She stared at him for several seconds.
Then her strength failed.
Her head dropped.
Calder dismounted.
He approached slowly.
When he reached her, he saw the rope had cut deeply into her wrists.
He pulled his knife.
The woman flinched.
"It's a rope," Calder said quietly. "Not you."
He cut the bindings.
She collapsed forward.
Calder caught her before she struck the ground.
She was lighter than he expected.
Too light.
He carried her toward Bishop.
Then he noticed something hanging around her neck.
A small silver pendant.
Engraved into it was a symbol Calder recognized.
A black wolf surrounded by a circle.
His expression changed.
He had seen that mark once before.
Eight years ago.
On a man who had nearly killed him.
Calder looked down at the unconscious woman.
"Who are you?"
She didn't answer.
He lifted her onto Bishop.
Then he mounted behind her and turned toward home.
He had no idea that by bringing the stranger to his ranch, he had just stepped into a war that had been waiting for him for years.
Chapter Two — The Stranger in His House
The woman remained unconscious through sunset.
Calder carried her into the small bedroom attached to his cabin.
It was the only room in the house with a proper bed.
He placed her carefully on the mattress and examined her injuries.
Her wrists were badly bruised.
There was a cut above her eyebrow.
Her left shoulder was swollen.
But she was alive.
Calder heated water and cleaned the wounds.
He worked quietly.
He had no medical training beyond what the frontier forced upon men.
He knew how to stop bleeding.
He knew how to set broken bones.
He knew how to keep fever from killing a person when there was no doctor for fifty miles.
That was enough.
Near midnight, the woman woke.
Her eyes opened instantly.
She reached for a weapon that wasn't there.
Calder sat beside the fireplace.
"You're safe."
She looked at him.
Then around the room.
"Where am I?"
"My ranch."
She tried to sit.
Pain stopped her.
Calder rose.
"Don't."
She glared.
"I can sit."
"Then sit slowly."
She did.
For several moments neither spoke.
Finally, she asked, "Why did you help me?"
"Because you were tied to a fence."
"That's all?"
"That's enough."
She studied him.
"My name is Elena."
"Elena what?"
She hesitated.
"Elena Marisol."
Calder's eyes narrowed.
"Marisol."
She noticed.
"You know the name."
"I know the name."
"My father was Tomas Marisol."
Calder went still.
Tomas Marisol had been one of the most respected Apache scouts in the territory.
He had also been accused of stealing horses from ranchers.
Some called him a raider.
Others called him a protector.
Calder had never known which story was true.
"Tomas is dead," Elena said.
Calder looked into the fire.
"When?"
"Six months ago."
"I'm sorry."
"He didn't die naturally."
Something cold entered her voice.
"He was murdered."
Calder said nothing.
"By men who wanted his land."
"Who?"
Elena looked at him.
"The Calder Ridge Ranch."
His expression hardened.
"Rancher Gideon Voss?"
She nodded.
Calder knew Gideon Voss.
Everyone within a hundred miles knew him.
Voss owned thousands of acres, hundreds of cattle, and enough armed men to make local lawmen look like children.
He had been buying land for years.