Really looked. Like she was trying to see past the dust, the scars, the man I'd been. "You're not like the men I've known," she said. "Why do you say that?" "Most men, my height makes them uneasy.
They fear me. Or they stare like I'm something strange." Her gaze softened just a little. "You look at me like I'm just a woman." "That's because you are," I said.
"A strong one. A beautiful one. And you deserve better than being tied to a tree by men like Varick Holt." Something shifted in her expression. Surprise, maybe.
Or the first spark of something deeper. When she smiled, it changed everything. Softened the edges. Lit her from within. And in a quiet voice, almost to herself, she said, "I think you might be a good man, Dax Calder."
"Don't trust me too much," I said. But for the first time in years, I found myself hoping she was right. We stayed hidden in that cave until the sounds of the chase faded into nothing. Still, it was clear Sihaya was running on empty. Three days on the run and a morning tied to a tree would wear down anyone, even someone as strong as her.
"There's a town about 10 miles east," I told her. "Cartwright. We could get you a room, some food, maybe talk to the territorial law." She shook her head right away. "Varick Holt owns the law in Cartwright, half the town council, too.
Going there would be walking into a trap." "Then where?" "There's another place, Willow Run, about 15 miles north. Small, but honest folk. My cousin lives there.
She married a rancher 5 years ago." As we prepared to leave the cave, I caught myself watching her. How she moved, how natural it all looked, even with her height. Everything about her challenged things I'd never thought to question. "Sihaya," I said as we reached the entrance.
"Why do you trust me? I could be working for Holt." She rested a hand on Gravewind's neck and looked at me like she could see straight through my bones. "Because when you cut those ropes," she said quietly, "your hands were shaking. Not from fear, from anger at what they'd done to me."
She was right. Men who sell people don't get angry over suffering. I hadn't even realized she'd noticed. But seeing her tied up like that had stirred something in me I thought was long dead. And it wasn't just that.
It was the way she looked at me. No fear, no suspicion. None of that usual mix I'd grown used to seeing in people's eyes. "There's something else you should know," I said once we were riding again, "about me." "What is it?"