For a moment, she stared at me.
Then her hand moved toward mine.
I took it.
We sat together for a long time.
The night grew colder.
The fire settled.
And somewhere beyond the cliffs, a coyote called.
The older woman leaned her head lightly against my shoulder.
I remained still.
I hadn't sat that close to another person in years.
I could feel the warmth of her through the wool blanket.
I could hear her breathing.
And for the first time since my wife died, I didn't feel guilty for wanting someone beside me.
I didn't know what the future would hold.
I didn't know whether the older woman would ever look at me as anything more than the stranger who helped her beneath a tree.
And I had no intention of asking for affection as payment for what I was doing.
But I knew something had changed.
I cared whether she slept peacefully.
I cared whether she laughed.
I cared whether she found her son.
And somewhere along the road, her future had begun mattering to me as much as my own.
We reached Black Canyon on the fourth morning.
The settlement was smaller than Cuervo Creek, consisting of a general store, a blacksmith shop, several houses, and a narrow road that led toward a cattle ranch beyond the canyon walls.
The ranch belonged to a wealthy widower who had inherited extensive grazing rights and several hundred head of cattle from his father.
The local people described him as proud, private, and determined to preserve his family name.
Two years earlier, he had suddenly announced that he was raising an infant boy.
The child was said to be a distant relative whose parents had died.
Nobody questioned the story openly.
The man was wealthy.
And wealthy men often had the luxury of making other people accept explanations that would never satisfy them if they came from someone poor.
The marshal stopped at the general store.
He asked discreet questions.
The answers confirmed that a small boy lived at the ranch.
The boy had black hair.
Brown eyes.
And was approximately two years old.
The older woman gripped the wagon rail when she heard.
I stood beside her.
"Easy."
She looked toward me.
"That could be him."
I nodded.
"Yes."
The marshal returned from the store with a troubled expression.
He looked toward me.
"We have another problem."
"What?"
"The deputy from Cuervo Creek was seen here yesterday."
My stomach tightened.
"At the ranch?"
The marshal nodded.
"Yes."
I looked toward the canyon road.
The older woman followed my gaze.
Her face went pale.
"What does that mean?"
The marshal answered carefully.