"How's that even supposed to work?" "However we make it work." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one we have." Kaya stepped forward.
"We're not asking for perfection, Cole. We're not asking you to love us or pretend this makes sense. We're asking you to stop running, to let us stand beside you, not just behind you, to build something that lasts." "And if it doesn't last?" "Then at least we tried."
Cole looked past them, toward the desert stretching out beyond the town. He could leave right now, saddle his horse, ride out, and never look back. They'd follow, probably. But eventually, maybe they'd give up. Maybe they'd find someone else to attach themselves to.
Maybe they'd finally realize the debt they thought they owed was just a story they'd told themselves. Or maybe they'd follow him until one of them died, and the weight of that would destroy him long before the frontier did. "I don't know how to be a husband," Cole said finally. "Neither do we," Lyra said. "We'll figure it out together."
"I'm not good at staying in one place." "Then we'll move," Kaya said. "As long as we move together." "I'm going to mess this up." "Probably," Lyra smiled. "So will we."
Cole closed his eyes, and for a moment he let himself imagine it. Not the impossible parts, the marriage or the vows or the traditions he didn't understand, but the simple parts. Waking up and knowing they'd be there. Working jobs and splitting the pay four ways. Building something, even if it was just a campfire and a shared meal, and knowing it was theirs.
He opened his eyes. "If I say yes," he said slowly, "we do this my way. Not your traditions, not some vow I don't understand. We figure out what works for us, and we don't apologize to anyone for it." Kaya's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes softened.
"Agreed." "And if it doesn't work, if this falls apart, you let me go. No following, no debt. It's done." "Agreed," Sani said.
"And you never..." Cole stopped, searching for the right words. "You never make me feel like I'm trapped, like I don't have a choice." "You'll always have a choice," Kaya said. "This isn't a cage, Cole. It's a partnership."
Cole looked at each of them one more time. Kaya, who'd spent ten years refusing to give up. Lyra, who'd turned stubbornness into an art form. Sani, who'd seen through every defense he'd ever built and hadn't blinked. Three women who should have been strangers, who should have ridden away that day in the canyon and never looked back.
But they hadn't, and neither had he. "All right," he said quietly. "I'm in." For a moment, nobody moved. Then Lyra let out a whoop that echoed down the empty street, and Sani smiled, a rare, genuine smile that transformed her entire face.
Kaya stepped forward, close enough that Cole could see the relief in her eyes, and extended her hand. Cole shook it. "Welcome to the family," she said. "Don't make me regret this." "Too late."
They spent the rest of the morning figuring out logistics, which turned out to be both easier and harder than Cole expected. Easier because Stillwater Crossing had a magistrate who didn't ask too many questions and was willing to officiate a ceremony for $20. Harder because the magistrate had never married one man to three women before and wasn't entirely sure it was legal. "It's not illegal," Kaya pointed out. "That's not the same as legal," the magistrate replied, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and a nervous habit of adjusting his collar.
"Then call it a partnership," Cole said. "With legal protections, property rights, whatever makes it official enough to satisfy anyone who asks." The magistrate frowned, consulted a dusty book he pulled from a shelf, and eventually nodded. "I suppose I can draft something, but if anyone challenges this, I'm not defending it in court." "Nobody's going to challenge it," Lyra said.