He'd made worse trades for far less reason in his life. Come on. He turned toward Duke without checking to see if she'd follow. She did, silent as a shadow, and when he swung up into the saddle and offered his hand down to her, she studied him a long moment through the veil before finally taking it. Her grip surprised him.
Firm sure, nothing weak in it at all. He pulled her up behind him in one easy motion, and she settled without a sound, like she'd done this a hundred times before. Got a name? Nothing answered, but hooves against packed dirt. Fine, you'll talk when you're ready.
They rode for hours under a hard, flat sun, through country growing drier and more broken with every mile. Duke knew the way home well enough that Wyatt could let his mind wander some, but a feeling kept snagging at the back of his neck. A sense of being watched that never quite let go. No matter how many times he checked the empty road behind them, the woman never asked where they were headed, never complained about the heat or the hours in the saddle. Her silence wasn't cold.
It felt watchful instead, like she was listening for something Wyatt hadn't learned to hear yet. Duke's ears kept flicking backward every so often, restless in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. and Wyatt found himself checking the empty road more often than made sense for a man who told himself he wasn't worried. The country out here offered nowhere to hide. Flat scrubs studded with cactus and low sun-bleached rock visible for miles in every direction, which meant anyone following them could see just as far as Wyatt could. The sun began sliding toward the hills, streaking the whole sky orange and red.
And that was when Wyatt spotted it. a smear of dust on the horizon behind them. Moving too fast and too steady to be wind riders. He counted quick. Four, maybe five. Coming on hard.
Trouble. She'd already seen them. Her hands tightened suddenly at his waist. Her breathing changed. There was no outrunning anything on a horse that had already covered 30 mi.
Off to the right sat a jumble of boulders, the only real cover for a mile in any direction. And Duke was already turning that way before Wyatt finished the siding. Hold on. Duke found one last burst of speed from somewhere and carried them into the rocks. Just as the riders closed the gap, Wyatt swung down, hauled the woman off behind him, and pushed her low behind the biggest boulder he could find.
Stay down. Not a sound. A sharp nod answered him, and Wyatt grabbed his rifle and settled into a clean line on the trail. The riders reined up 50 ft out, spreading into a loose half circle. Dirty coats, guns worn easy on the hip, the way men wear guns they've used before.
Their leader carried a scar splitting his cheek from ear to jaw, and a grin that never once reached his eyes. Looks like you bought something interesting at the market today, stranger. Wyatt's rifle stayed level on the man's chest. My business. Right on.