Nothing fancy. One room for sleeping. One for cooking. A covered porch where we sat in the evenings and watched the sun set over the mountains.
Six months after we arrived, Takala told me she was pregnant. We married according to Mexican law that same week. Not because we had to. But because we wanted to.
Because somewhere in the journey from my ranch to this new life, somewhere between standing against Hollis and crossing the river, we'd become something more than two damaged people sharing space. We'd become family. Our son was born in the spring of 1885. We named him Daniel Matto Garrett.
After my lost son and her lost husband. It felt right. Honoring both our pasts while building our future. Chaska came to visit when the baby was three months old.
He brought news from the north. The war had ended with a treaty. The Apache had been forced onto reservations, their lands taken, their way of life destroyed. Kuruk had surrendered to save the survivors.
"My father asked me to tell you something," Chaska said, holding Daniel with awkward care. "He said the debt is paid."
"You gave him his son's life twice. Once when you saved me, and again when you saved all those people by getting them to safety. He says you are family now."
"And family owes no debts."
"Tell him thank you," I said. "And tell him I'm sorry it ended the way it did."
"He knows. But he also says this. Some fights you lose, but you fight them anyway because not fighting means losing who you are."
"He does not regret resisting. He only regrets that it was not enough."
After Chaska left, Takala and I sat on the porch with Daniel sleeping between us. "Do you regret it?" she asked. "Everything you gave up?"
"Your ranch? Your country? Your old life?"
I thought about it. About Emily and the children sleeping on that hill in New Mexico. About the ranch I'd built with my own hands.
About the life that had been stolen by sickness and time. "No," I said. "I don't regret it."
"I wish they were still alive. I wish things had been different. But if they hadn't died, I wouldn't have been alone."
"If I hadn't been alone, I wouldn't have saved Chaska. And if I hadn't saved Chaska, I never would have met you. So no, I don't regret the path that brought me here."
She leaned her head against my shoulder. "I still miss Matto sometimes. I still think about the life we could have had."
"I know."
"But I am happy here. With you. With our son."
"Is it wrong to be happy when so many others suffer?"