When it was done, the magistrate handed Cole a folded piece of paper. "Congratulations, I suppose." "Thanks," Cole said, though he wasn't sure what he was being congratulated for. They stepped outside into midday sun, and for a moment, none of them spoke. Then Lyra broke the silence.
"Well, that was romantic." "It was practical," Sani said. "Same thing." Kaya looked at Cole. "How do you feel?"
Cole considered the question. "Confused. Terrified. Like I just made the biggest mistake of my life." "Good," Kaya said. "That means you're paying attention."
They left Stillwater Crossing that afternoon, riding west with no particular destination in mind. The document sat folded in Cole's saddlebag, legal proof of something he still didn't entirely understand. But the women seemed lighter somehow, like a weight had been lifted. They talked and laughed as they rode, and for the first time in ten years, there was no undercurrent of obligation, no unspoken tension, just four people riding together because they'd chosen to. As the sun sank toward the horizon, painting the desert in shades of gold and crimson, Cole found himself thinking about the future.
Not in the vague, distant way he usually did, just far enough ahead to plan the next job or the next town, but in concrete terms. Where they'd go, what they'd build, how they'd make this strange, impossible arrangement work. He didn't have answers yet, but for the first time in longer than he could remember, he wanted to find them. Lyra rode up beside him, grinning. "So, husband, what's the plan?"
Cole glanced at her. "Don't call me that." "Why not? It's what you are." "It's weird."
"Everything about this is weird. Might as well embrace it." Cole shook his head, but he was smiling despite himself. "The plan is to find work, same as always." "Boring."
"Practical." "Still boring." Kaya called from ahead. "There's a town about two days north, Gravel Springs. Supposed to have good work for people willing to get their hands dirty."
"What kind of work?" Cole asked. "Mining, freight, construction. Take your pick." "Sounds terrible." "Sounds like money."
Cole couldn't argue with that. They needed supplies, and supplies cost money. And despite everything that had changed, some things stayed the same. They made camp that night beneath a sky so full of stars, it looked like someone had spilled silver across black cloth. The fire crackled, sending sparks spiraling upward, and the conversation drifted between comfortable silence and easy banter.
Sani sat beside Cole, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Do you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Regret what?" "Saying yes."
Cole thought about it. "Ask me again in a year." "That's not an answer." "It's the best I've got." Sani smiled.