Epilogue
“Higher,” Blaze said.
Marisol tilted her head. “If I go any higher, you’ll have me hammerin’ the clouds.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m after,” Blaze replied.
She laughed softly, setting the nail and striking it cleanly into the new barn beam. The sound echoed across the empty plains. Blaze watched the swing of her arm and felt a flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
Behind them, the mountains stretched in the light, and the half-finished roof caught the glow like something alive.
“You always this bossy?” she asked.
“Only when it’s my land,” Blaze said.
Marisol stepped back, admiring her work. “Your land’s startin’ to look like a place again.”
“Feels strange, don’t it?” Blaze said, his eyes moving across the field. The wind slid through the grass. “After all that blood . . . hearing nothing but wind again.”
“Strange,” she said. “But good.”
Chato appeared from the side of the corral, carrying a plank over his shoulder. “If you two are done flirting with each other, I got three more boards that need lifting.”
“We weren’t flirting,” Blaze replied quickly.
Marisol grinned. “Speak for yourself.”
“If I hear one more sweet word between you two,” Chato said, “I’m throwing myself down the well.”
“Wouldn’t fit,” Blaze said.
It was a breath of fresh air for Blaze to see Chato stepping out of his comfort zone. They had never joked like this with each other before, but since he had started to help with the rebuilding of Buckeye Ranch, everything had changed.
Rachel’s laughter drifted from the porch.
“Don’t tease him too much,” she said. “We still need him for the fence.”
Chato set the board down with a grunt. “Fence don’t build itself either.”
Blaze watched him go, then turned to Marisol. “He’ll live.”
“He likes complaining,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah,” Blaze said, “means things are normal again.”
He leaned on the hammer handle, taking in the ranch.
The Buckeye land had changed since they’d ridden home.
The old corral was mended. The barn was half-raised, its new timbers still pale and raw.
A line of laundry flapped between two fence posts, and smoke curled from the chimney of the rebuilt cabin.
Life had somehow found its way back here. Blaze let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was a habit from too many years of waiting for the next gunshot.
Rachel came down from the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Supper’s nearly ready,” she said. “Beans, bread, and what’s left of that jerky.”
Blaze nodded. “Sounds fine.”
“You still don’t eat enough,” she said.
“I’m working too much,” Blaze replied. “Balances out.”
She gave him a look that reminded him she was still the little sister who used to boss him around.
“You’re gonna make yourself old before your time.”
“Too late,” he said.
Marisol grinned. “He was born old.”
“That right?” Rachel asked.
“Swear to it,” Marisol said. “He probably came out holding a six-shooter and frownin’ at the doctor.”
Rachel laughed. Blaze tried to hide his smile but failed. “Alright,” he said. “That’s enough of that.”
They worked until the light faded to gold. The air grew cooler, and the smell of mesquite smoke rolled across the field.
Blaze and Marisol set their tools down and walked toward the cabin, the sky burning crimson behind the hills. For the first time in a long while, Blaze felt the world quiet around him. No danger, no dread, just the slow heartbeat of home.
Inside, the small table was set. Rachel ladled beans into bowls. Chato came in last, brushing sawdust off his sleeves.
“Smells like heaven,” he said.
“Eat slow,” Rachel said. “There ain’t no seconds.”
They sat together, the sounds of spoons and quiet laughter filling the little room. Marisol brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes catching the firelight. Blaze found himself watching her again. He always did, and she always noticed.
The talk faded after supper. Rachel cleared the dishes, humming a tune their mother used to sing. Chato went to check the horses. Marisol and Blaze stepped outside.
Outside, the night air was cool and still. Blaze remembered how it had all ended: the cave consumed by fire and gun smoke, the shouting, the silence that followed.
Weeks later, word came from the deputy in Red Rock. One of Wilder’s men had been found downriver, shot clean through and clutching what remained of the gang’s gold. The chest lay beside him like a curse he hadn’t lived to spend.
The law called it justice, and since Blaze and his folks were the ones who’d put an end to Wilder’s lot, they sent him a share.
Blaze hadn’t wanted it at first. That gold had never brought him anything but trouble.
However, when the time came to raise the barn and lay new boards over old ground, he thought it better to turn blood into timber.
He split what he could with Marisol, Rachel, and Chato, and together they rebuilt the place from the ground up.
The moon was high tonight, casting the land in silver. The grass moved like water in the breeze, and the stars burned brightly above the ridge. Blaze felt the cool air on his face.
Marisol crossed her arms next to him.
“Hard to believe it’s the same place I saw a few months ago,” she said.
“There wasn’t much left when I left it,” Blaze replied. “Just ashes and fence posts.”
“Now look at it,” she said. “Feels like home.”
“Feels like it,” Blaze said. He watched her face in the moonlight. “You think you’ll stay?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I thought about leavin’,” she said finally. “After Wilder, after it was all over. I didn’t think there was any reason to stay anywhere.”
“And now?” Blaze asked, his eyes hopeful.
“Now I got one,” she said softly.
Blaze turned to her. “You sure?”
She looked up at him. “You want me to stay?”
He took a breath. His chest felt heavy, as if the words had been sitting there a long while waiting to be freed. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then I will,” Marisol replied, smiling at him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The moon spilled silver over the barn and the open field. Blaze glanced down, his hat brim shadowing his eyes. He wanted to say more—something plain and honest—but the words caught in his throat.
Marisol seemed to understand anyway. She gave his arm a light touch, just enough to steady him.
Behind them, the cabin door creaked open.
“If you’re gonna stand out here whisperin’ all night,” Rachel said, “don’t catch cold doing it.”
Blaze smiled faintly. “It ain’t that bad.”
Rachel gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh.” She went back inside, humming the same tune their mother used to sing.
Marisol exhaled a soft laugh. “She’s got your humor.”
“Always did,” Blaze said.
The quiet settled again. From the barn came the shuffle of hooves and Chato’s low voice, speaking to the horses in a tongue Blaze didn’t know. A moment later, the Indian appeared, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Horses are bedded down,” he said. “I’ll be leaving come morning.”
Blaze turned. “Leaving?”
“Yeah. Gonna head south, back to my people. Been gone long enough.” He gave a faint smile. “Can’t stay put too long, you know that.”
“Reckon I do,” Blaze replied.
The thought of losing another friend tugged at him, but he knew better than to ask Chato to stay. Some folks needed the trail the way others needed a roof.
Chato looked out over the land, the moonlight catching in his dark hair. “You done good here, Blaze. Better than most men twice your age.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Blaze said.
“Maybe not,” Chato replied, “but you’ll do fine now.”
Marisol folded her arms. “You sure about leavin’?”
“Sure as sunrise,” Chato replied, chuckling. “My place ain’t here no more. But I’ll ride back someday. Make sure you two ain’t burned the barn down.”
Blaze managed a small grin. “We’ll try to keep it standing.”
Chato nodded once, the way men do when words are done. He turned toward the barn and walked into its shadows. Blaze watched him go until the shadows swallowed him.
“He’ll be alright,” Marisol said quietly.
“Yeah,” Blaze murmured. “He always is.”
They stood side by side, the breeze moving through the grass. The barn timbers glowed pale in the moonlight, and Blaze felt the world settle. Not finished, but calm . . . like something broken had finally started to heal.
* * *
Thanks for reading!