BY SUNRISE, SHE CARRIED HIS LAST NAME
The Auction at Dry Creek
They said a man could buy almost anything in the Old West.
A horse.
A ranch.
A reputation.
Sometimes even a future.
But Nathan Cole was about to spend nearly everything he owned on something he had absolutely no intention of keeping.
It happened in Dry Creek on a morning so hot that the wooden buildings seemed to shimmer beneath the white sky.
The town had been built around a crooked stretch of railroad, a general store, a blacksmith, two saloons, and a courthouse that leaned slightly to the east. Once a month, Dry Creek held an auction in the square.
Livestock came first.
Then equipment.
Then land.
That morning, however, something else had been advertised.
Nathan had not known what it was until he arrived.
He sat alone beneath the shade of a hitching post, his weathered hat pulled low over his eyes.
At thirty-seven, Nathan Cole had the kind of face that made people assume he had been born old.
His beard was short and dark, streaked with a little gray around the jaw. His hands were scarred from years of ranch work, and his left shoulder ached whenever the weather changed.
He owned a modest spread three miles north of Dry Creek.
It wasn't much compared with the enormous cattle operations farther west, but it was his.
Or what remained of it.
His father had died eight years earlier.
His younger brother had been killed by outlaws two years after that.
His mother had followed the next winter.
Since then, Nathan had worked the land alone.
He had never married.
He had never intended to.
A man who spent most of his life fighting drought, debt, and loneliness didn't have much room left for dreams.
That morning, he had come to town because he needed a replacement saddle and hoped to purchase a pair of mules.
Instead, he found himself watching a crowd gather around the auction platform.
Nathan noticed the chains first.
Then he saw her.
A young Apache woman stood on the rough wooden platform with iron around her wrists.
Dust covered her buckskin dress.
Her dark hair had been pulled back carelessly, and a small cut marked one side of her forehead.
She looked exhausted.
But she did not look defeated.
The auctioneer raised his voice.
“Strong! Healthy! Young!”
A few men laughed.
Nathan's jaw tightened.
The woman didn't look at the crowd.
She stared beyond them.
Straight toward the distant hills.
The auctioneer grabbed her arm.
“Come on now. Show them you're worth something.”
She pulled away.
The movement earned another round of laughter.
Nathan stood.
“What is this?”
A rancher beside him shrugged.
“Prisoner from a raid.”
“Who captured her?”
“Territorial patrol.”
“And now?”
The rancher spit into the dust.
“Now she's being auctioned.”
Nathan stared at him.
“People can't be auctioned.”
The rancher laughed.
“You're new to Dry Creek?”
“No.”
“Then you know better.”
Nathan looked back at the woman.
Something in her expression unsettled him.
Not fear.
Not surrender.
Anger.
Quiet, controlled anger.
The auctioneer started bidding.
“Twenty dollars!”
A voice answered.
“Twenty-five!”
“Thirty!”
Nathan didn't understand why his hand moved toward his wallet.
He had sixty-three dollars and some change.
That money was meant for feed.
The bidding climbed.
“Forty!”
“Forty-five!”
Nathan stepped forward.
“Fifty.”
The crowd turned.
The auctioneer grinned.
“Fifty dollars! Do I hear fifty-five?”
No one answered immediately.
Nathan looked at the woman.