Wary, measuring, unafraid. "Can you walk?" he asked. She didn't answer, didn't blink. "Probably doesn't speak English," someone muttered from the crowd.
Laughter followed, low and ugly. Rhett turned slowly, scanning the faces until the laughter died out like a campfire doused. Then he looked back at the woman. "My horse is over there," he said, nodding toward the hitching post.
"We're leaving." He started walking. The rope went taut. He stopped and looked back.
She hadn't moved. "You planning to make this difficult?" he asked quietly. Her head tilted slightly, like she was considering the question. Then she took a step forward, then another.
Rhett turned and kept walking, and she followed three paces behind, the rope slack between them. His horse, a gray gelding named Ash, nickered when Rhett approached. He stuffed the end of the rope in his saddlebag, unable to bring himself to hold it like a leash, and swung into the saddle. The woman stood beside the horse, waiting.
"Can you ride?" Rhett asked. She looked up at him, still silent. Rhett let out a breath through his nose and held out his hand. She stared at it for a long moment, then placed her bound hands in his.
Her skin was warm, rougher than he'd expected. He pulled, and she stepped into the stirrup and settled behind him on the saddle like she'd done it before. The ride out of Domingo Springs took 10 minutes. It felt like an hour.
Rhett could feel every eye on his back. Could hear the whispers starting already. He didn't care. He'd stopped caring about his reputation around the same time he'd stopped caring about most things.
The canyon was eight miles south, a gash in the red earth that ran deep and narrow, carved by a river that had mostly given up. Rhett's land, if you could call it that, sat on the eastern edge, 100 acres of scrub, brush, rock, and stubbornness. There was a cabin he'd built himself, a barn that leaned slightly west, and a well that still gave water if you were patient. He'd been there two years, hadn't planted anything, hadn't fixed the fence, hadn't done much of anything except wake up, work until his hands bled, and fall asleep too tired to dream.
The woman didn't speak the entire ride. She didn't hold on to him either, just sat behind him, balanced, her bound hands resting on her lap. When they reached the cabin, Rhett dismounted and turned to help her down. She was already on the ground, standing in the dust, looking at the canyon stretching out behind the property like it was an old friend.
Rhett pulled a knife from his belt. The woman's eyes flicked to it, but she didn't move. "I'm going to cut the rope," he said slowly. "Understand?"
No response. He reached for her wrists. She let him. The blade was sharp.
The rope fell away in two quick cuts. Red marks circled her wrists where the hemp had dug in. She rubbed them absently, still looking past him toward the canyon. "There's water in the barrel by the door," Rhett said, pointing.
"Food inside if you're hungry. You can sleep in the cabin. I'll take the barn." She turned to look at him then. Really look at him.
And Rhett had the uncomfortable feeling of being seen in a way he hadn't been in a long time. "Why?" she said. Her voice was low, unaccented, clear as creek water. Rhett blinked.
"You do speak English." "Why did you buy me?" He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't have an answer that made sense, even to himself.