Chapter 26
Into the Red Country
The world had narrowed to the creak of leather and the burn in her wrists.
Tessa’s hands were tied in front of her, the rope looped hard around the saddle horn so she couldn’t reach the reins.
Every jolt of the stolen horse dragged the bindings tighter against her wrists.
The bay was a good animal—somebody’s pride, somebody’s hard-worked ranch horse—and Boyd had taken him the way he took everything else—fast, mean, and without a second thought.
“Quit fussin’,” Boyd snapped from ahead of her. “You fall, I ain’t stoppin’.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t trust her voice not to crack from the dryness of her throat or the fury in her chest. The ranch—the house, Isaac’s frightened little face, Sam’s panicked voice—was already fading behind them, swallowed by distance and heat.
Stay alive. Watch. That’s all you can do.
The land began to change under them. Grass thinned into brittle clumps. Red dirt swallowed the path. Scrubby brush clung to the earth like stubborn survivors in a hostile world. The ridges ahead rose sharp and broken, teeth of a country meant to hide men who didn’t want to be found.
Badlands. She’d never wanted to see them this close again.
Boyd’s horse slid down a wash in a spray of loose stone. Deke rode behind her, heavy in the saddle and watchful. The thin outlaw—Red—spurred his mount to keep up on the left, giving her a nasty sideways grin when their knees brushed too close.
“Careful,” Tessa said through clenched teeth.
He grinned wider. “Thought you liked attention.”
She looked back ahead so she wouldn’t say something that earned her a broken jaw.
“Faster,” Boyd called. “Can’t lose daylight.”
They climbed a low ridge, the horse beneath her working harder than a beast that healthy ought to.
When they leveled out, Boyd reined in a little, not stopping but easing the pace.
She felt it instantly—better for the horses, less likely to founder.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her relief.
“Boyd,” she called. “You keep runnin’ ‘em like this, you’ll lame one.”
He shot her a cold look back over his shoulder. “You offerin’ advice now?”
“Would you rather have to walk?” she said, voice flat. “These horses will drop before we’re half a day in.”
Red barked a laugh. “Look at her—thinks she’s runnin’ the show.”
“Let her talk,” Boyd said. “Talk won’t save her.”
His tone changed, though—harder, more calculating. And she realized he’d slowed because he’d listened, even if he’d pretend otherwise.
The sun beat down. Her wrists throbbed. Her mouth felt full of dust.
Then Boyd turned slightly in the saddle and fixed her with a long, assessing stare.
“You sure you don’t want to start talkin’, Tessa?” he asked. “Be easier on you if you did.”
She blinked grit from her lashes. “Talkin’ about what?”
“You know what,” he said sharply. “Gus and Chad didn’t hide that stash without tellin’ somebody.”
Her stomach tightened. “I told you—I don’t know anything about a stash.”
Deke spat in the dirt. “She’s lyin’. Got that look.”
“I’m not lyin’,” Tessa said. “If your brothers buried anything, they sure didn’t tell me.”
Boyd slowed enough that she almost bumped into his horse. “Gus trusted you. Chad liked you. They talked.”
“Talkin’ isn’t the same as trust,” she snapped.
“Don’t matter,” Boyd said. “You’ll remember when you’re scared enough.”
Her heart hammered, but her voice stayed level. “Scarin’ me won’t make somethin’ appear that isn’t there.”
Boyd’s eyes darkened. “We’ll see.”
Tessa looked past him, toward the broken ridges.
If Boyd wanted her thinking harder, she would.
Just not in the way he expected.
The wind shifted, carrying the smell of old wood. They topped the next rise and saw the line shack nestled under a crooked rock shelf—leaning chimney, sagging corral fence, no smoke from the flue.
Tessa’s stomach dropped.
“There,” Boyd said, voice sharpening. “Lucky day.”
Red rode around back to check for movement. No one answered. No sounds. No smoke. No rider. Whoever lived here was out with the herd or long gone.
“Boyd,” Tessa said tightly. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I’m doin’ it,” Boyd said. “I ain’t draggin’ you tied to my saddle all day.”
He headed for the corral.
She whispered, “Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home.”
No answer. No movement. The horse in the corral lifted its head, ears flicking. A good horse—strong legs, steady stance.
Boyd swung down, ducked between the rails, and fetched the saddle hanging on the fence post beside the corral. He threw it on the sorrel with practiced efficiency.
“Too damn easy,” he muttered. “Mount up a second time.”
The horse she’d been tied to before was fine for open ground, but not the kind of rough country Boyd was leading them into. The sorrel was built for it—steady, sure-footed, and strong. Of course he’d steal it.
Deke loosened the rope enough for her to slide off her original mount. Her legs nearly buckled when her feet hit the ground. She didn’t let Boyd see it.
“Up,” he ordered, jerking his chin toward the stolen horse.
She hesitated half a heartbeat out of pure spite, then climbed aboard. Boyd tied the rope tight around the new horn. It bit into her wrists again, sharper this time.
“You run,” he said quietly. “You lose your hands.”
She swallowed down the flare of nausea. “You done talkin’?”
He gave her a thin, ugly smile and swung onto his own horse.
“Not even close.”
They rode on.
The stolen horse carried her well—smooth stride, sure-footed on the uneven ground. Someone had loved this horse. Someone would ride back to find it gone. The thought made her chest ache.
The country grew harsher.
Stone shouldered up in jagged lines. Washes deepened. Wind funneled through narrow cuts, carrying heat and dust into her eyes. She kept track of every turn, every ridge, every dip in the land.
And then—
Movement on the far western ridge.
Just a flicker: a tail swish. A hat brim. The slope shifted and swallowed it. She stared harder—then saw it again.
Sam’s gelding. The rider was too short to be a man.
Her throat caught.
Eli.
He kept low, hugging the high line, smart as any cowhand with miles of prairie under him. Watching. Tracking. Staying out of sight.
Relief hit first. Then terror.
Don’t do this, Eli. Don’t you dare.
Red twisted in his saddle, scanning. Tessa forced herself still.
“See anything?” Boyd asked.
“Nah,” Red answered. “Just dust.”
Tessa let her breath leak out in a thin, controlled thread.
Eli Fletcher, you turn back. You hear me? Turn back.
But she knew he wouldn’t. The boy had a spine the same as Sam, and more courage than sense.
Boyd pointed toward a shallow cut. “We water ‘em there. Then push on another mile.”
They dropped into the draw. The air turned cooler, damp around the edges. A thin seep of water trickled from under a ledge, mud pooling around the horse hooves.
“Five minutes,” Boyd said. “No more.”
He tied her off again to keep her from wandering. The men watered their mounts. The horses nosed at the mud, grateful.
Tessa shifted her weight, easing the ache in her knees.
Deke eyed her lazily. “You’re quieter than I figured. Most women’d be screamin’ by now.”
“Most women haven’t lived my life,” she said. “Takes more than dust and rope to scare me.”
Boyd snorted. “You think tough talk’s gonna change where this ends?”
“You think cruelty’s gonna get you what you want?” she shot back. “Gus and Chad dug their own graves and are spending the rest of their lives in prison. You’re diggin’ yours.”
His jaw flexed, anger rising.
Before it could snap into something worse, he jerked his chin.
“Mount up. We ride till dark.”
Tessa slid back into the saddle.
She wasn’t close enough to spring her plan yet.
Too much open country.
Too easy for Boyd to see she was lying.
But she’d plant those seeds.
She’d watch him.
She’d watch the land.
And when the moment came—
She would lead him straight into the trap.
They rode on into the deepening red teeth of the badlands, dusk beginning to settle in the cracks and cuts, the shadows long and hungry.
Behind them, somewhere on the high line, Eli stayed ghost-quiet on Sam’s gelding, following a woman he’d grown to love, into country where danger twisted into every curve of the land.
Tessa kept her eyes forward.
Not yet, she told herself.
Not yet.
But soon.
She would turn the trail.