The moment stretched tight, the wind carrying the horses' breathing, the creak of saddle leather. Then the older man swung down from his horse, boots crunching in the dirt. Calder's thumb eased the hammer back on the rifle with a click that cut through the yard like a blade.
"Don't," he warned.
The man froze, his eyes narrowing. "You'd shoot a man over her?"
Calder's jaw tightened. "Try me."
For a long moment, no one moved. Then the younger rider swore under his breath and tugged his horse around. "Let's go," he muttered. The older man stared at Calder another second, then spat in the dirt and swung back into the saddle.
"You just bought yourself trouble, Boone," he said.
Calder didn't answer. He held his aim until they were halfway down the trail, then lowered the rifle and let out the breath he'd been holding. When he stepped back inside, Naya was still standing there, rifle ready.
Her hands were steady, but her eyes were wide. "They gone?" she asked.
"For now," Calder said.
She crossed the room quickly and set the rifle down, then stopped in front of him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then she reached up, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him hard. Calder let the rifle drop against the wall and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
The kiss was urgent this time, full of everything they hadn't said in the last weeks. Fear, relief, the sharp edge of knowing they might not have gotten another chance. When they broke apart, she didn't step back. She stayed close, breathing fast, her hands still on his chest.
"They come back?" she asked.
"They might," Calder said honestly.
Her chin lifted slightly. "Then we stay ready."
Calder nodded. "We will." That night, the cabin felt warmer than it ever had, though the fire was no bigger than usual. Naya didn't just share the cot.