They flew in lower. Ria tried to spot the canyon Zayn had pointed out on the scans, but her attention was captured by the landscape. She could see the different layers of rock that made up the rock formations. Bands of gray, yellow, brown, beige, and red. Like some giant sculptor had mixed all sorts of clay together then twisted it into the brilliant formations. She saw shapes amongst the rocks, one spire looking like a tower on the Assassin’s Guild Headquarters, another like a graceful Gardan dancer, and one like the lances carried by the soldiers on Dentan VI.
Zayn flew the ship in lower, until they passed down a narrow canyon, the formations flying past only centimeters from the sides of the ship. Something about this desolate place was beautiful, in a stark, harsh way. She could understand a little why the settlers had come here. This place equaled freedom. Just you, the rocks, and the hot desert air.
“Setting down.” Zayn’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on landing.
They set down with the slightest jolt in the shadow of a large mesa.
He unclipped his belt. “Once we’re changed and out of here, I’ll reset the cloaking device. Don’t want some prospector to stumble onto my baby.”
“I am perfectly capable of using the ship’s weapons systems for protection,” BEll said with a sniff.
His lips quirked. “Yeah. I know, but you aren’t exactly subtle.” He turned to Ria. “I’ve pulled out some clothes from storage that should do the trick.” He eyed her. “I’m pretty sure there’s something that’ll fit you.”
“I’ll find something.” She stalked back toward the cabins.
Ria didn’t take long to get changed. The trousers she found were made of a soft, brown leather and were only a little bit too big for her. She cinched the waist in with a belt. The navy and white checked shirt he’d left for her, however, was a size too small. She slipped on one of her navy tank tops underneath and fastened the shirt over the top. A hint of cleavage was still visible, but at least she didn’t look like a pleasure worker. She braided her hair then glanced in the mirror.
God, she looked like something out of the neo-western movies that had made a comeback in the last decade. She picked up the pistol Zayn had left her. The thing took real bullets. Real bullets! She slipped it into the holster fixed to her belt. She pulled on her boots next. They came to her knees, were soft and supple, and a perfect fit. Inside one of them, she slipped in a tiny scanner. It was no bigger than her palm and looked nondescript. If someone found it, hopefully they’d just think it was a hunk of metal.
She made her way back to the cockpit and came to an abrupt halt.
Well-worn denim sheathed lean hips and long legs. He turned for a second to adjust something on the control console, and the way the fabric cupped his ass made her mouth water. He straightened and she saw his white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing a generous slice of tanned chest. A dark-brown leather vest completed the outfit. The man looked good in anything.
His head shot up and his gaze ran over her in a slow, deliberate way that made her want to fidget.
“You make a pretty decent cowgirl.”
She grimaced. “Thanks. I think.”
“You’re missing one thing.” He strolled over to her with his loose-limbed stride and snatched a brimmed hat off a chair.It was a soft, supple brown and looked like it had been worn previously. He set it on her head. Adjusted it.
“There you go. A certified Diablo cowgirl.” He grabbed his own hat and jammed it over his tawny hair. The battered black cowboy hat had seen better times, but of course it suited him in a roguish kind of way.
She cleared her throat. “We should get going.” Before I do something stupid, like touch you.
“Go get ’em, pardners,” BEll drawled.
Zayn rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”
They left the ship and it only took him a moment to set the cloaking device. The air around theInfinitasshimmered, and then all Ria could see was rock. It was no surprise to her that Zayn had a top-notch system.
Following a barely discernible track created by some sort of animals, they wound their way out of the canyon. The afternoon sun beat down on them mercilessly, and soon Ria felt sweat beading on her face and dampening her shirt.
“How far to this trading post?” she asked.
“Not far.”
Twenty hot, sweaty minutes later, they came across a tiny, dilapidated wooden shack. A crude, hand-painted sign hung crookedly above the door and pronounced ‘Smoky’s Fine Goods Emporium.’
Ria snorted. “Is Smoky serious?”
Zayn grinned. “If nothing else, he’s optimistic.”
Smoky turned out to be a wiry man with a shock of gray hair and a face like boot leather. “Horses, you say? I might have a couple.”
He chewed on something and then spat a brown blob of saliva on the sawdust-covered ground. Ria suppressed a wince.
“They’re good animals. Well bred. I can get a real good price for them in Bedlam.”
