Page 3 of My Apocalypse Cowboy
"Good choice. Now let's get you inside before you collapse on my doorstep. Bad for property values."
I follow him toward the house, Sunshine trailing behind us on her lead rope. With each step, the reality of what I just agreed to settles in. Thirty days. On a ranch. Working cattle I know nothing about, for a man I just met, who caught me red-handed committing a crime.
Either I just made the smartest decision of my life, or the dumbest.
two
Joseph
I'vebeenwatchingthisstubborn woman try to steal my prize mare for ten minutes, and I still can't decide if I should shoot her or applaud her technique.
She's good, quiet, patient, and a method that says she's had some training with animals. But she's also desperate, which makes people sloppy. I could have put a bullet in her from the barn door, and she never would have seen it coming.
Instead, I find myself studying the way she talks to Sunshine, whispering apologies like the horse can understand her guilt. Something about that careful gentleness, even in the middle of committing theft, reminds me of myself three years ago when raiders overran my family's spread and left me with nothing but determination and a stubborn refusal to die.
When she spins around at my voice, improvised weapon in hand but shaking from exhaustion, I get my first good look at her face. Young—mid-twenties maybe. Pretty, under the dirtand desperation. Brown hair escaping from a messy braid, green eyes wide with fear and defiance in equal measure.
She's got guts, I'll give her that. Even facing down a rifle, she doesn't immediately drop the knife or start begging. Just calculates her odds, finds them wanting, and starts negotiating.
Smart woman.
Too bad she's a horse thief.
"Dead serious," I tell her when she questions my offer. "One month of honest work, and Sunshine's yours."
It's an impulse decision, the kind I usually avoid. But something about Rebecca Rennick—the way she admits to four days of walking, the mention of the Iron Wolves hitting Clearwater, the careful way she handles my horse despite trying to steal her—makes me think she might be worth the risk.
Besides, I really do need the help. Running twenty head of cattle alone is a constant challenge, and having an extra pair of hands would make the difference between thriving and just surviving.
She agrees, which surprises me more than it should. Most people would have run by now, taken their chances with the wilderness rather than trust a stranger who caught them in a crime.
Rebecca follows me to the house, Sunshine trailing behind us like she's already accepted the change in routine. I can feel her eyes noticing everything—the solar panels on the roof, the vegetable garden, the chicken coop, the obvious signs that this isn't just a survival shelter but a working operation.
"This is incredible," she says as I lead her inside. "How long have you been here?"
"Three years. Built most of it myself." I gesture toward the kitchen table. "Sit. You look like you're about to collapse."
She does, gratefully, and I get my first chance to really assess what I've just taken on. She's thinner than she should be, hollow-eyed from exhaustion and stress. Her clothes are torn and filthy, her boots held together with what looks like duct tape and prayer. But underneath the damage, there's steel. She made it four days through hostile territory on foot. That takes more than luck.
"I'll make something to eat," I say, moving to the stove. "You allergic to anything?"
"At this point, I'll eat tree bark if you salt it."
I actually smile at that. "Won't be necessary. Got stew from yesterday. Bread's only two days old."
"Bread." She says it like I just offered her gold bars. "Real bread?"
"I trade with a woman down in the valley. She's got wheat, I've got beef. Three pounds of meat for five pounds of flour last month." I ladle stew into a bowl, add a thick slice of bread on the side. "Fair exchange in the new economy."
She takes the bowl with hands that shake slightly, whether from exhaustion or hunger, I can't tell. The first bite makes her moan out loud, a sound that does something unexpected to my stomach.
"Easy," I warn, settling across from her with my own bowl. "You eat too fast after not eating, you'll just bring it back up."
She nods but doesn't slow down much. I let her eat in silence, using the time to study her more carefully. There's something about her that says she wasn't just another settler scratching out survival in Clearwater.
"What did you do?" I ask when she finally slows down. "Before."
"Veterinary school. Three years in before everything went to hell." She tears off another piece of bread. "You?"
