Chapter 30
The Long Way Around
Night settled into the cuts like water poured into a thirsty throat.
Cold crept along the stone first, then seeped into the shallow basin where Boyd chose to make camp. The last sliver of sun had vanished behind the ridge, leaving the sky bruised and low.
Red shoved Eli down beside a boulder and tied his wrists to a jut of root. Not tight enough to cut off blood, but tight enough to keep him from running. The boy didn’t fight. He met Tessa’s eyes only once, then remembered her warning and kept his head lowered.
Boyd paced.
Back and forth. Boots scraping red dust into uneven lines.
The man had been fraying at the edges since the ranch, but something about this land made the unraveling worse.
Tessa sat on the cold ground, hands still tied to the sorrel’s saddle horn. She’d angled the horse close enough to shelter Eli with its body without making it obvious. Boyd was wound too tight to notice it anyway.
“You said the wash was this way,” Boyd snapped, wheeling on her. “I don’t see no wash.”
She didn’t blink. “You’ll see it in the morning.”
“Don’t give me that,” Boyd snapped. “I ain’t stupid.”
Tessa met his eyes levelly. “Never said you were. Said the land doesn’t look the same at night.”
Deke snorted from where he crouched near the small fire. “She’s got a point, Boyd. Hard to track at dusk.”
Boyd turned a sharp glare on him. “You takin’ her side?”
Deke held up both hands. “Just sayin’ the truth.”
Boyd’s lip curled. He stalked off into the shadows again, kicking loose rocks as he went. The sound echoed strangely between the walls of the basin, bouncing back distorted.
Eli shifted, breath fogging in the cold.
Tessa kept her voice low. “You warm enough?”
He nodded. “I—I’m okay.”
“You sleep if you can.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “And remember—don’t rise to anything they say. You let me handle Boyd.”
Eli swallowed. “I trust you.”
She wished she deserved that trust. Wished she could get him out before morning.
But this was survival.
Survival meant patience.
Survival meant lies.
Boyd finally came back, jaw set like stone. “We’re ridin’ at first light,” he said. “And if you take one wrong turn, Tessa—one—I’ll make the boy watch me shoot that sorrel in the head before I shoot him next.”
Eli flinched.
Tessa didn’t. She couldn’t afford to. “You want that stash or not?”
Boyd’s eyes narrowed. She could almost hear the gears grinding in his skull. Anger and greed warring with suspicion.
Finally, he jerked his chin. “Talk.”
Tessa breathed slow, calm.
She let her voice take on that distant, uncertain tone she’d practiced silently.
“My pa used that country years back. Gus bragged he hid something where Pa used to water the stock. But that land changes fast.” She gestured vaguely toward the darker ridge. “Cuts deepen. Sand shifts. I can’t say exact ‘til I see the lay of it in daylight.”
Boyd stared at her hard.
She stared back, letting fear show only where she meant it to.
Red leaned forward. “Could be she’s stallin’.”
Deke shrugged. “If she wanted to stall, she’d say she didn’t know nothin’ at all.”
Boyd’s jaw flexed.
Tessa kept her breathing even.
This was the kind of silence that broke men open.
At last Boyd said, “Fine. First light. You take us to that place. Or the boy pays for it.”
Eli’s breath hitched behind her.
She didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
But she let her voice carry unbroken.
“I’ll take you.”
Boyd nodded once, then moved off a few paces, muttering to himself, pacing again.
When he was far enough away, Eli whispered, “Are we—are we goin’ to the place you told Sam about? Where they rescued Reed and you?”
“We’re goin’ in that direction,” she said softly. “But not straight. I’m buyin’ time. They can’t track straight at night. But Reed and Pike…” Her throat tightened with hope she forced down. “They’ll cut the distance. You left enough sign for ten men.”
Eli exhaled, trembling.
“Rest,” she whispered. “Tomorrow’s going to be long.”
The night settled into its deepest dark—quiet but for the shifting horses, the occasional spark from Deke’s fire, and Boyd’s muttered fury as he paced.
***
Pike found the shortcut just after moonrise.
The cut was narrow, steep—one of those badlands passes that didn’t look like a trail at all until you were right on top of it. Wind had scoured the stone clean, leaving a pale, hard-packed strip between two leaning walls of rock.
“This is it,” Pike said, voice low but certain. “Comes out above the hollow.”
Rafe peered into the dark spine of stone. “Doesn’t look friendly.”
“Wasn’t meant to,” Reed murmured. “It’s a Carver trail. Gus used it to slip out quiet when he didn’t want eyes on him.”
Sam tightened his reins. “If it gets us above Tessa and Eli, we take it.”
Pike nodded once. “Light your torches. We ain’t stoppin’ till we’re up there.”
They rode into the narrow throat of stone, their torchlight throwing sharp-edged shadows along the twisting walls. The trail climbed fast—steeper than it looked from below, rough enough that the horses had to pick their steps with care.
Loose rock clattered under hooves. Reed kept his eyes up, not down, watching the sliver of stars framed between the jagged cliffs.
He remembered this place far too well—the smell of dust, the pain of his ruined feet, the scrape of rope burns on his wrists, the sound of Chad’s mocking voice right behind him as he’d been marched up this same spine of stone.
He breathed out through his teeth.
“Hold on, Tessa,” he whispered under his breath. “We’re close.”
Pike heard him, glanced back, and gave a short, sure nod.
“Not long now.”