“And you want the impolite one?”
“I’d prefer the true one.”
She considered him.
“Some wanted my father’s position.”
Ethan nodded.
“Some wanted the respect they believed marriage to me would bring.”
“That seems likely.”
“One described his horses longer than he spoke to me.”
Ethan laughed.
She smiled.
“Three told me how many enemies they had defeated.”
“Romantic.”
“Very.”
“Anybody simply say he liked you?”
Ayana became quiet.
“One.”
“What happened to him?”
“He liked the idea of me.”
Ethan understood that more than he wanted to admit.
They rode farther.
Then Ayana said, “You did not look at me as if I were something you could own.”
Ethan glanced at her.
“Five minutes after meeting you, you announced you wanted me in front of half the territory.”
“You looked terrified.”
“I was.”
“That made me trust you.”
He laughed softly.
“I think your standards need adjustment.”
“No.”
She looked toward the stars.
“They finally became clear.”
Something inside Ethan shifted.
He tried to ignore it.
Twenty-eight years of life had taught him that complications usually arrived disguised as opportunities.
Ayana was beginning to look very much like both.
They reached the pass near midnight.
It was narrow enough that two wagons would struggle to pass side by side.
Rock walls rose sharply on both sides.
Ethan dismounted.
Moonlight revealed tracks.
Fresh tracks.
Horses.
At least six.
Maybe more.
One of Whitehawk’s men crouched beside them.
Ayana translated his quiet words.
“Shod horses.”
Ethan ran his fingers across a print.
Apache horses in the region were often unshod.
These belonged to outsiders.
Then he saw wagon ruts.
“Something heavy came through here.”
“How recently?” Ayana asked.
“Yesterday. Maybe this morning.”
They followed the tracks half a mile.
The wagon had stopped beneath an overhang.
Nothing remained except disturbed dust.
One warrior suddenly whistled softly.
Ethan joined him.
Behind a boulder lay a wooden crate.
Its lid had been pried open.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
He recognized the markings.
DYNAMITE.
Several sticks remained.
Ayana stared.
“What is it?”
“Blasting powder.”
“For mining?”
“Sometimes.”
He looked toward the walls of the canyon.
“Sometimes for killing.”
They searched farther.
Then Ethan found something that turned suspicion into certainty.
A scrap of cloth hung from a thorn.
Blue wool.
Military blue.
One of the warriors reached for it.
Ethan stopped him.
“Could be army.”
Ayana crouched beside the cloth.
“Or someone wants us to believe it is.”
Ethan looked at her.
Exactly.
Everything about the situation felt staged.
His horse.
The map.
The military cloth.
Someone wanted evidence discovered.
The question was why.
Then a rifle cracked.
Stone exploded beside Ethan’s face.
“Down!”
Ayana hit the ground.
More shots thundered from the ridge.
The canyon became chaos.
Whitehawk’s men scattered instantly.
Ethan rolled behind a boulder.
“Where?”
Ayana pointed.
“West ridge!”
Muzzle flash.
Ethan fired.
A shadow vanished.
Another rifle cracked.
A horse screamed.
Then silence.
The attackers were already retreating.
One of Whitehawk’s warriors raced up the rocks.
Five minutes later he returned.
Nobody had been captured.
But he carried something.
A brass cartridge casing.
Ethan took it.
His blood went cold.
Stamped around the base were letters he knew very well.
