Chapter 1 - The Scream Beyond the Rocks
Elias Mercer heard the woman scream only once.
Then the Arizona desert went silent.
His horse stopped beneath him so abruptly that a cloud of red dust drifted past its legs and rolled across the trail like smoke. Elias remained motionless in the saddle, one hand resting loosely on the reins, his eyes fixed on the broken ridge to the west.
The sun was dropping toward the mountains, huge and blood-red, turning the scattered cactus into black silhouettes.
For three days Elias had seen almost nobody.
That suited him.
At thirty-four, he had discovered that solitude was easier than explaining himself.
A man alone didn't have to answer questions about where he came from.
He didn't have to explain why he woke before dawn some mornings with his hand reaching for a rifle that wasn't there.
Most importantly, he didn't have to make promises.
Promises were dangerous things.
People believed them.
Then people died.
Elias had learned that lesson years ago.
He nudged his horse forward.
Whatever had happened beyond those rocks wasn't his concern.
Then laughter carried across the dry wash.
Male laughter.
Cruel laughter.
Elias stopped again.
A voice followed.
“Hold her!”
His jaw tightened.
He closed his eyes for one second.
“Damn it.”
He swung down from the saddle.
His Winchester slid quietly from its scabbard.
He moved toward the rocks on foot.
Five men.
That was the first thing he counted when he reached the ridge.
Five men surrounding one woman.
She looked about twenty-five. Long dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, and blood streaked one side of her forehead. One sleeve of her yellow buckskin dress had been torn.
But she wasn't helpless.
There was a knife in her hand.
One man lunged.
She slashed at him.
He jumped backward with a yell.
“You little savage!”
The woman turned quickly, keeping all five men in front of her.
Elias watched her feet.
She knew how to defend herself.
She also knew she couldn't win.
The gang knew it too.
Their leader was a tall man in a gray coat with a narrow scar crossing his chin.
“Put down the knife.”
The woman stared at him.
“Come take.”
Her English was broken, but her meaning wasn't.
For half a second, nobody laughed.
Then the leader smiled.
“I think I will.”
He stepped forward.
Elias raised the Winchester.
“Wouldn't.”
Five heads turned.
The leader stared toward the ridge.
Elias stood against the sunset, rifle resting against his shoulder.
“Mind your own business,” the man shouted.
“Was planning to.”
Elias glanced toward the woman.
“Then you made too much noise.”
A younger outlaw reached for his revolver.
Elias fired.
The bullet struck the dirt inches from the man's boot.
He jumped backward.
“Next one isn't for the dirt.”
Silence.
The Apache woman looked at Elias.
Her knife remained raised.
Good, Elias thought.
Trusting strangers was how people got killed.
The gang leader narrowed his eyes.
“You reckon one rifle makes you brave?”
“No.”
Elias worked the lever.
The metallic click echoed across the wash.
“But it makes five men wonder which one dies first.”
The man's smile disappeared.
Nobody moved.
Elias had spent enough years around violent men to understand something important: most men who traveled in packs weren't nearly as brave when someone refused to fear them.
Finally, the leader spat into the dirt.
“This isn't finished.”
“Most stupid things aren't.”
The gang backed toward their horses.
Elias didn't lower the rifle.
Only after all five men mounted did their leader look back.
His eyes settled first on the woman.
Then Elias.
“We'll find you.”
Elias tilted the Winchester slightly.
“Then ride slow so I can aim.”
The gang disappeared west.
Dust swallowed them.
Elias waited.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Two.
Then he lowered his rifle.
When he turned around, the woman's knife was pointed directly at his chest.
Elias looked at it.
Then at her.
“Seems fair.”
She said nothing.
He slowly placed the Winchester on the ground.
Then raised his hands.
“I won't touch you.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Elias pointed toward her forehead.
“You're bleeding.”
She touched the wound.
Looked at the blood on her fingers.
Shrugged.
Elias almost smiled.
“Suit yourself.”
He picked up his rifle carefully and walked toward his horse.
Ten steps later, he heard footsteps.
He turned.
She stopped.
He walked again.
She followed.
He stopped.
So did she.
Elias frowned.
“You going somewhere?”
She stared at him.
He pointed to himself, then toward the eastern trail.
Then toward her.
Understanding appeared in her eyes.
“No place.”
His expression changed.
“No people?”
For the first time, something behind her fierce expression cracked.
“Gone.”
One word.
That was all.
But Elias knew grief when he heard it.
He looked west.
Those men could return.
Darkness would arrive soon.
“I have a camp east.”
She watched his mouth.
“Food.”
Her eyes moved slightly.
“Water.”
Another reaction.
Elias pointed east.
“You can come.”
Then he pointed toward her.
“Your choice.”
Her expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
Nobody had offered her a choice in a long time.
She lowered the knife.
They traveled until darkness.
Elias walked instead of riding so she wouldn't have to follow behind a mounted stranger. He didn't ask her name. He didn't ask where her people had gone.
Questions could wait.
His camp consisted of a weathered cabin left by an abandoned mining outfit, a crude corral, and a firepit sheltered between rocks.
Elias filled a tin cup with water.
He set it down.
Then stepped away.
She approached carefully.
She drank.
He heated beans and gave her dried meat.
She ate slowly at first.
Then hunger defeated caution.
Elias pretended not to notice.
Later, he placed his bedroll near the warmest part of the cabin.
“You sleep there.”
She frowned.
“You?”
He carried his blanket across the room.
“Here.”
Ten feet separated them.
A fire burned between them.
She studied him.
“Why?”
Elias paused.
“Because you're afraid of me.”
Her eyes hardened.
“No.”
“Fine.”
He lay down.
“Then I'm afraid of you.”
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement crossed her face.
Almost.
Hours passed.
Elias eventually slept.
Then a hand touched his arm.
His eyes opened instantly.
The woman sat beside him.
She pointed toward the window.
“Hooves.”
Elias heard them.
Distant.
Maybe three horses.
Maybe more.
He reached for his Winchester.
Her fingers closed around his forearm.
She whispered something in Apache.
“I don't understand.”
She tried again.
“My people…”
She searched for the words.
“Man save woman.”
Elias waited.
“Protect.”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward him.
Then herself.
“You save me.”
“Yes.”
She touched her chest.
Then his.
Her dark eyes remained absolutely serious.
“You're my husband now.”
Elias stared.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Elias Mercer had no answer.
“What?”
She repeated it.
Slower.
“You. Husband.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“No?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Elias pointed toward himself.
“Elias.”
Then toward her.
After a moment she answered.
“Naya.”
“Naya. Good. I'm Elias. You're Naya. And I'm definitely not your husband.”
Naya considered this.
Then calmly pulled his blanket over herself.
Elias stared at her.
Outside, another hoofbeat echoed through the darkness.
His humor vanished.
He moved toward the window.
Moonlight revealed movement near the ridge.
Someone was watching the cabin.
May you like
And whoever it was had followed them home.
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