Sweetwater, 1861

The spring dance was a rousing success.

Lively music enveloped the dancers as they dipped and soared their way through an exuberant version of “Oh Susanna”.  The fiddler wound up the tune with a flourish, basking in the audience’s delighted applause.  Edgar Kranten felt his chest puffing with pride.  Accustomed to many hours of solitude on his small farm, Edgar found the reaction of the crowd inordinately stimulating.  Somehow, he knew, playing for the chickens in the hen house just wasn’t going to be enough after this!

But he was going to need the practice.  Barely giving the dancers time to catch their breath, the band launched into the next song.  Captured by the strong arms of William Cody, Elizabeth Kelly found herself swirling around the dance floor for the umpteenth time that evening.  She briefly considered begging off for the dance; at least twenty minutes had passed since she’d last seen Teaspoon, her ‘father’.  But a glance at the stationmaster’s face as they whirled by him set her mind at ease – he was happy seeing that she was happy.  To her displeasure, she saw that Lucas Malone had seen fit to sully the celebration with his presence, but the gambler was deep in conversation with the local storekeeper.   She hoped it would stay that way.  Guilty conscience assuaged for the moment, Elizabeth gave herself up to Cody’s embrace.

As tired couples left the dance floor and fresh-faced newcomers took their places, Buck found himself leaning against the back wall regarding the scene with a vague sense of unease.  Ike had already enjoyed his own dance with Elizabeth; certain that his evening couldn’t possibly get any better, he was busy immersing himself in cream cakes.  Kid and Lou had, not surprisingly, disappeared.  Small groups flitted about, chatting and talking, breaking up and coming back together again, while the outcasts on the fringes of the room were ignored or disregarded. 

“You shouff try theeth muffiths,” Jimmy garbled around a mouthful of food.  Wrinkling his nose, Buck turned down the offer.  Any temptation he might have had to taste the muffins was eliminated by the sight of the mangled remains in Jimmy’s mouth.  With a shrug which clearly indicated that Buck was insane, Jimmy leaned against the wall to join his friend, apparently content in his own misfit status.  While he was the soul of confidence when demonstrating his proficiency with a gun, Buck mused, Jimmy still bore the mark of social inferior.  At least Jimmy could bear the designation with something like pride, justifying his rejection by noting that his burgeoning reputation made the women of Sweetwater feel he was too dangerous to approach.  Buck had no such advantage. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Buck let his gaze drift over the crowded room.  A stranger stood with an amused Mr. Tompkins, who guffawed at a joke told by Doc Barnes; in the corner, Emma and Sam snuggled when they thought no one was looking.  A frown marring his handsome features, Buck stiffened imperceptibly as he caught sight of a gaggle of girls giggling in the middle of the room.  Children, he told himself, trying to ignore the memory of the rush he’d felt when one of them had approached him earlier in the evening.  Artless and eager, she’d regarded him with wide eyes and he’d found his palms sweating as she’d tried to frame the question – sure to be an invitation to dance.  He could picture himself drawing her into his arms, swirling with her to a tune that only the two of them could hear.  Then the question came – how many people had he scalped? – and he’d tried to hide the crushing disappointment and sense of loss with a flippant response.  Retreating to the corner to nurse his wounds, Buck determined to spend the rest of the night cloaked in the shadows. 

Then he saw her.  Standing by the small stage.  Margaret Cameron. 

Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Buck gaped at the pretty schoolteacher.  Maggie had drawn her long blonde hair into an elaborate mass of curls atop her head; the few wisps that were allowed to escape delicately framed her features.  Her wide green eyes sparkled with pleasure as she replied to a remark made by the small grey-haired woman at her elbow.  Mabel Crawford had apparently named herself the official chaperone of the single teacher, determined to protect her from the attentions of suitors whether they were welcome or not.  As Buck watched, the elderly woman deftly deflected a persistent Deputy Barnett with practiced ease. 

Buck knew he was staring, but couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away.  Maggie’s porcelain skin seemed to glow under the soft hues of the lanterns, making his own bronzed complexion seem ever darker by comparison.  Ornate filigree combs held the piles of curls in place; Buck’s hand crept unbidden to the simple leather strip which tied his own long hair at the nape of his neck.  The classic lines of Maggie’s pale lavender gown bespoke of wealth and elegance.  Though his own clothes were clean and freshly pressed, Buck couldn’t help but feel like a lowly squire next to the county’s reigning princess.

“Pretty, ain’t she?” Jimmy nudged his friend’s arm in appreciation as he turned his own gaze toward the new schoolteacher.

Embarrassed that his infatuation was so apparent, the Kiowa mumbled a response, lowering his eyes from the vision near the stage.  Pretty?  He’d never seen anyone as breathtaking.

Though there was one girl who came close…

December 1860

The storm had hit without warning, covering Cottonwood and its environs with several feet of snow over the course of one long evening.  In the barn which Mr. Carlisle had designated as their lodging, Ike and Buck spent the night shivering in both cold and fright. The crush of snow on the roof caused the ancient structure to creak and groan under its weight, leading both boys to fear that the poorly constructed building was about to crash in on them at any moment. Afraid that they’d be unable to extinguish a lantern if the ceiling collapsed, the two friends sat in darkness, unable even to communicate.  Clutching his medicine pouch in one hand, Buck had spent the greater part of the evening beseeching the spirits to see fit to spare two rather poor, skinny and inconsequential orphans.  When the storm had finally crested and the fitful winds appeared to be lessening in intensity, they were at last able to fall into a restless sleep, sharing what meagre body warmth they could and both thankful that they’d survived one more night out in the world.

Feeling the first rays of dawn creeping through the cracks in the wall and providing a small portion of heat after the freezing night, Buck cracked one eye open sleepily.  His tired body crying out in protest, the Kiowa nudged Ike gently and rose to face the day.  It took their combined efforts to shove the large barn door open, the snow having formed a compact mountain against the old and disfigured boards.  But once they did…

The landscape was transformed into a shining and sparkling paradise.  Clean unbroken snow covered the land, converting the gnarled apple tree to a shimmering work of art and modifying the nondescript dirt yard into a lake of white diamonds.  Eyes wide with admiration, the two young men exchanged a look of shared glee before rushing out to explore the wonder that nature had created.   Boots unable to find purchase on this new and slippery surface, Buck was the first to go down, sliding to an undignified heap after no more than a dozen steps.   Shivering as fresh snow trickled down his back, Buck turned his face up to the sky with a smile before struggling to his feet.  Hand clutched to his stomach, Ike had doubled over with silent laughter at the sight of his prone friend.  With the same precision he used with knife, gun, and bow and arrow, Buck lined up his shot and fired.

Ike never saw the snowball coming. 

Whooping with delight, the two friends scampered across the yard, leaving a trail of scattered footsteps in their wake, reveling in their friendship, their camaraderie, and their shared lives.

“Tis just what I’d be expectin’ from the likes o’ you layabouts!”  Carlisle’s thick Scottish brogue boomed across the early morning stillness, bringing the youth’s horseplay to a stuttering halt.  Coats and trousers covered in melting snow, Ike and Buck stood like recalcitrant schoolboys in line for a nasty lecture. 

“D’ye think this mess is goin’ to clean itself?”  Thunderclouds furrowed the stout man’s brow as he moved threateningly closer to the cringing boys.  “Yer bunch o’ curs!”

Buck raised hesitant eyes to their taskmaster.  “We were just—”

“I saw what ye were doin’!” Carlisle cut off the attempted explanation briskly.  “Lollygatherin’ and wastin’ me time as usual!  I been good enough t’ take in ye two scalawags.  Who else would have the likes o’ you, a dummy and a stinkin’ half-blood!”

Feeling Buck stiffen with rage beside him, Ike quickly reached out with a retraining hand.  Though the fire in the Kiowa’s eyes did not diminish, the calming touch did much to halt the rush of angry words that had threatened to erupt at the insults.  Ike knew that they needed these jobs.  Since leaving the mission three months before, the two friends had largely subsisted on berries and whatever wild game Buck could catch or snare.  With dwindling herds and the onset of winter, meals that had included meat were few and far between.   Not that Carlisle’s provisions were much better, but they were at least a little better. 

Unknowing or perhaps uncaring how his words wounded the two boys, Carlisle raged on.  “I’m headin’ to town for supplies and such, and if ye have half a brain between you you’ll have the corral and the yard cleared o’ snow by the time I get back.  I’ll not have me horses gettin’ injured due to you layabouts!” 

Simmering with repressed fury, Buck didn’t need to look at his best friend to know that Ike was shooting imploring glances his way.  It would be a hard winter without the meagre salary Carlisle elected to pay them, and Ike clearly wanted Buck to nod and keep his mouth shut.  But much as he despised the man, he couldn’t in good conscience let Carlisle attempt the ride to Cottonwood without at least trying to warn him of the dangers.  The new snow would cover the deadfalls along the route.  Buck knew it would take much to alleviate his own guilt if Carlisle was hurt due to lack of proper forewarning.

The Kiowa cleared his throat softly.  “Are you sure you want to risk that, Mr. Carlisle?  The roads will be hazardous—”

“If I want the advice of a half-breed, I’ll ask fer it,” Carlisle fumed.  “I’ll be back before dark.”  Glowering angrily to ensure against further interruptions, the burly Scotsman oversaw the preparation of horse and buckboard and was soon underway.  Buck and Ike watched him go with sighs of relief.

Kicking at the snow in frustration, Buck turned to his friend.  “Remind me why we work for that miserable bastard?” 

Well, he does pay us, Ike signed.

“A tenth of what the job is worth!” Buck spat.

He provides us with a place to sleep, Ike suggested hopefully.  Buck regarded the dilapidated structure skeptically, his arched eyebrow and dubious look expressing more than words ever could.

Scuffing at the snow with his own boot, Ike was about to admit that Buck just might have him when a slight sound from behind them made his eyes sparkle with delight. 

Why do we stay here? he repeated with an impish grin, directing Buck’s gaze to the rickety porch of the old homestead. Her. 

Caroline Carlisle balanced precariously on the broken stoop, shaking out a scatter rug that had clearly seen better days.  The youngest daughter of the cantankerous man who paid their wages and the only one still living at home, Caroline was just shy of twenty and easily the most beautiful woman either youth had ever laid eyes on.  Long coppery hair hung smooth and straight down her back, framing a face dominated by sparkling blue eyes and a generous mouth.  When she smiled – though the occasions were rare – Buck felt his knees go weak and the room begin to spin.  He thought if he ever heard her laugh he might simply expire on the spot.  When she looked at him, his mind was instantly filled with notions that Sister Abigail at the mission school would definitely not approve of.   Even as he had the thought, Caroline raised her eyes to his speculatively before turning on her heel and returning to the small house. 

“Yeah,” Buck murmured to Ike in a voice suddenly stuffed full of cotton.  “Her.”

Two hours later, the corral was nearly shoveled out and the horses had finally been released from their stalls.  The animals anxiously snuffled at the ground, searching out the scrub grass they knew should be present, while Ike and Buck speedily emptied the troughs of snow and replaced them with feed.  Intent on their work, neither boy heard the soft steps behind them. 

“Excuse me.”

Spinning to the sound of the voice, Buck felt the half-emptied feed sack drop carelessly to the ground.  Beside him, Ike’s mouth hung open in surprise before he came to his senses, pulling off his hat and baring his bald head to the gaze of the beautiful woman.  Risking a look at his friend, Ike saw that Buck still stood in stupefied shock.  Poking the Kiowa forcefully in the ribs, Ike gestured to the hat in his hand.  Hastily, Buck drew off his own. 

“Uh, sorry… Uh, Caroline… I mean, Miss Carlisle… I… Uh…” Ike found himself grinning foolishly as it appeared that Buck’s stammering would continue till sunset.  Luckily his friend regained his balance.  “Uh… can we help you?”

“I hope so,” Caroline answered softly.  “I’m afraid there appears to be a problem with the water pump in the kitchen.  I was just going to make some tea and,” she gestured helplessly, “no water.  Do you think you could take a look?”

Ike twirled his hat in his hands in amusement as the pretty girl related her tale of woe to Buck, never once looking in his direction.  What am I, chopped liver? He mused silently.  And one look at the clearly enamoured expression of his friend only served to increase his mirth tenfold.  Buck’s throat worked convulsively as he tried to formulate some sort of articulate response to this gift that the spirits had given him.  Unfortunately, though the mind was able to conceive the words, the body seemed unable to express them. 

Ike tugged at Buck’s sleeve.  He was ignored. 

He tugged again.  This time the Kiowa turned absently in his direction.

Say, ‘Of course, I’d love to’, the mute youth directed, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of the situation.

“Of course, I’d love to,” Buck repeated faintly. 

“Thank you!  Just follow me.”  Caroline smiled briefly before picking up her skirts and leading the way back to the ramshackle homestead.  Buck had time for a final dazzled glance at his friend before following incredulously in her wake. 

And she had smiled.  She had smiled at HIM.

“So you see, I just don’t know WHAT is wrong with it,” Caroline was explaining as she gestured over the pump.  “And I so dearly wanted some tea.”

The fireplace blazed with warmth, filling the small kitchen.  Discarding his jacket after little more than a minute, Buck bent to examine the mechanism skeptically.  He didn’t know much about plumbing, but he certainly didn’t want to miss an opportunity to impress the beautiful Caroline.  Studying the nozzle for a moment, he considered his options.  He would probably have to take apart… Wait a minute.  Catching sight of a spot of brown amidst the grey of the pump and the rust stains surrounding it, he managed to wriggle one large finger into the mechanism.  Carefully, he extracted a small twig that had been lodged in the spout.  He held it up to Caroline inquisitively.

Caroline regarded the stick with as much curiosity as its holder did.  “But how did…” she began, clearly mystified.

Buck tossed the item on the counter, lowering his eyes so that she wouldn’t see the shame there.  So that she wouldn’t sense what his initial thought had been – that SHE had planted the twig in the spout to lure him inside.  Lure?  This beautiful woman obviously had no such intent, and it sickened him that he’d cheapened her by thinking of her in such a way.  Even if she had wanted the company of a man in her home, why would she choose HIM of all people?  Women crossed streets to avoid the half-breed; they didn’t invite him in for tea!

“I’m sorry to have troubled you over something so simple,” Caroline was saying softly. “The least I can do is offer you some tea.”

“Wha—?  Uh… I should probably get back to work,” Buck stammered as another preconception fell by the wayside, even as his non-rational mind railed against the words he’d just uttered.  Get back to work?  What was he saying? 

“Oh.  Of… of course, if you think so,” Caroline demurred, disappointment evident in her voice.  Her deep blue eyes, which had watched him intently for his response, now dropped to the floor in dissatisfaction.  Her long copper hair dangled in her face, and it took every ounce of self-control that Buck possessed not to reach out and smooth the hair away.  He could almost feel its silken texture against his work-roughened hands.  He knew it would feel like sunshine on a cold day.

“Well… I guess one cup wouldn’t hurt,” he said, earning a vibrant smile for his concession.  He did not expire on the spot.  In fact, to his surprise it was Caroline who actually clapped her hands together once in delight. 

“Wonderful!  Please, have a seat,” she indicated one of the spindle-backed chairs at the small table.  “I’m sorry there’s nothing… well…”

“It’s fine,” Buck assured her as he carefully maneuvered into a rickety chair that looked like it had been around since the War for Independence.  Content, Caroline busied herself with the kettle, clearly pleased to have company, leading Buck to wonder exactly what kind of life she led.  He’d certainly never seen any gentlemen from town paying court to her, though she was surely the loveliest woman in Cottonwood.  And despite appearances – the house and furnishing being in scarcely better condition than the stables – he knew that Mr. Carlisle was one of the wealthiest ranchers in the county.  Combine a beautiful woman with a sure-to-be-impressive dowry, and the suitors should have been crawling over each other to get to Caroline.

Buck shrugged, settling back in the chair and hearing it creak uncomfortably under his weight, while he took in the rest of the house.  His only other glimpse of the inside of the abode had been when he and Ike had arrived looking for work, and then his view had been of what he could see from the decrepit porch step. 

There was no divan to speak of, only a wooden bench covered with pillows, while the paint on the single cabinet was cracked and peeling.  An attempt had been made to alleviate the dismal surroundings: the pillows were embroidered with brightly coloured designs, and a vase of fresh flowers topped the table.  But rather than enliven the room, these small touches only served to throw the remaining dreariness into prominence.

Caroline set two cups down on the table, then noticed where Buck’s eyes had wandered. She straightened, folding her arms across her chest and cupping her elbows with her hands.  “My father came from the old country with nothing,” she said in the tone of one who has made the same explanation many times before.  “He believes that if there’s worth in something, there’s no need getting a new thing.”  She shrugged.  “He’s…”

Miserly.  Cheap.  Stingy.  Frugal.  Buck supplied the list mentally.

“Practical,” Buck said aloud. 

“Yes.”

“My people see no need for material possessions,” he said tactfully.  “When you’re following a herd you need to be able to move quickly.  And the spirits do not judge a man on what he owns, but on who he is.”  When Caroline only regarded him with wide eyes, he realized that she had no idea what it meant to be Kiowa.  She’d probably never even seen an Indian before him, let alone talked to one.  Was he frightening her?  Maybe he should leave.  “Uh… I mean…” he began again.

Caroline blinked rapidly.  “No, I…  please don’t think me rude.  I’ve just never met anyone who felt that way before.  People are rather harsh judges, don’t you think?”

Images – far too many to count – of being beaten, picked on, spat on and run out of town flashed through Buck’s mind in an instant.  “Yeah,” he answered simply.

“But not you,” Caroline said with a sense of wonder.  “You’re different, Buck Cross.  And… and quite handsome too,” she added as a blush made its way prettily to her cheeks.

Any response Buck might have made was drowned out by the sound of the kettle, and Caroline rose hurriedly to remove it from its hanging place above the flames.  She had hastily plucked a worn towel from the counter and was reaching to the handle when Buck came to his senses.  He clumsily pushed his own chair back and joined her at the fire. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” he offered, reaching across her to the pot of water. 

“No, I can—”

“Let me—”

It was only as his hand touched hers that he realized how close they stood together.  Her body was pressed lightly against his own, her softness a dramatic counterpoint to the leanness his body had acquired over years of hardship.   She raised two wide blue eyes to his, and he felt like a drowning man.  He’d happily drown in those sparkling pools, he managed to think giddily even as his hand moved seemingly of its own volition, dropping from the pot and instead encircling her small waist.  Caroline let out a small gasp of surprise and pleasure as he drew her closer to him, her hands coming up to willingly entwine in his hair.  Her body was all soft contours and enticing angles, ostensibly urging him to explore further.  Steam from the kettle filled the air around them, but Buck didn’t think that was why he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

But doubt assailed him.  Did he truly believe this angelic woman wanted him?  Wanted HIM?

“Caroline?” he asked dubiously. 

“Oh yes,” she breathed.

It was all he needed.  Lowering his head, his lips cautiously caressed hers, unsure.  To his surprise, Caroline answered the tentative kiss with an intensity he’d never experienced, desire kindling to passion between them as she took the lead.  Her tongue pressed at his lips, urging him to deepen the kiss.  The gap closed between them in an instant as Buck moved with her, his body afire with fervid sensations never before experienced.   Quenching a thirst he hadn’t even known existed, he never wanted this moment to end.

“WHAT THE BLOODY BLAZES?”  Mr. Carlisle’s voice filled the tiny cabin, seeming to send china and pottery rattling in fear of him. 

In the brief moment as they pulled apart, Buck saw something in Caroline’s eyes that looked like regret.  Then her hand was connecting with his cheek with as much force as she could muster.  Buck staggered back, not so much from the force of the blow as from the complete and utter shock he felt at having received it.  His head was ringing, his body still reeling from the emotions of mere moments ago, but he still heard Caroline’s scream of betrayal.  He would never forget it.

“Savage!  He attacked me, Father!  Heathen!” 

As Caroline burst into tears, Buck managed a startled “No” even as he watched Carlisle’s face turn from affronted outrage to frenzied fury.  Insane fury.  Murderous fury.  Things seemed to move in slow motion.  Carlisle let out a cry of rage as he took a step toward the living room mantle.  Buck’s eyes followed the motion, noting the rifle there with dream-like detachment.  Caroline threw herself to the floor of the cabin, moaning that she’d been violated, horribly violated.  Carlisle took another step.  Then another.  Then another. 

And Buck realized that if he didn’t do something, he would die here.  He would die, because he took a kiss from a woman who was more than willing.  No, he would die because he was an INDIAN who took that kiss.  A savage.  A heathen. 

His eyes tracked to his left boot and the knife sheathed there.  He had plenty of time to draw the weapon and fling it across the room.  But he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t kill a man just because he was a bigot.  He couldn’t do it.  And Caroline… he didn’t want to think of her ever again.  But he wouldn’t kill her father simply because she was a coward.

So Buck did something he’d never done before. 

He ran.

His strangled cries drew Ike from behind the barn, and to the mute’s credit he didn’t stop or question.  He merely dropped his shovel and ran as though the very gates of Hell had opened behind them.

They didn’t stop until they reached the frozen swimming hole two miles distant.  Both boys were doubled over in pain from their exertion, the pristine snow behind them bearing clear testament to the erratic path taken on their fearful flight.  If Carlisle so desired, he could track the duo easily, a fear that Ike readily communicated.  Both youths knew that they had to keep moving, and get far enough away from Cottonwood that pursuit would be too time-consuming for Carlisle to consider.  Yet despite Ike’s desperate urging, Buck wouldn’t leave the spot until he’d stripped off all his clothes and bathed his body in the fresh white snow. 

He didn’t want any of Caroline Carlisle’s scent to linger on his skin.

Sweetwater, 1861

“Buck?  You in there?”  The light touch on his arm combined with the gentle tones of the speaker finally penetrated the fog of memory in which Buck was enshrouded.  With a start, he raised his eyes to meet the concerned gaze of Teaspoon’s daughter Elizabeth.  He pulled his attention back to the present with an effort.

“Huh?”  The response wasn’t exactly Wordsworth. Buck found himself blushing, waiting for the snide remark that was sure to follow. 

But Elizabeth merely grinned.  “Not really the reply I was expecting,” she joked.  At Buck’s blank expression, her smile became even more pronounced.  “I was asking if you’d like to dance,” she explained patiently.  Not giving the Kiowa a chance to refuse, Elizabeth grasped his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.  “I’m getting tired of watching you hold up this wall!”

As Edgar and the band started in on a slower number that he didn’t recognize, Buck found himself drawn into Elizabeth’s arms.  Feeling awkward and out of place, he forced his feet to move in time to the music though his mind was still a thousand miles away. 

“You’re a good dancer,” Elizabeth praised.

“Thanks.”  The response was little more than a mumble.  Why had she asked HIM to dance? There were dozens of eligible men in the room who would be more than eager to share a dance with Elizabeth Kelly.  Teaspoon’s daughter was pretty, wealthy, and sophisticated.  She could have her pick of eligible men.  Why dance with the town ‘breed?  It’s not like it would impress Teaspoon… he was immersed in conversation and certainly didn’t realize whom his daughter had chosen as her dance partner.  Unless… unless Teaspoon put her up to it?  No, Buck disregarded that option as soon as it entered his mind.  Teaspoon never saw him as “less than” his fellow riders.  Teaspoon, he believed, saw the riders as a family.  As they moved past a group of girls – the same group who had mocked him earlier – Buck stiffened in Elizabeth’s arms.  He didn’t like being made the object of someone’s pity, even if that someone was a society girl all the way from St. Louis.

Misunderstanding the sudden tension she felt in Buck’s arms, Elizabeth raised her eyes to his.  “Don’t pay them any mind,” she counseled.  “They’re just girls, after all.”

Buck started.  “How did—?” 

“I overheard them talking to you earlier,” Elizabeth explained as Buck face darkened with bitterness.  “Look, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she soothed, “and maybe it’s none of my business, but in my… experience… I’ve found that people… well, people fear what they don’t know.  Or what they don’t understand.  Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you though, Buck.”

“Oh?”  Buck arched an eyebrow cynically, eliciting a musical peal of laughter from the older woman in his arms.

“That’s right,” she asserted.  “Look at you.  Everything you DO proves that what people think and fear about Indians is untrue.  You’re dependable, honest, strong, loyal—” 

“I’d make a good mule,” Buck interrupted dryly.

“Not to mention determined, responsible, independent, and handsome,” Elizabeth continued without batting an eye.  “Of course, you’re also ‘ornery as a hound dog with a thorn in his paw’,” she laughed, doing a passable imitation of Teaspoon.  “But I’m willing to let that last bit slide.  And I’m betting a lot of other women will too.  Just give it time Buck.  Soon enough the women of Sweetwater will realize what a catch they’ve had sitting in this town all the while.”

As the song ended, Buck escorted Elizabeth back to her father but his mind was elsewhere.  Dependable.  Honest.  Handsome.  Had she really said handsome?  She had.  And she’d said something else too.  The words echoed in his mind. Everything you DO proves that what people think and fear about Indians is untrue. 

But what did he do this night?  He’d hidden in the corner.    Cowered like an abused puppy.  Brooded and sulked about the past.   Stayed in the background, a social outcast, resigned to watching the festivities whirl around him while he stayed camouflaged in the darkness.  He’d showed the people of Sweetwater that the half-breed didn’t deserve the frivolity that the evening entailed.  That he didn’t want or need or desire to be a PART of them. 

Buck sensed rather than saw Ike take up residence at his elbow, likely anxious to discuss his dance with Elizabeth and compare it with his own.  But Buck’s mind was filled with this sudden new revelation of his character.  His friend’s enthusiastic motions were of no more consequence at this point in time than those of a questing mosquito. 

It wouldn’t be easy.  He knew that.  Too many people had already pre-judged him on the colour of his skin and the nature of his beliefs.  But he could…  Anticipatory plans were cut off by the intrusion of memory.  Caroline’s soft lips and eager body… then the stinging slap and anguished cries.  Heathen.  Savage.  That’s what he was to them. 

Buck’s eyes drifted back to Elizabeth, now talking animatedly with Cody and Doc Barnes.  Heathen and savage… but not to HER.  Not to Elizabeth.  She had had an Indian friend.  She had learned their customs and language; she had even learned Indian Sign.  And, Buck realized with a start, that it was only through educating the people of Sweetwater about Indians – by becoming a part of their society whether they acknowledged him or not – that he would ever find the acceptance he craved. 

He could do it.  He was, after all, determined.  Strong.  Maybe even handsome. 

And he knew just where to start.  The Founder’s Day Race was less than a month away.  He hadn’t intended to participate.  But now he would.  And he would win.  He would show the town that he was here to stay.  He would prove something to them and by doing so, prove it to himself as well. 

Buck straightened his back, emboldened by his newfound conviction and sense of purpose.  He could do this… and he didn’t have to wait until Founder’s Day. 

Ike watched incredulously as Buck strode adamantly across the crowded dance floor, dodging swirling couples gracefully.  Then the Kiowa’s destination hit him.  The mute rider nudged Jimmy roughly in the ribs, ignoring the outraged protests against the violation and gesturing wildly.  Jimmy followed the outstretched finger, and his mouth fell open. 

“Ya think he’s gonna?” the rider asked skeptically.

Buck didn’t stop to contemplate what he was doing.  He was afraid that if he started to think about it, all his previous doubts would come flying back to the surface like vengeful phantoms.  His unwavering steps took him through the dance floor and to the foot of the stage.  He brushed by Mabel Crawford like passing sagebrush, to find himself face to face with the vision that was Margaret Cameron.  Up close, she looked even more beautiful than he could have believed.  Clear green eyes framed by unimaginably thick lashes regarded him thoughtfully, but Buck found himself fascinated by the bridge of her nose, where a sprinkling of freckles resided.  Far from marring the porcelain beauty of her skin, they only served to emphasize it. 

“Yes?”

As the gentle strains of “Kathleen Mavourneen” started up from the stage behind them, Buck found his voice, and to his relief he sounded confident and calm.  “Miss Cameron, I was wondering if I could have this dance?”

It didn’t matter what her answer was.   A rejection to Buck Cross would be no different than a rejection to Ike McSwain or Billy Cody.  All that mattered was that he doing it.  He was asking for the pleasure of her company, in the hopes that she was an “Elizabeth Kelly” and not a “Caroline Carlisle”.  He wasn’t hiding in the corner, lonely and afraid to grasp all that this new life in the white world could offer.   Buck resolved never to hide in the corner again.