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."