"Then we'll be three times as good," Kaya said. Cole shook his head but didn't argue. He nudged his horse forward, and the three women scrambled to mount up and follow. Within minutes, Redemption Flats was shrinking behind them, swallowed by dust and distance. They rode in silence for the first hour.
Cole kept the pace steady but not punishing, watching the horizon for signs of trouble. Out there, trouble didn't announce itself. It just appeared. Bandits, storms, rattlesnakes, or any one of a thousand things that could end a person before they knew what hit them. Lyra rode up beside him, her horse matching his stride.
"So," she said, too casual. "You always this talkative, or are we special?" "I don't talk much." "Noticed that." She tilted her head, studying him.
"You got family back in Redemption Flats?" "No." "Friends?" "No." "Enemies?"
"Probably." Lyra laughed. "Man of few words. I respect that." Cole didn't answer.
Behind them, Sani and Kaya were talking in low voices, a language Cole didn't recognize. The sounds were sharp, rhythmic, nothing like the Spanish or French he'd heard in border towns. He wondered where they'd come from, what had driven them this far into the frontier. But he didn't ask. People's pasts were their own business.
By midday, the sun had burned off the morning chill and replaced it with heat that shimmered off the rocks. They stopped at a shallow creek to water the horses and refill their canteens. Cole dismounted, stretched his back, and immediately regretted it when something in his lower spine popped. "You're getting old," Lyra observed, dropping down beside him. "I'm not old."
"You move like you're old." "I move like someone who's been shot at too many times." Sani knelt by the creek, cupping water in her hands and drinking slowly. "How many times have you been shot?" Cole hesitated.
"Four. Maybe five." "Maybe?" "One of them might have just been a graze. Hard to tell when you're bleeding that much."
Kaya crouched beside Sani, filling her canteen. "You live a dangerous life, Cole Mercer." "Used to," he said. "These days I try to keep my head down." "That why you stepped in front of four armed men to save three strangers?"
Cole didn't have an answer for that. He took a long drink from his canteen, wiped his mouth, and changed the subject. "We'll make Silver Ridge by tomorrow if we don't run into delays. Once we're there, I'll ask around about the cattle drive. If they're hiring, you three stay quiet and let me do the talking."
"Why?" Lyra asked. "Because trail bosses are stubborn, mean, and they don't like surprises. You show up looking like you've never seen a cow before, they'll laugh you off the ranch." "So lie," Kaya said.
"I'm not lying. I'm just not mentioning certain details." "That's lying." "That's survival." Kaya smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You're good at that, aren't you?" "Survival?" "Good enough to still be breathing." They remounted and rode on. The landscape shifted gradually, trading flat scrubland for rolling hills dotted with juniper and piñon pine.
The air cooled as they climbed, and by late afternoon, Cole could see the faint outline of mountains in the distance, their peaks still capped with snow despite the season. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Cole found a sheltered spot beneath an overhang of red rock and called for a halt. They unsaddled the horses, set up a small fire, and rationed out the dried meat and hardtack Cole had packed. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Lyra sat across the fire from Cole, chewing slowly and watching him with unnerving intensity.
"What?" Cole finally asked. "Just wondering." "About?" "Why a man who clearly hates company keeps letting us follow him."
"I didn't let you. You're just stubborn." "True," Lyra said, "but you could have shot us." "I don't shoot people for being annoying." "Good policy."
Sani spoke up from where she sat, her voice quiet but firm. "He's letting us follow because he understands." "Understands what?" Cole asked. "That we won't leave. That fighting us would take more energy than tolerating us."
"And that somewhere deep down, you don't actually want to be alone." Cole stared at her. "You don't know me." "I know men," Sani said. "And I know what loneliness looks like."
The fire crackled between them. Cole looked away, jaw tight, and said nothing. Kaya stood, brushed off her pants, and moved to check on the horses. Lyra stretched out on her bedroll, hands behind her head, staring up at the darkening sky. "You know what I miss most?" Lyra said to no one in particular.
"What?" Kaya called back. "Music. Real music. Not just the wind or coyotes howling. I miss hearing someone play a guitar or sing something that wasn't a funeral dirge."
"You sing?" Cole asked, surprising himself. Lyra turned her head to look at him. "Used to. Before everything went to hell." "What happened?"
Lyra's smile faded. "Same thing that happens to everyone out here. We lost what mattered, and we kept moving." Cole understood that better than he wanted to admit. He poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling into the night. "Get some sleep," he said.
"Long day tomorrow." Lyra didn't argue. She rolled onto her side, pulled her blanket up, and within minutes was breathing deep and steady. Sani settled in beside her, and Kaya returned from checking the horses, sitting down near the fire's edge. "You taking first watch?" she asked.
"Yeah." "Wake me in a few hours. I'll take second." Cole nodded. Kaya lay down, closed her eyes, and within moments seemed to be asleep.
Cole sat alone, rifle across his lap, listening to the night settle in around them. The desert was never truly quiet. There were always sounds, distant and strange, reminders that the world didn't sleep just because people did. He thought about what Sani had said. About loneliness.