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?"
"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.
That respect protects those close to him, too." We were just pulling up to the house when the door swung open and a woman hurried out. She was tall, though not like Sihaya, and dressed in a mix of traditional and settler clothes. The moment she saw Sihaya, her face lit up. "Sihaya!" she called, rushing forward.
"Thank the spirits you're alive. We heard about the attack on your village. When you didn't come back." They embraced tightly, speaking fast in a language I didn't understand. But I didn't need the words to see the bond between them, or the way Merrell's expression darkened as Sihaya told her what had happened.
"Varick Holt." Merrell spat the name like poison. "That devil's been a curse on this land for far too long." A new voice cut in then, deep, steady, carrying the slow drawl of Texas. "Someone say Varick Holt?" I turned to see a man walking up from the barn.
Tall, lean, with a face weathered by sun and years of hard work. No doubt about it. That was Garrick Vane. "Garrick," Merrell said, "this is my cousin, Sihaya, and her friend, Dax Calder. They've had trouble with Holt's men."