"I'm not just some drifting cowboy. There was a time I made my living with these guns. Not always on the right side of the law." She stayed quiet for a moment, letting it sink in. "And now?" she asked.
"Now I'm trying to be different, someone better." "That's good," she said softly, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Because the man I saw today, Dax Calder, he's exactly the man I hoped to find." As we rode toward Willow Run, my mind drifted to everything I'd spent years avoiding. What it might mean to stop running, to build something real with someone.
For the first time since I was old enough to carry a gun, the future felt like something worth thinking about. But first, we had to survive long enough to reach it. The ride to Willow Run took us through some of the finest country I'd ever seen. Rolling hills painted with wild flowers, cold, clear streams cutting through the land, mountains rising like cathedral walls beneath an endless sky. And still, I couldn't shake the feeling we were being watched.
"Holt has more men than just those three," Sihaya said, as if she'd read my thoughts. "His network stretches across three territories. Someone's probably already riding ahead to cut us off." "How do you know so much about his operation?" I asked. She didn't answer right away.
I could feel the tension in her as she leaned against me. "Because my brother worked for him," she said at last, "before he understood what Holt really was." My grip tightened slightly on the reins. "What happened to him?" "Varick Holt killed him when he tried to leave," she said, her voice steady but heavy.
"Made it look like an accident, but I knew the truth." Her arms tightened around me. "That's why I was watching his camp," she continued. "I was looking for proof of what really happened." And just like that, everything fell into place.
This wasn't just about her seeing something she shouldn't have. This was personal. Varick Holt had torn her family apart, and Sihaya had been gathering proof ever since, waiting for the right moment to bring him down. "We're going to stop him," I said, surprising even myself with how steady my voice sounded. "You really think I'm going to let you face him alone after what he did?"
I felt her arms tighten around me, and when she spoke, there was something raw in her voice. "You barely know me, Dax. Why would you risk your life for my fight?" It was a fair question, and the truth was, I didn't have a clean answer. How could I explain that something inside me had shifted the moment I saw her tied to that tree?
That for the first time in years, I'd found something worth fighting for, something more than just staying alive. "Maybe because it ain't just your fight anymore," I said. We crested a ridge then, and Willow Run stretched out below us. A small settlement built around a natural spring, maybe 20 buildings in all, with a well-kept corral full of cattle. Smoke curled from chimneys, and folks moved about their business like any quiet frontier town.
"There," Sihaya said, pointing toward a house on the edge of town, larger than the rest, well-built. That's where my cousin Merrell lives, with her husband." As we rode down, people started to notice us. They paused, watching. Not hostile, just curious.
Hard not to be with Sihaya's height. You could spot her from a mile out. "Seems like decent folk," I muttered. "Merrell married well," she replied. "Her husband, Garrick, is respected here.