"Because I froze and I've spent 11 years wishing I hadn't. I'm not freezing this time. Not for your brother. Not for you." His voice cracked just slightly on the last word and he let it. Didn't try to hide it.
So he holds because I need him to because I think you need him to more than anyone and I'm done watching people eye. He stopped himself. The sentence hung unfinished in the air between them and Ayanna's eyes widened just slightly catching exactly what he hadn't quite let himself say. "People, you what?" she asked quiet. Ezra held her gaze.
Somewhere outside the canyon, the herd shifted restless in the dying light. And somewhere beyond that, riders were closing and a wounded man breathed shallow between them. And none of it mattered more in that single suspended second than the question hanging unanswered in her eyes. "People I care about," he said finally, "watching people I care about get hurt. While I do nothing, it wasn't the whole truth.
Both of them seemed to understand that. But it was true enough and honest enough, and this was neither the time nor the place for anything more. We should move, Ayanna said, breaking the moment before it could stretch any further. Now, while there's still enough light to find better ground before dark, they lifted Chaitan between them, careful of the wound, and pressed on into the failing light. The herd moving restless and uneasy around them, sensing danger neither horse nor human could, yet name precisely, but every creature in that canyon felt regardless.
Behind them, somewhere in the deepening shadows of Red Mountain, Silas Crane sat a stride his own horse, watching a distant plume of dust mark exactly where his stolen property was headed. He was in no hurry. Ezra didn't know that yet. Ayanna didn't know it either. But Crane had already sent riders ahead, already positioned men along the one route that led toward the Apache camp, already begun setting a trap far more patient and far more dangerous than any raid on a sleeping corral.
He'd learned who was coming for him now. A woman who'd survived one massacre already, and refused to be broken by a second, a brother who'd bled trying to save his people's future. and a stranger with a debt 11 years old, finally close enough to collect it. Crane smiled, thin and cold, and turned his horse toward the pass where the trap waited. "Let them run," he thought. "Let them think they'd won something.
The night wasn't finished with any of them yet. Night fell hard over the box canyon, and with it came the sound none of them wanted to hear. hoof beatats. Many closing from the north from the pass that was supposed to be the safe way home. That's them, Ayanna whispered, easing Chaitton's head down against a folded blanket. Not scattered, not searching, coming straight for us.
How would they know exactly where? Because Crane doesn't chase blind, she cut in. He hunts. There's a difference. Hunting means he already knew which direction we'd run before we ran it.
Ezra's stomach dropped because that meant something worse than luck. That meant planning. That meant a man who'd spent years staying uncaught by never once underestimating the people trying to catch him. How many? He asked.
Can't tell yet. Enough that I don't like the sound of it. Chaitton stirred, eyes fluttering half open, voice a thin rasp. Leave me. Take the herd.
Get my sister. Not happening. Ezra said flat. Final. Save your breath.
Ezra. I said not happening. Ayanna was already moving, bow in hand, scanning the narrow canyon mouth like she was measuring exactly how many bodies it would take to hold it. And finding the math didn't favor them. One entrance, she said.
That's the only good thing about this place. They can't flank us here. They have to come through single file. Small mercies. I'll take that over none.
The hoof beatats grew louder, then stopped, which was worse somehow than if they'd kept coming. Because stopped meant somebody out there had a plan, too. And plans meant patience. And patience was the one thing Ezra didn't have enough of left in his whole exhausted body. A voice called out from the dark, unhurried, almost pleasant.
The kind of pleasant that curdles the second you really listen to it. Colton Ezra's blood went cold at the sound of his own name. Spoken by a man he'd never officially met, but had spent 11 years hating with everything he had. Crane, he said, not a question. You know my name.
I'm flattered. Pause. Deliberate. Theatrical. I know yours, too.
Have for 11 years. Matter of fact, wondered if that scrawny boy behind the water trough ever grew into somebody worth remembering. Looks like he did. Ezra's hand found his revolver. Ayanna's eyes cut to him.
Sharp, a silent question. He shook his head just slightly. Not yet. You remember me? Ezra called back, keeping his voice steadier than he felt.
Hard to forget a boy who watched his whole world burn and didn't so much as twitch. Crane's voice carried closer now, though still hidden by darkness and rock. I always wondered what happened to that boy. Figured he'd grow up soft, scared. Figured he'd spend his whole life running from men like me.
You figured wrong. Seems that way. A low chuckle entirely without warmth. Tell you what though, I'll give you this much credit. Took nerve riding out here after 200 horses that weren't yours to save.
Nerve or stupidity? Never could tell those two apart in men like you. Why? Ezra called out, and the word came out rawer than he meant it to. 11 years ago, why my family?
Silence for a moment, long enough that Ezra wondered if Crane would even bother answering. You want the truth? Crane said finally, voice losing some of its theater. Fine. Your father fired me.
Ranch hand back before I was anything worth fearing. Fired me over a horse I lost. Fair and square in a card game like it was some great crime instead of bad luck. Something bitter crept into his tone now old and rotted. Man had everything.