Cole Maddox used muscle memory rather than hope to set the net snare before daybreak. He hadn’t eaten fresh meat since previous winter, the ranch had been losing money for months, and coyotes continued to rip into his calves. On Sunday, venison seemed like a luxury. As the first sliver of light appeared over the ridge, he inspected the anchors, tightened the knots, and started back toward camp.
The world was pale and motionless. Overhead, cottonwoods murmured. While pouring himself a cup of black coffee, Cole tried not to think about how many debts he had. Then a scream tore through the silence as sunlight broke the horizon. The shriek was not that of an animal. It was more human, harsher, and deeper. His chest pounded with adrenaline as it stopped him in his tracks.
Taking his rifle, he took off running. As he forced his way through scrub oak and bush, dust rose behind him in panic clouds. Up ahead, something thrashed—raw struggle, grunting, shattering branches. He anticipated a terrified and entangled deer or large cat. Instead, he was shocked by what he discovered.
The rope was tightly wound around a tall figure, and the snare was suspended between two pin oaks. A female. Arms entangled in the cables, long dark hair wild in the dawn light, one leg tightened in the loop, she hung clumsily. Her name was Apache. The cut of her leggings, the beaded on her sash, and the steel in her eyes despite the suffering were all instantly recognizable to him.
He lowered his rifle and murmured, “Damn.” People weren’t supposed to be in the trap.
Her scowl was like an arrow to him. She spat, “Go on.” “Take what you desire. Your kind always does.
The cry was not as powerful as the accusation. In fact, Cole recoiled, his spine tingling with embarrassment.
He muttered, “That’s not who I am.” He placed the rifle on the ground and moved forward, raising both hands as if he were going up to a wounded wolf that may tear out his throat.
Her ankle was swelled, bruised, and bleeding from the rope’s deep chewing. Before she could school it away, pain shot through her face as she twisted.
Cole slowly drew a knife from his belt, allowing her to see every action. “I’m going to cut you down,” he declared. “We both end up face-first in the dirt when you kick.”
She nodded slightly, but her angry jaw remained clenched. She gasped as her body fell several inches as he cut the first loop. In order to prevent her from crashing onto the rocks, he leaped forward and used his shoulder to support her weight.
“Simple,” he whispered. “Inhale.”
She fell as he untied the final knot. Carefully lowering her, he caught her before her head reached the floor. She was tough, self-assured, and exhausted up close; she was all sinew and fire. Instinctively, she withdrew, the pain taking the strength out of her breath.
Cole threw his coat around her shoulders and shrugged it off. She tried not to indicate that she was shivering as she looked at him, first bewildered, then suspicious.
He declared, “You are free.” “Leave for home. You passed through my country, and I won’t say a word.
She made an effort to stand. Her leg instantly gave way. Her face turned pale. At that moment, he noticed the deeper tear, a gash along her thigh that was leaking blood. He had underestimated the depth of the snare’s cut.
He led her to a fallen log and said, “Sit.” At first, her pride was as hard as granite, but agony and gravity prevailed. She plunged deeply.
She furiously answered, “You saved my life.” “My people will now believe that you took me.”
Cole answered, “Let them think what they want.” “The truth remains true. You are aware of what took place. He dropped to his knees and tore the cloth from her wound. Despite her tension, she did not stop him.
It was a horrible cut. deep. unclean. On battles, he had witnessed worse, but not on a person who would have to travel miles to get home.
He said, “My name is Cole.” “Cole Maddox.”
Startled that he provided it freely, she blinked.
“You will lose the leg if that becomes infected,” he stated. “Your camp is farther away than my cabin.”
She gave a strong shake of her head. Enter the cabin of a white man and disappear? No. Rather than trust your words, my father would choose to burn your farm.
Cole let out a breath. On that leg, you are free to hobble for thirty miles. However, coyotes won’t give a damn whose daughter you are if you faint in the middle.
Quiet. The kind that simultaneously carries risk and opportunity.
“Naya,” she finally said.
Her name. A truce with reluctance.
“Okay, Naya,” he said. “I’ll take you to the laundry. After that, you have to choose between infection and trusting me.
He signaled his horse with a whistle. Nervously, the gelding trotted up. Cole put his arm beneath her shoulders and knees.
She whispered, “Don’t hold me like broken pottery,” but as anguish surged up her leg, she tightly grasped his shirt.
He said, “You’re hurt.” “Not damaged.”
Gently placing her on the saddle, he guided the horse steadily and slowly in the direction of his property. She stumbled twice due to lightheadedness. No, she wouldn’t beg him to stop. Nevertheless, he stopped.
He stopped at the wash. “Your final opportunity to do things your way.”
She looked for deceit on his face but couldn’t find any. It made her uneasy more than antagonism would have.
“My father will take your heart if I die,” she said gently.
Cole retorted, “I’ll bury you myself knowing I tried if you die.”
a lengthy beat. Then she let out a breath. “Cowboy, take me to your cabin.”
Smoke steadily rose from the chimney of his cottage, which was situated in a cottonwood grove. He brought her inside and placed her on the bed. She looked about the room; it was plain, worn, and devoid of any signs of confinement.
He answered, “I have to clean the wound.” It will be painful. Break my nose or bite the belt.
“You speak too much.”
He covered the wound with whiskey. She arched her back. Her teeth left scars on the leather when she bit down. Cole worked quickly and carefully. She only let out a strangled groan as her eyes began to well up with tears.
She looked at him as if she was seeing him clearly for the first time when he put the bandage on.
“You believe we are even if you save my leg?”
“You fell into my trap,” he continued. “My hands set you free. The scales appear to be trying.
Night fell. Cole slept with his gun next to him on the floor near the entrance. Naya asked the question that had likely been bothering her since morning before she fell asleep.
“Why did you not make use of me? You might have. Nobody would be aware of it.
Cole glanced up at the ceiling. “I’ve witnessed what happens to men who steal property that isn’t theirs. I will not accompany them. There are enough ghosts for me.
They were separated by a crackling fire. She remained silent. She eventually fell asleep.
Outside, hoofbeats thundered before dawn. Cole stood up right away. Naya winced and forced herself to stand.
“Riding Apaches,” she murmured. “My dad.”
With their swords at the ready, warriors appeared between the woods. Older, shrewd-eyed, and powerful, their chief dismounted.
He told Naya, “You were stuck on this man’s land.” “Yet you remain alive and unashamed here.”
Naya raised her chin. I was ensnared in his trap. I was set free by his hands. He healed my hurt. There was more he could have taken. He didn’t.
Cole was examined by the chief. “White men seldom turn down easy power.”
Cole maintained eye contact. “I would prefer to deal with you with clean hands than to live with dirty ones.”
After giving this some thought, the chief gave a single nod. According to my daughter, we owe you. Thus, you will visit our camp as a guest rather than a prisoner.
Cole gave a blink. “Why?”
The leader said, “To see if you are a fool or bridge.” “We’ve had enough of the first.”
Naya’s countenance was unreadable as she watched Cole saddle his horse. However, something new was present—possibly respect. or interest.
As they rode toward the valley, he fell in with her folks. The snare still hung empty behind them, hanging in the wind; it was the beginning of something much larger than either of them had anticipated, not simply an animal trap.