The auction bell rang beneath a sky the color of old copper, and every man in the dusty town of Red Creek turned toward the wooden platform in front of the courthouse.
Wade Sutter stood at the back of the crowd with his hat pulled low over his eyes. He had ridden thirty miles that morning to purchase a replacement saddle, a sack of flour, and enough ammunition to last through the winter. He had not intended to attend the auction, and he certainly had not intended to become involved in the business of men who believed that money gave them the right to decide another person's fate.
But when he heard the auctioneer announce the name of the woman standing beside the post, he stopped walking.
"Nasha."
The name was spoken carelessly, as though it belonged to a horse or a piece of furniture rather than a human being.
The woman stood straight despite the rope around her wrists. She wore a faded blue dress, torn at one sleeve, and a blanket had been draped over her shoulders against the morning chill. Her dark hair fell in two thick braids. There was dust on her face, but nothing about her expression suggested defeat.
She was watching the crowd.
Not pleading.
Not begging.
Watching.
Wade had seen that expression before. He had seen it in the eyes of men who had survived battles they could not explain, and in the faces of families standing beside burned houses after a winter raid. It was the look of someone who had learned that fear was something other people could use against you.
"She's Apache," the auctioneer announced. "Captured during the trouble near the southern pass. No husband, no family, no property. Strong enough for ranch work. Who'll start me at twenty dollars?"
A murmur moved through the crowd.
Wade's jaw tightened.
He knew something about the southern pass. Two months earlier, a group of armed men had ridden through the territory, calling themselves a volunteer patrol. They had burned three abandoned camps and taken several people prisoner. The territorial authorities had promised an investigation, but no one in Red Creek expected one to come.
The woman on the platform had not been captured by soldiers.
She had been taken by men who wanted land.
"Twenty dollars," someone called.
"Twenty-five."
"Thirty."
The bidding continued.
Wade looked toward the man who had offered thirty dollars. Silas Vane, the wealthiest cattle owner in Red Creek, stood beside a polished black carriage. His silver watch chain gleamed against his vest. Two hired gunmen stood behind him.
Vane smiled when he noticed Wade watching.
"Something troubling you, Sutter?"
Wade didn't answer.
"Forty dollars," Vane called.
The auctioneer raised his hand.
"Forty dollars! Do I hear forty-five?"
Nasha turned her head toward Vane. Her expression changed for the first time. It was not fear exactly. It was recognition.
Wade noticed.
He also noticed the way Vane's men shifted closer to the platform.
"Fifty," Wade said.
The crowd went quiet.
Vane slowly turned.
"Fifty dollars from the rancher at the back."
Wade stepped forward.
"Sixty," Vane said.
"Seventy."
A few people laughed nervously.
Vane's smile disappeared.
"One hundred dollars."
The auctioneer nearly dropped his hammer.
"One hundred dollars! A generous offer from Mr. Vane. Surely no one can—"
"Two hundred," Wade said.
Silence fell over Red Creek.
Wade had two hundred and thirty dollars in his bank account. It was money he had saved for a new windmill and repairs to the north pasture fence. He knew exactly what it would cost him to lose it.
He also knew that if Vane won, the woman on the platform would disappear behind the iron gates of his estate, and no one would hear from her again.
Vane took a step forward.
"You're making a mistake, Sutter."
"Maybe."
"That woman is trouble."
Wade looked at Nasha.
"Then I suppose we'll have something in common."
The auctioneer swallowed.
"Two hundred dollars. Going once."
Vane's hand tightened around his walking stick.
"Two hundred and fifty."
Wade felt the crowd watching him.
He thought of the winter coming. He thought of the broken windmill, the roof that leaked over his kitchen, and the cattle that would need feed.
Then he looked at the woman again.
"Three hundred dollars."
A gasp moved through the crowd.
Vane's face turned red.
For a moment, Wade thought the man might draw his pistol. Instead, Vane laughed softly.
"Enjoy your purchase, Sutter."
He turned away.
The auctioneer brought the hammer down.
"Sold!"
The sound echoed across the street.
Wade climbed onto the platform and approached Nasha.
Up close, he could see a bruise along her cheek and a thin line of blood at her wrist where the rope had cut into her skin.
He took out his pocketknife.
She watched the blade carefully.
"I'm going to cut the rope," he said. "You can step away from me if you wish."
He waited.
Nasha looked at him for a long moment.
Then she held out her wrists.
Wade cut the rope.
The crowd began to disperse, disappointed that the spectacle had ended without a fight.
Nasha rubbed her wrists and looked at him.
"You paid three hundred dollars."
It was the first time she had spoken.
Her voice was steady, though there was exhaustion beneath it.
"I did."
"Why?"
Wade put away his knife.
"Because I didn't want Vane to take you."
"That is not an answer."
"No," Wade admitted. "It isn't."
She studied his face.
"Do you expect me to work for you?"
Wade shook his head.
"No."
"Then what do you expect?"
He glanced toward the road leading out of town.
"Nothing. I have a ranch about thirty miles north. There's a cabin you can use. If you want to stay until you decide what to do, you're welcome. If you want to leave, I'll give you a horse and enough money to reach wherever you're going."
Nasha's eyes narrowed.
"You would give me money?"
"Yes."
"After paying three hundred dollars?"
Wade rubbed the back of his neck.
"When you put it that way, it sounds foolish."
For the first time, something resembling amusement flickered across her face.
"Perhaps you are foolish."
"Wouldn't be the first time someone said it."
She looked past him toward Vane's carriage. The wealthy rancher was still watching them from across the street.
Nasha's expression hardened.
"I will go with you."
Wade nodded.
"All right."
"But I am not your property."
He met her gaze.
"No, ma'am. You are not."
She held his eyes for another moment, then stepped down from the platform.
Neither of them knew that before the winter ended, the woman who had been sold at auction would uncover a secret capable of destroying the most powerful man in Red Creek.
And neither knew that the three hundred dollars Wade Sutter had spent that morning would become the smallest price he ever paid for the truth.
The ride to the ranch took nearly four hours.
Wade rode a chestnut gelding named Copper, while Nasha sat on a gray mare he had borrowed from the livery stable. He had offered her a saddle, but she had chosen to ride without one, using a folded blanket instead.
They traveled through rolling grassland, past abandoned homesteads and shallow creeks where cottonwood trees leaned over the water.
For the first hour, neither spoke.
Wade was accustomed to silence. He had spent six years living alone, and the sound of another person beside him felt unfamiliar. He did not know what questions were appropriate, and he had no desire to make Nasha feel as though she owed him an explanation for her life.
At last, she broke the silence.
"How long have you lived on your ranch?"
"Seven years."
"Alone?"
"Mostly."
"Why?"
He considered the question.
"My wife died."
Nasha looked at him.
"I'm sorry."
Wade nodded.
"It was a long time ago."
"That does not mean it stops hurting."
He glanced at her, surprised by the certainty in her voice.