Chapter 8
“Gotta find a horse,” Blaze muttered, dragging the back of his hand across his face. His voice felt raw in the quiet morning, the shallow grave still fresh behind him. “Can’t walk the desert. Not if I’m gonna catch him.”
The words barely hung in the air when a rustle came from the cottonwoods. Blaze’s hand flew to the Colt at his hip.
“Who’s there?” he barked, his voice sharper than intended.
A soft snort answered, followed by the shuffle of hooves.
Blaze froze, heart thudding. “No . . .”
The branches parted, and out stepped a tan Thoroughbred mare, soot-streaked but alive. Its mane was tangled. One flank was scarred from flame, but its eyes were steady, ears flicking toward Blaze.
“Nancy,” Blaze whispered.
The horse lifted its head at the name, then picked its way forward carefully, as if unsure this boy standing here was real.
Blaze lowered the Colt and let his hand fall open at his side. “You made it.”
The mare snorted again, then pressed its nose to Blaze’s chest.
“I thought they had you. I thought . . .” he broke off, his voice cracking. He pressed his forehead against the horse’s mane, breathing in the mix of smoke, sweat, and dust. “You’re all I got left.”
The horse huffed, warm breath against his neck.
“Easy, girl,” Blaze said. “It’s just us now. You, me, and Pa’s Colt. That’ll have to be enough.”
He pulled back, running his hand down the horse’s neck, checking for burns and wounds. The animal flinched once but stood steady otherwise.
“You’re tough,” Blaze said. “Always were. Guess we both got somethin’ left to prove.”
Nancy nickered, shifting her weight.
“You hungry?” Blaze asked, glancing around at the scorched earth. “Ain’t much left here. But we’ll find water. We’ll find grass. As long as you’ll carry me.”
He rubbed the horse’s muzzle, then stepped back, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe it. Thought I lost everything.”
The mare nosed at his shoulder.
Blaze let out a short, broken laugh. “Alright, alright. I hear you. You’re sayin’ quit mopin’ and get to ridin’, huh?”
Nancy tossed her head, mane catching the sun.
“Yeah,” Blaze said softly. “You’re right.”
Nancy bumped her head against Blaze’s chest again. It was harder this time, almost playful.
“Easy now,” Blaze chuckled, steadying her with both hands. “Ain’t like I’m made of iron. You remember when Pa said you were meaner than a bull? Said you’d never take to the saddle? Guess you proved him wrong. You took to me, didn’t you?”
The mare snorted, pawing at the dirt.
“Yeah, I remember too. First time I climbed on, you near bucked me clear to the sky. Rachel laughed so hard she near split her sides.” He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Ma scolded her, but Pa . . . Pa just said, ‘That horse’ll carry you if you earn it.’”
Nancy nudged at Blaze’s hand, as if agreeing.
“Well, reckon I earned it now,” Blaze murmured. He ran his palm down the mare’s soot-marked flank, feeling the tremor of muscle under her hide. “We both came through fire, you and me. Guess that ties us together.”
The horse lowered her head, blowing a slow breath against Blaze’s arm.
Blaze leaned his forehead against Nancy’s. His voice cracked, but he didn’t pull back.
“Don’t leave me, girl,” he said. “Not now. I ain’t got much left, but I got you. You’re all I need to see this through.”
Nancy stood steady under the weight of his words, still as stone, as if she understood every syllable.
Blaze drew in a shaky breath, straightened, and patted the mare’s neck once more. “Alright then. Let’s do it proper.”
He walked toward the ruins of the barn, scanning what little was left. By some miracle, the saddles hadn’t burned completely. He found his father’s, scorched around the edges but still solid, and slung it over Nancy’s back.
The horse shifted but stood for it. Blaze cinched the girth, his hands moving with practiced ease despite the tremor in them.
“Feels wrong,” he muttered. “All the times Pa saddled you up, all the times Ma stood in the doorway watching . . . now it’s just me.”
The horse stamped a hoof.
Blaze laid a hand on the saddle horn. “But we got work to do.”
He slid his foot into the stirrup and swung up, settling into the worn leather. For the first time since the shooting, since Rachel’s screams had filled his ears, Blaze felt a piece of himself return.
“Alright, girl,” he said, gripping the reins. “Let’s ride.”
They turned from the ruins, hooves crunching over ash and broken boards. Blaze didn’t look back at the grave. He couldn’t, not yet. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d leave.
The desert stretched before them. Blaze squinted against the glare of the sun, scanning the horizon.
“They’ll leave tracks,” he said. “Riders that many can’t hide their trail. Not from me. Not from Pa’s son.”
The horse flicked an ear, as if listening.
“You believe me, don’t you?” Blaze asked. “That I can do this?”
Nancy gave a soft grunt.
“That’s more than I believe in myself half the time,” Blaze muttered.
They rode on, the morning wind tugging at Blaze’s shirt as the desert woke around them. A hawk circled high above. Jackrabbits darted between sagebrush. Somewhere far off, the faint line of mountains cut the sky.
Blaze kept his eyes low, watching for the signs Pa had taught him years before: hoofprints, broken twigs, disturbed earth.
“Pa said tracking’s just listening with your eyes,” Blaze said. “Said the land talks if you’re patient enough. Well, I’m listenin’ now.”
He leaned forward, patting Nancy’s neck.
“And when I find ’em, I’ll make Wilder pay. I swear it, Ma. By your grave. By everything I’ve got left. I ain’t stoppin’. Not till he’s in the dirt.”
The desert wind carried the words away, but Blaze felt them sink deep inside him, a promise carved sharper than any blade.
Nancy snorted, ears pricked forward.
“What is it?” Blaze asked, pulling her to a halt.
The mare pawed the ground, restless.
Blaze scanned the horizon again. Nothing but endless scrub and dust. Still, the horse’s unease prickled at him.
“You smell ’em, don’t you?” Blaze said. “The Riders. They ain’t far. They can’t be.” Automatically, his hand brushed the Colt revolver at his side. “Let ’em come,” Blaze whispered. “I’ll be ready.”
He nudged Nancy forward, deeper into the desert, leaving the ruins of the Buckeye ranch behind.
After a few moments, Blaze reined the horse to a stop atop a low rise. The ruined homestead lay below, small and fragile against the vast desert. He stayed in the saddle with a heavy heart, letting the wind carry the acrid scent of ash and char toward him.
“This is it,” he said, exhaling slowly. “The last time I’ll see it like this.”
He watched the ruined yard, the scorched barn, the fields where he and Rachel had played, the path where Pa had taught him to ride. His chest tightened. The memories pressed against him, fleeting and unyielding.
A dry breeze whispered across the ridge. Blaze gave a small, grim nod.
“Goodbye,” he murmured, his voice carrying across the empty land. “Nothing will ever be the same. Not for me, not for anyone left behind.”
He shifted in the saddle, feeling the weight of the journey ahead settle like a stone in his gut. The path before him was endless desert, unknown and unforgiving. No home to return to, no comfort waiting . . . only the mission he had sworn to complete.
Blaze touched the reins lightly, leaning forward to press a hand against Nancy’s neck.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The mare moved obediently.