“We Never Touched a White Man Before” — The Three Apache Sisters Told the Young Farmer
Some men spend their whole lives searching for something they can’t name. Leland Moss had stopped searching the day he buried his family. He’d convinced himself that solitude was safer than hope. That empty rooms hurt less than empty promises. Then three women appeared at the edge of his property, bleeding and barefoot.
And everything he thought he knew about fear dissolved in an instant. because the woman standing in front with eyes like storm clouds and a knife held steady despite the tremor in her hands looked at him like he was already guilty of crimes he’d never commit.
And somehow in that moment of mutual terror and desperate need, neither of them knew that what they feared most about each other would become the only thing keeping them alive. Leland had been splitting wood behind the small barn when he saw them. three figures moving slowly through the tall grass near the creek, supporting each other in a way that spoke of injury and exhaustion.
He set down the ax carefully, his hand instinctively moving toward the rifle, leaning against the barn wall before he stopped himself. Something about the way they moved, halting and pained, told him they weren’t a threat, at least not in the way he first thought. They noticed him at the same moment he stepped into the clearing.
The tallest one, the woman in front, pushed the other two behind her with a protective arm, despite the blood staining her shoulder. Her face was striking in its severity. All sharp angles and harder edges, framed by long, dark hair, partially bound with leather cord. She held a blade, small but deadly, aimed directly at his chest.
He raised his hand slowly, palms open. No weapons, no sudden movements. They stared at each other across 30 ft of dry grass and doubt. Leland could see now that all three were hurt. The one in the middle had torn fabric wrapped around her thigh, soaked through with red.
The youngest leaned heavily against her sister, favoring her left side, but it was the leader’s eyes that held him frozen. Not with fear exactly, with something more complicated. Recognition passed between them without words. She saw a man alone on isolated land. He saw women running from something worse than him. He lowered his hands slightly, gesturing toward the house.
She shook her head once, sharp and absolute. The knife didn’t waver. He understood. Trust wasn’t something she gave freely, if at all. And he was exactly the kind of man she’d learned not to trust. Leland took one slow step backward toward the well. Her eyes tracked the movement with predatory focus.
He reached for the bucket, moving deliberately, showing her each motion before he made it. Drew water. set the bucket on the ground between them. Stepped back again, the youngest sister said something in a language he didn’t understand. Urgent pleading, the leader’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move. Seconds stretched into small eternities.
Then the middle sister stumbled, her leg giving out, and the decision was made by necessity rather than trust. The leader spoke for the first time, her voice rough and low. You come closer, you bleed, Leland nodded once. He’d heard worse threats delivered with less conviction. He gestured again toward the house, then walked slowly in that direction, giving them space to follow or flee.
He didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of three sets of eyes on his spine, measuring every step for signs of deception. When he reached the door, he opened it wide and stepped inside, immediately, moving to the far side of the room, making space, showing them he understood the terms.
They could enter or not. The choice was theirs. Long moments passed. Then shadows fell across the threshold. The leader entered first. Knife still ready. Eyes sweeping the single room with trained precision, mapping exits, identifying weapons, calculating odds. Her gaze finally settled on him. And for the first time, Leland saw past the violence in her posture to the exhaustion beneath it.
She was running on nothing but will and fury, protecting her sisters with the last reserves of strength she possessed. He’d seen that look before in the mirror after the fever took everyone he loved. She must have seen something shift in his expression because her grip on the knife changed, not lowering it, but not quite as ready to use it.
The calculation in her eyes grew more complex, more dangerous in a different way. The middle sister collapsed into the chair near the table, her injured legs stretched in front of her. The youngest helped her, then looked at Leland with less hostility and more desperate hope, but it was the leader who held his attention, who he couldn’t quite look away from, even knowing that staring at a woman with a knife was generally poor judgment. She spoke again, this time to her sisters, rapid words he couldn’t follow.
Then back to him, each word carefully chosen. Water cloth for wounds. Then we leave. He nodded slowly. Started to move toward the cabinet where he kept supplies. She tracked him with the blade, her body angling to stay between him and her sisters, even as she swayed slightly on her feet. That’s when he noticed the blood dripping from her forearm. Steady drops hitting the wooden floor. “You’re hurt worse than them,” he said quietly.
Her eyes flashed. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t, and they both knew it. But Leland had learned that some truths had to be discovered rather than told. So he gathered clean cloth, a basin, the precious bottle of alcohol he’d been saving, set them on the table within reach, but not too close. Stepped back again. The youngest sister moved first, starting to clean the wound on the middle sister’s thigh.
The leader remained standing, watching him with that same unnerving intensity. He couldn’t read her expression. Didn’t know if it was hate or fear or some volatile mixture of both. What he did know was that something had shifted in the room when their eyes met. Something neither of them had words for yet.
Something that made the air feel heavier, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. He cleared his throat. There’s a room in back, beds clean, door locks from inside. Suspicion creased her brow. Why? So you can sleep without that knife in your hand. Her laugh was bitter and brief. I sleep with this knife every night.
Then at least you can rest without thinking I’ll try the door. She studied him for a long moment, weighing truth against experience. Whatever she saw made her shoulders drop half an inch, the first crack in her armor. What’s your name? Leland Moss. This is my land. Your land? She repeated something dark flickering across her face. Then after a pause that felt like a test.
Nalin, just the one name, no context, no explanation, but it landed between them like a promise or a threat. He wasn’t sure which. The middle sister spoke from the chair, her voice tight with pain. Nalin responded sharply then softer. Some argument about staying or going.
He guessed about whether the risk of him was greater than the risk of whoever they were running from. Finally, Nalin looked back at him. We stay tonight. Tomorrow we’re gone. He nodded. Didn’t argue. Tomorrow was a lifetime away when people were bleeding in your kitchen. But as he moved to heat water for cleaning wounds, as Nalin finally lowered the knife enough to let her youngest sister tend to her arm, Leland felt something he hadn’t felt in months, not quite hope, not yet, but maybe the memory of what hope used to feel like.
What he didn’t know, what none of them could have predicted, was that the men hunting these women were already closer than the horizon, and the choice to stay, even for one night, had started a countdown none of them could stop. Outside in the fading light, dust rose in the distance.
Riders moving with purpose toward the only house for miles. Nalin didn’t sleep that first night. Not really. She sat with her back against the locked door of the small room, knife across her lap, listening to every creek of wood and shift of wind. The youngest, Sani, had fallen asleep almost immediately, her body surrendering to exhaustion despite her mind’s protests.
Ka, the middle sister, drifted in and out, her injured leg throbbing with each heartbeat. But Nalin remained vigilant because the last time she trusted the mercy of a stranger, her cousin had paid for that mistake with her life. Through the thin walls, she could hear him moving in the main room.
Leland, the name sat strange in her mind, too ordinary for someone who’d shown them kindness without asking for anything in return. In her experience, men always wanted something, always took more than they gave. Yet, he’d stepped back when she told him to, had given them space and supplies without hovering or demanding gratitude, had looked at her with something that wasn’t hunger or contempt, but she couldn’t identify what it was.
That unknown quality unsettled her more than open hostility would have. She pressed her palm against the door, feeling the solidness of the wood. On the other side, his footsteps had stopped. Was he standing there, too? Separated by inches of timber and miles of mistrust. The thought made her pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Morning came pale and reluctant through the single window. Nalin finally allowed herself to close her eyes for a few minutes, trusting dawn to keep them safe where darkness couldn’t. When she opened them again, sunlight had strengthened, and the smell of cooking meat drifted under the door.
Sononnie stirred first, her young face creasing with momentary confusion before memory returned. She looked at Nalin with questions in her eyes, but stayed silent. They’d learned long ago to communicate without words when necessary. Ka woke slower, grimacing as she tried to move her leg. The wound had stopped bleeding during the night, but infection remained a threat. They needed to clean it properly.
Needed supplies they didn’t have. Nalin unlocked the door carefully, listening before opening it. The main room was empty, but fresh bread sat on the table alongside strips of cooked venison. A basin of clean water steamed gently beside them. She scanned for signs of poison or trap. Old instincts refusing to quiet.
Through the window, she saw him working near the small corral where two horses grazed. He’d removed his shirt in the growing heat, and she found herself watching the way muscle moved beneath sun darkened skin as he repaired a section of fence. Scars marked his back. pale lines that spoke of hard work and harder lessons. He hadn’t heard them emerge.
For a moment, she allowed herself to simply observe him without the weight of his awareness. To see him as something other than a potential threat. The realization that she found him handsome came with a sharp edge of guilt and anger at herself. Kaia’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back. Her sister raised an eyebrow, a knowing look that Nalin deliberately ignored.
But heat had risen to her cheeks, and Kaia’s small smile said she’d noticed. They ate in silence, the food too good to waste on suspicion. Nalin had just finished the last piece of bread when Leland appeared in the doorway, shirt back on, but unbuttoned, hair damp like he’d washed at the creek.
Their eyes met and held for a breath longer than necessary. Something passed between them, unspoken, but tangible as touch. His gaze dropped to her bandaged arm, and concern creased his brow. needs changing,” he said quietly, moving toward the cabinet. “I can do it myself.
” “I know you can,” he gathered fresh cloth anyway, set it on the table within her reach. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.” The simple statement caught her off guard. Most men would have insisted. Would have used her injury as an excuse to put their hands on her. Instead, he gave her the choice and stepped back.
Waiting, Nalin found herself unwrapping the bloodied cloth, exposing the deep gash that ran from elbow to wrist. Ka moved to help, but Nalin shook her head. Something stubborn and testing rose in her chest. She looked directly at Leland. You do it. Surprise flickered across his face. Then, understanding this was a test. Maybe a trap. Definitely a challenge, he approached slowly, settling into the chair across from her.
When his fingers touched her skin for the first time, careful and gentle as he cleaned the wound, Nalin felt electricity run the length of her arm, not pain, something far more dangerous. His hands were rough from work, but steady, confident without being presumptuous. He worked in silence, focused entirely on the task, and she found herself studying his face from this proximity, the strong line of his jaw, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his breath caught slightly when their eyes accidentally met. “You’re good at this,” she said, surprising herself. “Had practice, lost people because I wasn’t fast enough
learning. The grief in his voice was old but unhealed. She recognized it. Carried her own version of the same weight.” “The fever?” she asked, remembering his earlier words. His hands stilled for just a moment. Took my mother first, then my father 3 days later. Little sister held on for a week, but he stopped. Jaw tightening. Resumed wrapping her arm with careful precision. Wasn’t meant to survive alone.
But you did. So did you. The words hung between them. Acknowledgement of parallel wounds. Nalin felt something shift in her chest. Some locked door beginning to crack open against her will. Before she could respond, Sonnie gasped sharply, staring out the window. They all turned to see what had stolen her voice.
Three riders crested the hill to the east. Even at this distance, Nan recognized the lead horse, recognized the cruel set of the man’s shoulders. They’d been found, and this time there was nowhere left to run. Leland moved before his mind fully processed the threat.
He crossed to the cabinet in three strides, pulled out the rifle he kept loaded for exactly this kind of trouble. When he turned back, Nalin was already on her feet, knife in hand, positioning herself between the window and her sisters. “Who are they?” he asked, checking the rifle’s action. “Traiers, the kind who take what they want and call it business.
” Her voice had gone flat, emotionless in the way people sound when describing nightmares. “We were working at their camp, cooking, mending. They paid fair at first. She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. Leland had heard enough stories about men who thought payment entitled them to more than labor.
How many were there? He moved to the window, staying to the side where he couldn’t be easily seen. Five originally. We heard two of them getting away. Kaia spoke this time, her voice tight with pain and something harder. Pride maybe or rage. Left one with a broken arm and the other won’t be walking straight for a while. Three riders meant they’d left the injured behind. Meant they wanted the sisters badly enough to come after them with reduced numbers.
That kind of determination made men dangerous and stupid in equal measure. Leland watched them approach, reading their posture and pace. They weren’t rushing. Confident then. Probably didn’t expect resistance from a lone farmer and three wounded women.
There’s a root seller, he said, keeping his eyes on the riders entrance behind the wood pile. You can hide there while I No. Nalin’s voice cut through the air like her blade. We don’t hide anymore. He looked at her then really looked and saw something that made his chest tighten. She wasn’t just scared or angry. She was done running.
Done letting men dictate her choices through violence and threat. Then we make a stand, he said simply. But we do it smart. The writers were close enough now to make out details. The leader wore a wide-brimmed hat and had the thick build of someone who used force as his primary argument. The other two were younger, hungrierl looking. All three carried rifles across their saddles.
Leland’s mind worked through calculations. Three against four, except Ka couldn’t fight with that leg. Sonni was too young, too small. That left him and Nalin against three armed men who’d already proven they didn’t have moral boundaries. The odds were poor. But he’d faced poor odds before. Sononnie.
Nalin spoke rapidly in her own language, gesturing toward the back room. The girl started to protest, but something in Nalin’s expression stopped her. She helped Kaia toward the back, both of them moving as quietly as possible. Then it was just Leland and Nalin standing side by side, watching death ride slowly toward them.
“You could leave through the back,” Leland offered, even though he knew she wouldn’t. “Take your sisters and run. I’ll hold them here and let you die for us.” She looked at him with those stormcloud eyes and something raw showed through her armor. You think I want that weight? Better than what they’ll do if they catch you. Her jaw tightened.
They won’t catch me. Not again. The way she said again, made his stomach drop. Understanding crashed over him like cold water. These men hadn’t just employed the sisters. They’d already hurt them. Already taken something that couldn’t be given back. Rage, pure and bright, flared in his chest.
But he pushed it down, forced himself to think tactically. Anger made men sloppy and sloppy got you killed. The rider stopped 30 ft from the house. The leader dismounted slowly, deliberately, making a show of his confidence. “Moss,” he called out, voice carrying easily across the distance. “We’ve got no quarrel with you.
Just send out the three squ and we’ll leave you be.” Leland stepped into the doorway, rifle held loosely, but ready. They’re not going anywhere. The traitor’s expression hardened. That your choice then? Three Apache women you don’t even know worth more than your life. Every person’s worth more than your kind of business. The man spat into the dirt. Noble words from a dead man.
Last chance, Moss. We’re taking them one way or another. How much blood gets spilled is up to you. Leland felt Nalin move closer behind him. Felt the heat of her body against his back. She was scared. He could tell. But she wasn’t backing down. That courage, fierce and unbreakable, made something shift in his chest.
“Then it’s going to be a long day,” Leland said quietly. “For all of us.” The traitor’s hand moved toward his rifle. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into something thick and inevitable. Leland raised his own weapon, finger finding the trigger. But before anyone could fire, a sound split the air. Not a gunshot, something else.
Something that made all three traders turn their heads sharply toward the ridge. More riders appeared on the horizon. Not two or three. At least a dozen, maybe more. Even at this distance, Leland could see they rode different from the traitors. Straighter, more controlled, and they were coming fast. The lead trader’s face went pale. He swung back onto his horse, barking orders at his companions.
Within seconds, all three were riding hard in the opposite direction, abandoning their hunt in favor of survival. Leland watched them disappear into a cloud of dust. His heart still pounding, he lowered the rifle slowly, trying to process what had just happened. Behind him, Nalin’s breath came sharp and quick.
He turned to find her staring at the approaching writers, her expression unreadable. Not relief. Something more complicated. “Who are they?” he asked. She was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly, he almost didn’t hear. “My people.” The writers stopped at the edge of Leland’s property, a respectful distance that spoke of discipline rather than threat.
A man dismounted first, older than the others, his hair stre with silver and face marked by years of sun and hardship. He spoke in the same language Nalin used with her sisters, his tone carrying authority but not anger. Nalin responded, her voice stronger than Leland had heard it before, formal, almost ceremonial. She gestured toward him, and suddenly a dozen pairs of eyes turned in his direction, measuring and judging.
The older man studied Leland for a long moment, then said something that made Nalen stiffen. She replied sharply, her hand moving in quick gestures. An argument unfolded in a language Leland couldn’t understand, but the tension in it was universal. Finally, the man nodded once and remounted.
The riders turned as one, beginning to withdraw, but not leaving. They made camp just beyond the creek, close enough to watch, but far enough to allow privacy. The message was clear. They would wait, but not forever. Nalin stood motionless long after they’d settled, staring at the distant fires beginning to appear.
As evening approached, Leland gave her space, busying himself with securing the house and checking on Ka and Sonnie. The younger sisters had emerged cautiously, relief and worry waring on their faces. When full dark finally fell, Leland found Nalin sitting outside, back against the side of the house, looking up at stars that seemed too bright for such a heavy night. He settled down beside her, leaving a careful foot of space between them.
Neither spoke for a while, just existing in the quiet punctuated by cricket song and the distant murmur of voices from the camp. “They want us to come back,” Nalin said. Eventually said, “We’ve been gone too long. That it’s not safe out here. They’re right about the last part. She turned her head to look at him.
And even in the dim light from the window behind them, he could see the conflict in her expression. They want me to lead them. My father was their chief before he died. The council says it’s time I took his place. Understanding settled in Leland’s chest. Heavy as stone. That’s why you were out here. Why you were working for those traitors instead of with your people? I couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t stand in my father’s shadow and pretend I was strong enough to fill it. Her voice cracked slightly, so I ran. Took my sisters with me, convinced them we could make our own way. And look where that got us. You’re alive. That counts for something. Barely, and only because you.
She stopped, jaw working as she fought for control. Only because a stranger showed us more kindness than our own people when we needed to leave. Leland wanted to tell her she was being too hard on herself, that survival was never simple or pretty. But he knew those words would ring hollow.
spoken by someone who’d never had to carry the weight of leadership or heritage or expectations measured in generations. Instead, he said, “What do you want?” The question seemed to surprise her. What I want doesn’t matter. It’s the only thing that matters. She laughed bitter and brief. That’s not how our world works. I have responsibilities, my sisters, my people, my father’s legacy. A pause, then quieter.
All the things I’m supposed to want more than anything else. But you don’t. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t answer immediately. But when she did, her voice was barely above a whisper. I want to choose something for myself. Just once. Want to wake up and not feel the weight of everyone’s expectations before I even open my eyes.
She turned to face him fully. And there was something raw and desperate in her gaze. Is that selfish to want something that’s just mine? No. He meant it. It’s human. Their eyes held. and Leland felt that pull again, stronger now. The space between them felt both too large and not nearly large enough. He could smell sage and smoke in her hair. See the pulse beating at the base of her throat.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For today, for giving us shelter when you didn’t have to. For standing with us against those men. I’d do it again. I know.” Something shifted in her expression. Vulnerability breaking through the armor she wore like a second skin. That’s what scares me. Why? Because I’m starting to trust you.
She said it like a confession, like admitting to a crime. And the last time I trusted a man who wasn’t family, he Her voice broke. She looked away sharply, but not before Leland saw tears catching Starlight. He didn’t touch her, though everything in him wanted to. Instead, he waited, giving her the choice to continue or retreat.
When she spoke again, the words came slowly, like drawing poison from a wound. His name was David. worked at a trading post near our winter camp. He was kind to us, patient, said he wanted to help bridge our worlds. A pause filled with pain. My cousin believed him. I believed him. We went to his cabin when he invited us.
Thought we were being welcomed as friends. She didn’t need to finish. Leland could see the rest of the story in the set of her shoulders. The way her hands had curled into fists. Your cousin, he said quietly. The one who paid for your mistake. She fought back. They strangled her for it. Nalin’s voice had gone flat again, emptied of everything except fact.
I watched her die because I was too weak to save her, too trusting to see the trap until it was sprung. Now Leland did reach out, his hand covering both of hers where they twisted in her lap. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. That wasn’t your fault, he said. You didn’t kill her. They did. I let her there. You believed someone who lied. That’s not the same as pulling the trigger.
She looked down at his hand on hers, seemed almost surprised to find it there. When her eyes lifted to his face, they were swimming with tears she refused to let fall. “How do you know?” she whispered. “How do you know the difference between believing and being a fool?” “You don’t.” Not until after.
But giving up on trust entirely, that’s just another kind of dying. Something broke in her expression. She turned her hand over beneath his palm to palm, fingers slowly intertwining. The touch was electric, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with two people reaching across their respective damage to find each other.
They sat like that, hands joined until the night grew cold enough to drive them inside. But even as they parted, even as she retreated to the room with her sisters, Leland felt the ghost of her touch burning against his skin. And he knew with absolute certainty that whatever happened next would change everything. Morning brought visitors.
The silver-haired elder from the Apache camp arrived with two younger men. Their faces painted with the seriousness of their mission. They sat outside Leland’s house, waiting with the infinite patience of people who understood that some conversations couldn’t be rushed. Nalin emerged alone, leaving her sisters inside. Leland watched from the doorway as she settled across from the elder.
Her spine straight and face carefully neutral. They spoke in low voices, the conversation flowing in a language he couldn’t understand, but whose emotional weight he felt nonetheless. The elder gestured toward the camp, then toward Nalin, his hands moving in patterns that seemed to carry as much meaning as his words.
She shook her head once firmly, his expression tightened with what might have been disappointment or frustration or both. Then the old man’s gaze shifted to Leland, standing in the doorway. He said something that made Nalin stiffen, her hands curling into fists. She responded sharply, color rising to her cheeks.
The elder studied her for a long moment, then stood with the slow dignity of someone who’d made his point and would let it settle. Before leaving, he spoke one more time, his voice carrying across the space to where Leland stood, even without understanding the words. Leland felt the weight of warning in them. A line had been drawn. Choose carefully which side you stand on.
After they left, Nalin remained sitting in the dust, staring at nothing. Leland gave her space for a while, then brought out two cups of coffee and settled beside her without asking permission. She accepted the cup silently, warming her hands on it, despite the growing heat of the day. “They want you back today,” Leland said quietly. “Not a question.
They say I’ve had enough time to grieve. That duty doesn’t pause for personal weakness.” She took a sip, winced at the bitterness. They’re right. Of course, my people need leadership. I sisters need security. I need to stop being selfish.
Wanting something for yourself isn’t selfish, isn’t it? She turned to look at him, and the rawness in her expression made his chest ache. 3 days ago, I didn’t even know you existed. Now I’m considering abandoning my responsibilities because the thought of leaving makes me feel like I’m suffocating. The admission hung between them, dangerous, and honest. Leland felt his pulse quicken.
felt the careful distance he’d been maintaining start to crumble. Nalin, don’t. She held up a hand. Not quite touching him, but close enough that he could feel the heat of her palm. Don’t make this harder than it already is. Don’t give me reasons to stay when I already have too many pulling me to leave.
But she didn’t move away. Didn’t stand and retreat. Instead, she stayed there so close he could count individual strands of dark hair escaping from her braid. could see the exact pattern of gold flexcks in her brown eyes. What did he say? Leland asked. The elder. What did he warn me about? Her jaw tightened. That white men always take more than they’re offered.
That I’m confusing gratitude with something deeper. That he’s seen this story before and it never ends well for our people. And what do you think? I think she stopped struggling with words. I think I’ve spent my whole life being afraid of the wrong things. I was terrified of leading, terrified of failing my father’s memory. So I ran and nearly got my sisters killed.
Now I’m terrified of this. She gestured between them. The space that felt both too vast and too small of whatever’s happening when you look at me like that. Like what? Like I matter. Not as a chief’s daughter or a leader or a symbol. Just as myself. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. Like you see me. Leland sat down his cup carefully, afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the moment.
I do see you. That’s the problem. Why is it a problem? Because you’re right. You do have responsibilities. People who need you, and I’m just some farmer who can’t offer you anything except a lonely house and more reasons to feel guilty. She studied his face for a long moment, then did something that shocked them both.
She reached out and touched his jaw, her fingers light as breath against his skin. He went absolutely still, afraid to breathe, afraid to move and break whatever spell had allowed her to cross that final distance. “You offered us your home when we had nowhere to go,” she said softly.
“You stood beside us when you could have let us face those men alone. You listened to my pain without trying to fix it or minimize it.” Her thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, and he felt that touch in every nerve ending. “That’s not nothing, Leland.” He turned his head slightly, just enough that his lips nearly brushed her palm.
The air between them felt charged, heavy with possibility and restraint in equal measure. Her breath caught, audible in the quiet. I should go inside, she whispered, but didn’t move. Yes, he agreed. And didn’t move either. They stayed like that, frozen in a moment that felt both infinite and fragile. Her hand on his face, his eyes locked on hers.
The space between them measured in heartbeats and held breath and everything neither of them dared to say aloud. Inside the house, Sani called out something in their language. The sound broke the spell. Nalin pulled her hand back quickly as if burned and stood with the jerky movements of someone fighting their own instincts. “Tonight,” she said, not looking at him.
“They’re sending someone at sunset to escort us back to camp. Whether I agree or not,” she walked toward the house, shoulders squared with false confidence. But at the doorway, she paused and glanced back. The look she gave him was complex, layered with longing and regret, and something fiercer that made his breath stop.
Then she was gone, and Leland was left sitting in the dust, his skin still burning where she’d touched him, wondering how you were supposed to let go of something you’d only just started to hold. The sun climbed higher, indifferent to human complications. By evening, a choice would have to be made, and somehow Leland knew that whatever happened next would either save them both or destroy the fragile thing growing between them. He had until sunset to figure out which.
The afternoon stretched like pulled thread, each hour feeling longer than the last. Ka’s leg had improved enough that she could walk with minimal limping, and sonnie busied herself preparing for their departure with a resignation that hurt to watch. But it was Nalin who drew Leland’s attention.
The way she moved through the house like a caged animal, all restless energy and suppressed conflict. He found her at the creek as the sun began its descent. Sitting on the bank with her feet in the water. She’d unbound her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders in a way he’d never seen before. The sight stopped him in his tracks.
Something about that small intimacy feeling more revealing than anything physical. She heard him approach but didn’t turn. You shouldn’t be here. Probably not, he agreed, settling beside her anyway. But I’ve never been good at staying away from things I shouldn’t want. That made her look at him, a sad smile tugging at her lips.
Is that what I am? Something you shouldn’t want? That’s what they’d say. Your people, mine, if I had any left. And what do you say? Leland watched the water flow past. Clear enough to see stones beneath the surface. I say I’ve spent 6 months convincing myself I was better off alone. That needing people was just inviting pain.
Then three strangers showed up bleeding on my land. And the one with the knife and the terrible trust issues made me remember what it feels like to be alive. She laughed. The sound breaking on something that might have been a sob. Terrible trust issues. That’s one way to describe it. Nalin.
He waited until she met his eyes. You don’t owe me anything. If going back to your people is what you need to do, then do it. Don’t stay because you feel guilty or obligated or that’s not why I want to stay. The words came fast urgent. I want to stay because when I’m here, I feel like I can breathe because you look at me and don’t see my father’s ghost or my people’s expectations. You just see me, Nalin.
Not the chief’s daughter or the leader. They’re trying to force me to become. Just me. The vulnerability in her voice undid something in his chest. He reached for her hand and this time she didn’t hesitate. Their fingers laced together naturally as if they’d been doing this for years instead of days.
“So stay,” he said simply. “Your sisters are healing. They can make their own choices. But you, you stay. It’s not that simple. It never is. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.” She turned to face him fully, and the late afternoon sun caught in her eyes, turning them amber gold. You don’t know what you’re asking.
If I stay, if I choose this, there will be consequences. My people won’t understand. They’ll see it as betrayal. Then let them. You’ve spent your whole life carrying their judgment. Maybe it’s time to set it down and pick up yours instead. I’m not asking you to carry anything.
He raised their joined hands, pressed his lips against her knuckles in a gesture that was somehow more intimate than any kiss. I’m asking if you want to find out what happens when you choose something just because it makes you happy. No duty, no expectations, just choice. Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked back furiously. I’m scared of me, of this, of how much I want it. Of what it means if I let myself have it.
She pulled her hand free, but only to bring both palms up to frame his face. The touch was electric, her skin warm against his jaw. I’ve never touched a white man like this before. Never let myself want to. Leland’s breath caught. He could feel the slight tremor in her hands. The way her pulse visibly jumped in her throat.
And now, now I can’t stop thinking about it. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, rough with emotion and something deeper about what it would feel like. Your hands on my skin, your mouth. She stopped herself, color flooding her cheeks. He stayed absolutely still, letting her control the moment. The pace, the choice, even as every instinct screamed at him to close the distance between them, he waited.
Because this had to be hers, had to be given, not taken. Her thumbs traced the line of his cheekbones, learning the geography of his face with careful attention. She leaned closer. Close enough that he could feel her breath against his lips. Could smell sage and smoke and something uniquely her. Nalin. He managed his voice wrecked.
If you’re going to leave at sunset, you should probably stop touching me like that. I know, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed the final distance, pressing her forehead against his in a gesture that felt sacred. We never touched a white man before. My sisters and I never let ourselves get close enough for it to matter. There it was.
The words from the title spoken in a moment charged with everything they felt and couldn’t say. Leland closed his eyes, focusing on the weight of her forehead against his, the warmth of her hands on his face. The way her breath mingled with his in the small space between them. And now he asked again, barely breathing.
Now I understand what I was protecting myself from. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. And what he saw there made his heart stutter. Because once I touch you like this, once I let myself feel what I’m feeling, leaving becomes impossible. Then don’t leave, Leland.
Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of horses. Multiple riders approaching fast from the direction of the camp. They broke apart instinctively. Nalin scrambling to her feet as the silver-haired elder appeared through the trees accompanied by at least six warriors. His expression was grave as he took in the scene.
Nalin with her hair loose, standing close to Leland, both of them looking guilty as caught thieves. The elder spoke, his voice carrying disappointment and anger in equal measure. Nalin responded, her own voice rising to match his intensity. An argument unfolded, rapid and fierce, while Leland stood helplessly by, understanding nothing except that everything was falling apart.
Finally, the elder turned to Leland and spoke in halting English, each word carefully chosen. You keep her here with pretty words and soft touches. But you know nothing of our ways, nothing of what she gives up for you, he gestured toward Nalin. She comes now. No more waiting. That’s her choice, Leland said firmly. Not yours, not mine, hers.
The elders’s eyes flashed. She is Chief’s daughter. Her choice affects all her people. Then maybe her people should trust her judgment. Before anyone could respond, Nalin stepped forward, placing herself between Leland and the Elder. When she spoke, her voice rang with an authority Leland hadn’t heard before.
Command power. The voice of someone born to lead, whether she wanted it or not. The elers’s expression shifted. surprise mixing with something that might have been pride. He responded more gently this time, almost pleading. The warriors behind him shifted uncomfortably, clearly unused to seeing their elder negotiate rather than command.
Then Nalin turned to Leland, and the devastation in her eyes told him everything he needed to know before she spoke. “I have to go.” The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of pain through Leland’s chest. He watched as Nalin turned away, squaring her shoulders in that way she did when forcing herself to be strong.
The elder nodded with satisfaction, gesturing for her to mount one of the spare horses. But before Nalin could move, Ka stepped out of the house, sonnie close behind. The middle sister walked straight to the elder, her injured leg barely showing any weakness now, and spoke in their language with quiet intensity.
Whatever she said made the old man’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Sani joined her, adding her own voice to whatever argument Kaia was making. The two sisters stood side by side, united in purpose, while Nalin watched with growing confusion and something that looked like hope breaking through her resignation.
The elder listened, his weathered face cycling through emotions, surprise, consideration, doubt, and finally reluctant acceptance. He turned to Nalin and spoke, his tone softer now, almost questioning. Nolan responded sharply, shaking her head. Kaia cut her off, placing a hand on her older sister’s arm. The conversation that followed was rapid, emotional, punctuated by gestures and what Leland could only interpret as love tempered with exasperation. Finally, Kaia switched to English, clearly for Leland’s benefit as much as her own.
My sister thinks she has to save everyone, has to sacrifice everything for duty. She looked directly at Leland. But maybe what our people need isn’t another leader carrying the weight of tradition. Maybe they need to learn to stand without always leaning on one family. Sonnie nodded, adding her voice.
Nalin taught us to be strong, to choose our own paths. Now she won’t choose hers because she’s afraid of disappointing people who haven’t earned the right to her devotion. The elder spoke and though Leland didn’t understand the words, he heard the question in them. Nalin’s eyes filled with tears as she responded, her voice breaking midway through.
Ka translated her own eyes wet. She says she can’t abandon her responsibilities. Can’t let her father down. Can’t leave her people without leadership. A pause then fiercer. But I told the elder that I will return. I will train. I will lead if they need someone so badly. Kaya. No. Nalin started. Why not? Her sister’s voice carried steel beneath the gentleness.
You think you’re the only one who can carry father’s legacy? I’m his daughter, too. So is Sonnie. We didn’t ask for this burden, but neither did you. She moved closer, taking both of Nalin’s hands. You’ve spent your whole life protecting us, teaching us, preparing us to be strong. Now, let us be strong enough to give you this.
Give me what? Choice, freedom, love, if that’s what this is. Ka glanced at Leland, a small smile breaking through. And I think it is. Sani stepped forward, joining the circle of sisters. We’re going back. The elder will teach me the ways of our people. Proper and formal. Caya will learn to lead. And you? She touched Nalin’s face gently.
You will stop running from the one thing you actually want because you’re afraid of being happy. Tears spilled down Nalin’s cheeks. I don’t deserve this. None of us deserve the good things we get, Ka said softly. We just have to be brave enough to accept them. The elder watched this exchange with an expression that had softened considerably.
When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of concession rather than command. Nalin looked at him in disbelief, questions tumbling from her lips. He answered each one patiently and slowly, impossibly, hope began to replace the resignation in her posture. She turned to Leland, and the look in her eyes made it hard to breathe. They’re saying, “I can stay.
that if Ka truly wants to lead, they’ll begin her training. That I’ve earned the right to choose my own path. And what do you choose? His voice came out rougher than intended. Before she could answer, the sound of approaching horses cut through the moment, but these weren’t Apache riders. Leland recognized the build and pace immediately.
The traitor had returned, and this time they’d brought reinforcements. At least eight men, all armed, riding hard toward the gathered group. The lead trader pulled up short when he saw the Apache warriors, his confidence visibly wavering. But desperation or stupidity or both pushed him forward.
“We got legal claim on those three?” he shouted, pointing at the sisters. “They stole from us when they ran. We’re taking them back to face justice.” “Legal claim?” Leland stepped forward, rage burning cold in his chest. “You mean the justice of men who think payment for work gives them rights to bodies?” The traitor’s face flushed.
You calling me a liar, Moss? I’m calling you a lot worse than that. The Apache warriors had fanned out, hands-on weapons, creating a barrier between the traitors and the sisters. The elder spoke in English. His words slow and deliberate. These women under our protection now. You leave or you learn why smart men don’t threaten Apache daughters.
The traitor’s hand moved toward his rifle. In response, every Apache warrior drew their weapons simultaneously. the movement fluid and practiced and absolutely terrifying in its efficiency. For a long moment, violence hung in the air like a held breath. Then the traitor seemed to realize he’d pushed as far as he could without dying.
He spat in the dirt, glaring hatred at all of them. “This ain’t over.” “Yes,” Nalin said clearly, stepping forward to stand beside Leland. “It is. You have no claim here. No power, no right, and if you come back, you won’t leave breathing.” There was something in her voice that made even Leland’s spine straighten. Command authority.
The voice of someone who’d been born to lead whether she wanted it or not. Now wielded with conscious choice rather than reluctant duty. The traitor recognized it, too. His face pald, and without another word, he wheeled his horse around. His men followed, retreating at a gallop that spoke of fear rather than tactical withdrawal.
As the dust settled, Nalin remained standing tall, her hand finding Leland’s. She looked at the elder, at her sisters, then finally at Leland. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of decision made, and peace found. I choose to stay. The following morning arrived wrapped in the kind of quiet that follows storms.
When the world feels scrubbed clean and new, Ka and Sonni prepared to leave with the elder and his warriors. their few belongings gathered in bundles that seemed too small to contain the journey they’d survived together. Nalin helped them pack, her movements careful and deliberate, as if she could somehow slow time by paying attention to each small detail.
When everything was ready, the three sisters stood together one last time, hands joined in a circle that had protected them through everything. Ka spoke first, her voice steady despite the tears tracking down her face. You raised us when father couldn’t. Protected us when the world turned cruel. Now let us protect you by giving you permission to be happy.
Sonnie squeezed Nalin’s hand. Come visit when you’re ready. Bring him if you want. She glanced at Leland with a shy smile. I think father would have liked him. Anyone stubborn enough to stand against traitors and elders deserves respect. Nalin pulled them both into a fierce embrace.
Her own tears flowing freely now. You promise me you’ll be careful, both of you. No more risks. No more running off without thinking. We learned from the best, Ka said with gentle irony. Though maybe well make better choices about which rules to break. The elder approached, offering Nalin a final chance to change her mind. She declined with grace and certainty, thanking him in their language for his understanding.
He nodded once, accepting her choice, even if he didn’t fully comprehend it. As the writers prepared to depart, Sonni hugged Leland quickly, whispering something in his ear that made him nod solemnly. Kaia gripped his arm with surprising strength. “She seems fierce, but she breaks easier than she shows. Be gentle with those cracks.
” “I will,” he promised. Then they were mounting up, the horses dancing with eagerness to move. Nalin stood beside Leland, watching her sisters ride away toward a future she wouldn’t share. Her hand found his, fingers threading together with natural ease.
They remained there long after the writers disappeared beyond the ridge, neither quite ready to break the spell of farewell. Finally, Nalin turned to face him, and Leland saw in her expression something that looked like freedom mixed with terror. “So,” she said, attempting lightness that didn’t quite land. “I suppose we should figure out what happens next.
I suppose we should,” she laughed, the sound breaking on emotion. I’ve never done this before. Chosen something just for myself. I don’t know the rules. Neither do I. Leland raised their joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles like he had before, but this time without the shadow of goodbye hanging over them. Maybe we make our own. That sounds dangerous. Probably is.
She stepped closer, eliminating the space between them until her body nearly touched his. I’m still scared, she admitted, her free hand coming up to rest over his heart. Scared I’ll wake up tomorrow and regret this. Scared I’m being selfish. Scared that choosing happiness means I’m weak.
You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Leland said honestly. Strong enough to protect your sisters against men who wanted to hurt them. Strong enough to walk away from a path everyone expected you to follow. Strong enough to admit you’re scared. Her eyes searched his face, memorizing details like she was afraid he might disappear.
What if I’m not good at this? At being just with one person, building something quiet instead of leading people. Then we’ll figure it out together. He brought his other hand up to cup her face, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. No expectations, no performance, just you and me, learning as we go. She leaned into his touch, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When they opened again, they held a heat that made his breath catch.
“I want to kiss you,” she said simply. “I’ve wanted to since that first day when you stepped back and gave us space instead of taking it. Then kiss me.” She did. The kiss started gentle, almost tentative, as if she was still learning the shape of this new freedom.
But then her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed closer, and suddenly there was nothing tentative about it. It was fierce and desperate and full of everything they’d held back for days. Every fear and hope and impossible possibility pouring into the connection of lips and breath and bodies finally aligned.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Leland rested his forehead against hers in the gesture that had become theirs. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Not because you have to. Not because you owe me anything, but because you want to. I want to,” she said, and the certainty in her voice erased any remaining doubt. “I want to wake up next to you. Want to learn what makes you laugh? Want to build something that’s ours and nobody else’s. She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
I want to choose you every single day and have you choose me back. Already done, he said, and kissed her again. The sun climbed higher, warming the land around Leland’s small house that had gone from empty to inhabited in the space of a few short days. Inside they began the careful work of building a life together. One conversation and shared meal and quiet moment at a time.
Sometimes Nalin would look toward the horizon where her sisters had disappeared and feel the pull of old obligations. But then Leland would touch her hand or smile at something she said or simply exist beside her in comfortable silence. And she’d remember that duty wasn’t the only thing worth living for.
Three months later, Ca and Sani visited with news of the changes happening within their people. The old ways were shifting, making room for new voices and different paths. They stayed for a week, filling the house with laughter and stories and the complicated joy of sisters who’d learned to honor both tradition and choice. As they prepared to leave again, Ka pulled Nalin aside.
“You look happy,” she observed. “Different, like you finally stopped running.” I have, Nolan admitted, glancing at where Leland was teaching Sononnie how to repair a saddle. Found something worth staying still for. Good. Ka hugged her tightly. Father would be proud. Not because you chose duty, but because you chose yourself.
After her sisters left, Nalin stood with Leland, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of amber and rose. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and she leaned into a solid warmth with the ease of someone who’d finally found home. No regrets? He asked quietly. She turned in his arms, rising on her toes to kiss him softly. Not a single one.
And in the fading light, surrounded by land that had become theirs through choice rather than inheritance, Nalin understood that sometimes the bravest thing you could do was let yourself be happy. That choosing love over duty didn’t make you weak. It made you human.
She’d touched her first white man and discovered not the monster her fears had created, but a partner, an equal, someone who saw her completely and loved her anyway. And that she thought as Leland kissed her again with all the promise of tomorrow and every day after was worth every risk she’d taken to get here.
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