PART 2
The first rider appeared through a curtain of dust, followed by another man whose horse seemed almost as exhausted as its owner.
Cole stepped into the doorway. Nalin remained behind him, her injured shoulder aching beneath its clean bandage.
“Looking for stray cattle?” Cole asked.
The taller rider smiled without warmth. “Looking for a woman who walked away from a job.”
“I walked away from thieves,” Nalin replied. “There’s a difference.”
The man’s smile disappeared.
“Come quietly, and nobody needs trouble.”
Cole shook his head. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
For several long seconds, the desert seemed perfectly still. Then the second rider glanced toward the ridge, where shadows were already swallowing the trail.
“Not worth another fight,” he muttered. “We’ve got cattle to move.”
The leader looked from Cole to Nalin, calculating the cost of forcing the matter. Finally, he turned his horse.
“This isn’t finished.”
Cole waited until both riders disappeared before closing the door.
Nalin sat heavily on the cot.
“You could have left,” she whispered.
“So could you.”
“I couldn’t ride.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She understood. He was talking about the moment she had stood beside him rather than hiding. Neither had chosen the easy road.
That night, the unfinished repair lay between them on the table. Nalin picked it up, turning the metal tool in her fingers.
“Now tell me,” she said, “what exactly have you been doing under that blanket?”
Cole laughed for the first time since she had met him.
“Fixing my saddle awl. The handle keeps coming loose. I wrapped it so I wouldn’t lose the little screws in the dirt.”
“And the twice you mentioned?”
“Two repairs today. This was the third.”
Nalin stared at him. Then she covered her face, laughing so hard that she had to steady her shoulder.
“I thought you meant something entirely different.”
“I gathered that.”
“You let me keep talking!”
“You seemed determined.”
Her laughter filled the broken bunkhouse, bright and unexpected. Cole realized he had not heard anything so beautiful in years.
Over the next two days, they prepared to leave. The hired men might return, and Cole refused to pretend their retreat meant lasting safety.
They packed flour, jerky, the battered frying pan, and the tin of supplies. Nalin helped despite her shoulder, insisting on carrying her share.
“I’m not a parcel you can haul across Arizona,” she reminded him.
“Never said you were.”
“Then stop watching me like I’ll fall apart.”
“I’m watching because you matter.”
The words surprised them both.
At dawn, they traveled east toward a narrow canyon Cole remembered from his wandering years. Its red walls offered shade, and a small spring still fed a shallow pool beneath the rocks.
Nalin knelt beside the water, letting the coolness run across her fingers.
“My brother would have loved this place,” she said.
Cole sat nearby, waiting.
“He died one winter when supplies ran short. I kept thinking I could have done more.”
“I know that feeling.”
“Because of Sonora?”
He nodded.
“The men warned us. I heard them. I believed them. But I didn’t make anyone listen.”
Nalin turned toward him.
“You told the truth afterward. You refused to help the owners hide what happened.”
“Didn’t bring anyone back.”
“No. But it meant their lives mattered enough for you to speak.”
Cole stared into the water. For years, he had remembered only what he failed to do. Nalin was asking him to remember what he had done right.
As evening settled, they built a small fire beneath the canyon wall. The mare grazed nearby, and the last sunlight painted the rocks copper and gold.
“What happens tomorrow?” Nalin asked.
“We decide together. We can keep moving until we find someone willing to hear what happened to that herd.”
“And after that?”
Cole hesitated.
“I don’t know. Maybe find honest work. Maybe a place worth staying.”
Nalin reached across the firelight and offered her hand.
“Then don’t disappear before I decide whether that place should have room for two.”
He took her hand gently.
Above them, the first stars appeared. Beyond the canyon, danger remained, and neither could promise an easy future. But beside the spring, two weary travelers sat together, no longer mistaking solitude for safety, while the desert wind carried their laughter into the night.
Before sleeping, Nalin examined the repaired awl once more. Its handle sat firmly against the metal, held together by careful work rather than force.
“You really believe broken things can be useful again?” she asked.
Cole glanced at the tool, then at her healing shoulder.
“Sometimes they need time. Sometimes someone has to stop throwing them away.”
She placed the awl beside his hat.
“Then perhaps we should stop throwing ourselves away too.”
For once, Cole found no reason to disagree.
