Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) by Laura Anne Gilman

should have made.
    “Is that the creek?” she asked, and he lifted his head to see the road drop slightly, disappearing out of sight before picking up again in the distance.
    “Good eye,” he said; the slight hollow of the creek wasn’t obvious from here. “We’ll stop on this side; it should be dryer.”
    “Dryer” was a relative term: the creek was high with early spring runoff, and even the wider bank on this side was slick and slippery, with a few scrub willows stretching branches and roots toward the water. He turned Steady off the path before the slope and slid out of the saddle.
    He turned to see Isobel attempt to echo his movement, but her body was stiff from so many hours in the saddle, and the moment her feet touched the ground her entire body buckled, only the mare’s solid presence keeping her from going to her knees in agony.
    “Here now, let go.” Gabriel was at her side in an instant, his hands steadying her until she was able to stand again. “You should have said something if you were that sore.” He tried to keep his tone even, but he was annoyed: at her, at himself, at the devil and all his machinations that put them here.
    “I’m all right,” she said, wobbling at the knees, but upright.
    “Of course you are.” He led her away from the mare, watching how she moved, noting how her body shook under the stress. “Don’t sit down, not just yet. You need to stretch. Walk if you can, but don’t sit down.”
    The horses had lowered their heads and were already nibbling at the grass. The mare might be new, but she was settling in well, and he trusted her to stick with Steady even if something were to spook them. The mule, faithful as ever, wouldn’t spook if someone blew the Gjallahorn in one floppy ear. All three of them scented the air, nostrils blowing, but none seemed inclined to test the slippery bank to find the water themselves.
    “Yeah, all right,” he said to them. “You’ll get yours; just wait a moment.”
    “Tell me it gets easier?” Isobel had taken a few more steps, wobbly but determined, and then stopped, grimacing as she pressed her hands into the small of her back.
    “It does. But getting back on, that’s going to hurt like blazes for a bit. Walk some more; it’ll help.” He took his hat off and ran fingers through his hair, scratching where the sweat left his scalp itchy, and watched her move. Her shoulders slowly straightened, and she shook out hands that were clearly cramped from holding the reins too tightly.
    “Where are we?”
    “Still inside your boss’s hand,” he said, turning away to give her some privacy for any stretching she might need to do, bending to adjust Steady’s belly strap. “Another few hours’ ride, we’ll be in Patch Junction. We’ll stop there for the night.”
    “I know Patch,” she said, sounding surprised. “Know of it, anyways. One of our girls, she went to live there.”
    “You want to stop in and say hello?”
    She seemed to be considering that. “No. I . . . It’s been a while. I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”
    “You might find different, seeing her again.”
    “Maybe. I—”
    The sound of hoofbeats made them both stop and look up. His hand reached for the knife in his boot, letting three fingers rest on the leather sheath without unsnapping it. Isobel merely stood there, waiting. She made no move to reach for a weapon of any sort, and he sighed. He knew Flood was safe a place as existed, but did they teach their girls nothing?
    There was splashing from the creek, and the sound of voices. Four horses, he determined, going at a trot but not in any great hurry. And he could hear the moment they noticed the horses, when they slowed, coming up out of the water.
    “Isobel. Behind the horses.” She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, but ducked down, using the mule’s packs to hide behind. He could hear her breathing, heard her trying to calm it.
    And then the riders were in sight, and he stood, turning so