raised his Colt, arm trembling.
“Still standin’, huh?” Wilder asked, his eyes narrowing.
Thomas’s voice was rough but fierce. “My family ain’t here. You won’t touch them.”
“Didn’t ride for them,” Wilder replied. “Rode for the gold. But maybe we’ll find your pretty wife in town. Maybe your boy, too. Heard he’s a quick one.”
Rage flared hot in Thomas’s chest. With a roar, he fired. The shot grazed Wilder’s arm, spinning him back.
The Riders yelled and opened fire all at once. Bullets slammed into Thomas. He dropped to the dirt, gasping. The world was spinning red.
Above him, Wilder clutched his bleeding arm, face twisted in fury. He kicked Thomas’s gun from his hand.
“Dumb to the end,” Wilder hissed. He crouched close. “Your gold dies with you. And your boy...he’ll grow up hearin’ what a fool his father was.”
Thomas tried to speak, but blood filled his throat. His vision blurred.
He thought of his wife’s smile, of Blaze riding bareback across the pasture, of little Rachel laughing as she chased chickens. He saw them as clear as day, and it steadied him.
With his last breath, he whispered, “They’ll outlast you.”
Wilder sneered. Then he stood, holstered his gun, and waved his men.
Chapter One
Buckeye Ranch, Nevada, May 23, 1883
Blaze Buckeye woke to the sound of horses nickering in the corral. Dawn light spilled through the cracks in the shutters, painting lines across the wooden floor. He swung his legs off the cot, pulled on his boots, and grabbed his hat.
By the time he stepped outside, the desert was already warming. Heat shimmered low on the horizon, though the air still held a bite from the night. He crossed the yard, stretching the sleep from his shoulders.
Rachel was already at the fence, brushing dust from the mare’s coat. She looked up, her twelve-year-old face shaded by a too-large straw hat.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I’m right on time,” Blaze answered. He reached for a comb hanging on the rail.
“Sun’s been up forever,” Rachel said.
“Forever’s twenty minutes?” Blaze replied.
She grinned but kept brushing. “I did more work than you already.”
“You always say that,” Blaze said. “You want a medal?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” she said.
