Chapter Twenty
Flint had spent three years telling himself that losing Daisy wasn’t the end, that he could survive it.
Sitting beside her beneath the cottonwoods, her hand resting comfortably in his, he finally acknowledged how thoroughly he'd lied to himself.
The admission ought to have been humiliating. Instead, it left him studying her profile while sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, wondering how he'd managed to stumble through three years without hearing her laugh or arguing with her over nonsense that didn't matter.
Wild roses lingered in her hair. The creek wound through the clearing with a steady murmur. Warm afternoon air drifted across the blanket.
The entire scene felt almost too perfect.
That was the danger.
His life hadn't contained many peaceful afternoons, yet his thoughts weren't drifting toward Amos Grady or the men combing through Cheyenne in search of him. Concerns about debts, guns, and survival had slipped into the background.
Daisy occupied every corner of his attention.
He kept hearing her voice when she'd told him she missed him. He kept remembering the kiss and the way she'd reached for him without hesitation. Even now, her hand remained curled around his as naturally as if it had always belonged there.
His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles. A smile appeared immediately. The simple reaction hit him harder than it should have.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked with her head cocked to one side.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“I can tell,” Daisy insisted. “It’s the silence. Nathan is the same whenever he's trying to discover a diagnosis.”
The ease between them still caught him off guard. Three years should have changed more than this. Instead, conversation flowed as naturally as it had during long rides across the ranch or lazy summer evenings spent on the Callahans' porch.
She tilted her face toward him. "So, what were you thinking about?"
The honest answer sat dangerously close to the surface.
He'd been thinking about what life might look like if he stopped running. About waking up each morning knowing Daisy would be by his side. About supper conversations with Nathan. About visiting the Callahan ranch without carrying shame on his back like a saddle he'd forgotten how to remove.
The future had become a tempting thing, which felt reckless considering how little right he had to one.
Flint looked toward the creek. "I was taking inventory."
Daisy frowned. "Inventory?"
"Of my mistakes."
Daisy folded her hands in her lap, looking entirely pleased with herself. "If you're counting every bad decision you've ever made," she continued, "we should probably send Nathan back to town for supplies after we return home.”
"What supplies?"
"Paper."
Flint stifled a chuckle, shaking his head.
Daisy laughed openly this time. Flint watched her turn to face the sunlight filtering through the cottonwoods and found himself paying attention to details he should've ignored.
The smile still curved her mouth. A faint breeze lifted a loose strand of hair.
Peace settled over her in a way he hadn't seen since arriving at Nathan's house.
He wanted to keep looking.
That realization ought to have worried him more than it did.
Over the past few weeks, he'd grown accustomed to hearing her voice drift out of the workshop as she worked. He'd learned the rhythm of Nathan's grumbling whenever Daisy won an argument. The Whitmore house no longer felt like a temporary refuge. It felt familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
A man with any sense would've recognized the warning signs long ago.
Instead, Flint found himself wondering what would happen if he stopped running.
The thought arrived quietly and refused to leave.
He pictured himself returning to the Callahan ranch as a man who belonged there again.
He imagined working honest days and sleeping through the night without expecting trouble to arrive before morning.
He could see Daisy's business continuing to grow while Julian found customers and Nathan complained about everybody's health except his own.
Supper conversations would stretch long after the food disappeared, usually because Wyatt couldn't tell a story in fewer than two hundred unnecessary words.
The future unfolded so easily that it caught him off guard.
He’d convinced himself that chapter of his life had ended. Now he sat beside Daisy and realized how badly he wanted another chance at it.
A sharp sound drifted through the clearing, faint enough that most people would've ignored it. Flint didn't.
Every pleasant thought vanished as he tilted his head and listened.
Across from him, Daisy's smile faded. "What happened?"
He lifted a hand for silence. The creek flowed over the rocks, and somewhere beyond the trees a bird called into the afternoon. For a moment, that was all he heard.
Then the sound came again.
Horse hooves.
Several riders, still some distance away but moving steadily in this direction.
Flint's stomach tightened. Years spent working around Amos Grady's men had taught him to recognize trouble long before it arrived, and something about the rhythm of those approaching horses set every instinct on edge.
He reached out to her.
She straightened at once. "What is it?"
"We need to move."
Though confusion flickered across her features, she stood without argument. The trust in that simple act struck him harder than it should have.
Flint snatched up the blanket, tucked the basket beneath one arm, and caught her hand.
"Careful," he said, guiding her away from the clearing. "The ground drops ahead."
They moved quickly toward a section of creek bank hidden beneath thick brush and low-hanging branches. The area offered enough cover to conceal two people if they stayed low and kept quiet.
As Flint guided her downhill, Daisy's grip tightened around his hand. "Horses?"
"Yeah."
"How many?"
Flint listened again, straining to separate one set of hoofbeats from another. "I haven't seen them yet."
Daisy nodded. She didn't panic or pepper him with questions. She simply accepted his answer and kept moving beside him, trusting him to lead the way.
The brush concealed them almost completely once they crouched beneath the trees. Daisy settled beside him while Flint carefully parted a few branches and looked toward the open ground beyond the creek.
Four riders emerged between the trees, and Flint's stomach dropped.
He recognized one of them immediately.
Earl Benson.
Amos's collector had built a reputation on finding people who wanted to disappear, and Flint knew better than most how patient the man could be. Earl wasn't the sort of man who spent an afternoon riding the countryside without purpose.
As the riders spread out, studying the creek bank and nearby stands of trees, Flint's unease hardened into certainty. They weren't passing through.
They were hunting.
And they had come far closer to Daisy's home than he had ever thought possible.
A light touch brushed his arm. "What do we do?"
Daisy's voice barely rose above the soft noise of the water.
He leaned closer so she wouldn't need to speak again. "One of the riders works for Amos."
The words tasted bitter.
Daisy drew a careful breath. She didn't panic. She didn't pull away. Yet he felt the change in her immediately. The hand resting against his sleeve held a little more firmly, and the knowledge cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
She should've been enjoying her birthday.
Instead, she was crouched beneath tangled brush while armed men searched the area.
Because of him.
"Can they see us?" she asked.
"I don't think so."
The answer came easily enough, but Flint kept his attention fixed on the riders. Confidence and certainty weren't the same thing. A horse could wander closer. A branch could shift. A careless movement could draw attention.
Too much depended on staying hidden.
Time stretched painfully while the riders continued their search.
Earl guided his horse toward the creek, and Flint felt every muscle draw taut. The distance between them shrank enough that he could make out the man's expression. Earl studied the water, the trees, and the uneven ground with a collector's eye, looking for anything out of place.
Beside him, Daisy remained silent.
Most people would've fidgeted. Many would've asked questions they couldn't afford to ask. Daisy simply trusted him. That trust weighed heavier than any saddle Flint had ever carried.
At last, Earl turned his horse away and signaled to the others.
The riders moved downstream.
Only when the hoofbeats began fading into the distance did Flint release the breath he'd been holding.
Daisy's grip loosened. "They are getting closer.”
Her observation carried no accusation.
Flint rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Yeah."
The single word felt inadequate.
The creek continued its steady journey through the trees. Birds resumed calling from the branches overhead. Anyone arriving now would assume the afternoon had unfolded peacefully.
Flint knew better.
The illusion had been shattered.
Daisy turned toward him, finding him with the same uncanny accuracy she always seemed to possess. "What happens now?"
He wished he had an answer worthy of the question.
Less than an hour earlier, he'd been imagining a future that suddenly seemed within reach. He'd pictured a life that included Daisy, the Callahans, and a chance to become a better man than the one who'd ridden away from the ranch years ago.
Earl Benson's appearance had reminded him how fragile that dream really was.
Flint reached for Daisy's hand and threaded his fingers through hers. "I don't know."
Honesty was all he had left to offer.