horror tales shared in hushed voices clouded her brain. Her horse took another step back. Did she lift her hands in peace or pull the rifle? Her father taught her to never point a gun at someone unless she was ready to kill.
She could kill only one, and the others would be on her. If they were slow, she could get two, but there was no way to kill all three.
What if her life was over right here and now?
“Santiago.”
For a moment, she thought someone had called out to her brother, but he was dead. Was she already dead and didn’t know it?
“Back your horse to me.” It was Jackson’s low steady voice that offered sanctuary. One slow step at a time brought her even with Jackson. He was holding up a rifle.
Without thought, she pulled hers from the casing and rested it against her shoulder. It was two against three now. This was doable.
Lungs filled with sweet air. She might live to see home again. The three dark warriors stared at them.
“Go on to the wagon. I’ll follow you.”
Gulping down a few breaths so she could find her lost vocals, she cleared her throat. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
He growled. She held her weapon firm and steady despite the trembling of her heart. She couldn’t help but think her father and brother would be proud.
Her mother? Horrified.
“Start backing straight out, keeping them in your sight.” He lowered his gun, resting it across the saddle. She mimicked his action.
With a slight nod to the men across the water hole, he moved his horse back. She did the same.
The three painted horses stepped to the water and started drinking. With Jackson by her side, she breathed a little easier. A quick glance, and she saw his jaw flex. Other than that small tick, his posture was relaxed.
“We are going to turn to the direction of the wagon, nice and easy. I need to tell the boys to keep an eye out. They might grab a steer or two.”
“What do we do to stop them?”
“Nothing. Consider it cost of business. The one thing we don’t want is a full-on attack. They take a couple of cows to their people, and we move on to the border.”
“So we’re just going to let them steal our cattle?”
He sighed. “Yes. You need to keep the mules in their harness tonight. They are more valuable than anything else we have here.”
She looked over her shoulder. The warriors were gone. “Where did they go?” Chills ran down her spine as she scanned the hills. “Are they watching us?”
“Probably.” He slid his rifle back into its leather scabbard.
“What do we do?” Forcing herself to look straight ahead was hard to do when her skin felt tight from the unseen men studying her movements.
“Nothing. Three don’t travel far on their own. Stay close to the wagon and make it hard for them to get to the mules. Once we join Cook, I’ll go warn the others. Stay vigilant.”
With a nod, she looked over her shoulder again. “How long will they follow us?”
“A day or two. We don’t want to make it easy for them to get into the camp.” He looked over his shoulder. “If we allow them to take a couple of the steers, and make sure we have the wagon and horses covered, they should move on.”
Nodding toward her rifle, his eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that? Ever shot a living thing?”
“Yes. My father taught me to shoot what I was aiming for. I never missed my target. Even the moving ones.”
He chuckled and looked at her. She couldn’t tell if the spark in his eyes was amusement or admiration.
“Good. I tell you what—you are one strange woman, and for once I’m very happy about that. Tie your horse to the wagon and sit with Cook. You can ride shotgun.”
The pounding of her heart seemed to have changed directions. Instead of fear, something else jolted it.
A different kind of anxiety. Jackson trusted her to protect the wagon. She sat straighter. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me.”
“What’s your real name?” A grim line replaced any smile he might have had.
“I thought we agreed I would be Tiago so there was no confusion.” Was he going to get all manly and protective on her? Riding with Cook might not be about her protecting the wagon, but keeping her locked away.
She glared at him, trying to figure out his motive.
“You know I can help. You don’t have to keep me in a safe place.” She didn’t want to admit that her heart had soared with relief when he had joined her.
“When I saw you across from the warriors, I wanted your real name. What if something does happen? My first thought was...if I have to bury her, I won’t know the name to carve into the marker.” There was an angry clip to the edge of his voice. “I want to know the real you. Not the fake name.”
“I am Santiago. If I die on the trail, that is who you will bury.” Pushing her hat lower, her hands trembled.
He reached across his horse. Under his large hand, hers disappeared. “I will not be burying you on this trail.”
Sofia wrapped the colorful blanket tighter. Weak and tired, her body still refused to go to sleep. There were saddle sores on top of saddle sores.
Images of Rosita in the kitchen making tortillas appeared like a fantasy, a dream from a fairy tale that didn’t really happen.
Now she ate more dust than chow. Unable to sleep, she studied the colors in the woven patterns.
It would be easier to think about the parts of her body that didn’t hurt, maybe her head. That was it. Everything below her jaw ached. She thought she had worked hard before, but she had been a sheltered baby.
The woman who returned to her father would be different from the woman she was before she left.
A quick glace to the loaded rifle laying within reach was evidence of the change. She glanced at the mules, making sure they were still safe.
Still in the harness, they lay on the ground a few yards away from her. She scanned the edge of darkness for any threats.
Today, she had faced the possibility of her own death. She had survived without much of an incident other than going numb with fear.
She hated that she hadn’t known what to do. That Jackson had come to her rescue. Would she have made it back to the wagon if he hadn’t shown up?
Sometime during the week, she started waking up looking forward to seeing him. The chores were done in fast order, and she got the wagon moving quickly so she could ride out and find him.
He sat a horse better than any man she had ever seen, but it was more than that. He was more than a good-looking man that knew how to ride well. At his core, deep in his eyes, he not only understood her, but he needed someone to understand him.
Not that it was where her mind should go. Rubbing her face, she hoped to scrub the thoughts of the quiet talking Kentucky man from her brain.
The sounds of campfire companionship drifted over the night. The men still sat around the low fire, laughing and playing music. The songs were all foreign, not the kind she was used to.
Jackson warned her to keep as much distance as possible from the cowboys. She never felt so alone around other people.
She licked her lips. That was a mistake. So,