The second rider, younger, shifted in his saddle. "Looking for someone. Apache girl, maybe 24. You seen her?"
Calder's grip on the rifle stayed steady. "No one here but me." The older man's mouth curved slightly. "Funny. We heard different."
Calder's jaw tightened. "You heard wrong."
There was a long pause, the wind still dead. Calder could feel the weight of Naya's presence just beyond the door. He knew she was listening. "You mind if we look around?" the younger man asked, though it didn't sound much like a question.
"I do," Calder said flatly.
The two riders exchanged a glance. The older one spat into the dirt. "She stole something."
"Doesn't belong out here. You're not doing yourself any favors by keeping her."
Calder stepped off the porch and leveled the rifle. Not aiming to fire, but making it clear he could. "Trail's that way," he said, nodding toward the open plain. "You ride it."
"We ride back the way you came. Either way, you leave my place standing."
The younger one shifted again, looking like he might argue, but the older man put a hand on his arm. After a long moment, he gave Calder a hard look and turned his horse. "This ain't done," he said over his shoulder.
"Then make sure you're ready next time," Calder said.
They rode off slow, but Calder kept the rifle raised until they were only specks on the horizon again. Only then did he lower it, his pulse still heavy in his chest. When he opened the cabin door, Naya was standing in the middle of the room, her hands clenched at her sides. "They go?" she asked.
"For now," Calder said. She stepped forward and took the rifle from his hands, setting it carefully against the wall. Then, without a word, she wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her face against his chest. Calder froze for a moment.
Then he let out a long breath and rested one hand on the back of her head. "They'll come again," he said quietly.
"I know," she whispered.