Page 2 of My Apocalypse Cowboy
"Four days." I admit. "The Iron Wolves took over my settlement. I've been trying to reach Old Pines."
His jaw tightens. "The Wolves?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. Thinking about that morning, the chaos, the shouting, having to run and leave everything behind, still makes it hard to breathe.
"How many made it out?"
"I don't know." I swipe at my eyes with my free hand. "Maybe a dozen of us scattered. I haven't seen anyone since the first day."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me. I keep my hand on the knife, but honestly, if he wanted to shoot me, I'd already be dead. The rifle's presence feels more like a precaution than a threat.
"Name's Joseph," he says finally. "This is my ranch."
"Rebecca." I hesitate, then add, "Rebecca Rennick. And I'm sorry about the horse. I just—"
"Needed transportation. I get it." He shifts his weight, decision made. "Tell you what, Rebecca Rennick. You want Sunshine here?"
Sunshine.Of course her name is Sunshine. Perfect.
"You can earn her."
I blink. "What?"
"One month of honest work. You help me run this place, learn the operation, pull your weight. At the end of thirty days, Sunshine's yours."
"You're not serious."
"Dead serious. I need the help, and you clearly need somewhere safe to recover." His eyes flick over me again, seeing injuries and exhaustion I'm trying to hide. "Unless you'd rather take your chances on foot between here and Old Pines?"
I think about the two-day walk still ahead of me. About the blisters on my feet and the way my vision keeps going spotty around the edges. About the Iron Wolves who might still be in the area.
"One month?"
"Thirty days. Room, board, and at the end, the horse."
"What kind of work?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Ranch work. A small herd, mainly. You ever worked cattle?"
I think about my three years of veterinary school before the world ended. About the time I spent on my uncle's farm as a kid, which consisted mostly of collecting eggs and avoiding the mean rooster.
"A bit. I'm a fast learner."
"Good. You'll need to be." He gestures toward the house with the rifle barrel. "Come on. You look like you're about to fall over."
I don't move. "How do I know you're not worse than the thieves you're protecting your horse from?"
"You don't." He shrugs. "But I'm offering food, shelter, and honest work for fair payment. In this world, that makes me either a saint or an idiot."
"Which are you?"
"Jury's still out."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the fact that I just got caught trying to steal his horse—I almost smile.
"Deal," I say, and let go of the knife hilt.
His shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he was more tense about this confrontation than he let on.
