The drifter was spitting blood. Daniel stood, breathing hard, his knuckles split and bleeding. He looked at Silas, who was pale and wide-eyed behind the counter. He pulled a heavy leather poke from his coat and threw it on the counter. Take what I owe.
For the supplies and the pickles, he turned to the men on the floor. Clay was trying to get up, his eyes murderous. Daniel walked over to him and put his boot on the man's chest, pinning him. His voice was not a shout. It was a cold, quiet promise.
I don't know what you heard, and I don't care, but I'm telling you this once. She is under my protection. If any of you or any man you send comes near my home, if I so much as see your shadow on my land, I will kill you. I will put you in the ground and not think twice on it. Do you understand me?
He pressed his boot down harder. Clay choked, his eyes bulging, and nodded frantically. Daniel removed his boot. He grabbed his sacks of supplies, his ammunition, and his seed, and walked out. He mounted Sully and rode out of Santa Fe, not looking back.
The ride home was long, the fury slowly cooling into a deep, cold ache. His hand throbbed. His eye was beginning to swell where the drifter's fist had grazed him. He was a fool. He had lost his temper.
He had not just borrowed trouble. He had invited it home to supper. He had painted a target on his own back and on hers. He reached the homestead as the sun was bleeding into the western meases. He was exhausted, sore, and heartsick.
Tyen was waiting on the porch. She always knew somehow. When he was close, she watched him dismount, her face calm. He pulled the heavy sacks from the horse, his movement stiff. She saw him turn.
The light was fading, but she saw the purple black swelling around his left eye. She saw the dried blood on his knuckles. She said nothing. She stepped back, holding the door open as he carried the supplies inside. He dropped them on the floor, his body slumping with fatigue.
He sat heavily in his chair, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. He expected her to be afraid. He expected her to ask what happened, to show fear of the violence he had brought back with him. Instead, she went to the dry sink. She poured water from the basin into a small bowl, took a clean cloth, and walked to the medicine tin.
She pulled out the familiar tin of salve. She knelt in front of him. He flinched when she reached for his face. It's nothing, just a brawl. She ignored him.