A rancher near the front, a man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, pointed a finger at Naya. "What about that tall one? She looks strong enough to pull a plow." Another man spat on the ground. "Too old.
Look at her eyes. That is a wild mare that has been ridden too hard. You would have to beat the spirit out of her before she would boil your coffee." Naya lifted her chin. She did not flinch at the words.
Instead, she stepped away from the other women, isolating herself. It was a dangerous move, drawing attention, but she had to see. She had to find a loophole. Her eyes scanned the crowd, bypassing the drunkards, the leering miners, and the arrogant cattle baron. She was looking for something else.
She was looking for a hesitation. Her gaze landed on Elias. He stood back from the rail, his arms crossed over his chest. He was not laughing. He was not shouting.
His face was a mask of grim distaste. He looked dusty and travel-worn. His clothes patched and his hat stained with sweat. But there was a stillness in him that spoke of a different kind of man. He looked like a man who knew what it meant to be hunted.
Naya felt her eyes on him. He looked up and met her stare. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade into a dull roar. For a heartbeat, there was only the space between them. He saw the exhaustion in her face, the deep bruising shadows under her eyes.
But he also saw the defiance. She was asking him a question without speaking a word. She was measuring him. She saw him flinch when the man beside him made a crude joke about breeding stock. She saw his hand twitch toward his gun belt and then stop.
She sensed the conflict in him, the man on the edge of walking away. Naya made her choice. It was a gamble that could cost her everything. But she had nothing left to lose. She slipped under the bottom rail of the corral.
The guard shouted, but she moved with the fluid grace of a stalking cat. She did not run. She walked straight toward Elias, ignoring the other men who reached out to grab at her skirts. She stopped 2 ft in front of him. She smelled of wood smoke and old fear, but her head was high.
The crowd went quiet, confused by the sudden breach of protocol. Naya looked up into Elias's face. Her eyes were dark pools, bottomless and pleading. Though her face remained stoic, she spoke in a low voice, her English broken and heavy with the accent of her people. But the words were clear enough to cut through the dusty air.
"Buy me, cowboy. I am experienced and I can give you offspring." Elias stared at her, stunned. The bluntness of it, the desperate dignity she wrapped around the offer, struck him silent. She was not offering herself as a servant.