One was older, gray-bearded and bow-legged.
Another looked barely twenty.
The third had the narrow face of a man who laughed before anyone else understood the joke.
All three stared when the bride climbed down.
She looked toward the giant rancher.
“Interesting?”
He sighed.
“Apparently.”
The older ranch hand removed his hat.
“Ma’am.”
The young one copied him.
The narrow-faced one looked at her sleeve.
The rancher gave him a warning look.
He looked elsewhere.
Good.
The bride appreciated efficient management.
The giant carried her trunk toward the house.
She followed.
Inside, the home surprised her again.
Not elegant.
Solid.
Large kitchen.
Stone fireplace.
Heavy wooden table.
A braided rug.
Shelves of books beside the main room.
Clean curtains.
A jar of wildflowers near the window.
She stopped.
“Who picked those?”
The rancher looked toward the flowers.
“The youngest ranch hand.”
“Why?”
“He says the room looks less depressing.”
The bride smiled.
“He’s correct.”
“I suspected.”
The rancher set her trunk outside a bedroom.
“This one is yours.”
She stepped inside.
Simple bed.
Washstand.
Chest.
Window facing the mountains.
Fresh sheets.
A folded quilt.
The woman touched the quilt.
“You made the bed?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked offended again.
“The older ranch hand’s wife came yesterday.”
“I could make a bed.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“You arranged it because you wanted me comfortable.”
“Yes.”
The bride looked at him.
“Thank you.”
The giant nodded.
He seemed almost embarrassed by gratitude.
Before she could say more, hoofbeats thundered from outside.
Fast.
Too fast for ordinary ranch work.
The giant turned immediately.
A ranch hand shouted from the yard.
“Riders!”
The bride’s body went cold.
The giant saw.
Everything gentle disappeared from his posture.
“Stay inside.”
“No.”
His head turned.
“No?”
“I spent three days running.”
“I’m finished.”
“This is my ranch.”
“And whoever is coming may be here because of me.”
“That’s exactly why—”
She stepped past him.
“If they came for me, I want to see who they are.”
The giant stared at her.
Then nodded once.
Not agreement.
Recognition.
He would not waste time trying to control someone determined to stand.
They walked outside together.
Dust rose beyond the western fence.
Six riders.
Then seven.
The ranch hands moved instinctively toward rifles stacked near the porch.
The giant lifted one hand.
“Not yet.”
The bride squinted toward the ridge.
Her breathing changed.
The lead rider emerged through the dust.
Dark coat.
Gray horse.
Black hat.
The bride knew him.
Not the man from the train.
Worse.
The rancher noticed the way her face changed.
“Who?”
She could barely answer.
“The man who employed me.”
The rider slowed at the gate.
His companions spread behind him.
The giant stepped in front of the bride.
She moved sideways until she stood beside him.
He looked at her.