Chapter 10 - The Horizon Beyond Red Creek
Morrison held my gaze for a long, tense moment, the morning sun glinting off the metal barrel of Dutch’s carbine. Every muscle in my body was coiled for the draw, knowing that a single twitch from Dutch could turn the clearing into a bloodbath.
But Morrison didn't give the order to fire. He was a practical man who understood when a game was lost. Pushing a public scandal with federal quartermaster records over an Apache family wasn't worth the ruin of his entire ranching empire.
"You're a fool, Adam," Morrison said quietly, pulling his horse's head around in a tight circle. "You could have stayed out of this valley, drifted on to someplace comfortable, and lived out your days in peace."
"Peace isn't something you find by looking at the ground, Captain," I replied.
Morrison didn't answer. He gave Dutch a sharp nod, and the three riders turned their horses, riding back down the creek bed without another word, their hoofbeats fading into the morning mist.
When the sound of their horses had died away completely, I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My hands were steady, but my chest ached with an unfamiliar, profound lightness.
I turned back toward the camp. Zora was standing by her brother, watching me with an expression that had no walls left in it. The hostility and suspicion that had defined our first meeting on the main street were gone, replaced by a quiet, enduring trust forged in the shared fire of resistance.
"He's going to heal," Zora said softly in Spanish, stepping over to me as I untied the gelding's lead rope. "And we can't stay here. The soldiers or the ranchers will eventually look for us in the high passes."
"Then we won't stay," I said, looking out toward the vast, open expanse of the western horizon where the mountains rose blue and sharp against the morning sky. "We'll head north into the territory. Beyond the reach of Morrison, and beyond the ghosts of the war."
Zora looked down at her feet—healed now of the red dust and cuts that had marked her arrival in Red Creek—and then back up into my eyes. She didn't smile, but she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of my vest.
May you like
"We ride together, then," she said.
I swung up into the saddle, reached down, and took her hand, pulling her up behind me on the gelding's back as her brother gathered his strength to follow on foot. We turned our backs on Red Creek, riding out into the morning sun toward a country where the past no longer held the reins.
