"Easy now," Coleman said. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just to inform you that the woman needs to come with us for proper registration. Once the paperwork's filed, you can have her back."
"She's not a thing you file paperwork on." "The territory says different." Ayah stepped forward, putting herself between Rhett and the riders. "I'll go," she said quietly.
"The hell you will," Rhett said. She turned to look at him, her expression calm but her eyes urgent. "It's fine. I'll go."
"They'll do their paperwork, and I'll come back." "You don't know that." "And you don't know what happens if you fight this." She touched his arm just briefly.
"Let me go. Don't make this worse." Coleman smiled, thin and satisfied. "Smart woman. You should listen to her, Callaway."
Rhett's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Every instinct screamed at him to reach for his gun, to tell Coleman and his men to get off his land or get buried in it. But Ayah's hand was on his arm, steady, and her eyes were saying, Trust me. He didn't know what else to do.
"How long?" he asked. "Couple days. Maybe a week at most." "And I'm supposed to just believe you'll bring her back?"
"I'm a territorial officer. My word's good." Rhett almost laughed. He'd met men like Coleman before.
Badges and authority and not an ounce of honor. But he also knew that fighting three armed men while Ayah stood in the crossfire was a good way to get them both killed. "One week," Rhett said. "If she's not back in one week, I'm coming to find her."
"Fair enough." Coleman gestured to Ayah. "Come on, then." Ayah squeezed Rhett's arm once, then let go and walked toward Coleman's horse.
She didn't look back. Rhett watched her mount behind Coleman, watched them turn and ride east, watched until they disappeared into the heat shimmer. Then he stood in the yard of his half-destroyed property and felt the same hollow rage he'd felt four years ago, watching Caleb's blood soak into the dirt. He'd failed then.
Let someone he cared about get taken from him. He'd be damned if he let it happen again. Rhett went into the cabin and dug through his belongings until he found what he was looking for. A gun belt he hadn't worn in two years.
The leather was still supple, the revolver clean and oiled because some habits you don't break. He strapped it on, checked the chambers, added a box of ammunition to his saddlebag. Then he saddled Ash and rode for Domingo Springs. The town looked the same as it had two weeks ago.
Dusty, tired, mean. Rhett tied Ash outside Morrison's Saloon and pushed through the doors. The bartender, a grizzled man named Hank, looked up, and recognition flickered across his face. "Callaway. Heard you caused some excitement at the auction."
"Need information, Hank." "Information costs." Rhett dropped a silver dollar on the bar. "Where does Coleman take people he picks up under territorial law?"
Hank pocketed the coin. "Fort Karns. Military outpost 30 miles northeast. They've got holding facilities there for people awaiting transport."