At noon the following day, the Comanches crested the rise…

““At noon the following day, the Comanches crested the rise above the Masters farm and drew in their horses, well out of firing range. Loretta clutched her horse’s reins with such force that her knuckles ached. Hunter sat astride his stallion beside her, his knee brushing hers. Loretta couldn’t look at him. Instead she stared at the little house she had thought never to see again. Nothing about it had changed. She wondered what Uncle Henry had done with the fifty horses Hunter had left. They weren’t in the back pasture. A flash of blue crossed the yard. Amy. Running to the house to warn Aunt Rachel and Uncle Henry that Indians were coming. It seemed like a hundred years ago that Loretta had done the same. She saw Hunter reaching toward her out of the corner of her eye. She looked at him as he lowered his medallion necklace over her head. The flat stone was still warm from where it had rested against his chest. She pressed her palm over it. “You will wear it? For always? And remember Hunter of the Wolf? It is a promise you make?” “I will wear it.” Her fingers curled around the medallion. “I have nothing to give you.” His eyes clouded with warmth. “Your ruffles.” She pursed her lips. “I’m wearing them. If you want them, you’ll have to come back and steal them.” His gaze ran the length of her. “Maybe so. You will make them nice like flowers, yes?” She sighed and bent her head. She knew why the memories hurt. They had become friends. It was impossible, crazy, but it had happened. And saying goodbye had a sharp edge. “Well, I guess this is it.” “For this little bit time.” She looked up. “Hunter, you mustn’t--” He leaned toward her and crossed her lips with a finger. “You can read my trail, eh? You can walk in my footsteps and come to me. I will leave you signs.””

— Catherine Anderson