“Wait!” 

The voice of Abigail McKinstry called out loudly in the tiny foyer of the town hall.  Mrs. McKinstry turned to her eldest daughter with an indulgent smile.

Abigail had stopped just inside the entrance, a look of horror on her face, gloved hand groping at her neck.  “My necklace! Oh mother, how could you let me forget my beautiful pearl necklace!”

“This is hardly an earth-shattering catastrophe,” Claire put in dryly, earning a pained look from her mother and a scowl from her father.  She shrugged, moving off to try to peak around the double doors into the room beyond.  The Founders Day dance was already in full swing, by the sounds of it.  Behind Claire, her mother fussed and clucked, fluffing Abigail’s dark curls and smoothing her skirt, keeping up a steady patter of nonsense chatter.   Claire moved a little closer to the door, tuning them out, as she absently smoothed her own pale blue skirt, trying to restrain herself from hopping up and down each time the door opened.  She tried to ignore the nervousness that was building inside her, getting worse for each moment that her sister fussed and dawdled. 

He might be there.

She’d first noticed him two months ago, just a week after the McKinstrys moved to Sweetwater.  The sisters had been returning from a visit with their Uncle Matthew at the Sentinel, when suddenly Abigail had grabbed Claire’s arm, barely suppressing a squeal.  Motioning wildly, Abigail pointed excitedly in the direction of the general store.

“Look!  It’s those Pony Express riders!”

Claire glanced down the street briefly before pulling at her sister’s arm, hoping that no-one had noticed her rudeness.  “Hush, Abigail!” she admonished in a hissing whisper.

“Oh, they’re so exciting!” Abigail continued, paying her no mind.  She gazed across the street in rapt adoration, one hand raising to unconsciously pat her hair.  “Look at that one,” Abigail raised her arm to point again, but this time Claire caught it smoothly.  “He’s so handsome!”

Frowning at her sister, Claire nonetheless followed her gaze to the young man at the store, busy loading a wagon with supplies.  Abigail had pointed to the one called ‘Kid’, a rather commonplace looking fellow in a dark jacket.  He was attractive, she supposed, if rather bland-looking… nothing to get all worked up about.  She was about to hustle her sister along, reminding her that there were chores that needed doing at home, when the door to Thompkins store swung open again.

Claire knew she would never forget that first look at Buck Cross.

He was toting a heavy bag of grain, his shirt pressed against his muscled chest, hat hanging down his back, long dark hair streaming back in the light breeze.  She had never seen anyone so strikingly attractive, and was surprised to discover herself staring. Abruptly, she noticed that her sister’s chatter had ceased, and with an effort, Claire pulled her attention away from the riders.  Abigail had noticed her scrutiny and was staring at her shrewdly. 

“I know,” Abigail sniffed, although Claire hadn’t spoken.  “I can’t believe they hired an Indian.”  The way she said it, the word sounded indecent. 

“He’s not—“ Claire began to protest, but Abigail cut her off.

“Of course he’s not,” Abigail interrupted.  “Even worse.  He’s a half-breed.”

Claire turned troubled eyes to her sister before glancing back at the riders.  The supplies were loaded now; the young men mounted their horses with practiced grace.  She spared one last look at Buck before linking arms with her sister and starting towards home. 

Abigail’s presence at her side at the town hall entranceway nudged Claire back to the present.  Impatiently brushing aside her mother’s last-minute attempts to primp and fluff her, Claire took a deep breath and, filled with anticipatory eagerness, entered the town hall. 

An hour later, Claire wondered what she’d been so anxious about. 

She stood at the edge of the dance floor, smiling politely and trying to pay attention to whatever it was that Marcus Sewell was blathering on about.   Marcus considered himself a suitor, a fact that pleased Claire’s father no end.  Claire realized with a start that the background noise she identified as Marcus’ voice had stopped, and drew her attention back to him with an effort.  What had he been talking about?  She searched her mind frantically. Something about his father’s bean crop.  Or was it corn?

She renewed her smile and settled on a non-committal “Hmmm.”  It was apparently enough for Marcus to launch into a renewed treatise on the features and benefits of the farm.  Claire murmured in the right spots, fought to stop her eyes from glazing over, and let her gaze wander back to the riders. 

The pony express riders were clustered at the other end of the long hall.  Mindful that her father would be upset if he noticed her ignoring Marcus (and mindful too, that she really didn’t want to hurt Marcus’ feelings), Claire tried to pay attention to the dandified boy.  But her eyes kept being drawn back to Buck Cross.  His hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, only highlighting his high cheekbones and dark, exotic features.  And Marcus Sewell, light grey suit hanging off his thin frame and short hair slicked back, looked like a child in his father’s clothes, trying to be a man.  Claire shook her head slightly as soon as the thought crossed her mind.  It wasn’t like her to be so cruel, even in thought.  It was just that… well…  it seemed that no one could compare to Buck.

Claire let her eyes drift back to the riders, and suppressed a sigh.
 
 

Across the room, Cody nudged Jimmy in the ribs, nearly knocking the cream cake out of his hands.  Ignoring Hickok’s glare, Cody grinned.  “She’s watching us again.”

Several pairs of eyes flicked towards Claire, just as she turned her own attention back to Marcus.

“Yup. She is.”  Jimmy squared his shoulders and smiled in the general direction of the pretty redhead.

Cody straightened his string tie and ran fingers through his hair.  “I guess no woman can resist my dazzling good looks for long,” he said smugly.

Jimmy scowled.  “You’re crazy, Cody.  It’s obvious she’s lookin’ at me.”

“What woman would want you when I’m available, Hickok?”

Lou stepped in to the breach before the argument could escalate.  “I hate to disappoint you boys,“ she put in pointedly, “but she’s lookin’ at Buck.”

Buck’s head snapped up in surprise, involuntarily drawn to the girl across the room.  He’d noticed her in town several times, but he’d tried NOT to think about her.  Just like he’d tried not to think of any woman.  Not since Jennifer.  Not since Kathleen.

Still, she was pretty.

Frowning, he scowled at Lou.  “Yeah, she looking at me,” he said sarcastically.  “Very funny, Lou.”  He glanced back at the pretty girl, who was now apparently engrossed in a story being told by her escort. 

“Well, why not?” Lou asked with a smile.  “You shouldn’t sell yourself so short, Buck.  There’s no reason why Claire McKinstry shouldn’t—“

“Come on, Lou,” Cody interrupted.  “I’m right here.  Big, blonde, and beautiful,” he puffed out his chest in an exaggerated pose, “and ready to please.  Why would she want Buck?”

Buck’s face had gone blanker and blanker as Cody spoke, until finally his lips were drawn together in a thin line.  His breath was heavy as he spoke.  “That’s right, Cody,” he spat out, angry, and even angrier that the anger was showing.  “What would she want with a dark-skinned half-breed like me?”  Pushing past Cody with a deliberate shove, Buck strode furiously out of the hall. 

Cody looked after him incredulously, then yelped as Lou smacked him in the head with her hat.  “What’d I do?”

“You can’t leave well enough alone, can you Cody?”

Cody rubbed at his head elaborately, frowning.  “Aw, I didn’t mean anything, Lou.  I was just funnin’ him.”

“You know how sensitive Buck is about that stuff, Billy,” Lou scolded.  Besides,” she added, “Claire really WAS looking at Buck.”  Lou motioned with her chin to the woman in question, whose eyes were even now searching the room for the Kiowa. 

“Yep,” Cody said softly, then deliberately brushed back his hair and re-straightened his tie. He’d taken two steps towards the lovely young Claire before he was pulled back abruptly by Ike, who was gesturing wildly.  Cody tried to follow the motions for a moment before giving up in exasperation.

“Don’t worry, Ike,” he said, placing a hand on Ike’s chest to stop the frantic motion of his hands.  He adjusted an imaginary hat.  “I’m just gonna fix it.”

Exuding confidence, Cody made his way across the crowded dance floor, while behind him, Lou and Ike exchanged dubious looks. 

Claire found herself wishing that the dance was over.  She’d been trapped with the loquacious Marcus Sewell for over an hour; even when she tried to escape by fetching a glass of punch, he’d followed at her feet like a puppy dog.  Her exaggeratedly-mimed pleas for help to Abigail were ignored as her older sister lapped up the attentions of a variety of suitors.  Her father, when he’d stopped glad-handing, had only slapped Marcus on the shoulder with a “Nice party, eh son?”, a designation that made Marcus puff up with self-importance.  Claire was determined that she’d put up with this for another 30 minutes… then she’d suddenly get a raging headache.

“Excuse me, Miss…”

Claire pushed the thoughts aside and turned to find a handsome young man at her elbow, smiling eagerly.  She recognized him, but couldn’t put a name to the face.  He saved her the trouble. 

“William F. Cody, at your service,” he introduced himself, adding a courtly bow for effect.  Claire smiled cautiously and managed an awkward half-curtsy.  “Claire McKinstry.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cody said with another smile.  “I was wondering if you would do me the utmost honour of sharing this dance.”

Claire glanced at Marcus, then back to Cody.  “I’d be most delighted, Mr. Cody,” she said pleasantly, trying to match his tone.  Handing her glass to Marcus, she nodded politely and joined Cody on the dance floor. 

They had gone once around the floor before Cody re-opened the conversation. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything between you and your escort,” he said politely. 

Claire glanced back at Marcus, whose eyes were following their every move.  “I assure you, Mr. Cody,” she said, returning her attention to her dance partner, “Mr. Sewell is NOT my escort.  I’m very pleased to dance with you.”

“Call me Billy, if you like,” Cody grinned.  “And I’m happy to hear that.  Because I couldn’t help but notice that your attention was rather drawn to myself and my companions.”

Claire blushed, looking down at the dance floor.  “I assure you, Billy—“ she began.

“Now, of course, bein’ the best looking rider, I had to assume that you just couldn’t resist my charms,” Cody continued.

Claire felt her cheeks flushing again.  Had she been that transparent?  Now she had to convince this poor man that she wasn’t staring at him, but couldn’t admit WHO she was staring at.  She couldn’t admit she was staring at all.  It wasn’t ladylike.  Was it? 

She took a deep breath, made eye contact with Cody, and tried again.  “Billy, I really think you got the wrong impression.  You see—“

“Now I was real pleased with the attention, don’t get me wrong,” Cody continued relentlessly.  “That is,” he grinned, “until it was pointed out that it wasn’t me you was lookin’ at.”

Claire’s feet were still moving in time to the music, but she couldn’t feel them.  “What?” she squeaked out. 

“Seems it was a certain dark-haired rider that caught your eye,” Cody said with a knowing smile.  “Am I right?”

Claire’s head bobbed unconsciously, looking at Cody in a new light.   “Was I that obvious?” she asked softly, still flushed with embarrassment. 

“Wellll,” Cody drawled, “maybe only to somebody who knew where to look.  Anyway, this rider might have been interested right back… but I sorta messed things up.  He got a little upset.  Decided to take a breather.”  He paused.  “Outside,” he said suggestively. 

“Outside,” Claire repeated as the music ended.  Instinctively, she applauded the musicians as she tried to figure out what she should do.  She glanced at Cody, taking in his expectant look.  He’d come over to talk to her in order to help his friend, or to help her, she couldn’t figure out which.  But she figured if he was in this deep, she might as well jump right in as well.

“I was just thinking about getting some air myself,” she said quietly, “but I’m afraid that Marcus might miss me.”  Cody glanced over his shoulder to see the infamous Marcus Sewell pushing his way through the crowd of dancers to their side.  He turned back to Claire with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about ol’ Marcus.”

Claire found herself matching his grin.  Reaching up hastily, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you, Billy,” she whispered, before ducking away for the nearest exit. 

Cody rubbed at his cheek absently.  “Oh, it was worth it,” he said softly to himself.  Then, he turned with exuberant glee towards the unsuspecting Marcus Sewell. 
 
 

Chapter Two
 

The air outside was just cool enough to be refreshing, especially after the stuffiness inside the hall.  Claire stopped just outside the side doorway, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness after the bright lights of the lamps inside.  She drew her arms across her chest, probing the shadows surrounding the building, but could find no sign of the young rider she sought. 

Feeling oddly spotlighted in the doorway, Claire moved away, strolling slowly along the side to the back of the building.  Again, she searched for movement, but found no-one.  She was about to return and thank Cody for his trouble, when she noticed the horses.  One in particular looked familiar… yes, the paint horse that Kid rode was tied to the farthest post.  Moving closer, she saw the expected reddish-brown stallion.  Buck’s horse.  He was beautiful, his dark cinnamon coat broken only by the thin stripe of white on his long nose and the patches at his feet.

Cautiously, Claire stepped closer to the large animal and carefully laid a hand on his nose.  The horse snorted, causing her to jump back in alarm.  She waited a moment for him to calm down, then tried again, this time murmuring soothingly.

“There… that’s a good boy… you’re a pretty boy… that’s right…” Claire kept up a soothing patter of sound, encouraging by the horse’s now-calm demeanor.  Buck kept his place in the shadows, watching her.  She was relaxed and patient with the horse, despite her obvious inexperience.  He was impressed.  Finally, he stepped forward. 

“You always talk to horses?”

Claire jumped back, letting out an involuntarily squeal that caused the horse to whinny in alarm.  Buck stepped ahead quickly, laying a comforting hand on the horse’s mane.  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he added apologetically.   Maybe he’d been impressed too soon, he thought wryly. 

“No… I’m sorry… you just startled me, that’s all,” Claire said a bit breathlessly.  Her hand had fluttered to her breast, and she seemed to look at it for a moment before letting it rest at her side.  Now that she had found Buck – or he had found her, as the case may be – she found she hadn’t a clue what to say to him.  Instead, she found herself just staring into his eyes.  Deep brown eyes, dark as the night.  Abruptly, she noticed that his lips were starting to curl into a smile, and she pulled her eyes away quickly. 

The horse!  “I was just admiring your horse,” she said, forcing herself to sound nonchalant.  “He’s beautiful.”

“How did you know he was mine?” Buck asked, still half-grinning at her. 

She focused on the horse.  “I’ve seen you riding him through town, that’s all.”  She pointed to the paint on the end.  “That one belongs to Kid.  And that one,” another gesture to the gorgeous palomino, “is Mr. Hickok’s.   They’re all beautiful animals.  I have to say, though,” Claire glanced at the ground, then met Buck’s eyes briefly, “I’m a little partial to yours.”

Buck relaxed a little.  “Me too,” he agreed with a grin.  “He’s a good horse.  Strong.”

“What’s his name?” Claire asked, regaining confidence quickly.  This was going okay.  They were talking.  It was friendly.  She wasn’t making a fool of herself.  She reached up and petted the horse’s nose affectionately.

“Warrior.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise.  “Warrior?”

“Yeah,” Buck grinned crookedly again, rubbing the animals flank fondly.  “Something wrong with that?”

“No, I suppose not,” Claire shrugged, returning her attentions to the horse.  “He just seems so gentle, though.  Warrior sounds so savage.”  Abruptly, she realized what she’d said, and dropped her gaze to the ground, feeling a flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. 

“I mean… oh gosh… well, I just meant that he seems so sweet and mild, and ‘Warrior’ sounds… well... mean… and… oh I’m sorry.”  She stammered at the ground, then cautiously raised her eyes to meet his, biting her lower lip.    So much for not making a fool of herself. 

Buck took a breath.  The girl’s comment was unintentional, had nothing to do with him.  He knew that.  He spoke slowly.  “A noble warrior only uses his savagery if he has to, as a last resort.”

Stepping forward, he held out his hand.  “I’m Buck Cross.”

“I know,” Claire said involuntarily, feeling another blush cross her cheeks at Buck’s smile at the comment.  “Umm… everybody seems to know the pony express riders,” she finished lamely.  Taking his hand, she introduced herself.  “I’m Claire McKinstry.”

Buck grin widened, the smile lighting his eyes.  “I know.”

Claire’s eyebrow raised.  He knew?  He knew of her?  She felt her heart leap in her chest. 

“I saw you inside.  One of the other riders pointed you out,” Buck was saying in explanation.  Pointed out that you were staring at me, he added mentally.  He studied the girl for a moment, taking in the expensive cut of her dress, the stylish way her hair was done, the pallor of her skin.  Lou was wrong, he decided.  This meeting is just a coincidence.  She WAS staring at Cody.  Or Jimmy.  Not him.  There’s no way she’d want anything to do with him. 

Beside them, Warrior nickered impatiently.  Claire drew her hand back in surprise as Buck laughed.  “It’s okay,” he explained, “he just figures if he’s getting all this attention, he should get a treat too.”

“A treat?” Claire repeated, turning to the horse with a smile.  “I’m sorry, Warrior,” she said gently, “but I don’t generally carry horse treats with me to dances.”  She patted his nose affectionately. 

“Wait a minute,” Buck said, digging in the saddlebag, and finally coming up with a rather bruised looking apple.  “Here you go.  You can give him this.”

Claire took the apple rather dubiously.  Her glance went from apple, to horse, to Buck.  Finally she said, “What do I do with it?”

Buck laughed again, crinkling his face into the crooked smile that Claire was beginning to realize indicated mirth mixed with surprise, and that she was also beginning to find hopelessly endearing.  “Feed it to him.”

“Like this?”  Claire frowned, glancing again at the apple, which filled her whole palm.  “Won’t he choke?”

Shaking his head in amazement, Buck moved forward, taking her hand in his.  “Just put your palm flat, like this,” he instructed, placing his own palm under hers, and trying to ignore the softness of her skin against his own.  “Now,” he guided their hands together towards Warrior’s mouth, “just keep your palm still, and he’ll take it from you.”

Claire realized she was holding her breath, and let it out slowly.  Buck’s body was pressed against her own, leaning against her to reach the horse’s head.  Carefully, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying, and not the feel of his breath on her cheek.  Moving with him, she lifted her palm towards Warrior, who sniffed slightly before opening his mouth and devouring the tidbit.

“He took it!”  Claire’s laugh was infectious and Buck found himself laughing with her.    She spun towards the rider, eyes sparkling.  “I could feel his lips!  They’re all soft and silky.”  She felt Warrior nuzzling against her as he chewed, and rubbed his nose with a grin.  “Do you have any more?” she asked, without looking at Buck. 

“No,” he answered, then turned to her quizzically.  “How is it you’ve never been around horses before?”

Claire turned back to the rider, leaning against the post.  “I just moved here.  From Boston,” she explained. 

“What made you move to Sweetwater?”

My father flew into a rage and killed a man.  No.  She couldn’t say that.  “My father lost his job,” she said quietly.  There.  That wasn’t a lie.  “My father’s brother runs the Sentinel,” she continued.  “Matthew McKinstry?” 

Buck nodded his head in recognition of the name.  “I know your Uncle,” he said.  He’d been called in to talk with McKinstry about Indian troubles in the past.  He held the man in high regard.  “He’s a good man.  He always listens to both sides of a story before he prints it.” 

“I haven’t seen him in so long, since I was little,” she answered.  “And my mother only has distant relatives – third cousins twice removed or something like that – so we decided to come here.”

Buck nodded.  “Must be a lot different than Boston,” he offered.  “What’s it like there?”

Claire shrugged.  “Oh, it’s big,” she said casually.  “Roundabouts 180,000 people at our last census.”  Buck’s eyes widened in surprise.  “There’s lot of things to do, and see.  But after being here, none of it seems all that real.” 

Buck ducked under the fence post, joining her as she leaned against the railing.  “Still, you must miss it.”

She smiled.  “Oh, I miss the shops.  Beautiful gowns from Paris, and shoes, and little matching hats…” She caught Buck’s doubtful expression and the smile turned into a laugh.  “I know,” she grinned, “girl stuff.”  She put up a hand to ward off his rebuttal.  “But like I said, Boston almost doesn’t seem real.  It’s like, this is what real life is like.  Should be like.  You know?  And besides,” Claire let her eyes drop to the ground, shocked at what she was about to say, “Sweetwater has a lot to offer, too.” 

Buck swallowed.  Maybe he was wrong about that stare.  “More and more all the time,” he agreed softly. 

Claire raised her eyes to meet his, blushing again.  Beside them, Warrior neighed demandingly, but this time the horse was ignored.  Buck leaned forward, reaching out a hand to wrap around her waist… and the door behind them suddenly crashed upon, disgorging a giggling girl and her suitor, off to places unknown.  Buck pulled back hurriedly, while Claire instantly found that her sleeves needed adjusting. 

When their eyes met again, both were grinning a little foolishly.

“Uh… I guess I’d better get you back inside.  Your folks are probably wondering where you got off to.”

“I doubt that,” Claire muttered to herself, low enough that Buck couldn’t hear her.  “I suppose so,” she said aloud, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening talking with him. 

“After you,” he said gallantly, sweeping his arm before her.  With a smile and a curtsy, much better than the one she’d offered Cody earlier that evening, Claire swept ahead of him.  She had made it to the lamp on the stairs when the echoing footsteps behind her stopped, and she turned, a quizzical expression on her face. 

Buck stood a few feet away, mouth open, staring at her with a look of astonishment on his face.  Claire frowned. “Aren’t you coming?”  No response.  “Buck?”  She took a step forward out of the light, just as Buck shook his head, as though just awakening.  Moving closer, she put a hand on his arm lightly.  “Buck, are you all right?” she said urgently.

Buck nodded his head slowly, his hand coming up to touch her long auburn hair, now pinned in elaborate curls.  His voice trembled slightly.  “A plains sunset, on the days before summer feasting,” he said softly.  He shook his head again, trying to rid the vision from his mind.  Her vision, her beauty, caught under the lamplight.  She tried to dim that light, but it was there.  Later, he would pray to the sunset, to try to figure out what it meant.  For now, it simply overwhelmed him. 

Claire flushed for the umpteenth time that evening, as Buck took her arm and led her back inside to the dance. 

“Ow!”

Claire raised her hand to her mouth to hide her giggle, as Buck stepped back lightly from the latest incursion that her feet had made onto his.

“I’m sorry,” she said for the sixth or seventh time to him that evening, the giggle escaping even as she apologized.  “I told you, I just can’t dance.”

Buck grimaced elaborately before grinning back.  “That’s all right,” he said amiably, “I don’t think I need those toes anyhow.”

Claire let the giggle become a full-fledged laugh as Buck twirled her again around the dance floor.  It was her fifth dance with this particular rider. She’d also danced several times with Cody, twice with Ike, and once with Jimmy.  One dance was all Jimmy could handle.  If she recalled correctly, she’d stepped on his toes six times.  Of course, Buck had been watching her intently the whole time, breaking her concentration. 

This dance, her fifth with Buck, was also the last dance of the evening.  Far from her earlier thoughts, when she’d just wanted to escape from it, now… 

“I don’t want this evening to end,” she murmured, then gulped.  She riveted her attention on Buck’s throat as she stiffened slightly in his arms.  Had she said that out loud?  She couldn’t believe herself this evening!  Buck felt the slight tension and smiled down at her. 

“I’m glad you’re having a nice time,” he answered.  “I am too.”  Feeling the tension ease off slightly, he cleared his throat and continued.  “There’s a big Founders Day picnic tomorrow.  Races, and games, stuff like that.”

“Yes?”  Claire raised her eyes to his expectantly. 

Buck cleared his throat again.  “I… uh… I was wondering if you were gonna be there.    You and your family, of course,” he added hastily. 

She smiled shyly.  “Yes.  We’ll be there.  Mother has an entry for the Best Pie contest.”

“Great!” Buck enthused.  Then his face contorted.  “I mean, great that you’ll all be there, not great that she made a pie.  Though I’m sure the pie is… great.”  He screwed up his face comically, and Claire laughed. 

“Maybe I’ll see you there?” Buck added with a curious look, making it a question.

Claire rested her head against his shoulder briefly before looking up at him, eyes shining.  “I’d like that.” 

Across the room, Lou nudged Cody.  “I guess you fixed it,” she said approvingly. 

Cody puffed out his chest.  “Did you have any doubts?”  He wisely ignored the look that passed between Lou, Ike, and Jimmy. 

Fifteen minutes later, in the back of the wagon, Abigail was regaling her parents with the list of accomplishments of her many dance partners, while Claire sat with her eyes closed, easily able to tune her sister out after years of practice.  She wanted to replay this evening over in her mind, to remember every nuance.  Every motion of Buck’s head, every expression, every movement, flitted through her mind endlessly.   Every word he’d said and the way he’d said them filled her senses.  She clutched her arms against her knees, head bent, and pretended tiredness, letting a joyous smile spread across the features that no one could see.

“You seemed to be spending a lot o’ time with them express riders,” she heard her father say unexpectedly. 

Claire’s head snapped up.  “Yes, I danced with some of them,” she replied non-commitally, while Abigail pouted at being interrupted.   “They’re nice boys, daddy.”

“There’s a lot of other boys that you should’ve been paying attention to,” her father answered gruffly.  “That Marcus Sewell, for one—“

“I’m not interested in Marcus Sewell,” Claire interrupted. 

“You mind your manners, missy,” her father warned, turning to glare at her for the interruption.  In the pause, Claire turned her face back to her lap.  It didn’t matter what her father said, she vowed mentally.  She was NOT going to encourage Marcus Sewell.   Not anymore.  Not now. 

“That one young man was certainly very polite,” Marjorie McKinstry put in meekly to fill the silence.  “You remember him, Daniel?” she asked her husband, who merely grunted.  Marjorie took the sound as assent, and continued.  “He came over and introduced himself.  He had the nicest manners.  Said his name was William F. Cody.”  She turned in the seat to face her youngest daughter.  “Is he the one you’re sweetest on, Claire?”

Claire groaned, running possible answers through her head quickly.  Daniel McKinstry’s prejudices were as honed as Abigail’s, and she knew that if she told them the truth now – that she couldn’t get Buck Cross out of her mind – any potential relationship they could have would be over before it could begin.  Her father would see to that. 

Could there be any harm in letting them think that she favoured Billy?  Maybe not, but she couldn’t do it.  Not because of her parents, but because of Buck.  Would he think she was ashamed of him?  Would he think she shared her parents’ bigotry? 

Finally she shrugged, and settled on a white lie.  “I like them all the same, Mama.”  She forced herself to smile brightly.  “But I saw a real handsome young man that was spending a lot of time with Abigail.”  Turning to her sister she continued, “You know the one, Abby?  He was wearing a proper blue jacket with gold buttons.”

“Oh, that was Carl Jamieson,” her sister enthused.  “His family owns a horse ranch close to Rock Creek, and his uncle is chairman of…” 

Claire tuned the rest of the story out, as Abigail happily re-took the floor.  Resting her head again on her knees, she closed her eyes, and dreamed of Buck. 
 
 

Chapter Three
 

Tompkins had already begun his speech and race contestants were beginning to mill around their horses as the McKinstrys buggy pulled up to the livery stable.  Excited, Abigail and Claire picked up their skirts and rushed headlong out of the back of the wagon, anxious to join the assembled crowd.  Distantly, both heard their mother shout something about “behaving like ladies”; then they were gone. 

“This way,” Abigail remarked over her shoulder, working her way slowly towards the podium.  Claire grabbed her by the back of the skirt before she could get too far, ignoring the squirm of protest and indignant look from her sister. 

“Um, I think I’m going to wander around for a bit,” she explained somewhat hesitantly. 

Abigail’s eyes narrowed.  “Whatever you want.  I’m getting a good place right up front.”

Acknowledging the statement with a nod, Claire made her way along the edges of the crowd, trying to appear casual.  Where WAS he?  He had to be here… he’d mentioned the race specifically.  The race!  Of course.  She almost laughed aloud at her stupidity.  Buck was a rider after all; he was bound to be entered in the race.  She spun towards the lines of entrants, noting Kid, Cody, and various other express riders mixed in with the other contestants.  No Buck.  Frowning, she picked up her pace at the edge of the crowd, getting a little jostled as other eager townspeople jockeyed for a good position.  Claire unconsciously chewed at her lip as she walked, getting more and more upset.  Where WAS he?

“Sure you’re not gonna change your mind, Buck?”    Lou shuffled a little, adjusting her hat and gloves.  “There’s still a few minutes before race time.  You could probably still put your name in.”

Buck’s eyes flicked in her direction, then away, back to scanning the crowd.  “I told you ‘No’, Lou.”

Lou sighed.   “It’s been a whole year.  You can’t let what happened with Kathleen—“

This time Buck turned to face her, mouth set in a grim line, eyes flashing.  Lou gulped.  What that name still did to him.  “No,” he repeated firmly.

“All right, all right, no need to tell me twice.  Or seven times,” she said jokingly, trying to relieve the tension that now hung in the air since she’d said the dreaded ‘K’ word.  To her satisfaction, she saw that Buck’s mouth did turn upwards in a smile that he tried to hide, before he returned to scrutinizing the throng of townspeople.  Lou couldn’t help but notice.  And she couldn’t help but tease.

“Of course,” she said casually, “you’ll probably have more… interesting… things to do than race.  Once Claire gets here, of course.”

Buck’s eyes flicked back to hers momentarily.  “We’re just friends, Lou,” he insisted.  “I told you that last night.”

“Uh huh,” Lou agreed, patting him on the shoulder.  “That’s nice, Buck.”  He was about to protest more when she added indifferently, “Oh by the way, your ‘friend’ is here,” and gestured over his shoulder, then laughed as Buck’s head snapped up and a smile lit his face. 

Sheepishly scowling over his shoulder at Lou’s laugh, he raised his voice. 

“Claire!”

She spun towards the sound, eyes sparkling and an instant smile replacing the worried frown of a moment before.   Waving, she gathered her skirt and practically ran to his side, dodging amongst the gathered people with a grace she didn’t exhibit on the dance floor. 

Arriving breathless, she was struck speechless again.  What do you say to someone you just ran an obstacle course to be with?  Stammering, she said lamely, “You… you wore your hair down.”  She realized she was grinning foolishly, heart thumping wildly, and that she’d quite possibly just made the MOST idiotic statement she could make under the circumstances.  What was happening to her?  She was supremely confident with everyone else; could handle Abigail with ease; could banter with the best of men.  So why did she turn into a basket case around this particular man?  She had a fleeting wish that Warrior was nearby; if she couldn’t talk to the man, she’d already proven she could talk to the horse! 

Buck lifted a long lock of hair and pretended to study it intently.  “Yeah,” he agreed with a perplexed grin. 

“Um… yeah,” she said.  “I… I like it down.  That’s all.”  Correction, she thought dumbly, we have a new contender for ‘Most Idiotic Statement’.   Looking around desperately, trying to find something to change the subject, she noticed Lou for the first time. 

“Lou!” she greeted the girl warmly.  “I didn’t see you there.”  Claire missed the ‘I’m not surprised’ that Lou muttered under her breath.  She glanced back over her shoulder to the riders.  “You two aren’t entering the race?”

“Buck’s decided to sit it out this year,” Lou explained, the knowing glance she gave to Buck going unnoticed by Claire.  “But I’ve gotta get going or I’ll miss the start.”  Tompkins was already winding up his speech.   She took a few steps away before turning back to the pair, a thoughtful expression on her face.  “Oh, and Buck,” she added, leaning forward and pitching her voice so that only he could hear.  “You and Claire -- you’re ‘just friends’, right?”  Laughing, she darted away before Buck could do more than smile and look flustered. 

“What was that all about?” 

Buck shrugged.  “Nothin’,” he answered, leaning forward to grab hold of a lock of her long auburn hair.  “You wore your hair down too,” he said, mischievous grin lighting up his features. 

Claire blushed.  If he only knew how long she’d fussed over her appearance that morning!  She’d tried on and rejected three skirts and four blouses, finally settling on a pale yellow skirt with full-sleeved white blouse and matching yellow vest.  Her hair hung long and straight almost to her waist, head topped with a summer bonnet trimmed with small daisies. 

Buck noticed the blush and his grin became even more pronounced.  “I like it down,” he repeated her own words back to her.  “That’s all.” 

Claire ducked her head, smile matching his.  “I’m glad,” she said quietly.  Meeting his eyes again, she reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a fifty-cent piece.   “But if you’re not racing,” she continued, waggling it in front of him, “who am I going to place this on?”

Surprised, Buck asked, “You’re gambling?”

Claire shrugged.  “Why not?  After all, I’ve got an expert rider here to advise me.  So… who’s going to win this thing?”

Buck studied the entrants, various local men and boys as well as the pony express riders, who listened to Thompkins speech with varying levels of boredom on their faces.   He weighed their strengths and weaknesses, and came back with his answer almost immediately. 

“Ike.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

“Yup,” Buck agreed.  “The pony express riders have the most experience, so I’m eliminating all the townsmen.  Cody and Jimmy are fast, but too impulsive.  They’ll get knocked out early.  Kid’s not competitive enough; there’s not much on the line, so he’ll hold back.  Lou’s fast but she’s also small; it gets pretty physical out there. “  Belatedly, he realized he’d used the feminine pronoun to describe Lou.  He glanced guiltily at Claire.  Thankfully, she appeared not to have noticed.  “So…” he continued, “it’s gotta be Ike.”

Claire looked impressed.  “Ike it is,” she nodded, stepping towards the betting booth behind him.  She took one glance at the posted odds before returning to Buck’s side, skeptical expression on her face.  “You’re sure it’s Ike?” she repeated incredulously. 

He shrugged.  “I think he has the edge.”  He frowned.  “Why?”

“Because Waterman has him at 20 to 1!” Claire announced, pointing at the board.  Buck shrugged again.  “It’s your money,” he smirked.   “And time’s running out,” he added, pointing to the podium, where Tompkins was holding up the shiny twenty-dollar gold piece that was to be the prize again this year, courtesy of Jack Devlin. 

Claire yelped and made it to the betting booth in record time.  Swallowing nervously, she put down fifty cents on Ike McSwain.  It was the last of her personal funds saved from Boston.  She sighed to herself, resigned to the fact that the money was now gone.  Oh well, she mused.  It’s not like I have anything to spend it on anyway.  She refused to think of the new stock of ribbon that Tompkins had just got in.   She had plenty of ribbon. 

Twenty minutes later, 5 riders and a woman who was now ten dollars richer surrounded a joyful Ike McSwain, who held his loving cup aloft as a triumphant smile lit his features. 

“I knew you could do it, buddy!” Buck was saying, clapping his friend enthusiastically on the shoulder.   Jimmy smiled ruefully and added, “If it could’na been me, I’m glad it was you, Ike,” while Cody chimed in, “What’re ya gonna spend the money on?”

Claire stepped through the mass of boys to reach up and plant a kiss on Ike’s cheek, then smiled as he blushed and ducked his head.  “Congratulations, Ike,” she whispered.

The sound of a self-conscious cough drew their attention away from Ike, however, as seven pairs of eyes refocused with varying levels of displeasure on a newcomer.  Claire was acutely aware of the riders instinctively moving into a protective formation at her sides and back, and was absurdly gratified by it. 

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Marcus Sewell said, managing to sound offended and insincere at the same time.   He drew off his bowler, glancing disdainfully at the riders before directing his comments to Claire alone.  “Your parents and sister have done my family the great honour of choosing to sup with us now that the revelries are over,” he said stiffly.  “It would be to my utmost gratification to escort you to your place at our repast, if you would join us.” 

Claire suppressed a groan while trying not to look at Buck.  Why Marcus?  Why NOW?  She cast her mind desperately about, trying to figure out a graceful way to avoid the invitation that would neither insult the Sewells nor earn her father’s wrath.   She vaguely heard Jimmy moan aloud.

“What’d he say?” Jimmy demanded, frowning.  At the look on his face, Claire would have been almost tempted to laugh, if she wasn’t already about to cry.  He looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. 

“He just asked Claire to have supper with him,” Buck explained blankly. 

She wouldn’t look at his face.  She wouldn’t.

“Well why didn’t he just SAY that?” Jimmy complained as Cody swept forward. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said to Jimmy, not taking his eyes from Sewell.  “He’s too late.”

“Excuse me?” Sewell looked shocked.

Cody grinned jubilantly.  “I said you’re too late, Marcus.  Claire has already agreed to stay for our picnic.  And a lady wouldn’t break her word.  Isn’t that right, Claire?”

Claire managed to shake her head.  She spared a quick glance at Buck, who was staring at Cody with a stunned expression that probably equaled her own. 

Marcus looked from her face to each of the riders, who’d by now recovered enough to back Cody’s statement by look if not vocally.   “I see,” he said finally, energetically slapping his hat back on his head.  “I shall inform your parents that you choose to dine with a gang of ruffians instead of one of the leading agricultural families in this community,” he said curtly.  “Good day!”

He had taken several long angry strides before he was halted by Claire’s clear voice. 

“I’m not certain that Ms Dunne and Marshal Hunter would appreciate being called ruffians, Marcus,” she called out.  “You may want to rethink your wording.”  Marcus’ back stiffened slightly before he continued on his way.  Claire spun to the riders, smiling with delight.

“Well, I guess you’re having supper with us tonight,” Cody announced. 

“I guess I am,” Claire agreed, “as long as you’re sure Rachel and the Marshal won’t mind.”

“They won’t mind,” Buck put in with a confident smile.  His look said that they’d better not mind.  She shared the smile as her arm was locked in Cody’s and she was propelled forward to the picnic table, the other riders straggling behind, admiring the loving cup and talking animatedly to Ike.  Claire squeezed Cody’s arm affectionately.  “That’s twice in 24 hours you’ve rescued me from Marcus Sewell,” she said quietly.  “Are you trying to set a record?”

Cody grinned back. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll be having much trouble from Marcus anymore,” he laughed.  She had to agree.  “Besides, I’m starting to think of myself as a matchmaker,” he whispered conspiratorially. 

Claire found herself coloring.  “Now Cody…” she chided.

“Now, if I’d left it to you two,” he rolled his eyes back at Buck, “I’d a never had the chance to ‘dance’ with you.  You do call that thing you do ‘dancing’, right?” 

Claire laughed and punched his arm, pulling away.  “Maybe I’ll go eat with Marcus after all,” she retorted haughtily.   Buck was at her side instantly, scowling at Cody.  “What are you doing to her?” he said darkly. 

Cody held up his hands in surrender and sketched a mock bow to the lady in question.  “We’re just jokin’ around, Buck.”

“Yes, I’m just kidding,” Claire agreed, turning to Buck with a radiant smile.  She watched as the tension slowly eased out of his body under her attentive gaze, the anxiety and anger fading from his eyes until only warmth and affection were left.  She shivered, even as a corresponding warmth spread through her own body.   She was dimly aware that Cody had moved away, but found herself unable to tear her gaze from the deep brown eyes that had captured her own.  Buck’s hand came up absently to stroke a long lock of auburn hair. 

“Besides,” she finally whispered, “I wouldn’t miss this evening for anything.” 

An hour and a half later, Claire found herself wondering how she had ever lived her life without knowing these people.

Teaspoon Hunter and Rachel Dunne immediately made her feel at home, as did the riders, regaling her with tales of their exploits that they insisted were only slightly embellished.  She didn’t remember laughing so much since she was a child. 

Buck sat across from her, listening and watching intently.  He laughed at the stories, and told a few tales of his own, but mostly he just sat and drank in the sound of her laughter.  Invariably, her gaze would be drawn from the storyteller to meet his, their eyes telling their own story.

“—And by the time we found him, he was covered in yellow and black mud and the ‘coon had made off with half his clothes!” Cody finished, laughing uproariously and slapping his leg. 

Jimmy squirmed in his chair.  “Aw, it wasn’t funny,” he protested feebly. 

“If you only could have seen you, Jimmy,” Kid snorted, as Ike gestured rapidly.  “Ike says you looked like a giant bumblebee,” Buck interpreted, joining in the laughter. 

“Thanks Ike,” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes at the description in a way that sent Claire and Lou into renewed fits of giggles.  “Well, it wasn’t funny at the time,” he continued, until he was forced to chuckle at his own past misfortune. 

“Comin’ through,” Teaspoon announced, leaning across the boys to position the dessert in the centre of the table. 

Cody’s attention was immediately diverted.  “Mmmm… pie,” he declared, eyeing the desserts with relish. 

Rachel was astonished.  “How can you even think about pie after today?” she asked incredulously. 

Cody paused in cutting his slice to ponder the question.  “Aw Rachel, that doesn’t count.”

“What happened today?” Claire questioned, confused. 

“Before you got here, there was a pie eating contest,” Buck explained with a grin.  “Cody was one of the entrants.”

Claire raised an eyebrow.  “How much pie did you eat, Billy?” she asked the blonde rider.

Cody shrugged, dropping an ample piece onto his plate.  “Dunno, about ten or twelve, I reckon.”

“Slices?” 

“Pies,” Cody clarified, as Claire’s eyes widened in horror.  “I’m a growing boy,” he continued.  “Woulda won too, if I hadn’t a had that sarsaparilla before the start.”

Claire decided not to ask any more questions. 

Standing next to Buck, Rachel handed plates around the table before finally taking a place next to the Kiowa rider.  She brushed absently at an errant blonde curl that had escaped the confines of its braid.

“You look tuckered out, Rachel,” Kid observed, coming to a decision.  “When we get home tonight, you just go right to bed.  Me and the boys’ll take care of the cleanup and such.”  The statement was met with moans from Jimmy and Cody, quickly stifled at a glare from Kid. 

“That’s a lot of work, Kid,” Rachel was protesting.  “I can’t let you—“

“Of course you can,” Lou interrupted, as Buck and Ike added their agreement.

Finally, Rachel held up her hands in surrender, trying to quiet the tumult of voices around the table.  “All right, all right… you’ve convinced me,” she laughed.  “We do have all that sewing to get done tomorrow,” she added to Lou.  “I could use a good nights sleep.”

Claire paused with a forkful of cherry pie halfway to her mouth.  “Oh, what kind of sewing are you doing tomorrow?” she asked brightly.  “I love to sew.  Maybe the three of us could start a project, if you have the time.  Abigail doesn’t have the slightest interest, and a big project really needs a couple of women.”  She looked animatedly to Rachel, then to Lou, both of whom were staring at her like she’d grown a second head.  Abruptly she realized that the entire table had gone completely silent, and that all eyes were gawking at her.  All except Buck, who apparently found his own pie to be inordinately stimulating.   She shifted in her chair, acutely uncomfortable, until finally she blurted, “Did I say something wrong?”  She glanced desperately to Buck, who was now enduring the full extent of Lou’s furious glare. 

“What did you tell her, Buck?” Lou gritted between clenched teeth, accentuating every syllable.

Buck looked up shamefacedly from his plate, throat convulsing rapidly.  With a start, Claire realized that Buck was nervous.  Very nervous.  “Now don’t get all upset, Lou…” he began.

Lou stood slowly.  “What did you TELL her?” she repeated ominously. 

“It was during the race,” Buck said quickly.  Best to get this over with as soon as possible.  “I called you… a ‘she’.  I didn’t think Claire caught it—“

“DAMNIT Buck!” Lou swore, jumping up from her place at the table.  “I could LOSE my job!  What were you thinking?”

“Lou, I’m sor—“

“It’s partially my fault, I shouldn’t have—“

“I’m sure we can trust Claire to—“

“C’mere Lou—“ 

“Oh wait, you weren’t thinking, were you?  One look at Claire and your mind is in your—“

“LOU!!” 

Rachel’s shocked outburst quieted the riders as suddenly as they started.  Lou stared venom at Buck, who met the gaze helplessly.  In the sudden silence, Claire asked meekly, “I still don’t know what the problem is…?”

All eyes turned to Lou, who stood silently with arms crossed.  Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze from Buck’s, turning that fierce stare to the ground.

“Nobody can know that Lou is a girl,” Buck explained to Claire quietly.  “The pony express only hires men.  We all agreed to keep her secret,” he gestured to the others at the table, “and I accidentally let it out when we were talking.”  He glanced at Lou apologetically.  “I take full responsibility for that,” he continued.  Lou’s expression softened slightly as he turned back to Claire, taking her hands in his own.  “I ask that you please keep the secret with us,” he finished earnestly.

Claire was confused.  “I’m not… sure I understand,” she began slowly. ”The problem is that no-one can know that Lou is a girl.  But I KNOW that Lou is a girl—“

“Exactly!” Lou burst out.  Then just as abruptly the remaining anger seemed to fade a little more, and she joined the pair. 

“I’m sorry Lou,” Buck apologized again. 

Lou again shook her head, still agitated.  She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.  “I know it wasn’t intentional, Buck.  I’m sorry, too,” Lou squeezed his arm quickly before turning to Claire, eyes desperate. “Please Claire, you can’t tell.  I do my job just as good as the boys…”

“Sometimes better,” Jimmy chimed in.

“And I need this job.  You don’t understand—“

Claire took Lou’s hand to quell the flood of words before they could completely begin.  She smiled warmly.  “No, YOU don’t understand Lou.”  Her gaze took in all the riders.  “None of you do.   None of you understand how lucky it is this happened today!”  At their blank looks, she had to laugh.  “Don’t you see?  I already KNEW Lou is a girl”

Lou’s eyes widened as the riders exchanged incredulous looks.  “You knew?” Lou finally gulped out.  “How?”

Claire shrugged, still laughing.  “I’m not sure how.  I just knew.  But I didn’t know that it was supposed to be a secret!”  She let go of Lou’s hand and grasped Buck’s tightly.  “Buck did you a favour today, Lou!  If this hadn’t come up, I might’ve been talking about you all over town!  Don’t worry, your secret is safe.”

Lou squinted up at Buck.  “I guess he did, then,” she agreed, before pulling back to punch the rider squarely in the upper arm.  Buck drew back with a grimace, laughing even as he rubbed at the sore spot. “But he’s gotta learn to keep his big mouth shut around the pretty ladies,” she added ruefully. 

Eyes sparkling, Buck smiled softly.  “I just can’t help myself.”

Suddenly aware that not only did she still have a firm grip on Buck’s hand, but also that the other riders as well as Rachel and Teaspoon were looking at the pair with undisguised amusement, Claire blushed and bit at her lower lip slightly.  She turned back to the table determined to change the subject. 

“Sewing!” she announced.  “What kind of sewing are you doing tomorrow?”

Amid chuckles from the riders, Rachel answered, “We’re redoing all the downstairs curtains in the house.  It’ll be a big job.” 

Helping to clear the dishes, Claire replied, “I’d love to come out and give you a hand.”

Rachel frowned.  “Oh no, we couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask,” Claire pointed out.  “Really, I do love sewing.  And I have nothing planned for tomorrow.”  Rachel looked to be weakening.   “It would be my way of thanking you for letting me spend the day with you,” she continued cheerfully.  “With all of you,” she added, glancing at Buck, who had moved to her side, packing dirty dishes into baskets for the trip home. 

“Well… all right,” Rachel conceded happily.  “Why don’t you come out to the way station tomorrow morning?  We’ll get everything done during the day, and you can stay for supper.  I’m sure one of the boys will be glad to see you back into town after dark,” she finished with a sly smile and a wink at Buck.

“Tha… that would be fine, Rachel,” Claire stammered. 

“Speaking of getting back home,” Teaspoon drawled, “I think that pretty little thing is calling you ‘way from us.”  Claire looked over her shoulder to see Abigail waiting impatiently at the next set of tables, arms folded across her chest and a pained expression on her face.  Claire held up her hand, signaling her sister to wait a moment, before turning back to the riders. 

“My sister Abigail,” she explained loudly, before pitching her voice for Buck’s ears only.  “I guess that means I have to go,” she said wistfully. 

“I wish you didn’t,” he answered soberly. 

“Me too,” she replied, lower lip again the victim of her nervousness.  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Buck grinned, reaching up to pull at her long hair.  “Only if you wear your hair down,” he teased, wanting to see the blush make its way to her cheeks once again.  He wasn’t disappointed, but he was surprised when Claire reached her own hand up to tug at his long dark hair. 

“Long as you make the same promise,” she retorted, darting away with a mischievous grin before he could capture her hand.  Shouting her farewells and thanks to the riders and their keepers, she turned toward to her sister, heart singing with the thought of spending an entire day at the way station. With Buck. 

Her forward motion was halted abruptly at the sight of her parents at Abigail’s side. Claire swallowed nervously, smile fading immediately. 

“We been waiting on you for twenty minutes, girl!” her father grumbled loudly, hitching his thumbs into his belt, all the better to display his ample stomach.  Beside him, his tiny wife Marjorie, looking wan and haggard next to the big man, rung her hands uneasily. 

Claire barely had the chance to murmur her apologies before Teaspoon had swept forward majestically, his battered hat in hand and a welcoming smile on his face.

“Mr. and Mrs. McKinstry,” he greeted warmly.  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since you first came to Sweetwater.  Always a pleasure.”  Taking Marjorie’s hand, he raised it to his lips for an elaborate kiss, smirking enjoyably. 

“Oh, Marshal Hunter!”  Marjorie blushed, which only caused Teaspoon’s smirk to widen.  Smiling and flushed, the resemblance between Marjorie and her youngest daughter was visibly apparent.  Marjorie McKinstry, Teaspoon reflected, must have been a fine looking woman in her day.

Daniel McKinstry cleared his throat, but before he could do more than open his mouth, Teaspoon stepped forward again. 

“I apologize if we’ve kept your Claire too long,” he drawled. “Me and the boys’ve jus’ been enjoyin’ her comp’ny.”

Marjorie’s ears perked up at the mention of ‘the boys’, eyes lighting immediately on the unsuspecting Cody.  She rushed forward to grasp the arm of the polite young man from the dance – the one who would be just perfect for her Claire.

“Mr. Cody!”  She turned back to her husband.  “Look Daniel, it’s that nice Mr. Cody!” 

The rider in question shifted uncomfortably, a pained smile on his face.  Daniel ignored his wife completely, directing his comments to the Marshal.  “I hope she ain’t been too much trouble.”  He scowled at Claire, who stood silent and pale at his side. 

Rachel frowned. She’d met parents who were protective of their daughters – even overprotective – but this man took the cake.  Poor Claire looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wondered briefly what the sisters’ home life was like before stepping forward to join Teaspoon. 

“She’s been an absolute pleasure,” Rachel assured the man, trying hard to keep the disapproval from her voice.  “In fact, we’ve decided to get together tomorrow for a sewing project, if that’s all right.” 

Marjorie squealed, startling Cody.  “Sewing!  Oh, my Claire is a wonderful seamstress.”  She looked up at Cody shrewdly, eyes bright.  “The beautiful clothes she makes!”  Abruptly, she realized that she might be setting the wrong impression. “Not that we need to make clothes, you understand,” she backtracked slightly.  “But Claire enjoys it so!  And cook!  She can make meals that would put some meat on your bones!” 

Cody forced a smile. “I’m sure she would, ma’am.” 

“My Abigail doesn’t enjoy it nearly so much,” Marjorie continued, paying him no mind.  “Of course, Abby IS blessed with the good looks in the family.”

“I find other things to interest me,” Abigail put in with a pointed look at Kid.  The rider squirmed uncomfortably under Abigail’s predatory gaze. 

“So Abby doesn’t need to have skills in such things,” Marjorie went on, oblivious to the incredulous stares of the company.  “But Claire – oh, I’ve made sure she can take care of a man.  She can’t rely on her looks to get her by, like Abby can.”  Marjorie paused for breath.

Claire trembled at her father’s side, mortified.  She wanted to look up at Buck, but didn’t dare. What must he think of her now… of her family?  She wished she’d never met the rider, wished she’d never moved to Sweetwater.  She could feel her eyes filling up with tears that she was determined she would not shed.   She struggled to keep her breathing controlled, prayed that her mother would just STOP TALKING so she could flee… The litany kept going through her mind… stop talking stop talking stop talking…

Buck fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, despite how appalled he was by what he was hearing.   He trembled with suppressed rage, wanting nothing more than to wipe the disdainful scowl from McKinstry’s face and quiet his wife’s thoughtless tongue.  With each moment that passed, Claire drew deeper into herself, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast.  Hiding away from the voices.  Deeper into the darkness, hiding away her light. 

When the Kiowa rider finally spoke, his voice was deep and emotional. 

“I believe that a person’s true worth cannot be judged by the surface, where all is clouded by vanity and insecurity and self-doubt,” he announced quietly.  “A person’s true worth is in her strength of spirit… the essence of character that transcends appearance.  Claire is that rare person who was blessed by the gods with both inner and outer beauty.” 

Claire’s head snapped up to meet Buck’s, eyes wide and grateful.  Rachel noticed the riders exchanging appreciative glances, and felt her own chest puff up with pride in her boy.  In ALL her boys, who shuffled inconspicuously forward to stand supportively with Buck. 

“Ye--- Yes,” Marjorie stammered, confused. 

Daniel glared at the impertinent Indian.  He carefully let fly a wad of chewing tobacco before growling, “I don’t much care what no half-breed believes.”

Buck’s chin came up defiantly as Claire turned stricken eyes to her father.  Before she could beg him to leave, Teaspoon stepped forward.  “Ain’t no need for that kind of talk,” he said, the warning self-evident.

Suddenly, McKinstry seemed to realize that he was the focus of much barely restrained hostility – and that he was outnumbered.  With a final scowl at the Kiowa rider, he quickly gathered his wife and children and hustled them away.  Pulled along by her father, Claire waited until Daniel was busy berating his wife for some imagined slight before turning to steal a glance back at the riders. Most had turned back to the table, some shaking their heads in obvious disgust.  Kid and Lou looked to be in some kind of deep discussion – about Abigail, no doubt.  Buck still stood quietly at the fringe of the group, watching her.  She hoped he could see the gratitude and admiration in her eyes. 

Buck kept his position, a thoughtful expression on his face, until she was lost in the crowd milling around the now-open saloon.      Unobserved behind him, Teaspoon and Rachel exchanged knowing glances. 

“The boy is bit,” Teaspoon observed quietly. 

Rachel nodded without taking her eyes from Buck’s back.  Her thoughts turned unbidden to Kathleen Devlin.  Though Rachel hadn’t been with the way station at the time, she’d heard enough of the story from the others.  She sighed.   “Let’s just hope the girl doesn’t bite back.”
 

Chapter Four
 

“That’s the fourth set done.”

Rachel put the hemmed curtains on the table and stretched, easing the kinks out of her back slowly.  Beside her, Lou looked over her glasses and smiled.  “Not so fast,” she admonished, “me an’ Claire are still working here.”

Rachel reached forward to finger the soft material still bundled in Lou’s lap.  “These are going to look so beautiful in the spare room.”

“Yeah, if we ever get ‘em finished!” Lou agreed.  She completed the final stitches with a flourish and put her half of the lacey curtains next to Rachel’s, then flexed her fingers to relax the muscles.  “How you comin’ on the gingham, Claire?”

At her place opposite the two women, Claire’s fingers worked industriously, turning up a half-inch hem and adding the stitches flawlessly.  She glanced at the work occasionally, but mostly her mind and her eyes were elsewhere.  Her chair by the window afforded the most light for the invisible stitching she was working on.  The sun was shining brightly, and she’d sat in this place for the better part of four hours, feeling the warmth on her face and enjoying the way the sunshine turned the flatlands into fields of gold. 

“The gingham, Claire?”  Lou asked again.

An hour before, an additional diversion had made its way to her line of vision.  Ike had led Warrior out to the corral.  A few minutes later, Buck had joined him.  She’d spent most of that hour watching as the two men shod and groomed the majestic animal.  When Buck laughed with Ike, she had smiled.  When Buck frowned over a difficulty with Warrior’s hoof, a corresponding frown- line had creased her forehead.  The casual chatter she’d kept up with Rachel and Lou had slowly diminished, then ceased altogether.  While her hands kept up their busy-work, her mind was in that sun-drenched corral.  And she didn’t even realize it. 

Lou and Rachel rose quietly from the sofa, exchanging knowing glances. 

“I’d say we’re about ready for a break, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm?”  Claire glanced up from the window with a start, to find the other women had already finished their work and were watching her with undisguised amusement.   She forced her eyes back to her sewing, at a loss as to what Rachel had said. “Almost done,” she said brightly.  Too brightly. 

Rachel reached over and took the almost-finished curtains from her hands, smiling indulgently.  “Lou and I were just saying that we should take a break,” she repeated. 

“We’ve still got another pair to go,” Claire protested though her heart wasn’t in it. 

 “We’ve got all day to finish them up.  We can afford a small break.  Besides,” Rachel smiled, “I’ve got a fresh pitcher of lemonade here.  And I think those two boys could use a nice cold drink, don’t you?”

Claire successfully fought the blush that threatened to surface once again.  She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice.  Taking the proffered glasses without a word, she pushed open the door and headed across the front yard to the stables.

Buck was bent over the horse’s saddle making a final adjustment to the straps he’d just modified when Ike tapped him lightly on the side.  “Just a minute Ike,” he grunted.  Ike tapped more insistently.  “I said just a min—“ Buck stopped in mid-sentence as his eyes followed Ike’s outstretched hand to Claire, then back to the twinkling eyes of his best friend.  Ike’s hands moved expressively. 

“You’re right,” Buck agreed, “it is worth stopping for.”

“Rachel thought you might like a cold drink,” Claire said in greeting, holding out the glasses to the men who accepted them with thanks.   Smiling shyly, she watched as the men downed their beverages quickly.   The three stood for a moment in an awkward silence before Ike’s hands began their dance again.

“Ike wants to know how the sewing’s coming,” Buck translated. 

Claire turned her smile on Ike.  “Just wonderfully Ike!” she said cheerfully.  “We’ve got four pairs down. Well, almost four pairs,” she corrected herself.  “There’s a lovely set of lace ones for one of the bedrooms – I’m not sure which one – and the gingham are for the kitchen.  We’ve still got one set to do, but they won’t take long. It’s all coming along nicely.” 

Ike was giving her a strange smile, and Claire abruptly shut her mouth to stop the rambling.  Again, she inwardly cursed her nervousness. 

“That’s… nice,” Buck was saying doubtfully.

“Yeah,” she murmured, chewing at her lip and staring at the ground.  Taking a deep breath, she determined to salvage the conversation in the already-proven-to-work fashion – Warrior.  “I saw that you were changing his shoe,” she said, rubbing her hand along the horse’s flank affectionately. 

Buck nodded.  “I was just about to take him out, make sure he’s walking okay,” the Kiowa said, ignoring Ike’s incredulous look which clearly said that he’d not been planning any such thing. In fact, Buck’s next order of business had been cleaning out the horse stalls – his and Ike’s chore for the day, which would now fall to Ike alone.   “You can come along, if you like,” he added hopefully. 

Claire glanced back at the house, where Lou and Rachel had taken up residence on the porch swing, chatting animatedly to Teaspoon.  She hesitated.  “Oh… I don’t know… I’m supposed to finish up the curtains…” Beside her, Ike was gesturing. 

“Ike says he’ll tell Rachel you’re just taking a walk with me,” Buck interpreted.  “We won’t be gone long,” he added himself. 

Claire smiled.  “All right.  Thanks Ike.” 

They had strolled for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Claire finally broke the silence. 

“I want to apologize,” she said haltingly. 

Buck looked at the girl next to him, who walked along with her head down and her eyes on the grass.  “Why?” he asked quizzically. 

“For my dad… and my mom,” Claire responded.  “My parents.  The things my father said.  My mother.”  Now that the apology was begun, the words began to tumble from her.  “My father, he’s always been like that.  I don’t know… I’m sorry.  I’m sorry he hurt you.  I’d never want that, Buck, never!  And my mother!  She means well, she really does.  She’s so proud of Abigail… Abby’s so pretty after all, and she wants me to be happy… she really does, she means well, and it’s not her fault that Abby got all the good looks in the fam—“

The torrent of words was stopped abruptly as Buck grabbed her by the arms, forcing them both to a halt.  Carefully, he put his finger to her chin and drew her face upward to meet his own. 

“NEVER say that,” he said forcefully. “Never.  You are the prettiest woman I have ever known.”

Claire flushed, automatically shaking her head and casting her eyes back to the ground.  “No.  Abby—” Resolutely, Buck again turned her face to his. 

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “And you are no more responsible for your parents words then I am for Ike’s.  Or Rachel’s.  Or Teaspoon’s.”

“I still feel bad.”

“Don’t.  You can’t pick your parents,” he answered calmly, shrugging and picking up Warrior’s reins again.  He resumed the pace slowly. “I can even understand your parents, a little bit.”

“WHAT?!”

“Come on Claire,” he scoffed.  “You’re young, white, pretty, and rich.  They—“

“RICH?”  Despite her concern over the direction that this conversation was taking, Claire couldn’t help but laugh.  “You think I’m rich?”

He looked her over slowly and deliberately, moving his eyes from the tips of her soft black leather boots to the full blue skirt and matching blouse, finishing at the silver comb that pulled her hair back from her eyes.  Despite her resolve, Claire blushed and squirmed under the scrutiny.  When Buck’s eyes met hers again, he repeatedly cockily, “You’re rich.”

Claire’s eyebrow rose.  “This outfit belonged to Abigail.  When she outgrew it, I inherited it.  I took up the skirt, put darts in the blouse.  Would you like me to show you?”  She took a step forward, shifting as if to remove the blouse. 

Buck took a hasty step backward, holding up his hands.  “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Does my father look like a rich man?  Act like one?” Claire continued, frustrated.  “Oh, we had money at one time, when I was young.  Mother’s money.  My father went through that pretty fast.  Since then he’s gone through more jobs than… he’s worked on the docks, he was a barkeep for a while – that was a bad idea – when we left Boston he was…” She let the words fall away.  “No, Buck, I’m not rich.  What does it matter, anyway?”

Buck shrugged, unable to put into words what he couldn’t quite figure out himself.  What did it matter?  Money or not, she was still white, and he was still Kiowa.  They didn’t – they couldn’t – mix.  And if he was ever tempted to forget that, the townspeople of Sweetwater were always there to remind him. 

“We can’t pick our parents,” Claire was saying.  Her mind flashed back to the night they’d left Boston; the night that her mother had rushed into the room she shared with Abigail and told her to pack her clothes, they were leaving in an hour.  They might prosecute, she’d said.  Daniel was already waiting for them at the border, she’d said.  They’ll hang him, she’d said.  “No, we can’t pick our parents,” she repeated softly. 

“Claire?”  Buck put a hand on her arm gently, drawing her back to the present.  She shook her head to ward off the memories and managed a smile.  “You already know mine are hardly paragons of respectability,” she said to lighten the mood.  “How about yours?”

“You don’t want to hear about that.”  He resumed walking again, drawing Warrior away from an enticing piece of shrub-brush. 

“Of course I do!” Claire said enthusiastically, unable to see the frown that crossed Buck’s forehead.  When he didn’t respond, she added jokingly, “They can hardly be worse than mine!”

Buck reluctantly looked towards her as they walked, determined to tell her only that he had left the Kiowa for reasons he didn’t want to discuss.  Her face was lit in an encouraging smile… a smile meant for him alone.  Gone was the haunted look that had come into her eyes a moment ago, replaced by a curious wonder.  Unconsciously, he found himself meeting the smile with one of his own. 

“I am Kiowa,” he began, surprising himself with how quickly his determination to say nothing had evaporated under Claire’s expectant gaze.  “My mother did the best for me that she could, under the circumstances.  She taught me the ways of my people.  She loved me as much as she knew how.  But life was… difficult.”

Claire frowned.  “How?”

“I was an outcast, Claire.  My people looked at me and saw only white skin, white blood.  I could never be full Kiowa so I could never be one of them.  My mother suffered because she cared for me.  My half-brother refused to see it – eating alone after everyone else, being threatened or abused or ignored…” His voice broke despite his resolve not to let that ancient hurt resurface.  Being ignored had always been the worst.  The utter indifference whether he ate or not, washed or not, achieved or not… He’d tried to make up for it by doing more than his fair share, but the apathy toward him had never gone away.  “I had to leave.  Find my place in the white man’s world.”

“Oh Buck,” Claire breathed.  Her hand on his arm stopped their forward motion, forcing him to 
meet her eyes, fearing what he would see.  But there was no pity there.  Only concern, warmth and respect. 

“Your parents didn’t come with you?” asked Claire unknowingly.  “After all, you did find your place.  You found friends that you love as family.  Surely the same would have happened for them?  And they had each other.”

Buck’s face tensed in a single instant.  She didn’t know.  Of course she didn’t know.  A dozen memories came back to him in a moment – the other children in the camp teasing that Red Flower had given herself to the white man, the braves openly discussing his mothers shame, the council elders proclaiming that the half-breed child was punishment from the spirits…. And the rare occasion that he would glance up from his work to find his own mother looking upon him with something akin to hatred, quickly masked.  She did the best she could… but often it wasn’t enough. 

“My… father,” he choked out.  “You don’t understand.  My mother… There was a raid on the camp, trappers drunk on whiskey and adrenaline… My mother…” he groped for words, trying to find a way to explain that would be suitable for a lady.

“They took advantage of her,” Claire whispered. 

His eyes were wide as he met hers.  “Yes.”

“Oh Buck,” she repeated, blinking back the tears that had immediately formed.  “Your mother.  I can’t even imagine…” The silence stretched out between them.

“Red Flower was a strong and noble woman,” Buck finally said.  “She bore her shame well.”

“Not SHAME,” Claire answered hotly.  “A violent horrible terrible act that no woman should have to endure, but never SHAME.  If nothing else, that one traumatic moment brought something precious – a strong and noble man.”

He swallowed, unable to speak.  Thankfully, Warrior saved the day by choosing that moment to whinny fretfully, tossing his head anxiously from side to side.  Buck tightened his hold on the reins and mentally thanked the horse for relieving the tension. 

“He’s hungry again?” asked Claire with a nervous grin, adding her own thanks to the horse without knowing the Buck had done the same.   She reached out to rub the animal’s nose.  “Any more apples in those saddlebags?”

“He’s antsy,” Buck explained.  “He’s saddled and we’re not going anywhere.  He figures we should be riding.”

“I see,” she said absently, her mind no longer on the conversation.  Buck had taken another step toward her.  She could feel him at her shoulder, a palpable presence, and she was acutely aware that she would only need to turn slightly to find herself in his arms.  She turned. 

It was like everything in the day stopped – Buck could no longer hear the birds in the trees, the gentle whisper of the autumn wind, or the subtle breath of Warrior at his side.  And while sounds stopped, images exploded.  The woman in his arms seemed to stand out in vibrant colour and light, putting even the dazzling countryside to shame.  He could see every strand of auburn hair, glinting in the sunlight like burnt embers.  Her wide blue eyes sparkled like the crystal waters of the clearest stream.  It was more intense that any visit to the spirit plain.  He couldn’t catch his breath.

“I wish I could ride,” Claire breathed.

I could teach you.  The words were there, and he opened his mouth to speak them.  And then the image ruptured, the radiant beauty in his arms replaced by memories he wished never to recall.  Never to relive.  Being dragged by the horse, the tar and feathers.  But mostly, the memory of an ornate silver cross that meant everything to him – and nothing to the one who gave it. 

Sound came back with a start, seeming to deafen him with its intensity, so forceful he was pushed back as if by an invisible hand.  He shook his head, trying to clear it.  Vaguely, he could hear Claire calling his name. 

No.  He would not do this again.  He could not do this again. 

“Buck!!  What’s wrong??”  Claire asked for the third time, worry beginning to creep into her tone. She’d seen someone like this once, in Boston.  A woman shopping in the marketplace who had suddenly clutched her head and fallen to the walkway, mouth open in a silent scream, legs kicking and arms flailing.   Her face before she had fallen had looked just like Buck’s did now.  “Should I get Rachel?  The doctor?” she asked frantically, already turning to head back to the house.

“No,” Buck said shakily, then stronger, “No.”  He grabbed the saddlehorn and mounted Warrior gracefully.  “I have to go.”

“Buck…” she began haltingly. 

“We can’t do this,” he said harshly, meeting her questioning gaze with a cold stare.  “I have to go.”  Kicking the horse into a gallop, he was away before Claire could do more than open her mouth to speak. 

She made her way back to the house, somehow coming in away from the corral instead of across from it as she should have.  She’d wandered in a circle somehow.    She didn’t know how. 

Her mind was reeling as she replayed those last moments over and over again.  Warrior had fussed, and then she’d found herself in Buck’s arms.  Everything was so clear, so bright.  His hat had fallen down his back, and his long hair stirred gently in the soft breeze. She had wanted to run her hands through that hair, feel it glide through her fingers in a cascading rush of silk.  His eyes had smoldered with an intensity she knew was matched by her own.  Her heartbeat had sounded strongly in her ears. 

He was going to kiss her. 

And then he was gone.  She had come on too strongly – or not strongly enough.  She had talked too much – or not enough.  She had misunderstood everything he said and did – he wanted a friend only.  She didn’t know.  It didn’t matter.  He was gone.  The fire that had burned in his eyes had been replaced by something cold and dark.  And she was left only with the knowledge that she was falling in love – had fallen in love – with someone who didn’t love her back. 

One of the way station dogs scampered at her feet, eager for attention.  His name was Biscuit, she recalled hazily. She’d petted and played with him when she arrived, a little black bundle of curly fur.  Now she walked slowly past, not even hearing his hopeful barks.   On the porch, Teaspoon lifted his frame from the straight-backed chair and scratched his head.  She saw the movement, wondered nothing, felt nothing.

He was gone.

“Back so soon?” Lou called out cheerfully from the steps.  “Where’s Buck?”

Claire burst into tears. 
 
 

Chapter Five
 

Teaspoon eased through the barn door with a stealth that belied his age and condition, letting the door close behind him softly.  Daylight sought refuge inside, seeping through cracks and chinks in the building’s construction and bathing the interior in a warm and diffused light.  In another time Teaspoon may have been tempted to wax poetic on the nature of light and darkness.  Now he simply watched quietly.    It was a testament to Buck’s distress that Teaspoon was able to stand there at all, he knew.  The young Kiowa who was able to sense every movement and track every motion didn’t even know he was there. 

Buck swung his pitchfork furiously, letting out all his frustrations on the bales of hay that sat mute and waiting in the barn.  Particles of hayseed clung to this shirt as he kept up the breakneck speed, not much caring or minding where the hay ended up.  A second and smaller pile of hay served as a silent reminder of Ike’s recent work, while the abandoned pitchfork beside it attested to his hasty departure.  Teaspoon watched incredulously for a few moments before stepping forward, shocked when the sound of his footsteps on the newly cut straw still did not cause the young rider to turn.  He carefully laid his hand on Buck’s shoulder. 

“Son, I—“

Buck spun around frantically, eyes wild.  The pitchfork he wielded so carelessly now came up in a defensive posture, seemingly eager to take out anything – or anyone – that crossed its path.  As their eyes met Teaspoon backed up a short step, and for a long moment the pitchfork still hung in the air between them, questing.  Then the rider’s eyes dropped and he reversed the angle of the tool, mouth set in a grim line as he turned back to his work without a word. 

“Interestin’ new way you got of sayin’ hello, Buck.”

The rider showed no sign of having heard.  His shoulders moved methodically as he shoveled another forkful of hay into the waiting stall.  Teaspoon cleared his throat and tried again.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

This time he was rewarded for his efforts with a minute shrug.  “Nothin’.  Just doing my chores.”  The hay continued to fly steadily.

“Uh huh.  And Ike?”

Buck shrugged again.  “Told him I’d finish ‘em alone.”

“And there’s nothing wrong?”

The rider paused briefly in his pitching to meet Teaspoon’s eyes coldly.  “Nope.”

Teaspoon inwardly cursed the Kiowa’s stubbornness as he leaned against the nearest post.  “’Cause you know, when I see a young man in here looking like he’s got the devil’s own minions on his back, and a young woman out there sobbin’ like her heart’s about to burst, I get to thinkin’ that maybe there’s a problem.”

“Claire’s crying?”  Buck stopped in mid-motion, turning wide eyes to the station master.

“Yup.”

Buck turned to the door, suddenly unsure, his eyes sympathetic and ashamed.  She was crying. Just a short time ago, those eyes had sparkled when he’d invited her to walk with him. Just a short time ago those eyes had filled with tears as she heard of his mother’s shame.  NOT shame, she’d insisted.   Just a short time ago those eyes had locked onto his with an intensity that sent shivers of power through his very being.  He’d wanted to take away every ounce of fear she ever knew, fill her with happiness instead.  Maybe… maybe he was wrong. 

No.  His shoulders tensed again and he turned back to his work stiffly, his own eyes once again cold and dark.  “Better now than later,” he muttered under his breath, casting another forkful of hay into the stable violently.

Teaspoon had had enough.  He crossed the distance between them in two angry strides, grabbing the younger man by the shoulders and forcing him around.  “Damnit son, tell me what happened!”

The pitchfork went flying as Buck roughly pulled himself out of Teaspoon’s grip.  “I’m not your SON!” he yelled back, every ounce of anger he possessed at that moment manifesting itself in the sound. 

The older man regarded him thoughtfully, unable to be riled that easily.  “Maybe not,” he said mildly, “but I think of you that way just the same.”

Buck staggered back into the wall, head thrown forward and hair dangling in his eyes.   He wished he’d just followed his first instinct and kept riding.  Left Claire in the field, mounted Warrior and just never looked back.  Maybe rejoin Red Bear.  He’d proved his Kiowa spirit was worthy.  All the white world had given him was heartache.  Now he shared it as well.  With Claire.  With Ike, whose worried questions when he got to the barn he’d angrily brushed off.  And when his best friend wouldn’t leave him alone, he’d punched him in the jaw.  He’d never forget the shocked and hurt look on Ike’s face at that moment.  Now with Teaspoon.  What right did he have to take his place among them?  He’d never be white, and somewhere deep inside he feared that meant he’d never be good enough. 

“Do you love her, son?” 

The quiet question pulled him from his reverie with a start.  He flung his head up quickly, the answer pulled from without a thought.  “Yes.  NO.  I…” He threw up his hands and pushed himself from the wall, ignoring Teaspoon’s placid gaze.  “It doesn’t matter.  We can’t be together.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“It’s the same thing,” Buck answered bitterly.  He held up his hand to the light, examining the dark skin, then did the same with a lock of long ebony hair.  “She likes my hair,” he announced, a scornful smile twisting his features.  “I’m ‘different’.  I’m ‘exotic’.  She’ll tire of it soon enough.  Just like…” He let the hair drop, shoulders slumping dejectedly as he lapsed into silence.

Teaspoon moved forward to put a hand comfortingly on the young rider’s shoulder.  “Buck, do you really think that girl out there is anything like Kathleen Devlin?” he asked softly. 

Buck’s head whipped up again, sorrowful eyes finally meeting Teaspoon’s.  It was over a year and he’d never said that name aloud, nor allowed it to be spoken in his presence.  The hurt was still too strong, too near.  He didn’t even stop to wonder how Teaspoon could have known what he was thinking; the old man always seemed to know.  “I didn’t think Kathleen Devlin was anything like Kathleen Devlin,” he managed to choke out.

“Didn’t you, son?”  He squeezed Buck’s shoulder.  “She was your first love, and love can be purty blind when it’s your first time out.  You think on it; you think on how she was.  You think on how you were.  You never thought there might be a world of hurt comin’ with that girl?”

For the second time that day Buck cast his mind back to a year ago.  He impatiently brushed aside the humiliation he still felt, the fury that still burned inside him from the ambush by Rance Morgan and his men.  He tried to see Kathleen objectively… a cool blonde beauty with grace and money, who sought him out and made it seem as though the meeting was accidental.  Lying about her riding skills… her fascination with his knife and his Kiowa blood, because that made him ‘dangerous’ somehow.   Lying about St. Louis.  Buck realized with a start that they’d never been together when she hadn’t lied.  And how had he felt?  Proud.  Smug.  She had her choice of rich and powerful men and had chosen him.  Indian.  Half-breed. 

Unbidden, Claire’s image came into his mind.  Her infectious giggle at the picnic table… her ease with Cody and her gentle way with Ike… her interest in his life with the Kiowa because it was his life, not because it was the Indian life.  He would never have told Kathleen about Red Flower. 

Buck raised his eyes to Teaspoon’s, the sudden insight gnawing within him.   “I was a fool,” he whispered softly.

“No son,” Teaspoon answered, “you was jus’ a little caught up in the way you wanted things to be, instead of the way they really were.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” the rider replied just as softly.  “I can’t be with Claire.”  Shaking his head, shoulders squared and back stiff, he moved to pick up the pitchfork. 

“Claire?  What..?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lou saw Rachel rising hurriedly from her chair.  Glancing quickly to her side, she motioned the older woman back to her seat and was gratified when Rachel obeyed the gesture without question.  Teaspoon had disappeared at the first sign of a disturbance, she noted absently.  Typical man. 

Pushing herself up, Lou awkwardly gathered the weeping Claire into her arms and guided her gently to the porch steps.  Keeping one arm wrapped around Claire’s shoulders, she used the other to shoo away the boys who’d been drawn from the bunkhouse by the sound of sobbing.  Jimmy, Cody, and Ike complied silently, their quizzical looks informing her that they’d want an explanation later.  Any explanation, Lou reflected, was going to come from Buck.  She’d recognized that lost, lonely and pining look in Claire’s eyes as she walked up.  Oh yes, Lou knew that look well – it stared back at her from the washtub mirror most mornings.  It crept upon her throughout the day if she let her mind wander to Kid too often.  She hid it well enough from the others.  Only Jimmy suspected.  Only Jimmy knew.  Only Jimmy understood.  Lou tried not to dwell on the knowledge that Jimmy’s understanding came from seeing that face in his own mirror as well, whenever he thought of her. 

Brushing aside those thoughts impatiently, Lou pulled Claire closer and let the younger girl rest her head on her shoulder.  She patted her shoulder calmly and waited until eventually Claire’s sobs dwindled to sniffles.  Pulling back from Lou self-consciously, Claire drew her knees to her chest and wordlessly took the handkerchief that the rider produced.  Shakily, she wiped at her eyes and tried to regain some semblance of calm. 

“Oh Lou, I’m so sorry,” she stammered between sniffles.  “You must think I’m the biggest fool.”

“No,” Lou shook her head, smiling gently,“ but I don’t think anybody saw that comin’.”  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and head in hands, and tried to radiate a sense of calm.  “You wanna talk about it?”  At Claire’s dubious frown, she added, “If you don’t that’s fine.  I just think… it might be good for you to talk about it.  And I’m a good listener.” 

Claire met Lou’s eyes helplessly.  “I just… I don’t even know… oh god…” She could feel the tears bubbling just below the surface again, and cursed herself for her lack of self-control.  Breathing deeply to calm herself, she began again.  “I’ve never been like this before.  I hate it!” 

Lou grimaced and nodded in response.  “Yeah, sometimes bein’ in love ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”  She smiled as Claire’s eyes widened.  “It’s pretty obvious,” she answered the unspoken question.  “And it’s usually the man who goes and messes it up.  So,” she finished with a small sigh, “what did Buck do?”

Claire shook her head, again fighting the tears.  She was in love.  She was in love and Buck didn’t love her back.  Did he?  Everything was going so well.  He was… he was…

“He was going to kiss me,” she whispered brokenly. 

Lou’s eyebrows rose.  “And?”

“And then he didn’t!” Claire burst out.  “I don’t know, he said we couldn’t, and he left, and…” 

Lou put her hand comfortingly on Claire’s shoulder, hoping to forestall another torrent of tears. She didn’t quite know if she could handle another outburst. One thing about living with a herd of boys – it could be like waltzing on a hornets nest, but it wasn’t likely any of them was gonna get into a crying snit.   “Maybe you should start at the beginning,” she suggested helpfully. 

Taking another deep breath, Claire stared at the ground and fought to calm the emotions clashing within her; feelings she’d never known struggling for release.  Talking about it would help, she realized.  At least Lou might understand.  The looks she gave to Kid when she thought no one was looking… yes, Lou might understand. 

Haltingly, she began, “We were walking.  I apologized for my parents – you know, last night.  I’m so sorry about that.   Then… Buck told me about… about his mother.”  She cautiously raised her eyes to Lou’s, unsure how much the riders knew about Buck’s parentage.  Thankfully, Lou nodded to show she understood.  “We talked about families.  I don’t know!”  She shook her head violently, sending long auburn hair flying.  “It doesn’t make sense!  If it could make sense…” She took a deep breath and continued.  “The horse wanted some attention and I was petting him.  And then… Buck was so near, I could feel him near me… and I, I mumbled something about wanting to learn to ride… and he was so close to me, I knew he was going to kiss me, Lou… I wanted him to kiss me… and then he just.. he just…”

Claire pulled her knees forward, hugging herself as the helplessness again crashed to the surface.  Beside her, Lou’s back straightened suddenly. 

“You said you wanted to learn to ride?” she asked sharply. 

Claire’s head popped up in response, unable to miss the change in tone.  She nodded slowly.  “Something like that.”  She wiped at her face a final time and sat up straighter herself. “Why?”

The rider jumped up from the steps and paced slowly up and down in front of Claire.  “Damnit, he always keeps things inside, doesn’t ever forget and let go,” she muttered to herself.

Claire pushed herself up from the porch as well, tears suddenly forgotten.  “Lou,” she said slowly, “just what are you talking about?”

Stopping in her tracks, Lou took a deep breath, wondering exactly how much she should say. The inner debate didn’t take long.  Lou knew that if she were in Claire’s shoes, she’d want to know the truth. 

“There was this girl,” she began.  “Kathleen Devlin.  Buck fell for her… fell hard.  You’ve never met such a stuck-up, prissy—“ she stopped herself before she could malign Kathleen further, much as she wanted to.  Shaking her head, Lou continued, “Anyway, we didn’t understand what he saw in her, but Buck’s always been good at seeing beyond the surface, you know?  We figured… maybe there was a real person underneath all the shallowness we saw.”  She grimaced. “Turns out we was right.  She used him.  Lied to him.  Used him to get back at her father and her father’s foreman.  Almost got him killed.  She hurt him bad.  It was over a year ago, and he’s never really recovered from it.”  Stopping in her recital, she looked up to meet Claire’s eyes.  “Until he met you.”

“But I don’t understand—“

“I know,” Lou interrupted, again shaking her head.  “One of the things Kathleen lied about… the way she first got Buck alone, got him to fall for her… ‘course she already knew how…”

“What Lou?  What was it?”

“She asked him to teach her to ride.” 

Claire stood silently for a moment, allowing this information to sink in.  “But I—“ she began.

“I’m sure it just brought back all the painful memories again,” Lou interrupted a second time.  “It’s not easy for him—“

“It’s not easy for HIM?!” Claire erupted.  “For HIM?  You’re standing there telling me that he thinks I’m some kind of egotistical manipulative floozy, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for HIM?” 

“Now I never said that—“ Lou began. 

Furious now, Claire took Lou’s place in pacing up and down in front of the stairs.  “”I know we’ve got to get to know each other more, but… we talked, Lou!  Really talked.  He should know me better than that – and he’s gonna throw everything away because of some scheming woman from his past?”

“Claire, I wouldn’t say—“

“No, this is NOT happening,” Claire announced. “This is not happening to me.”  Stopping mid-stride, she spied Warrior tied haphazardly at the post at the side of the barn.  Grimly, she continued, “He wants to live in some shell of the past, fine.  But he’s at least gonna hear what I think about it!”  With a shake of her head, she set off doggedly towards the stables. 

Rachel rose quietly from her place on the porch to join Lou on the steps.  Together they watched the determined girl stride unhesitantly across the yard. 

“Think we should stop her?” Rachel asked after a long moment.

“Nope,” Lou answered immediately.  “I think maybe this is somethin’ that Buck needs to hear.”

“Damnit Buck, I’ve never met a more ornery, stubborn, single-minded…” Teaspoon let the reproaches fade away as he took another deep breath. 

“You been hurt son, no one’s denyin’ that,” he began again more calmly.  “You gonna let that hurt chase away your chance for happiness now?” 

Buck ran his hand through his hair shakily.  “It ain’t that Teaspoon.  There’s a lot more than that and you know it.”

The station master crossed his hands over his chest primly.  “No I don’t know it.  Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You know the way this town is!” Buck exploded.  “I’m not gonna have her branded some kind of outcast because of me!”

“I see,” Teaspoon answered sedately. “You‘re gonna let the people of Sweetwater decide your fate.  I understand.”

“No, you DON’T understand!”  Buck paced angrily back and forth.  “I’m Kiowa, Teaspoon, and you know what that means to these people.  You and I both know that I can’t give Claire what she needs!”

Teaspoon sighed. “Son, you know I been around a mite longer than you, and I had the grace and good fortune to share my life with a passel o’ good women.  And it seems to me that all a woman needs from a man is someone who’ll treat her the way she deserves to be treated.  Hold her hand when it needs holdin’.  Stand by her when things are good and when things are bad, ‘cause they DO get bad.  Listen to her when she talks and HEAR what she has to say.  Take care of her.  Love her like you ain’t got no tomorrows and every day is like the first day you ever met her.  Seems to me,” he finished softly, “that you could do them things just fine.”

Buck let the anger fade from his body as he slumped against the post once again.  “You make it sound so simple,” he said softly, doubt still infusing his voice. 

“It’s only complicated if you want it to be,” Teaspoon answered gently.  He studied the dejected form of the boy – the man – in front of him.  They’d all grown into fine men, he reflected.  Fine men who deserved a dollop of happiness, if they’d only just reach out and grab it when they could.  He shook his head.  He’d never had any experience with this fatherin’ business on his own and wondered if these boys – and Lou too, he considered, can’t forget about Lou – had any idea that he was flyin’ by the seat of his pants.  When he taken the job of running the Sweetwater express station he’d certainly never thought that he’d end up with this extended family that he loved like his own kin.

“Nobody can make you no promises that you’re gonna live happily ever after and ride off into the sunset, Buck” he continued quietly.  “But I can promise you that the trip will be interestin’.  Love always is.  You can make the trip alone, or you can share it with somebody who’ll quicken your heart and set your mind at ease on the bumpy spots.  But it’s up to you to buy the ticket and take your seat, ain’t nobody else can do that for ya.” 

When he got no response, he repeated his previous question softly.  “Do you love her, son?”

The eyes that raised slowly to meet his were confused and full of pain.  At that moment, Teaspoon could see the child that Buck once was, lost and alone.  His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’ve known her for three days.  How do I KNOW, Teaspoon?”

Teaspoon smiled sympathetically.  “Nobody can answer that, Buck.  It’s jus’ somethin’ you know in your heart, somethin’ that you feel in your soul that’s stronger and faster and purer than anythin’ you’ve ever known before. 

“I remember when I first met Brown Sparrow,” he reflected softly.  “Prettiest thing I’d ever seen.  Long hair flowin’ down her back and the darkest eyes, eyes you could drown in. I fell in love the first time I seen her.”  Teaspoon’s eyes grew distant as the memories came flooding back. His first sight of Brown Sparrow – the woman who would in time become his wife.  She had been standing over a cooking pot in the middle of the village, steam from the vessel causing tendrils of her hair to curl around her face.  She had looked up and slowly drawn a hand across her brow, meeting the eyes of the newcomer briefly before returning to her duties in the camp.  Her simple shift hid her womanly curves but none of her womanly charms.  So long ago.  So very long ago. 

He coughed and met Buck’s appraising gaze.  “’Course, I didn’t think she’d want nothin’ to do with me.  I was a trapper back then, prob’ly hadn’t had a bath in a month!  Whiskers down to here and smellin’ like a herd o’ buffalo.”  He was gratified to see a sliver of a smile cross the rider’s face as some of the anguish melted from his eyes.  Teaspoon continued, “I got myself cleaned up, kep’ watchin’ her but figured I’d jus’ be pining away for her all my days.  Turns out,” he said smugly, “she’d seen enough of me under all that dirt and grime to want to get to know me better.  And every time MY heart started beatin’ a little faster when I saw her ‘cross the village, HERS was doin’ the very same thing whenever she saw me talkin’ to her kin.”

He crossed his arms again and smiled wistfully in remembrance.  “We was married that summer.  And it didn’t matter what nobody thought or what nobody did, we knew that we could love each other like one of them mountains of fire.  She was all I needed, and I was all she needed, and didn’t much else mattered after that.”

Buck opened his mouth to speak, but Teaspoon silenced him with a raised finger.  “And now,” the station master finished, “I believe I’ll go and sit with Rachel a spell.  I think you might have a few things to talk about.”  At Buck’s perplexed expression, Teaspoon gestured over his shoulder towards the now-open doorway to the barn, where Claire stood bathed in afternoon sunshine. 
 
 

Chapter Six
 

Teaspoon slipped out the way he came, not that anyone noticed.  Buck’s eyes had grown wide as he moved hesitantly toward the figure in the doorway, and Claire’s burned with such fiery intensity that Teaspoon knew he’d do well to stay out of her path.  Buck would have to do some fancy two-stepping to get himself out of this mess, he reflected soberly.

Claire stepped forward, letting the barn door slide shut behind her as she did so.  The sudden lack of light set off sparklers in Buck’s line of vision and he shut his eyes, trying to use that time to formulate what he would say to her.  What could he say to make it up to her?  He’d acted like an inconsiderate lout, running off and leaving her in the middle of nowhere with no explanation and seemingly no remorse.  He’d trifled with her emotions and then abandoned her.  He no more deserved her forgiveness than Kathleen deserved his.  He knew now that regardless of what happened between them at this moment, she could never trust him with her heart.  Not when he’d already demonstrated how callously he could betray it. 

Buck opened his eyes.

Claire had already moved halfway across the barn, the anger and fury eating away at her.  She was so caught up in her own emotions that she didn’t see the pain and anguish on Buck’s face until she was but several steps away.  The raw emotion there caused her to hesitate a moment, doubting what she was about to do.  She shook her head minutely.  Yes, he was hurting. She was hurting too.  And they weren’t going to sweep it under the rug like yesterday’s leavings and pretend that it didn’t happen.  There was enough of that in the McKinstry family.  She was tired of running and tired of pretending that the bad things in her life didn’t happen.  They would deal with this, and if the result was the end of her relationship with Buck Cross, well then… then her heart would break in two.  But at least the break would be by her own hand, and not that of a stranger from the past. 

Resolutely, she crossed the distance between them and held out her hand.  “I’m not sure we’ve met,” she said primly.  “I’m Claire McKinstry.”

The apology that Buck had hastily drafted faded away. He looked down in confusion at the hand held determinedly in front of him.  He searched Claire’s eyes but saw only distance there; the emotions that were usually so close to the surface deliberately shielded from him. That knowledge, that she felt she had to hide what she was feeling from him, hurt more than anything else did.  Now he was another forcing her to dim her light.  Slowly, he reached out and grasped her hand.

“Claire, I—“

“Oh, you DO know my name.”  The sarcasm dripped from her even as she saw the bewilderment and distress on his face.  The face of the man she loved.  Every compassionate part of her wanted to stop this, stop it now before she hurt him even more than he was already hurting.  But the practical part knew that she had to get to the source of the pain if she was ever going to stop it from hurting again.  She couldn’t handle it if he pulled away from her a second time.   She forced herself to continue.

“I thought you might have mistaken me for Kathleen Devlin.”

Buck flinched as though slapped, his entire body going rigid.  His hand in hers felt like an icy dead weight, lax and unmoving.  His eyes dropped to the ground but she forced herself to keep staring at his face, willing him to respond and ignoring the tears that were gathering in her own eyes.  This was it.  He wouldn’t look at her.  He did think she was like Kathleen Devlin.  Manipulative.  Dishonest. Cold and heartless.  Claire inwardly damned the woman for ever having crossed paths with this man.  This man, who had come in a few short days to exemplify honour in her eyes.  She thought she had prepared herself for this – this betrayal – but now that he stood in front of her unable to meet her gaze because of what he considered her to be, she knew she wasn’t prepared at all.  Her only thought was that the heaviness in her chest meant that her heart was indeed breaking, and that even though she wanted to hate him for what he thought of her, every fibre of her being still loved him with all she was and all she would ever be. 

She started to pull away, looking at the ground and unable to keep the tears from falling any longer, when suddenly his grip tightened on her own.  She slowly moved her eyes from their clasped hands to meet his gaze.  She expected his eyes to be cold and dark.  She expected heated anger.  She braced herself for either furious debate or cold dismissal. 

What she saw was suffering – sorrow at past and current pain, anguish at hurt done and hurt caused, grief over what could not be.  Her anger melted in an instant, replaced by compassion and sympathy. 

“I deserved that,” Buck was saying softly.  “I can never expect you to forgive me for… for what I thought, for what I just did.  Only know that I am calling myself ten times a fool for ruining any chance we could have had.”

Her hand came up to caress his cheek.  “Buck—“

He pulled away gently.  “I don’t know what you know about… about Kathleen,” he forced himself to say the name.  “But I want you to know that you are everything that she could never be.  I—“

“Buck.”   She stepped closer, again touching his cheek and forcing him to look her in the eye.  “I’m not Kathleen Devlin, Buck.  I know a little of what she did to you… and maybe later, at some point, when you’re ready, you’ll tell me the rest.  For right now, I just need to know that you’re not going to run away from me again.  I couldn’t bare that.”

Claire tried to keep her voice was cracking but wasn’t wholly successful.  He didn’t think she was like Kathleen – and a part of her wanted to jump up and down in elation at the fact – but the bigger part knew that he could still send away in fear of what may be.  And that knowledge was worse than anything she’d faced today. 

Buck’s hand came up to wipe away a tear that had escaped her lashes.  His voice was husky as he replied. “You don’t know what you’re asking.  It’s not—“

“I know exactly what I’m asking!  I’m asking you to forget the past!  I’m not like that!  I wouldn’t hurt you for—“

His finger came up to her lips, stopping the flow of words.  Slowly he moved his hand to touch her cheek, feeling the wetness there and hating himself for being the cause of it. 

“I know,” he said gently. “I know you wouldn’t.  But I would hurt you.”  At Claire’s puzzled expression he explained, “I can’t ask you to sacrifice your happiness for me.  This town wouldn’t let you forget who you’re seeing.  Your father—“

“I’ll see whoever I please!” Claire interjected hotly.  She pushed herself away from him, no longer fighting the tears.  “Why are you doing this?  Why are you making me beg you to lo… to care for me?”

“I’m already hurting you!  What do you think that does to me, to know I’m the cause of all of this?” 

“You’re not the cause of ANY of it!” Claire railed.  “You’re letting your fear push me away.  Fear of what others will think, or fear of letting yourself actually feel something for someone!”

“You’ve been in this town a whole two months,” Buck answered sarcastically.  “I hardly think you’re in any position to judge what others will think.”

“Oh, that’s right.  Everyone in Sweetwater is against you.  How silly of me not to see it.”  Claire shook her head in frustration.

“Maybe they are,” he muttered, turning his back. 

Claire rolled her eyes and pulled him around to face her again.  “For gods sake, Buck, drop the self-pity!  There are people in this town who love you.  The riders—“

“The riders are my family,” he interrupted.  “That’s different.”

“And I suppose Jimmy loved you like a brother the first time he met you?  And Billy?”  His silence gave her the answer she needed.   “So why don’t you fight for what you want?  Don’t let that fear stop you from doing all you want to do, being the man you want to be!” she continued.  “Show them that you’re better than that.  Better than them.”  She let her voice drop as the implication of what she was saying sank in.  “Because you are,” she finished quietly. 

When he still didn’t move or speak, she threw up her hands.  “My god, Buck, don’t you think I’m afraid too?  I’m afraid of my past, and my future… of everything that might be.  But I’m not running from it!”

She forced herself to take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her hands as she fought to regain the control she so easily lost.  When she met Buck’s gaze again, her eyes were clear and her mind was focussed.  She stepped forward lightly and retook his hand in her own. 

“I’m going to embrace it,” she said softly.  “I can’t predict the future, I don’t know what will happen… but I’m going to live my life the way I see fit.  With the man I choose.”  She bit her lip and coloured slightly, suddenly aware of how brazen she sounded. 

Buck’s eyes widened as he took in the open and searching gaze of the woman in front of him. The woman who – despite the way he’d treated her, despite his own fears and misgivings – was offering him her heart.  She stood again in the light.  The question was, could he join her?

“It won’t be easy,” he said uncertainly. 

Claire smiled.  “I’m more of a fighter than I look.”

“Oh, I’ve discovered that,” Buck teased, matching her smile with a small one of his own.  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Are you?” 

Claire held her breath, even now unsure of how he would respond.  The conflict was still warring within him, she knew.  Fear of being hurt, but now even more, fear of hurting her.  The idea both warmed her heart and made her want to cry in anger.  She only hoped – prayed – that her way of dealing with the situation had reassured him enough.  That he’d be willing to take the chance of loving her.  That he’d risk his own heart the way she was risking hers. That he’d take the first small step in laying the past to rest.  She gave all she was able.  The rest was up to him. 

Buck took a step forward until Claire was enveloped in his arms.  Lowering his head, he breathed in the scent of her – a heady combination that reminded him of fields of wildflowers, newly grown prairie grass and the first hint of a light summer rain.  Slowly, he ran a hand through her long hair, reveling in the feel of the delicate strands against his work-roughened fingers.  His other hand worked its way around her waist, pulling her gently yet firmly against him.    He sensed her breathing quicken as he softly caressed her cheek, tenderly raising her face to immerse himself in her sparkling sapphire eyes. 

“Buck…” The name whispered on the air. 

“I’m ready,” he breathed. 

Tilting her face toward him, he gently captured her lips with his own.  The sensation was nothing like she’d ever experienced, a liquid fire that burned white hot wherever their bodies touched.  Instinctively, her hands made their way around his neck, burying themselves in the long flowing hair that she’d longed to touch since the first time she saw him.  A small moan escaped her as the kiss deepened, its intensity overwhelming.  Her body cried out for him. She wanted to drown in his embrace. 

Buck pulled back gently, his own breathing heavy, stroking her hair as both fought to regain control of their passions.  After a long moment, Claire lifted her head to gaze ardently into his deep brown eyes. 

“I’ve never—“ she began. 

“I know,” Buck interrupted smoothly.  Her eyes widened as he dipped his head to lightly caress her lips again.  “We’ll have to make up for that, won’t we?”

“It’s sure got awful quiet in there,” Lou observed.

The riders stood in a semi-circle, watching the closed barn door intently.  Buck and Claire’s – mostly Claire’s – raised voices had been heard clearly in the yard, and finally the riders had given up the pretense of reading and doing chores and had simply watched, and waited. 

“Maybe she killed him,” Cody suggested.

“Nah,” Jimmy countered with a smirk.  “They’re dancin’.”

“Jimmy!”

“What?  Don’t tell me you weren’t thinkin’ it, Lou.”

Lou crossed her arms.  “Doesn’t matter what I was thinkin’—“ she began.

“But it does matter what you’re doin’,” Teaspoon finished the sentence, coming up behind the group silently.  “Ain’t you got somethin’ better to do than stand around here gossipin’?”

Amidst good-natured grumbles, the riders reluctantly returned to the bunkhouse, already laying bets on the results of Claire and Buck’s encounter.  Teaspoon watched their retreat, shaking his head until the final rider had vanished beyond the house.  Walking over to Rachel, he casually threw an arm about her waist and regarded the barn door speculatively. 

“So,” he said after a long moment.  “Think they’re dancin’?”
 
 

Chapter Seven
 

“I think I’ve almost got it unstuck.”  Claire gave a final tug on the blocked cog that she thought was causing the problem, only to be rewarded with a fresh cascade of ink for her trouble.  She sat back on her haunches and wiped her hands on her long apron.  “Or not,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust.  “When is that new press arriving from St. Louis?” she called out. 

Balancing two freshly brewed cups of tea atop his ledger and a half-written editorial on secession and states rights, Matthew McKinstry carefully made his way from the rear of the building which served as his office and living quarters.  Depositing his burden on the nearest paper-strewn desk, he waited to make sure it wasn’t about to topple before leaning against the chair and regarding his niece with affection.

Matthew was, to all appearances, the exact opposite of his brother, Claire’s father.  Short, thin and soft-spoken, his face wore the wrinkles of years of hard work but his eyes still sparkled with the vitality of youth.  His hair, though now grey, had once been the same dazzling copper as Claire’s own.  He stroked a finger through his mustache before speaking.

“Leave off the work for a moment Claire,” he urged, his Irish brogue barely noticeable after years in the Americas.  “You look quite the sight, my girl!  Relax for a moment with a nice cup of tea.”

Claire rose fluidly from the floor and studied herself with a critical eye.  Her long printers smock was designed to protect the wearer from stains, but apparently its manufacturers had failed to consider a woman might ever wear it.  Her voluminous beige skirt was blotted here and there with dark blue ink splotches, and she knew that the next time she used her blue blouse it would be as a cleaning rag – it was beyond salvation.  She absently pushed her bangs out of her eyes, unknowingly adding another blue blotch in her hair as she did so, and eyed the printing press deliberately.  Tea sounded good, but…

“Thanks, but I think I’ll fini—“ she began, then broke off as the enticing aroma of the brew reached her.  “Strawberry?” she asked incredulously.  “Where on earth did you find strawberry tea in Sweetwater?”

“Oh, I happen to know it’s my favourite niece’s favourite blend,” Matthew chuckled as Claire reached for the proffered cup eagerly.  “I had Tompkins put in a special order.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Claire admonished gently even as she took a sip of the lightly flavoured drink.  She smiled at her uncle over the lip of the cup.  “But I’m glad you did.”

“Consider it payment for all the hard work you’ve done around here the past few months,” Matthew said.  “And for the pleasure of your company,” he added before the girl could protest. 

Taking up his own cup, Matthew took a hearty sip and wondered how he’d managed at the newspaper before his brother had brought his family to Sweetwater.  He and Daniel got on no better now than they had as boys, of course… but Marjorie was quick to invite her brother-in-law to many a family dinner, and Matthew had missed those home-cooked meals since his beloved Elizabeth had passed on.  Abigail was as flighty as he remembered her, but he imagined living in the west would sober her up some.  And Claire had been more than helpful at the Sentinel offices.  Her enthusiasm was infectious and, though Matthew hated to admit it, there were some things he just couldn’t do anymore.  He sneered at the various parts and tools spread out on the floor surrounding the partially dismantled printing press.  Like crawling around under a 200-pound press looking for a clog that was most likely the size of a pinhead, yet was managing to bring the entire production of the paper to a grinding halt. 

“Don’t be silly, Uncle Matthew,” Claire was saying.  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Matthew’s face lit in a smile as he teased, “I’m sure if a certain pony express rider walked in the door, you’d drop your ol’ uncle like a hot potato.”

Claire flushed lightly even as her eyes softened at the thought.  She glanced up from her tea, unaware that her face had taken on that dreamy, dewy-eyed expression that she used to tease her lovestruck classmates about unmercifully back in her school days.  “Buck comes home tonight,” she said softly, almost to herself. 

Matthew chuckled.  Since coming to Sweetwater Claire had spent countless hours at The Sentinel, helping with everything from setting copy to proofing articles to the repairs she was working on today.  But for the past two weeks, since the Founders Day dance, her time and attention was split between the newspaper and Buck Cross, and he knew that the young rider was never far from her thoughts.  He remembered his Elizabeth looking at him with an expression very much like the one Claire wore right now.  Watching the look of adoration on her face, Matthew was overcome with a wave of fondness for his niece.  Not for the first time, he wished he’d made the long trek to Boston more often in Claire and Abigail’s youth.  He’d missed so much of their lives.  Oh well, he reflected, at least now he was making up for lost time with Claire.  Abigail was another matter entirely.  He still hadn’t quite figured out how to connect with his eldest niece. 

“Claire,” he said quietly, loath to interrupt her thoughts, “You know my offer still stands.”

Claire roused herself guiltily, aware that she’d been daydreaming.  She matched her uncle’s smile.  “I’ll let you know,” she answered.  “In the meantime,” she continued brightly, “I’ve got work to do.  But when IS the new printing press arriving?  I’ll be glad to see the last of this monster.”  She kicked at one of the parts absently. 

“Actually, there’s been a slight change of plans,” Matthew explained.  “I’ve had to cancel the order.”

“Why?”

“The usual reason one does not buy something one particularly desires,” Matthew said dryly.  “Lack of funding, my dear.  The Sentinel just isn’t solvent enough at the moment.  Looks like we’ll be making do with this bucket of bolts for a while longer.”

Claire’s face fell.  “And I borrowed that money for the riding skirt!  Oh Uncle Matthew, I’ll return it tomorrow and then—“

“NOW who’s being silly?” Matthew scolded gently.  “I was glad to help you out.  And frankly,” he continued, “the amount that I loaned you is but a pittance compared to what I need for the new press.  No, I’ll keep on with this one – considering, of course, that you continue to do the repairs,” he added with a grin. 

“You know I will,” Claire answered soberly.  “But Uncle Matthew, all your plans… all your ideas and dreams…”

“That’s the good thing about dreams,” Matthew answered.  “They’re adjustable.  They’re flexible. And you can keep on dreaming them until they finally come true.”  He kissed his niece’s cheek affectionately.  “You know a little about that, don’t you?”

“I guess I do,” Claire replied softly, her mind as ever returning to Buck.  Finding a man like him –that was surely a dream.  Yet it had happened, for her.  Although she sometimes had to pinch herself to make sure it was all real – it had happened.  She couldn’t believe how lucky she was… 

Claire shook her head ruefully.  Daydreaming again.  She pointedly ignored her uncle’s bemused expression and turned back to the printing press with a determined scowl.  “And this isn’t going to fix itself,” she said gruffly, gathering her skirts under her and scooting partway under the big machine. 

“I’ll go back to my editorial,” Matthew announced, his voice echoing down to her.  “Give a holler if you need any help.”

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Matthew turned toward the new voice, surprised that he hadn’t heard the small bell above the door that usually announced a visitor.  Below him, a loud thump and a muffled curse affirmed the fact that Claire had both heard and identified the caller. 

“Buck!”  Matthew greeted the newcomer warmly, shaking hands with the young express rider.  He glanced at the printing press with a grimace.  “Just the usual sticks and clogs,” he explained ruefully.  “Claire’s helping me out as usual.”

“I figured she’d be here,” Buck replied, leaning over the counter.  Yes, he could just see Claire’s skirts peeking out from under the big machine.  He arched an eyebrow at her uncle.   “Think she’s gonna come outta there?”

Crouched under the press, Claire listened to the exchange in mortification.  He couldn’t be here. Not HERE.  Not NOW!!  He couldn’t see her looking like… like… a ragamuffin!  Not normally concerned with her overall appearance, she found her thoughts unusually fixated on it lately – she wanted to look her best.  She wanted to look her best for Buck.  And now… Hastily she tried to push her hair back in place, unknowingly leaving behind more thin streaks of ink from her hands as she worked.    She pulled at her long braid, ensuring that it was still tied securely.  With a sigh, she took in her ink-stained skirt and blouse and realized there was nothing she could do about those.  Oh, it was no good.  He couldn’t see her like this!

Buck looked enquiringly at Matthew.  No response from under the printing press. He leaned over the counter again.  “Umm… Claire?” he called out. 

Claire turned red as Buck left off chatting with her uncle and addressed her directly. Surely he must know that she couldn’t face him right now?  “Yes?” she answered quietly, trying her best to sound nonchalant. 

Buck turned a perplexed grin to Matthew.  Yes?  Who did she think he was here for?   “Uh… Are you going to come out and talk to me?” 

Claire nearly groaned aloud.  He wasn’t going away.  No two ways about it, he wasn’t going away.  Resigned to facing him, she hesitantly answered, “Al… all right.  But… NO comments!”

“All right,” Buck agreed readily if uncertainly, looking at Matthew for a hint about Claire’s odd behaviour.  Matthew wisely cleared his throat and, with an excuse about fixing more tea, left the room as quickly as he could, hoping that his laughter wouldn’t be audible from the kitchen. 

Pulling herself from beneath the old press, Claire reluctantly stood and faced the rider, eyes downcast.  Buck’s eyes may have widened slightly and his smile may have gotten a little broader, but he sensibly kept all remarks about Claire’s appearance to himself.  He wasn’t sure if he was glad that she’d warned him or not.  He liked to think he’d have had the presence of mind not to comment, but with the state of her… well, sometimes his mouth worked faster than his brain.

Buck ducked his head, trying to see into her eyes.  “Claire?”

 “Hi,” she said shyly, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t think you were getting back home till tonight.”  She continued to study the floorboards intently. 

“I made good time from Fort Laramie,” Buck explained.  He saw no need to mention that he hadn’t slept for 2 days, or that his last four meals had been hardtack, eaten quickly while riding or changing horses at the way stations.  Every minute spent away from Sweetwater and Claire had been a minute too long.  Even Warrior, the first and last horse ridden on every run, had seemed to sense his owner’s urgency and had appeared to fly across the last twenty miles.  Buck had set a new record in Russell, Majors and Waddell history with his time for this Sweetwater – Dempster’s Creek – Sweetwater run, though he wasn’t aware of it.  He’d asked Ike to take care of his horse – only the latest in a list of favours that he needed to repay his best friend – and had taken time only to shower at the house before heading straight to town, and Claire. 

“I didn’t…” Claire brushed at her cheek absently, leaving a pale blue smear behind.  “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she said quietly. 

With a start, Buck realized that she was truly upset, possibly even near tears.  Long as he lived, he would never understand women.

He leaned forward and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.  “Why?” he asked warmly.  “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”  Playfully, he swiped his forefinger across her nose and wiggled the now-ink-stained digit in front of her.

Claire’s hands flew up to her cheeks in embarrassment.  “Oh lord,” she muttered from behind her hands. It was worse than she thought.  It was SO much worse than she thought.

Buck couldn’t help but chuckle as he carefully removed her hands, freeing her face from its hiding place.  He ran a hand slowly along her cheek.  “I mean it,” he whispered, leaning forward again to capture her lips in a soft kiss.

Like their first kiss – like all their kisses – Claire felt the now-familiar tingling sensation as his lips brushed gently against her own.  Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the moment, all thoughts of printing presses and ink gone from her mind.  When Buck finally pulled away – too soon! Her body protested – she merely smiled happily and said, “I’m glad you came home early.”

“Me too.”  Buck pressed another quick kiss to her lips before resting his elbows against the counter and pulling her down to join him.  “I did stop by for a reason though,” he continued.

“Seeing me looking like this isn’t reason enough?” Claire laughed, her unease and embarrassment forgotten in the aftermath of his kiss.  A kiss that more than reaffirmed his depth of feeling for her.  Ink blotches or not. 

“I’ll certainly never forget it!”  Buck joined in the laughter, happy to see her eyes sparkling again.    Eyes that he’d spent the last two weeks dreaming about.  “But I also wanted to know if you’d like another riding lesson tomorrow afternoon.”

“Another?” Claire protested with a grin.  “I still don’t think I’ve had a first one yet!”

Once the dust over the Kathleen Affair – as she had begun to mentally call their potential breakup of several weeks before – had settled, Buck had offered to teach her to ride.  Full of eagerness and anticipation, she had purchased a riding skirt and shown up at the ranch at the proper time, excited at the thought of actually riding one of the gorgeous and spirited way station horses.  She could already picture herself atop Lightning or Destiny, hair streaming back as she galloped across the plains, Buck astride Warrior at her side. 

The reality was a lot different than the daydream, she’d quickly discovered.  Warrior remained tethered in his stall as Buck led a small grey mare to the corral.  When she had wondered aloud at never having seen this particular express pony before, Buck had explained that ‘Sunflower’ was only used to pull the buckboard!  Her first riding lesson, therefore, had consisted of being led around the corral at a walk.  Claire – and Sunflower too, she reckoned – had been profoundly unimpressed. 

“I told you—“

“I know, I know,” Claire interrupted.  “’That’s the way you learn to ride.  Get the feel of the horse.  Match your body movements to hers’.”  She repeated his words, recited ad nauseum that day, back to him with a laugh.  “I didn’t even get to put my feet in the stirrups!”

“Well, you’ll get to this time,” he grinned.

Claire’s eyes lit up.  “It’ll be a real lesson?” she asked eagerly.  “Away from the corral?”

“Yup.  Figured we could ride the trail by the old Scotsman’s place.  Land’s real gentle there.  You did real well at your first lesson; you should be able to handle it.  Tomorrow at noon, by the creek?” 

“On a real horse?” she inquired skeptically. 

Buck arched an eyebrow.  “What do you think Sunflower is, a mule?”  When she didn’t respond, he laughed.  “Yes, on a ‘real’ horse.  Happy?” 

“Happy,” Claire confirmed with a grin.  “Tomorrow at noon.”

Still holding her hands, Buck tensed unknowingly as he prepared to ask the next question.  The question he almost didn’t want an answer to.  Still, if Claire had bad news, surely he would have been able to tell?  She wore her emotions on her sleeve… it was one of the many things he loved about her. 

Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Did you talk to your father yet?”

Even though Claire was determined that she would date whomever she pleased, Buck was equally determined that her father should be aware of just whom was courting his daughter, even if Daniel McKinstry’s racial prejudice would make things harder on the young couple instead of easier.  The heated debate between them on this very subject had resulted in a compromise: rather than Buck making his intentions known, Claire would first broach the subject with her father. 

Claire’s eyes flicked away briefly, then returned to meet his.  “He’s still in St. Joe,” she answered.  “Mother thinks he’s looking for a homestead.”

Buck let that information sink in for a moment.  A homestead.  In St. Joe.  Miles away from Sweetwater.  Claire, miles away from Sweetwater.  His head hurt.  “And what do you think?”

Her father had taken the last of their savings 10 days ago and lit out for another town.  A town with plenty of saloons and gamblers, loose women and con-men eager to convince another patsy that they have a ‘sure thing’.  She shook her head. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, gazing deeply into his eyes.  “I’ve talked to Uncle Matthew.  I’m staying right here.”

“Here?”  Buck gulped, unable to believe his good fortune. 

“Here,” Claire repeated.  “If my father gets a place up in St. Joe, OR if he has a… bad reaction to the news that we’re seeing each other.   Uncle Matthew says I’m welcome to live with him.”  She reached up to tug impishly at his hair.  “So… you’re not going to be able to get rid of me!”

“Never,” he answered softly, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers once again.  The thought of returning to her gentle embrace had been foremost in his mind as he spurred his horse across the prairies, eager to taste those lips again.  His hand rose to her hair, caressing the softness of her long braid. 

“Ahem!!”

Claire and Buck pulled away from each other abruptly, both inwardly cursing the lack of forewarning that The Sentinel had another visitor.  Claire glanced up at the door.  Yes, the little bell was still there – it was even still gently rocking.  She supposed they’d just been too engrossed to hear it.  The knowledge caused her flush to deepen even as she turned to the new arrival.

Abigail stood just inside the doorway, hands crossed across her chest and foot tapping impatiently.  “You’re late,” Abigail announced imperiously.  “Mother’s had dinner waiting for an hour.  And LOOK at the state of you!  What have you been doing?  As if that’s not OBVIOUS.”

“We… I mean, I… I’ve…” Claire stammered.  She stammered in front of Abigail!  While part of her was still trying to explain her actions, the bigger part was merely stunned that she was actually cowed by her sister.  There’s a first time for everything, she thought ruefully. 

“I’ve got to be going anyway,” Buck put in quickly, eyes darting between the two sisters, so different in both appearance and outlook.  “Gotta get some sleep.  See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Claire promised, throwing him a grateful look.  With a nod to Abigail, Buck made his exit.  The door was barely shut behind him before Abigail began.

“WHAT do you think you’re DOING?” she shouted.  “Does father know about this?”

“Father’s in St. Joe—“ Claire began.

“I KNOW where father is!” Abigail interrupted.  “And father is going to KILL you when he finds out about this.  Or kill that half-breed, more like!”

Claire turned spiteful eyes on her sister.  “Don’t call him that!”

“Why not?” Abigail replied haughtily.  “That’s what he IS.  Oh Claire, what are you THINKING?  He’s an Indian!”

“He’s a man,” Claire retorted softly.  “The best man I’ve ever known.”

“He’s a heathen,” Abigail corrected as she crossed the distance between them.  “He probably kills chickens by the light of the moon and sacrifices them to his spirits!”

“He does no such thing!”

“Oh,” she sniffed.  “Does he believe in God then?  Does he go to church?  Does he follow the Ten Commandments?”  She waited a moment until she was certain that Claire wasn’t going to answer.  “I didn’t think so.”

“YOU don’t go to church,” Claire finally responded, ashamed at the sliver of doubt that had wormed its way into her mind courtesy of her sister.

“We’re not talking about me.”  Abigail took her sister’s hands, determined to make her see the light.   Somebody had to pound some sense into her brain.  And isn’t that what big sisters were for?  “Oh Claire, don’t you see?  You need someone who can take care of you.  Somebody who has enough money and influence to give you a good life.  Not some worthless half-breed like Buck Cross, who’ll never amount to anything!”  She tightened her grasp on her younger sister, preventing her from pulling away.  “Listen to me!  You need someone like Marcus Sewell.  He’s –“

Violently, Claire pushed away from Abigail.  “I don’t want to HEAR about Marcus Sewell!” she raged.  “Don’t TALK to me about Marcus Sewell!”

“Marcus is a good man,” Abigail continued relentlessly.  “Maybe not the most intellectual, but he’s got money and power; his family has—“

“No,” Claire turned back to her sister, grabbing her by the shoulders, eyes blazing.  “Now YOU listen to ME.  I don’t want to hear about Marcus Sewell.  I don’t want to hear about money or power or influence.  I don’t want to hear about farms or family business or anything else.  I don’t WANT Marcus Sewell.  I already know who I want.” 

“Father’s going to kill you,” Abigail repeated ominously. 

“That’s MY concern,” Claire responded harshly.  “I’ll deal with father when he gets back.”

She turned away from her sister, suddenly weary of the entire argument.  And this was just a prelude to what she could expect from their father.  Abigail was nothing if not her father’s daughter.  Claire was more grateful for Matthew’s offer of shelter each moment.  She didn’t know if she could handle a continual onslaught from both Daniel AND Abigail.   Lord knows her mother would be no help, accustomed as she was to bowing to Daniel’s will on every subject.

She tried to hold her shoulders high as she walked slowly to the back room to change.  Her father wasn’t home, she considered, so that confrontation would be delayed at least another day.  And tomorrow she was going riding with the man she loved.   Almost to her surprise, she found a smile playing across her features.  After all, what was there NOT to be happy about?