“Remember Me, Cowboy? I’m the Apache Girl You Saved Years Ago… I’ve Returned to Marry You”

 

Prologue: The Echo of a Promise

The New Mexico sun hung heavy over broken mesa, turning the air thick and still.

Dust coated everything—fence posts, leather boots, the brim of a worn hat.

The only sound for miles was the steady rhythm of a hammer striking cedar, each blow echoing across the empty land like a heartbeat that refused to die.

Matias Crowley worked alone.

Thirty-seven years old, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Sweat darkened the fabric across his broad shoulders.

Each swing of the hammer drove another post deeper into the unforgiving earth.

This land was his now.

Five years of solitude, five years of silence, five years of burying memories beneath wood and stone and the endless work of survival.

He’d been a scout once, a good one.

Men trusted him to read the land, to find water in the desert, to see danger before it arrived.

His eyes could track a man across rock where others saw nothing.

His ears could separate the sound of wind from footsteps half a mile away.

But that was before Redcliffe Canyon, before the screams, before the fire that still burned behind his eyes every time he closed them.

Matias didn’t talk about that night.

Didn’t talk about the child he’d pulled from beneath burning timber while gunfire tore the air apart.

Didn’t talk about the ones he couldn’t reach.

The ones who died because he led soldiers to the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or maybe it was the right place.

Maybe someone had wanted it that way.

He pushed the thought down the way he always did and drove another nail home.

He crouched to inspect the fence line, testing the strength of his work.

His hands bore the evidence of five years spent building from nothing—calloused palms, scarred knuckles, rope burns healed white and permanent.

He reached for his canteen, lifted it halfway to his mouth—and froze.

A figure stood on the ridge, not moving, just watching.

Matias had lived out here long enough to know the difference between a traveler passing through and someone who’d been standing still for a very long time.

The hair on the back of his neck rose.

Old instincts, never quite buried, stirred awake like a wolf sensing blood on the wind.

He set down the canteen without a sound.

His hand drifted toward the revolver at his hip, fingers brushing the worn grip.

He counted his breaths, slowed his heartbeat, watched.

The figure began to descend.

Slow at first, unsteady, each step placed carefully as if the person might collapse at any moment.

By the time she reached the bottom of the slope, Matias could see her clearly, and what he saw made his chest tighten.

A woman, young, exhausted, dangerously close to death.

Her deerskin dress was torn along the neckline and waist, revealing bruises that mapped a story of violence across her ribs and shoulders.

Dirt streaked her legs.

Her long black hair, woven with feathers and leather strips, clung to her sweat-soaked face.

She moved with fierce determination, but her body trembled with every step, as if sheer will alone kept her upright.

Matias moved closer, not drawing his weapon, but ready.

He counted her breaths—shallow, uneven, too fast.

He noted the raw marks around her wrists, rope burns, deep and recent, the kind that came from struggling against restraints for days.

He scanned the ridge behind her, looking for movement, for dust clouds, for any sign she’d been followed.

Nothing.

She was alone.

She stopped eight feet from the fence, gripping the top rail to steady herself.

Her breathing came fast, almost panicked, but her eyes never left his face.

Dark eyes, Apache eyes, full of pain she tried to hide beneath a mask of stubborn courage.

When she spoke, her voice broke on the first word.

“Do you remember me, cowboy?”

The question struck something deep inside him, something he’d thought was dead.

Matias studied her face, forcing his mind to make sense of the exhaustion, the bruises, the torn clothing.

Her eyes, dark, alert, burning with an intensity that cut through the pain, pulled a memory from the darkness where he tried to bury it.

A child’s voice screaming beneath burning timber.

Tiny hands gripping his neck so hard they left marks.

The sound of her sobbing against his chest as he ran through smoke and fire, his lungs burning, his eyes streaming, the world reduced to heat and chaos and the weight of one small life he refused to let go.

His heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but from recognition.

“I’ve seen you,” he said slowly, voice rough as gravel.

“Years ago, near the cliffs.”

Her shoulders shook from the effort of standing upright.

She swallowed hard, and he saw her throat work against the dryness.

“I’m the girl you saved that night,” she whispered.

“My name is Kimmela.

They call me Kimmy.”

A cold weight settled in Matias’s stomach.

She wasn’t a child anymore.

She was a woman now—grown, strong in posture despite being worn down by hunger, sun, and fear.

The little girl who’d clung to him in the darkness had become someone who’d walk through hell to find him again.

She lifted her chin, trying to maintain dignity despite her condition.

“I came here because you were the only one who ever helped me,” she said.

“I followed what I remembered—the direction you rode, the shape of these hills.

I thought maybe… maybe you were still alive.

Maybe you’d remember.”

Matias glanced at her bruised ribs, at the torn stitching around her waist, at the thinness of her breath, at the way she held herself, proud despite everything.

“What happened to you?”

Her jaw tightened.

Shame flickered across her face, quickly replaced by anger.

“My tribe split after the fighting,” she said.

“Some of the men blamed me for bringing bad luck.

Said I should have died in the fire with the others.

They sold me to a man named Dalton Voss.

He wanted to trade me to the mine bosses up north.

Use me like… like property.”

Her voice dropped.

“I escaped three nights ago.

Cut my bonds on a sharp rock.

Ran through the canyons.

Hid in dry creek beds during the day so they couldn’t track me in the heat.

I didn’t sleep.

I didn’t stop.”

Her voice cracked.

“I didn’t want to die alone in the dust.”

Her knees buckled.

Matias caught her before she hit the ground.

His arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders, stabilizing her as she leaned heavily into him.

Her breath brushed his neck, warm and quick and desperate.

Her trembling body pressed against his chest and he felt her ribs expand unevenly beneath his hands.

Kimmy clutched the front of his shirt, not in fear, but because she had no strength left.

“I’m not leaving you out here,” Matias said.

The decision formed faster than he expected.

She tried to speak, but the words came out weak and quiet.

“I told myself, if I reached you, you wouldn’t turn me away.”

Matias lifted her into his arms in one smooth motion.

She let out a soft sound, half relief, half exhaustion.

Her torn dress shifted as he carried her, exposing the curve of her thigh through a split seam.

He didn’t comment.

He focused on her breathing, making sure she didn’t fade out, making sure she stayed conscious until he could get water into her.

Her head rested lightly against his chest.

She smelled of dust, sweat, and smoke from long journeys—the scent of someone who’d pushed past every human limit and somehow survived.

He felt the fragile strength still left in her, the stubborn will that had pushed her across the desert alone.

As he stepped through the open doorway of his cabin, he felt the old familiar tightness in his throat, the mixture of protectiveness, anger, and guilt he’d avoided for years.

He set her carefully on the edge of his cot.

She tried to sit straight, but her arms shook.

Her eyes searched his, waiting for him to decide her fate.

Waiting to see if the man who’d saved her once would do it again.

Kimmy whispered, voice barely audible.

“I came to marry you because I have no one else.

You were the only person who chose to save me when everyone else ran.

I chose you because I remembered your kindness.”

Matias stood still, breathing slowly, sorting through the weight of her words.

He didn’t know how to answer her yet.

Didn’t know what this meant for the life he’d built in isolation.

Didn’t know if he deserved the trust she was placing in him.

But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

He would not let her suffer again.

He would not let anyone take her.

He would not send her back into the heat.

And for the first time in years, he felt the quiet, unsettling shift of something changing inside him.

An old part of himself waking up again—the part that believes some things are worth fighting for.

He poured water into a tin cup and handed it to her.

“Drink slowly,” he said.

“Too much at once will make you sick.”

She obeyed, sipping carefully, her hands shaking around the cup.

Matias knelt beside the cot and began checking her injuries—rope burns around her wrists, deep bruising along her ribs, a long cut on her thigh that had scabbed over but needed cleaning.

He worked methodically, the way he’d learned during the war, his touch gentle but efficient.

“How many men are after you?” he asked.

“Three that I know of,” she said.

“Maybe more.

Dalton leads them.

He’s… he’s not like other men.

He enjoys the hunt.”

Matias’s jaw tightened.

“He won’t enjoy this one.”

Kimmy looked at him for a long moment.

“You’d fight for me even though I’m a stranger now?”

“You’re not a stranger,” Matias said quietly.

“You’re the reason I’m still alive.”

She blinked, confused.

“I don’t understand.”

“After that night,” he said, “I thought about eating a bullet every day for a year.

The only thing that stopped me was knowing you’d made it out, knowing I’d done one thing right.” He met her eyes.

“So, no, you’re not a stranger.”

Tears welled in Kimmy’s eyes, but she blinked them back.

Matias stood and moved to the window.

The sun was dropping toward the horizon, painting the desert in shades of red and gold.

He scanned the ridge, the creek bed, the open ground between his homestead and the distant hills.

Nothing moved, but something felt wrong.

“Rest,” he said.

“I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Kimmy lay back on the cot, exhaustion finally overtaking her.

Within minutes, her breathing slowed and deepened.

Matias sat against the wall, rifle across his knees, and waited for the wolves to come.

 

Chapter 2: Shadows in the Dawn

Dawn came cold and gray.

Matias hadn’t slept.

He’d kept watch through the night, rifle across his knees, listening for sounds that didn’t belong.

Every shift of wind, every creak of wood, every distant cry of a nightbird.

Kimmy slept fitfully, her body fighting exhaustion and pain in equal measure.

She cried out twice in her sleep, speaking words in Apache he didn’t understand.

Each time Matias moved closer, ready to wake her if the nightmares became too much.

When she finally stirred, pale light filtered through the cabin’s narrow window.

Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar space.

For a moment, confusion clouded her face.

Then memory returned.

She turned her head and saw Matias sitting against the wall, dark circles under his eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble.

“You stayed awake all night,” she said quietly.

“Old habits,” he said.

She pushed herself up slowly, testing her body’s limits.

The bruises looked darker in the morning light, but her breathing came easier.

The water and rest had helped.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked.

Matias stood and poured fresh water into the cup.

He handed it to her before speaking.

“Nowhere.

We stay.

We prepare.

If your hunters come, we make them regret it.”

She drank, eyes fixed on him over the rim of the cup.

“You think they followed me?”

“Men who hunt someone don’t stop because the trail gets long,” he said.

“If any of them had horses, they could be miles away or right over the next ridge.

I need to check.”

Kimmy’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“If you go, will you come back?” The question held more than fear.

It held the weight of every person who’d ever left her behind.

Matias knelt in front of her, meeting her eyes directly.

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“I’ll come back.

That’s a promise.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

Before stepping outside, Matias placed the rifle near the door and checked the rounds.

He pulled the smaller pistol from beneath his bedroll and showed it to Kimmy.

“You know how to use one of these?”

“My father taught me to shoot a bow,” she said.

“Not guns.”

“Same principle.

Point at what you want to stop.

Pull the trigger.

Don’t hesitate.” He placed it in her hands.

“If anyone comes through that door who isn’t me? You shoot.

Understand?”

She nodded, fingers closing around the grip.

Outside, the early light spread across the dry land, revealing the stretch of open ground around his homestead.

Matias moved quietly, checking for signs of recent tracks.

He circled the fence line first, looking for bootprints, disturbed dirt, anything that suggested someone had approached during the night.

Nothing.

He climbed the ridge Kimmy had descended, scanning the horizon in all directions.

To the west, the land rolled in gentle waves toward distant mesas.

To the east, the creek cut a winding path through scrub brush and stone.

To the north, he stopped—faint in the distance, almost invisible against the landscape, a thin column of smoke rose into the morning air.

Not a wildfire—too controlled, too deliberate.

Someone had made camp.

Someone who wanted to be found.

Matias watched the smoke for several minutes, calculating distance and direction.

Two miles, maybe less.

Close enough to be a threat.

Far enough to suggest they were waiting for something.

He returned to the cabin, moving faster now.

Kimmy stood when he entered, reading the tension in his posture.

“What did you find?”

“Smoke.

West ridge.

Two miles out.”

Her face went pale.

“It’s him.”

“Maybe.

We prepare either way.”

Matias moved with purpose now.

He pulled a wooden crate from beneath the table and opened it, revealing boxes of ammunition, a second revolver, and several strips of dried meat.

He began loading weapons methodically, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

Kimmy watched him work.

“You said you’d tell me,” she said quietly.

“About that night, about Redcliffe.”

Matias’s hands stilled.

He’d known this moment would come, known she deserved the truth.

He set down the rifle and sat on the edge of the table.

“I was the scout,” he said.

“My job was to find the Apache camps, track their movements, report back to the colonel.

I did my job well.

Too well.” He paused.

“The night of the raid, I led the cavalry to what I thought was a warrior camp.

That’s what the intelligence said.

Armed men, stolen weapons, a staging ground for attacks.”

“But it wasn’t,” Kimmy whispered.

“No.

It was families, women, children, old men.

By the time I realized the mistake, the shooting had started.

The fires were lit.

I tried to stop it.

Tried to get the men to cease fire, but orders are orders and soldiers follow orders.” His voice dropped.

“I saved who I could.

You, three others.

But twenty-three people died that night, including your father.”

Kimmy was silent for a long moment.

“Did you know?” she asked.

“Did you know it was the wrong target?”

“No.

I followed the information I was given.

But that doesn’t make me innocent.”

“Who gave you the information?”

Matias met her eyes.

“A man named Dalton Voss.”

The name hung in the air between them like a curse.

Kimmy’s breath caught.

“The same Dalton who hunts me now?”

“The same.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Why would he do that?”

“Gold,” Matias said bitterly.

“There were rumors of gold in Redcliffe Canyon.

Apache land protected by treaty.

But if the Apache were labeled as hostile, if there was an incident, the treaties wouldn’t matter anymore.

The land would be seized, and Dalton made sure he was first in line to claim it.”

Kimmy closed her eyes, processing the weight of his words.

“My father told me something before he died,” she said.

“He said the attack wasn’t an accident.

He said someone betrayed us.” But I didn’t know who, didn’t know why.

She looked at Matias.

“You didn’t kill my father.

Dalton did.”

“I led them there.”

“You were lied to,” she said firmly.

“You tried to save us.

That’s what I remember.

Not the fire, not the bullets.

I remember you carrying me.

I remember feeling safe for the first time that night.”

Something loosened in Matias’s chest, something he’d been holding tight for five years.

“Dalton won’t stop,” he said.

“Not just because of you.

If he knows I’m here, if he knows I’ve figured out what he did, he’ll want us both dead.”

“Then we fight,” Kimmy said simply.

Matias looked at her, saw the determination in her eyes, the strength beneath the bruises.

“You ever killed a man?”

“No, but I’ll learn.”

He handed her the Winchester rifle.

“Then let’s start.”

For the next hour, Matias taught her the basics—how to hold the rifle, how to compensate for recoil, how to breathe and squeeze, not pull.

Kimmy learned fast, her natural talent with a bow translating to firearms better than he’d expected.

“Your father taught you well,” he said.

“He taught me to survive,” she replied.

“You’re teaching me to fight back.

There’s a difference.”

 

Chapter 3: The Hunters Arrive

As the sun climbed higher, they heard it—a sound that didn’t belong.

Distant, faint, but unmistakable.

Hoofbeats.

Matias moved to the window.

Through the narrow gap, he saw them—four riders moving slowly along the ridge, scanning the ground.

“How many?” Kimmy whispered.

“Four, including Dalton.”

Her hands tightened on the rifle.

“What do we do?”

“We wait.

Let them think we don’t know they’re here.

Tonight, when they make camp, I’ll scout them properly.

Learn their plans.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“I know how to move quietly,” she said.

“My people taught me to hunt before I could write.

You need someone to watch your back.”

Matias wanted to argue, but she was right.

“Stay behind me every step.

If I signal, you freeze.

Understood?”

“Understood.”

They waited for nightfall.

As dusk deepened into darkness, Matias and Kimmy slipped out of the cabin.

They moved like shadows, keeping low, using the terrain for cover.

The moon was thin, offering just enough light to navigate by.

They approached the ridge from the south, circling wide to avoid being seen.

Matias moved with a fluid grace of someone who’d spent years tracking prey and being tracked.

Kimmy followed his example, her Apache training making her nearly as silent.

They reached a position overlooking the enemy camp.

Four men sat around a small fire, horses tied nearby, rifles leaning against rocks.

They talked in low voices, too quiet to hear clearly.

Matias studied each face, committing them to memory.

One of them was tall, broad-shouldered, a scar cut across his left cheek, visible even in firelight.

Dalton Voss.

Matias’s blood went cold.

He’d only met Dalton once, five years ago, when receiving his scouting orders.

The man had seemed professional then, efficient.

Now Matias saw him for what he truly was—a predator who’d orchestrated murder for profit.

They watched for twenty minutes, gathering intelligence, counting weapons, noting which man stood guard and when.

Then from behind them, a voice.

“Don’t move.”

Matias’s hand shot to his revolver, but he stopped when he felt cold steel press against the back of his head.

“I said, don’t move.”

Kimmy started to turn, but Matias grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

A man emerged from behind a boulder ahead of them—not behind as the voice suggested, but flanking them from the side.

He was Apache, mid-twenties.

Blood soaked through a makeshift bandage on his shoulder.

His hands were raised, but his face showed pain, not aggression.

His eyes met Kimmy’s, and recognition flashed between them.

“Takot!” Kimmy breathed.

The man behind them, the one holding the gun, cursed and stepped into view.

It wasn’t one of Dalton’s men.

It was another Apache, older, with a knife scar across his throat, but Takakota shook his head frantically.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Don’t shoot.

I’m not with them anymore.”

Matias kept his hand on his revolver, eyes moving between the two Apache men.

“Start talking fast.”

Takakota limped forward slightly, grimacing with each step.

“Dalton captured me six weeks ago.

Forced me to track for him.

Said if I refused, he’d kill my sister.

I had no choice.” He pulled aside his shirt, revealing deep bruises and burn marks across his ribs.

“This is what he does to people who fail him.

I tried to warn another girl two months ago.

He caught me, beat me, said next time he’d kill me.”

The older Apache lowered his gun.

“I’m Takakota’s cousin.

I’ve been following them, trying to find a way to free him, but they’re too careful.

Too many guards.”

Matias studied Takakota’s face.

Saw the exhaustion, the fear, the guilt.

“How do I know you’re not leading us into a trap?”

“Because I know their plan,” Takakota said.

“They’re going to attack your cabin at dawn.

Burn it from four sides.

Dalton has dynamite enough to blow the walls apart.

He wants no survivors.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t want anyone else to die because of him.”

Kimmy stepped forward, placing her hand on Takakota’s arm.

“I remember you.

You were friends with my brother.”

“I was, and I couldn’t save him either.” Tears welled in Takakota’s eyes.

“But I can help save you now.

If you’ll let me.”

Matias hesitated, weighing the risk.

Every instinct screamed trap, but the desperation in Takakota’s voice felt real.

The scars on his body were real, and they needed help.

“All right,” Matias said slowly.

“But if you’re lying, you die first.”

Takakota nodded.

“I understand.”

They retreated from the ridge, moving carefully back toward the cabin.

Once inside, Matias barred the door and lit a single candle.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

Takakota sat heavily, wincing.

“Dalton knows you’re here.

Knows Kimmy reached you.

He’s been tracking her for three days, but he lost her trail yesterday.

He sent me ahead to scout.

I was supposed to report back tonight.” He paused.

“But I’m not going back.

I’d rather die fighting than help him hurt anyone else.”

“What’s his plan?” Matias asked.

“Four men, four directions.

They’ll surround the cabin just before dawn when visibility is lowest.

Two of them have torches soaked in kerosene.

They’ll light the cabin on fire, force you to run out.

When you do, they’ll shoot you both.”

“And the dynamite backup plan?”

“If you barricade yourself inside and don’t come out, they’ll blow the walls.”

Matias’s mind worked through scenarios, calculating odds, considering options.

“We can’t defend from inside,” he said.

“Not against fire and explosives.

We need to hit them first, before dawn.”

Kimmy loaded the rifle with steady hands.

“Tell me what to do.”

Matias looked at her, then at Takakota, then at Takakota’s cousin, whose name he still didn’t know.

“What’s your name?” he asked the older Apache.

“Aiga.

Can you fight?”

“I can shoot.”

Matias nodded slowly.

“Then here’s what we do.”

 

Chapter 4: The Final Stand

The plan was simple, dangerous, and their only chance.

Takakota would return to Dalton’s camp.

Tell them the cabin was unguarded, that the man had left to hunt, draw them in early before they were ready.

Meanwhile, Matias, Kimmy, and Aiga would position themselves around the camp.

Create a crossfire.

Take out Dalton’s men before they knew what hit them.

“They’ll kill you when they realize you betrayed them,” Matias said to Takakota.

“I know,” Takakota’s voice was steady.

“But some things are worth dying for.”

Kimmy gripped his hand.

“We won’t let you die alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Takakota said, smiling faintly.

“My ancestors will be with me.”

An hour before dawn, they moved.

Takakota limped back toward the enemy camp, rehearsing his lies.

Matias, Kimmy, and Aiga circled wide, approaching from three different directions.

They moved in absolute silence, weapons ready, hearts pounding.

Matias positioned himself behind a cluster of boulders overlooking the camp from the west.

Kimmy took the south approach, hidden in a shallow ravine.

Aiga covered the north.

They waited.

The sky began to lighten.

False dawn painted the horizon in shades of gray.

Then Takakota’s voice carried across the still air.

“Dalton, I found them.”

The four men around the fire stood, grabbing weapons.

“Where?” Dalton’s voice was sharp, commanding.

“Half a mile south.

The cabin’s unguarded.

The man left to hunt.

The girl’s alone.”

Dalton smiled—a cold, cruel smile that made Matias’s finger tighten on the trigger.

“Show me.”

They moved as a group, leaving the camp behind.

Takakota led them south, away from the cabin, toward the killing ground Matias had chosen.

When they reached the narrow ravine, Dalton stopped.

“Something’s wrong,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Takakota asked, voice shaking slightly.

“You’re nervous.

More nervous than usual.” Dalton drew his pistol.

“What did you do? Talk.”

“Nothing.

I—” Dalton shot him in the leg.

Takakota screamed and fell.

“Where are they?” Dalton roared.

That’s when Matias fired.

The shot echoed across the ravine like thunder.

Dalton dove behind a rock.

His men scattered, returning fire blindly.

Kimmy fired from the south, her shot dropping one man before he could take cover.

Aiga fired from the north, keeping the others pinned.

The battle erupted in chaos.

Gunfire echoed across the valley.

Smoke and dust filled the air.

Men shouted, cursed, died.

Takakota crawled toward cover, blood pouring from his leg.

He reached for a fallen rifle, aimed at one of Dalton’s men, and fired.

The man went down, but then another shot rang out.

Takakota jerked.

Blood bloomed across his chest.

He fell backward, gasping.

“Ke!” he screamed with his last breath.

“Run!”

Kimmy’s heart shattered.

She wanted to run to him, to help him, but Matias’s training held her in place.

“Stay in position.

Don’t break cover.” She fired again and again, tears streaming down her face.

Matias moved through the chaos like a ghost.

He’d done this before—fought in close quarters, read the enemy’s movements, stayed calm when others panicked.

He flanked Dalton’s remaining men, taking them down one by one until only Dalton remained.

They faced each other across the ravine, both out of ammunition, both breathing hard.

Dalton drew a knife.

“You should have stayed hidden, Scout.

You should have told the truth,” Matias replied.

Dalton lunged.

Matias sidestepped, grabbing Dalton’s wrist and twisting.

The knife fell.

Dalton threw a wild punch, connected with Matias’s jaw.

They grappled, falling to the ground, trading blows.

Dalton was bigger, stronger.

But Matias was angrier, and he fought for something Dalton would never understand.

Dalton pinned Matias down, hands around his throat.

“You think you can protect her?” Dalton hissed.

“You couldn’t even protect her people.

You led us right to them, remember?”

Matias’s vision blurred.

His lungs burned.

Then a gunshot.

Dalton jerked.

Blood bloomed across his shoulder.

He turned, shocked to see Kimmy standing thirty feet away, smoke rising from her pistol, face streaked with tears and dirt and fury.

Matias shoved Dalton off, gasping for air.

He grabbed his revolver and aimed it at Dalton’s head.

“It’s over,” Matias said.

Dalton laughed, blood running from his mouth.

“You think this ends it? There are more like me.

There are always more.”

“Maybe,” Matias said.

“But you won’t see them.” He fired once.

Clean.

Final.

Silence fell over the valley.

The sun rose red and angry over broken mesa, painting the desert in shades of blood and gold.

Matias and Kimmy knelt beside Takakota’s body.

Aiga stood nearby, head bowed in prayer.

Takakota was still breathing, barely.

“Did… did we win?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Kimmy said, tears streaming down her face.

“We won.

You saved us.”

“Good,” Takakota smiled faintly.

“Tell my sister… tell her I tried to be brave.”

“You were brave,” Matias said.

“The bravest man I’ve known.”

Takakota’s eyes closed.

He didn’t open them again.

They buried Takakota on the ridge facing east according to Apache tradition.

Kimmy sang softly in her native language—a song Matias didn’t understand but felt in his chest.

Aiga added stones to the grave, building a cairn that would last.

 

Chapter 5: A New Life Forged in Fire

When they returned to the cabin, the morning light revealed the damage—bullet holes in the walls, blood on the ground, the remnants of violence that would take time to erase.

But they were alive.

Kimmy turned to Matias.

“What do we do now?”

Matias looked at the broken cabin, the land he’d claimed, the life he’d built in isolation, and realized something.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Now,” he said, “we rebuild.

Together.”

Kimmy’s hand found his.

“I came here to marry you, remember?”

Matias smiled for the first time in five years—a real smile.

“Then I guess we better get started.”

Six months later, the cabin stood taller now, stronger.

New walls, new roof, a second room for when winter came.

A garden planted beside the creek.

Fences that stretched farther than before.

Matias worked the land, sweat on his brow, contentment in his heart.

The nightmares still came sometimes, but less often now, and when they did, Kimmy was there.

She stepped out onto the porch, a basket of washing on her hip.

She watched him for a moment, then called out, “Matt, supper’s almost ready.” He set down the hammer and walked toward her.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

Aiga had stayed with them for a month, helping rebuild, then left to find his own path.

But he promised to return in the spring.

The land felt different now—not empty, not haunted, full.

Kimmy placed her hand on Matias’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“Do you still think about that night?” she asked.

“Every day,” he said honestly.

“But it doesn’t hurt the way it used to.”

“Why?”

“Because I understand now.

I couldn’t save everyone, but I saved you.

And you saved me.”

She rose on her toes and kissed him gently.

“We saved each other.”

And for the first time since Redcliffe Canyon, Matias Crowley felt something he thought he’d lost forever.

Peace.