Chapter Twenty-One
Daisy rode beside Flint in silence as the wagon rolled toward home, her hands folded tightly in her lap while the wheels rattled across the familiar road.
The trip seemed twice as long as the ride out.
Only hours earlier, she'd soaked in every detail the countryside offered. Birds had called from the trees. Water had rushed across stone. Wind had whispered through the cottonwoods and carried the scent of summer across the creek bank.
Those memories felt distant now.
Hooves echoed through her thoughts instead.
She heard them again and again, along with Flint's low voice explaining who they were. Every recollection dragged a little more weight across her mind until the cheerful excitement that had filled the morning seemed to belong to somebody else entirely.
Conversation never found its way back between them.
Whenever the road dipped, or a rut threatened to jolt her from the seat, Flint guided her with the same care he always showed, yet the easy confidence she knew so well had slipped away.
Whenever the road dipped, or a rut threatened to jolt her from the seat, Flint guided her with the same care he always showed, yet the easy confidence she knew so well had slipped away.
He rarely sat still for more than a minute at a time.
The wagon seat creaked beneath him, and she could hear him turning repeatedly, listening and watching in a way that reminded her of a man expecting trouble.
Hearing Flint so restless unsettled her more than the riders themselves had. Flint rarely worried, and the strain woven through every movement, every shift in his seat, made the danger feel far more real than hoofbeats echoing through the distance ever could.
Her birthday had begun with laughter beside a creek and plans that stretched no farther than the next pleasant hour. Now she found herself listening to every sound the wagon wheels failed to drown out, wondering whether another set of riders might be trailing behind them.
The sun had begun its descent by the time Nathan's property came into view, and the instant the wagon rolled into the yard, Daisy sensed a tension that hadn't been there that morning.
Nathan waited near the porch.
His boots scraped across the boards as they approached, yet no greeting followed. He didn't ask whether they'd enjoyed the picnic, and he offered none of the teasing remarks he usually aimed at Flint whenever Daisy spent an afternoon away from home.
He simply waited.
"Well?" he said.
One word carried enough meaning to make Daisy's stomach sink.
Beside her, Flint released a weary breath.
"Daisy," Nathan said, his voice calm in the way storms sometimes looked calm from a distance, "would you care to explain why the pair of you vanished half the afternoon?"
Daisy grimaced. "We lost track of time."
Nathan barked a laugh that carried no amusement whatsoever. "That's an impressive answer. I especially admire how little I believe it."
"Nathan—"
He cut Flint off immediately. "I've spent two hours debating whether to saddle a horse or gather every neighbor within shouting distance. You don't get to interrupt yet."
The gate swung shut behind them with a long creak.
Quiet settled across the yard.
Daisy could almost feel Nathan studying each of them. When he spoke again, the sharp edge had vanished. That frightened her more.
"What happened?"
Flint shifted his weight. "We saw riders."
Daisy heard the scrape of her brother’s boots against the porch boards.
"What riders?"
Flint answered without hesitation. "Amos Grady's men."
A long pause followed.
When Nathan finally spoke, his voice had dropped low enough to make Daisy's skin prickle. "Start talking."
Flint told him everything.
He started with the creek and the hidden clearing he'd stumbled across months earlier.
Then he told Nathan about the riders appearing along the ridge and the search that followed.
He described Earl Benson's arrival and the narrow margin that had kept Daisy hidden while Amos Grady's men combed the area.
Each detail seemed to drain another degree of warmth from Nathan's voice.
By the time Flint finished, Daisy could almost track the change happening inside her brother. The anger never exploded. It settled deeper instead, growing colder and far more dangerous than shouting ever would've been.
Nathan was unimpressed. "You took her there."
Flint didn't back down. "I didn't know they'd show up."
"You knew men were hunting you," he said, his voice sharpening at last. "You knew Amos had riders crawling across half the county, yet you thought a picnic sounded like a fine idea."
Daisy stepped closer. "That isn't what happened."
Neither man paid attention.
Flint snapped. "The minute I saw trouble, I got her out."
Nathan let out a short laugh. "Well, that's comforting."
"It happens to be true."
Nathan didn’t agree. "You keep saying that as though the ending erases the decision that got you there."
Flint shifted forward. "And what would've satisfied you?"
Nathan answered so quickly it seemed he'd rehearsed it. "You leaving."
Silence swept across the yard. Daisy felt every muscle lock. Flint didn't react right away, which somehow made the word hit harder.
Nathan continued before anyone else could speak. "You should've packed your gear weeks ago and ridden until this place sat well behind you."
"Nathan, listen to me," Daisy pleaded.
His frustration finally cracked through.
"No, Daisy. I've spent nearly six weeks watching this situation grow worse while everybody acts like tomorrow will magically solve it. They got close enough to find you, Daisy."
"They didn't find her," Flint replied.
Nathan's voice turned toward Flint. "This time."
Daisy's stomach twisted. Part of her understood Nathan's fear. Earl Benson had come far too close. Yet hearing her birthday picnic reduced to another example of Flint's bad judgment felt deeply unfair.
"You know exactly what I'm saying,” Nathan continued. “If you care about Daisy, then you should understand what I’m saying.”
When Flint finally answered, the fight had gone out of his voice. "Yeah."
Daisy turned toward him so quickly that her braid swung across her shoulder. Flint sounded exhausted. "They shouldn't have gotten that close to you."
"None of this is your fault." Daisy’s heart ached for what Flint must be feeling.
"Maybe not," Flint said quietly. "That doesn't change the danger."
The quiet certainty unsettled her far more than Nathan's anger ever could.
Flint had stopped defending himself because he'd reached the same conclusion Nathan had.
Nathan's voice softened. That worried Daisy even more. "If Amos's men are searching that far out, they'll keep pushing wider every week. Eventually, they'll ride past this property, and when that happens, everybody here gets dragged into it."
Daisy folded her arms and looked from one stubborn man to the other, already recognizing the direction this conversation had taken and refusing to let either of them drag it any farther. "Absolutely not."
Nathan released a long breath. The reaction alone told her he'd expected trouble. "What part are you objecting to?"
"The part where the solution somehow ends with Flint riding away again."
"Daisy—"
She lifted a hand. "You've had your turn. Now it's mine."
Nathan released a long breath. "That usually means I'm about to lose an argument."
"Good. It'll save time." Daisy turned toward her brother. "Every time life throws a problem at this family, the two of you start acting like Flint's existence is the problem."
"That's not what I said."
"It's exactly where this road leads. He finally has a life again. He finally has people who know who he is, people who care whether he comes home at night, and the first sign of danger has everyone discussing how quickly he can disappear."
The words came easier once she started.
Months of fear, relief, and gratitude had nowhere else to go.
"I spent three years believing I'd lost him forever. I'm not interested in volunteering for a repeat performance." Daisy allowed the truth to flow through her. "We found each other again."
When Flint finally answered, he sounded drained. "Daisy."
She hated hearing her name spoken that way.
Every syllable carried the weight of a man preparing himself for a sacrifice nobody had asked him to make.
Her stomach sank. "Don't."
"I'm trying to keep you safe."
The words struck at an old wound she knew too well.
Years earlier, she'd convinced herself that leaving Flint behind had been an act of love. She'd made the decision alone, carried out the plan alone, and never given him the chance to choose differently because she'd believed protecting him mattered more than asking what he wanted.
Now Flint stood across from her, carrying the same burden.
The realization hurt because she understood exactly why he was doing it.
She also understood how much damage good intentions could leave behind.
"You don't get to make that choice for me," she said quietly.
Nathan finally stepped between them before the conversation could spiral into another fight.
"Nobody's deciding anything tonight." His voice lacked its earlier edge.
Weariness had taken its place. "We're running on fear, frustration, and little sleep.
Any decision made tonight is liable to be a foolish one. "
Daisy didn’t want to argue. The energy simply wasn't there anymore. The strain of the day had finally caught up with all of them.
Flint eased back a step.
Nathan released a long breath.
The confrontation faded, though no resolution came with it.
Each of them remained trapped with the same ugly truth.
That Amos Grady had a greater reach than anyone expected.