The sandstorm had died hours ago, but Cole Maddox could still taste the grit clawing at the back of his throat. His horse was faltering bad now. Each uneven step a warning that time was slipping through his fingers. He'd been riding hard for three straight days, running from a past that didn't matter anymore. All that mattered now was water, a place to lay low, and maybe, if the world still had mercy left, a second shot at something better.
When he caught sight of thin trails of smoke curling up between the red rocks, his chest tightened. Could be trouble, could be salvation. Out here in red sky people land, the line between the two was razor thin. But the horse wasn't going any farther, and Cole knew it. He reined in at the top of a ridge and slowly raised both hands, showing he carried no weapon in them.
The rifle stayed strapped to the saddle, but his palms were empty. That was the only way a man approached without getting himself killed. So, he waited. The sun burned into his back as figures began stepping out from between the lodges. Not warriors, women.
A whole lot of women. And behind them came one who carried herself like the land answered to her. "Ease down off that horse," the woman said, her English clean and steady, sharper than his own. "That animal's hurt. We know what it means to suffer." Her voice was low, calm, but there was iron in it.
No room for argument. Cole slid down carefully, his legs aching from too many hours in the saddle. The horse gave a weak snort, and guilt twisted in his gut. He'd pushed the animal too far. The woman stepped closer.
Her face was carved with years, half wisdom, half loss. Her hair, more silver than black, was braided thick over her shoulder. "I'm Tala," she said. "I lead these people. You got a name, stranger?" "Cole," he answered, voice rough with thirst.
"Cole Maddox. I'm not looking for trouble. Just need water for my horse and a place to rest the night." Tala studied him in silence. Her dark eyes searched him like she was reading something buried deep, something even he'd tried to forget. "We have water," she said at last.
"Rest, maybe. But nothing in this world comes free, Cole Maddox. Not anymore." Two young women stepped forward and led the horse away, gentle as if it were their own. That surprised him. Tala motioned for him to follow and led him into the heart of the camp, where a fire burned beneath the ruthless sun.
Cole counted without thinking. 22 Women, all dressed near the same, all carrying the same look in their eyes, a look he knew too well. Loss. "You notice things," Tala said, catching him watching them. "Yes.
They're all river women. Last year the drought nearly broke us. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon. The men went past the mountains searching for water. Not one came back.