Eight hours to decide whether to accept something he didn't understand, or reject it and watch them waste the rest of their lives following him anyway. Neither option felt right. He thought about running. Just saddling his horse in the dead of night and riding until Stillwater Crossing was a week behind him. But he'd tried that before, in smaller ways, and the women had always found him.
Always caught up. And even if they didn't, even if he somehow managed to disappear completely, the guilt would follow him. He knew that with the kind of certainty that came from experience. Cole stood, brushed the dust off his pants, and started walking back toward town. Not because he'd made a decision, but because sitting alone in the desert wasn't going to give him answers.
When he reached the edge of Stillwater Crossing, the streets were mostly empty. A few lanterns glowed in windows, and somewhere a dog was barking at nothing. Cole made his way to the small boarding house where they'd taken rooms and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The women were in the room at the end of the hall. He could see light beneath the door, hear the murmur of voices.
He stopped outside, hand raised to knock, then lowered it. What was he supposed to say? That he needed more time? That this was too much? That he didn't know how to be what they wanted him to be?
The door opened before he could decide. Sani stood there, her expression unreadable. "We heard you on the stairs." "I'm not quiet," Cole admitted. "No, you're not."
She stepped aside. "Come in." Cole entered the room. It was small, barely large enough for the single bed and chair shoved against the wall. Kaya sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap.
Lyra leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, watching him with sharp eyes. Nobody spoke. Cole closed the door behind him and stood there, hat in his hands, feeling more exposed than he had in any gunfight. "I don't know what to say," he said finally. "Then don't say anything yet," Kaya replied.
"Just listen." Cole nodded. Kaya stood, moving with that same deliberate grace she always carried. "I know this doesn't make sense to you. I know your people don't do things this way, but where we come from, life and death aren't separate things."
"They're woven together. When you saved us, you didn't just give us more time. You gave us purpose, direction, a reason to keep going when we'd lost everything else." "That's not—" Cole started, but Sani cut him off. "Let her finish."
Kaya continued. "For ten years we've followed you, worked beside you, watched you try to convince yourself you don't need anyone. But you do, Cole. Everyone does. And whether you admit it or not, you've let us in."
"You've trusted us with your life more times than I can count. This isn't us forcing something on you. This is us asking you to acknowledge what's already there." "What's already there is friendship," Cole said. "Maybe. Partnership at best."
"And marriage is both of those things," Lyra said from the window. "With a promise attached." "A promise I didn't ask for." "No. But you earned it anyway."