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 rifle.

A piece of land.

A reputation.

Sometimes, if he had enough money and enough cruelty, he could even buy another person's future.

Nathan Cole had never been interested in buying any of those things.

At thirty-seven years old, he had learned to live with very little.

His ranch lay three miles north of Dry Creek, where the prairie rose gently toward a line of red hills. The land was dry, stubborn, and unforgiving. It produced enough grass to keep a modest herd alive, but never enough to make a man rich.

Nathan preferred it that way.

Rich men attracted attention.

Attention attracted trouble.

Trouble had already taken enough from him.

His father had died eight years earlier after a winter fever. His younger brother, Thomas, had been shot by cattle thieves two years later. His mother had survived another winter, but grief had slowly taken the rest of her.

When she died, Nathan buried her beside his father.

After that, the ranch became quiet.

Too quiet.

Nathan worked from sunrise until dark because work left little room for remembering.

On that particular morning, he rode into Dry Creek intending to buy a pair of mules.

His saddle was old. His fence needed repairing. His winter feed supply was low.

He had sixty-three dollars and some change in his pocket, which represented almost everything he had saved over the previous six months.

He expected to spend perhaps forty dollars.

He did not expect to spend seventy-five.

He certainly did not expect to spend it on a person.

The auction square was already crowded when Nathan arrived.

The town was small but loud. A blacksmith's hammer rang from the east side of the street. Horses stamped beside the hitching rails. Men gathered beneath the shade of the general store while women watched from porches and windows.

Nathan immediately noticed something unusual.

People were gathered around the auction platform.

But no livestock stood upon it.

He dismounted.

“What are they selling?” he asked an older rancher.

The man glanced at him.

“You haven't heard?”

“Heard what?”

The rancher nodded toward the platform.

Nathan followed his gaze.

And saw her.

A young Apache woman stood beneath the merciless sun.

Her wrists were bound in iron.

Dust covered her buckskin dress. Her long dark hair had been tied back without care. A small cut crossed her forehead.

She looked tired.

But she did not look defeated.

That was the first thing Nathan noticed.

The second was the way she stared beyond the crowd.

Toward the hills.

The auctioneer climbed onto the platform.

“Strong young woman!” he shouted. “Healthy! Good with horses! Good worker!”

Laughter moved through the crowd.

Nathan's jaw tightened.

The woman did not look at the auctioneer.

She did not look at the men bidding on her.

She simply stared toward the horizon.

Nathan turned to the rancher beside him.

“What is this?”

“Prisoner.”

“Of who?”

“Territorial patrol.”

“And they're selling her?”

The rancher shrugged.

“Apparently.”

Nathan looked at the platform again.

“People can't be auctioned.”

The rancher laughed.

“You're going to have a difficult time in this town if you keep talking like that.”

The auctioneer raised one hand.

“Twenty dollars!”

A man shouted.

“Twenty-five!”

“Thirty!”

Nathan felt something cold settle inside his chest.

The young woman finally looked toward the crowd.

Her eyes moved across the men.

They were dark.

Steady.

Angry.

Not pleading.

Nathan understood something then.

She wasn't waiting for someone to save her.

She was waiting for someone to make a mistake.

“Forty!” the auctioneer shouted.

A bidder raised his hand.

“Forty-five!”

Nathan's fingers moved toward his wallet.

He stopped himself.

His money was for feed.

For repairs.

For the mules he desperately needed.

“Fifty!”

Nathan stepped forward.

“Fifty.”

The crowd turned.

The auctioneer smiled.

“Fifty dollars!”

Another man raised his hand.

“Sixty.”

Nathan looked at him.

The bidder was a broad-shouldered rancher with a red face and a silver watch.

Nathan knew him.

Caleb Mercer.

He owned the largest cattle operation south of town.

Mercer smiled.

“You sure about this, Cole?”

Nathan ignored him.

“Sixty-five.”

The crowd grew quiet.

Mercer raised his hand.

“Seventy.”

Nathan's heart sank.

He had sixty-three dollars.

Except he remembered something.

The money from the sale of his bay gelding.

He had not deposited it.

He had placed the cash inside his saddlebag.

Every dollar.

Nathan reached into the bag.

The auctioneer stared.

“You have seventy-five?”

Nathan counted the money.

Then looked at the woman.

She was watching him now.