About understanding. She was wrong. He didn't understand them, didn't understand why three women would bind themselves to a stranger over something as flimsy as a life debt. It didn't make sense. People didn't work that way.
They took what they needed and moved on. And anyone who said otherwise was lying or stupid. But the women had sold their jewelry, had spent their last coin on horses just to follow him into uncertainty. That wasn't lying. That wasn't stupid.
That was something else entirely, and Cole didn't know what to do with it. He stared into the fire until his eyes burned, then looked away, scanning the darkness for movement that never came. When Kaya woke him hours later, he didn't remember falling asleep. They reached Silver Ridge by late afternoon the next day, the town sprawling along the base of a rust-colored mesa like it had been dropped there by accident. It was bigger than Redemption Flats, more buildings, more people, more noise.
But it had the same worn-down look that frontier towns always did. Everything was temporary, built fast and cheap, ready to be abandoned when the silver ran out or the water dried up. Cole led them to a stable on the edge of town, paid for the horses to be fed and watered, and told the women to wait while he asked around about work. "We're coming with you," Kaya said. "No, you're not."
"Yes, we are." Cole sighed. "You're going to make this harder than it needs to be." "Probably," Lyra said cheerfully. They found the trail boss in a saloon near the center of town, a broad-shouldered man named Garrett with a sun-scorched face and hands like slabs of meat.
He was drinking whiskey at a corner table, surrounded by maps and ledgers, and he didn't look up when Cole approached. "You Garrett?" Cole asked. "Who's asking?" "Cole Mercer. Heard you're hiring for a cattle drive."
Garrett finally looked up, his eyes flicking from Cole to the three women standing behind him. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A subtle tensing, like he was bracing for trouble. "I'm hiring drovers," Garrett said slowly. "Experienced drovers."
"I've worked cattle before," Cole said. "So have they." Garrett's eyebrows rose. "They?" "These three. They're good hands."
Garrett leaned back in his chair, studying them with the kind of skepticism Cole had expected. "I don't hire women." "Why not?" "Because cattle drives are dangerous, dirty, and no place for—" "For what?" Kaya interrupted, stepping forward.
"For people who can ride, rope, and shoot?" Garrett's jaw tightened. "For people who'll slow me down." "We won't slow you down," Kaya said. "You ever been on a drive before?"
"No." "Then you'll slow me down." Lyra laughed, sharp and sudden. "You ever think maybe your problem isn't women, it's that you're bad at training?" Garrett's face darkened.
"Get out." Cole held up a hand. "Look, I get it. You don't know us, but we need the work and you need the hands. Give us a trial run. One week."
"If we can't keep up, we walk. No pay, no complaints." Garrett stared at him. "One week?" "One week." Garrett looked at the women again, then back at Cole.
"You vouch for them?" "I do." "Why?" Cole hesitated. "Because they saved my life."
It wasn't true, not exactly, but it was close enough. And it had the weight of truth behind it. Garrett grunted, drained his whiskey, and stood. "Fine. One week."
"But if any of you cause trouble, you're gone. Understood?" "Understood," Cole said. Garrett grabbed his hat and headed for the door. "We leave at dawn. Don't be late."
As soon as he was gone, Lyra turned to Cole, grinning. "'They saved my life.' Really?" "Shut up." "That was almost sweet." "I said shut up."
Kaya was smiling too, just a little. "Thank you." Cole waved her off. "Don't thank me yet. We still have to survive the week."
They spent the rest of the day preparing. Cole bought supplies with what little money he had left, rope, extra canteens, a whetstone for his knife. The women pulled together to buy thicker gloves and wide-brimmed hats to keep the sun off their faces. By the time evening rolled around, they were as ready as they were going to be. That night they camped outside town, too broke to afford rooms and too restless to sit still.
The fire burned low, and the conversation drifted toward the past, toward things none of them had talked about before. "Where are you from?" Cole asked, surprising himself again. Sani looked up from the knife she was sharpening. "Far south. A valley that doesn't have a name your maps would recognize."
"Why'd you leave?" "Because staying meant dying." Cole didn't press. He'd heard that answer before in a dozen different languages from a hundred different people. "What about you?" Kaya asked.
"Where's home for Cole Mercer?" "Nowhere," Cole said. "Everyone's from somewhere." "Not me. Grew up on the move."
"My folks were trappers, traders, didn't stay anywhere long. By the time I was old enough to know better, they were dead and I just kept moving." Lyra tilted her head. "That's sad." "It's practical."
"Same thing." Cole didn't answer. He lay back on his bedroll, staring up at the stars scattered across the black sky like someone had spilled salt. The women kept talking, their voices low and easy. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Cole didn't feel like he was alone.
It scared him more than he wanted to admit. The cattle drive started at dawn, just like Garrett had promised. Two hundred head of longhorns, mean-tempered and stubborn, driven by a crew of 15 drovers who looked at Cole and the women like they were a bad joke waiting for a punchline. Garrett rode at the front, barking orders and setting the pace. Cole and the women were assigned to the drag, the back of the herd, where the dust was thickest and the work was hardest.