"Took off without paying her debts. We just want what's ours." "She's not yours," Wyatt said, his voice dropping lower. "And she's not leaving." The third rider, silent until now, shifted in his saddle.
His hand moved toward the rifle strapped to his side. Wyatt saw it. So did the bearded man. "Easy," the man said, raising a hand. He looked back at Wyatt.
"You really want to die over some runaway squaw?" Wyatt took a step forward. His hand didn't leave the hammer. "You really want to find out what happens if you try to take her?" The yard went still.
The wind died. Even the horses seemed to sense the shift. The bearded man stared at Wyatt for a long moment, his jaw working. Then he spat and pulled his horse's head around. "This ain't over," he said.
"Yeah," Wyatt said. "It is." The riders turned and rode off, dust rising in their wake. Wyatt stood there until they disappeared over the ridge, his heart pounding in his chest. When he finally turned back to the barn, Ayla was standing in the doorway.
Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes were fierce. "You could have died," she said. "Didn't though," Wyatt said. She crossed the yard and stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the pulse hammering in her throat. "Why?" she asked.
"Why would you do that?" Wyatt looked at her. This woman who'd come into his life by accident, who'd brought warmth and purpose to a place that had been cold and empty for too long. He didn't have a good answer, didn't have the right words, so he just told her the truth. "Because you matter," he said.
And for the first time since he'd known her, Ayla Redfern smiled. That smile didn't last long. It flickered across her face like sunlight through storm clouds, there and gone before Wyatt could be sure he'd really seen it. Then Ayla's expression hardened again, her shoulders pulling back, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "They'll come back," she said.
Wyatt didn't argue. He knew she was right. Men like that didn't let go easy. They'd wait, regroup, come back with more numbers or undercover of darkness. The confrontation had bought them time.
Nothing more. Maybe, he said, but not today. Ayla looked past him toward the ridge where the riders had disappeared. Her jaw set. "I should leave before they bring more trouble."
"No." The word came out harder than he'd meant it to. She flinched just slightly, and he saw the old fear flash across her face. He gentled his voice. "You leave now.
You'll be alone out there. Easy pickings. You're safer here." "Safe?" she repeated bitter. "I don't even know what that means anymore."
"Wyatt stepped closer, slow and careful, like approaching a spooked horse. It means you stay put. It means we keep our eyes open. And it means if they come back, they'll find more than they bargained for." She studied his face, searching for something.