Nielli exhaled, the first breath she had taken in hours that wasn't laced with grit. She looked at Elias and said, "It could have taken us." It did not. Elias met her gaze, and for the first time since she had arrived, a faint trace of relief touched his face. No, it didn't.
They spent the day digging out the fence line, clearing the yard, and setting things right. The storm had tested them both, and neither had broken. By the time the sun fell again, the land was still harsh, but the bond between them had grown clearer. They had endured the storm side by side, and in the west that was no small thing. The storm left behind a silence that felt heavier than the wind itself.
For two days, Elias and Nielli worked to clear the drifts of grit that had piled against the fences and pressed under the door. Their hands were raw, their clothes ground stiff with dust, but the work gave rhythm to the hours. By the third morning, the land looked steady again, scarred, but livable. Elias thought, "Maybe the worst had passed." He was wrong.
Late that morning, two riders came down the north road. Their horses moved slow, but sure, the kind of mounts hardened by long miles. Both men wore dusters that had seen too much travel, their hats low, their eyes sharp. They didn't look like drifters or townsmen. They looked like men who followed sign and got paid to bring people in.
Elias knew the type. He set down the shovel and leaned against the fence, his rifle within reach though not in his hands. The riders stopped at the gate. The taller one spoke first, his voice carrying across the yard. We're looking for an Apache woman.
Came through these parts after a skirmish near the river. Heard she might have made it this far. Elias kept his expression flat. Plenty of travelers passed through. I don't keep count.
The second rider's gaze slid past him toward the house. Nielli stood in the doorway, her shawl drawn close, her face steady but pale. She didn't step back, didn't hide, but the tension in her jaw showed she knew exactly what they were. The taller man pointed with his chin. That her.
Before Elias could answer, another voice broke the standoff. Sheriff Burke rode up slow from the ridge. His horse blowing dust from its nostrils. He had seen the riders long before they reached the gate. He stopped his horse alongside, one hand resting easy on the rains.
Morning, gentlemen. You here on county business. The taller rider shifted in his saddle, annoyed at the interruption. Private business. There's bounty notices in Prescott.