You want to marry her? Suit yourself, mister. It makes no difference to the government as long as she is off the roster." "Write it," Elias commanded. Thorne scribbled on the document, the pen scratching loudly in the silence.
He signed it and shoved the paper toward Elias. Elias picked it up, reading the words carefully to ensure there was no trickery. "Naya, ward of Elias Ward, wife." He folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket, next to his heart. Then he turned to Naya.
"Let us go," he said quietly. She nodded, a single, sharp motion. She did not look back at the other women in the pen. She could not. To look back was to break, and she had to be strong now.
She followed him to the hitching rail. Elias untied the bay. He looked at Naya's feet. She wore moccasins that were worn through at the soles. "Can you ride?" he asked.
"I can ride," she answered. Her voice was smoother now, less halted, though still thick with accent. He mounted the horse and then held out a hand to her. She hesitated for only a second before gripping his forearm. Her grip was strong, her fingers calloused.
She swung up behind him, settling on the rump of the horse. She did not wrap her arms around his waist. She gripped the back of the saddle cantle, keeping a careful inch of space between her body and his back. They rode out of Ocotillo Wells as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the world in shades of gray and indigo. The town fell silent behind them, the jeers of the men fading into the wind.
Elias did not speak until the town was gone, hidden by the rise and fall of the dunes. He kept the horse at a steady walk. The burden of another rider was heavy for the old gelding, but the animal pushed on. Finally, Elias cleared his throat. "I want you to know," he said, keeping his eyes on the darkening trail ahead.
"I did not buy you to use you. I am not that kind of man." Naya was silent for a long time. He could feel the heat of her body radiating against his back, even through the space she tried to keep. "You paid money," she said flatly.
"That makes it a sale." "I paid money to get you out of that pen," Elias corrected. "The paper says you are my wife. That means the law cannot touch you. It means the army cannot take you back to the reservation."
"And what does it mean for you?" she asked. "It means I have someone to cook beans," Elias said, trying to make a joke of it, though his heart felt heavy. "Look, I live alone. It is a hard place. I am not asking for anything you do not want to give."
Naya looked at the back of his head. She studied the way his hair curled over his collar, the tension in his shoulders. She had survived this long by reading men, by knowing when to fight and when to yield. She did not trust him. Trust was a luxury she could not afford, but she believed him when he said he would not force her, at least not tonight.