Free Wolf Tracker by Maddy Barone

holster that hung low on her hip. It felt different. Tracker gave her the lead for two of the horses, and they set off. She didn’t know where they were going or how long it would take to get there, and he was close-lipped.
    He rode a few yards ahead of her, and she found herself watching him still. Days ago, when she’d first seen him coming to the ranch house, he had been bare-chested, but too far away for her to discern his physique. Now, even though he was wearing a fringed leather shirt like an Indian would have worn back in the Old West, she could see his waist was narrow and his legs long. He sat in his saddle with effortless grace. He had a slenderness to him, like the slenderness of a dancer or a long-distance runner. His shoulders were broader than his waist, but he wasn’t a beefy, muscular man. There was a curious elegance to his physique that drew her eye. She would bet under the leather clothes he was all lean muscle. He was built for speed and endurance.
    The weather had turned colder, with intermittent rain bordering on sleet, but he wore only his buckskin shirt. She was wearing the fleece-lined leather coat he had taken from one of the dead men and given to her, plus the flannel shirt she’d stolen from him, and one of the blankets draped over her shoulders and pulled over her head. He had to be freezing, but he didn’t look it. Her nose was inclined to drip. His nose didn’t even turn red.
    Around noon he pulled his horse to a stop and turned his head to speak to her. “There’s a house about a half-mile ahead. You can stay here. I’ll drop the horses off.”
    While he was gone she kept out of the wind, with a hand on the butt of the pistol under her coat, and hoped no one else would come by. No one did, and he came back at an easy lope, his long blond braids swinging against his back. At the sight of him returning she felt only relief. The relief was a surprise and a comfort for her. She wasn’t alone, and it felt good. They resumed their ride and traveled in silence until dark. They set up camp and got supper ready with minimal chatter. She liked the way he moved with economical grace, with no unnecessary gestures or words. She liked the way he treated her even more.
    He was comfortable to be around. Tami hadn’t expected that. He didn’t say much, but their silence was easy. So many people talked just to fill up silence, but she never had, and apparently neither did he. Tracker was always careful to move slowly around her and keep his distance. That suited her just fine. If she had met him instead of those lowlifes when she and Jessi left the crash to find help, she would be in a better place emotionally. Now that she wasn’t focused on running, her mind insisted on re-playing every minute with those assholes who said they were her husbands. There was a slight tremble in her hands she pretended was from the cold, and she felt tears rise to her eyes from time to time for no reason. She blamed that on the wind. But what could she blame her broken sleep on? She woke several times that night, her heart pounding a mile a minute, her breath harsh in her own ears. She forced herself to relax each time, hoping she hadn’t woke Tracker. When she glanced over at his bedroll on the other side of the fire he was a silent lump under the blankets.
    He never gave any sign he was aware of her nightmares, even though they continued on each of the following two nights. Even when she woke on the second night with a scream rasping her throat raw, he lay as quiet as the grave. His silence on the subject, whether he was aware of it or not, was the only thing that made it bearable. If he had complained or—worse yet—offered sympathy, she would have lost her desperate composure and screamed and cried like a madwoman. But every morning he went about doing his share of the camp chores and mounting up to ride a few yards in front of her for the day’s trek without any mention of her night terrors. Maybe he knew