Sleep.  The thought of his warm cozy cot back at the bunkhouse pulled at Buck as he walked slowly away from the Sentinel offices.  Deep dreamless sleep.  Well, maybe not dreamless.  He wouldn’t mind if someone else made an appearance in his dreams.  Even if she was ink-stained. 

No. Food.  Real food.  After handing Warrior off to Ike, he’d dashed in to the bunkhouse for fresh clothes and he’d detected the unmistakable scent of pot roast.  No stew tonight; Rachel was making an actual pot roast.  Probably potatoes and fresh peas to go with it.  Maybe even gravy.  His mouth began to water at the very thought. 

Food and a warm bunk.  A full belly and restful nights sleep in preparation for his day with Claire.  Yes. 

No.  Half-regretfully, Buck pulled himself onto his borrowed pony and set off at a gallop away from the town.  He only hoped his information was accurate. 

Two hours later, he’d almost begun to give up hope. Then in the distance, a form he’d at first taken for part of the natural landscape coalesced into the recognizable figure of White Owl.  With a sigh of relief, Buck quickly stripped off his shirt and hat before replacing his vest.  Tying his horse securely to the branch of a nearby tree, he continued to the Kiowa camp on foot. 

The eyes of the braves and their women flicked to him briefly as he walked confidently through the camp.  Buck didn’t let their cool appraisal and indifferent dismissal affect him.  In his heart and to his people, he’d already proved that his spirit – his blood – was Kiowa.  His eyes did their own searching, noting there was less meat curing than in former years, less hides tanning on the poles… less braves.  The past year had been hard on his people. He thought of the pot roast he would have consumed this night; the career that, though not without its dangers, he treasured; the warm bed in a safe place, where he lived surrounded by people who loved him.    Returning to the Kiowa always brought with it two things: pride in his accomplishments and shame that he hadn’t stayed to help his people. 

“My brother!  Have you finally decided to leave the white man?”

Red Bear’s voice rang out loudly from behind him.  Buck spun, letting a wide unguarded smile overtake his handsome features.  Red Bear stood next to a large cooking pot, his arms open to embrace his brother.   Buck wasted no time in covering the ground between them, stepping happily into his brother’s bear hug. 

“Again you have grown!” exclaimed Red Bear, pulling away to study Buck with a grin.   “NOW you are a man.”  His eyes narrowed.  “How did you find our camp?”

Buck smirked.  “White Owl’s vigilance may have improved, but his rock impersonation could still use some work.”

Red Bear nodded.  “I will speak to him.”  The look did not bode well for White Owl’s future.  He shook his head, putting aside thoughts on the negligence of his sentry for the moment.  There would be time to deal with White Owl later.  For now, he would focus on Buck. “What do you wish of me, my brother?”

“Perhaps I merely want to see you, my brother,” Buck replied with a grin.  “Break bread with you.  Enjoy some of Shining Water’s fine cooking.”  His brother’s wife looked up quickly from the stewpot, smiling gratefully. 

“Perhaps,” Red Bear stated flatly, pulling his brother down to join him in front of the tipi.  “But it is not so.  Why are you here, Running Buck?”

Buck studied the ground.  What had seemed like a wonderful plan when he’d thought of it on the long ride back from Dempster’s Creek now seemed rather presumptuous.  It was easy to conceive big plans when your body ached for food and sleep and the kiss of the one you loved.  Now that the moment had arrived, he realized that he’d never actually figured out just how he was going to accomplish what he wanted.  Damn, his body still ached for food and sleep. 

As Buck studied the ground, Red Bear studied his brother, sensing the indecisiveness in him.  Whatever problem Running Buck had, it clearly weighed heavily upon his heart.  Deliberately he rested his hand on Buck’s arm, rousing him from contemplation, and leaned forward to meet the others eyes.  “What do you want of me, my brother?” he repeated calmly. 

Buck gulped nervously.  “A horse.”

Red Bear sat back abruptly, a laugh pulled from him involuntarily despite the tension in his brother’s eyes and bearing.  “Is that all?” he finally asked.  “What happened to your stallion?”

“Warrior’s fine,” Buck explained.  “The horse isn’t for me.  It’s for… a woman.”

Red Bear’s eyebrow arched.  “A woman. Your woman?”

Again, Buck’s throat convulsed.  His woman?  He hadn’t thought that far along.  Could he claim Claire as his woman?  No.  No.  Did he want her as his woman?  So many things to consider – her father, her family, the town.  Life with a half-breed.  He still didn’t know if he could condemn her to that.   He knew she wanted him.  At least, he hoped she wanted him.  No, he knew she wanted him, just as he wanted her.  The passion he felt when he kissed her was most definitely returned.  But what he was feeling – was it real?  Or was it just a desire to end the sometimes overpowering loneliness he felt?   His head ached suddenly, and Red Bear still watched him, waiting patiently for an answer.   He shrugged away the uncertainty and the pain.  It was a simple question after all. 

“Not yet,” he answered softly.

“And you need the horse for the woman?” Red Bear questioned.  Buck nodded. 

Red Bear sighed.  “Running Buck, the taking of a wife is one of the most important decisions you will ever make.  I have been blessed.  Shining Water has been dutiful and attentive, and soon she will bear me a fine son.  She is worth more to me than a dozen horses.”  He gazed lovingly at his woman before drawing his arm around his brother’s shoulders.    “I think you have come for counsel as well, and I freely give it.  You must reconsider this decision, my brother.  A woman who is worth only ONE pony is surely not the woman for a warrior such as yourself.”

“Wha…?”  Buck shook his head, confused by the turn the conversation had taken, then held his side as his body suddenly convulsed in laughter.  Even when his brother’s face changed from tentative smile to scowl, he could not stop the chuckles that racked his frame. 

“No Red Bear,” he finally choked out, “the horse is not to BUY the woman.  It’s a gift.”

“And she is worthy of such a priceless gift?” asked Red Bear seriously. 

Buck smiled.  He was sure of the answer to this question.  “Absolutely.”

Red Bear rose fluidly from the pallet, pulling Buck with him.  “Then come.  We have many fine ponies to choose from.”

“I can’t pay you,” Buck explained on the walk to the corral.  “I have money…” He broke off, thinking of the pouch he kept under his mattress in the bunkhouse.  It contained almost every cent he’d made since joining the pony express over a year ago.  He had little use for material goods; he could add up the purchases he’d made in the past year – a couple of shirts and some boots – on one hand.  He had enough there to buy dozens of horses, but he knew that meant nothing to the Kiowa.

“What use would I have for the white man’s paper?” Red Bear scoffed, confirming his thoughts. 

Buck nodded.  “I’ll replace the horse with another.  Sometime before the next new moon.  I’ll catch you a stallion that will put this horse to shame,” he promised as they reached the corral.  “I need something… spirited, but docile.”

Red Bear raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s just learning to ride,” Buck explained, ignoring his brother’s incredulous expression.  “Do you have something—“

“Bring the new filly,” Red Bear instructed the brave at the corral, who wasted no time in returning with the horse.    “She was just taken a few weeks ago.  She’s broke, but still has a lot of life in her.” 

Buck admired the animal, inspecting her thoroughly before turning back to this brother.  The filly was a little smaller than Warrior, chestnut brown with no markings.  She had stood submissively while Buck checked her over, neither whinnying nor stamping her feet, yet she had none of the passivity of the wagon horses back at the way station.  He knew better than to get Claire a horse like Sunflower.  “She’s perfect.” 

“Yes,” Red Bear smiled knowingly.  “So perfect that replacing her will take THREE ponies.  Won’t it, my brother?”

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Buck finally made it back to the Sweetwater station.  The lights in the bunkhouse were out, the riders having turned in long ago.  Sleep still pulled at him and his stomach rumbled.  He absently considered checking the table for leftovers – at this point, he reflected, a cold lump of potato would taste like a king’s repast – but first the horses needed to be brushed down and stabled.  If he was lucky, he might get 6 hours sleep before rising for chores.  Pulling himself down from his horse with a grunt, he was halfway to the barn before he realized that Ike was sitting on the bunkhouse step, watching him. 

“Didn’t expect anybody to be up.”

Ike merely regarded his friend silently, a look of casual indifference on his face.  Buck took a few steps toward him, frowning.  “Everything all right?”

Yes.

Buck studied his friend for a moment.  Ike might have ‘said’ “Yes” but all of his body language screamed “No”. Something must have happened.  “You wanna talk about something?”  Silence.  Stillness.  “If you wanna talk, I’ll always be here to listen.”

Ike’s lip upturned, transforming his apathetic expression into a sneer.  No.

The Kiowa raised his hands in surrender.  He didn’t feel like playing games.  “You don’t wanna talk, fine.  I’m tired.  I’ll see you in the morning.”  Shaking his head, Buck retook the reins of the horses and had half-turned back towards the stables before he saw Ike’s hands move in response. 

Don’t know how you could be tired.

Buck stopped, turning back to his friend.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”  Ike’s hands jerked once, quickly, and Buck frowned in response.  “Don’t tell me ‘nothing’.  You got something to say, say it.”  When it became obvious the bald rider wasn’t about to answer, he threw up his hands again.  “Fine.  Whatever your problem is, I don’t wanna—“

It’s not MY problem, Ike’s hands moved fluently. 

“So whose problem is it then?”

Yours.

“I’m not gonna stand here and play 20 Questions Ike,” Buck said wearily. 

Ike rose from the step, moving to stand in front of his friend.  His hands moved choppily, the anger flowing from his body.  You spend half your days in town. I’m doing all your chores and I’m sick of it.

Buck sighed.  “Ike, I’ve said I’m sorry.  I know I’ve been puttin’ a lot on you lately.  I promise things’re gonna change.”  Ike’s expression plainly showed that he didn’t believe him.  “Once things get more settled with Claire—“ 

Ike turned away, clearly disgusted. 

“You got a problem with Claire?” asked Buck ominously.  Ike’s shoulders moved minutely, barely noticeable.  Buck took a deep breath; anger would accomplish nothing.  He stepped forward and tied the horses to the hitching post.  So much for 6 hours sleep.  If he was lucky, maybe he could still get 5 and a half.  “All right,” he said quietly, “let’s talk about Claire.”

You and Claire can go howl at the moon every night for all I care, so long as you start pulling your weight around here!

“I will,” Buck promised solemnly, taking a seat on the step and watching his friend closely.  “I had no idea this was gratin’ on you so much, Ike.  It’s just… it’s like…”   He let the thought fade.  Ike didn’t need to hear this.  His friend was furious at him; nothing he said would make much difference right now.  Ike was right; he had been shirking his duties at the way station.  And it wasn’t Ike’s responsibility to pick up the slack. 

Ike sighed.  He had started this, after all; he could at least do Buck the courtesy of listening to him.  He joined his best friend on the step.

It’s what? he signed.

“Nothin’.” 

Don’t tell me ‘nothing’, Ike repeated Buck’s own words back to him.  Buck glanced up quickly, relieved to find that Ike was wearing a smirk.  You got something to say, say it. 

Buck was silent for so long that Ike thought he wasn’t going to answer.  He’d just raised his hands to speak again when Buck’s voice broke the silence. 

“I ain’t ever felt like this before Ike,” he said softly.  “It’s like… she’s all I think about.  I keep wondering what she’s doing, who she’s with.  Wonderin’ if she’s happy.  Wishing that she’s smiling.  Hoping that she’s thinking about me too.”  He glanced sidelong at his friend, amazed that he was actually admitting these things out loud.  “Stupid, huh?”

Ike gave him a lopsided smile, placing his hand on Buck’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“I start thinkin’ about other things too,” the rider continued.  “Things I never thought of before.  Things I never thought I could have.”  Abruptly he pulled himself from the step, staring out into the night.  When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.  “Things like… having a family.  Children.”

You’re in love, Ike signed.  It wasn’t a question. 

Buck shrugged.  Love?  Maybe.  Lying in his bunk at night, he could believe it was love.  In the hour before dawn, listening to the snores of the other riders as he lay restless waiting for the day to begin, he could let his mind turn to all the possibilities that life with Claire had to offer.   In those moments, he could see them living happily, surrounded by a herd of children, growing old together.  In the harsh light of day, the reality of their situation – of who he was – made such thoughts difficult to admit to.  Even to his best friend. 

He ran a hand through his hair, the bone-weariness of the day dragging at him, and mentally shook the thoughts aside.  “I just hope that you find it someday Ike, whatever it is.  ‘Cause whatever it is, it’s more intoxicating than Sweetwater’s finest whiskey!”  He turned back to Ike soberly.   “And I promise things’ll change as of now,” he repeated his earlier vow.  “I won’t lay any more of my chores on you.”   Buck regarded his friend quizzically.  “Are we okay?”

We’re okay, Ike signed back quickly. 

“Good.  I’ve gotta get those horses bedded down.”  He laughed at Ike’s puzzled expression.  “You didn’t even notice the second horse, did you? I went to see Red Bear today.  The filly’s a present.  For Claire.”

For Claire.  Ike rolled his eyes, but his expression was amused. 

Buck grinned.  “Yeah, and it’s been a long day.  The quicker I get them stabled, the quicker I can get to bed.  G’night Ike.”  Taking up the reins again, Buck was almost at the barn door when he felt Ike’s hand on his arm. 

You go to bed, Ike signed.  I’ll take care of the horses. 

Buck’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Ike—“

Go on.  You need to be rested.  He wiggled his eyebrows provocatively.  For Claire. 

Buck’s effusive thanks still ringing in his ears, Ike led the two tired horses into the stables.  Whether his friend would admit it or not, he reflected, Buck was in love.  And love didn’t just come around every day.  And that look in Buck’s eyes when he talked about her…. Ike smiled.  Well, he guessed he could take on a little extra work around the way station.  For Buck. 
 

Chapter Nine

Cody mumbled in his sleep, twisting enough to dislodge his covers.  In the next bunk, Jimmy’s eyes fluttered open.  Closed again.  Opened.  He stretched lazily, considered turning over and going back to sleep.  But the first rays of the sun were creeping through the window, striping his blanket with light and darkness.  Morning.  Reluctantly he pulled himself from the warmth and comfort of his cot, rising with a yawn and tripping over one of Ike’s boots in the process.  His grunt of pain and muttered cursing drew his bunk-mates from their slumber; still yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes, the riders began their regular morning routine.  Lou massaged vigorously at her face to wake herself while absently reaching for a clean shirt.  Simultaneously, Jimmy and Kid stumbled to the porch to give her some privacy, dragging the still-mostly-asleep-yet-protesting Cody with them. 

Ike grinned, not surprised to find that Buck still hadn’t risen.  Stretching, he crossed the room silently and extended a hand forward to nudge his friend to wakefulness.  In sleep, Buck had twisted the blankets into a huge ball.  Ike pushed at the covers tentatively… then flattened them.  Buck was gone.  Ike’s head twisted around, searching all four corners of the small bunkhouse, not that there was anywhere that Buck could be hiding.  His startled eyes flicked past Lou, to the table, under the table, then abruptly back to Lou, who was watching him with a bemused expression, her shirt still held in her hand.   Blushing deeply, he ran for the door.

Jimmy and Kid stood on the porch, shivering in the early morning air, hands tucked under their armpits for warmth, while Cody dozed against the post.  The morning was crisp, but the sun was already burning away some of the cold.  It looked to be a beautiful day.  Ike had just raised his hands to speak – Buck was missing; didn’t they understand that? – when the figure of his friend rounded the curve of the bunkhouse, whistling happily.  Ike’s mouth dropped open in amazement.

“You tryin’ to make us look bad, Buck?” Jimmy grumbled good-naturedly. 

Buck shifted the saddle he carried to his left shoulder before smiling back at the rider.  “Nope.  Just had a lot to do today, that’s all.”

Ike shook his head in surprise.  I would have done that.

“I know.”  Buck shrugged.  “Didn’t feel right.”  The door opened behind them and he smiled a ‘good morning’ at a now-clothed Lou, while the other riders pushed past her to return to the relative warmth of the bunkhouse.

“Ike,” he called out before his friend could join the stampede.  Dropping the saddle to the ground, he joined Ike at the steps.  “Stable’s are cleaned and the new straw is down.  All the feed’s out too.”  As he spoke, he listed off the duo’s chores for the day on his fingers.  The riders regularly paired up for their obligations around the way station, finding the duties seemed to go by quicker with a companion to chat with as they worked.  The pairings had come naturally: Buck and Ike, Jimmy and Cody, Kid and Lou. 

“I’ll repair the harness after breakfast and I’ll have plenty of time to shoe Destiny before I leave.  But… uhhh… well, Ike, you see…” Buck studied the ground.  “I didn’t touch the… uhhh… the manure.”  He looked up tentatively to judge Ike’s reaction. 

Ike may have often regretted his lack of speech.  Those who loved him yearned for him to someday find the strength to regain it.  At that moment, however, Ike needed no voice to convey everything he was feeling.  He signed one word. 

Buck gulped. 

“Now Ike, I know I said things would be different,” Buck said rapidly.  “And they are.  Didn’t I do all the rest of our chores for the day?  It’s just… Ike,” he wrinkled his nose, grimacing. “It’s MANURE.” 

I know. 

“I did everything else for the day.  Once you get that done you’ll have the whole day to yourself!  And I’ll do it myself the next time.  I swear.”

Nothing. 

“All right, all right.  I’ll shovel it.  You shoe Destiny and I’ll shovel manure.  Right before my date.  I’m sure Claire won’t mind if I’m a little pungent.”  He sighed elaborately as he bent to the saddle, peeking up through a curtain of hair to see if any of this was working. 

Hands folded across his chest, Ike regarded him impassively.  Buck dropped the saddle.  “Aww Ike, it’s MANURE!”

Ike’s face abruptly split in a wide grin. 

“Why you little—“

I wouldn’t want you and Claire to break up ‘cause she can’t stand the smell of ya.

Laughing now, Buck chased Ike into the bunkhouse.

Claire sat happily in the buckboard, half-listening as Abigail chattered about her latest paramour.  Her sister had already claimed the buckboard for the day, insisting that she had shopping to do in town and that there was simply no way she could carry her purchases home.  It had taken much cajoling, a threat, and finally a bribe to convince Abigail to take her to the creek to meet Buck.  And even then, Abigail had begun the journey with a treatise on “the hazards of being courted by an Indian”.  It was only after Claire threatened to get out and walk that Abby had agreed to cease and desist.  She couldn’t, after all, let her sister trek through the “wild and untamed wilderness” alone. 

“What time do you need me to come back for you?” Abigail asked as Claire climbed down from the wagon. 

“We’ll probably go back to the way station.”

“Probably?  Claire, you could be trapped out in the middle of nowhere; he could attack you and—“

“Abigail,” Claire warned.

“Well, you could fall from that stupid horse that you insist on riding and hurt yourself and what would I tell mother?  ‘Oh, she’s probably at the way station’.”

Claire sighed.  “All right.  I’ll definitely be going back to the way station, and either Buck or Billy will see me home.”

Abigail sniffed and shook her long dark curls.  “Fine.  I’ll see you at supper.”

Claire had only been sitting on the upturned log for fifteen minutes before she heard the muffled sounds of someone approaching from the surrounding woods. She found herself tensing involuntarily.  Oh, it had to be Buck.  Of course it was Buck. 

Or it could be someone else.  Someone who lived in this ‘untamed wilderness’, subsisting on wild berries and sap and maybe, perhaps, the occasional city-girl who foolishly sat on a log in the middle of nowhere waiting idiotically for a man who wasn’t going to show up and…  Claire shook her head violently.  Yes, that’s it, she mentally chastised herself.  We’ll call him The Monster of Forked Creek. Maybe he could even carry the heads of the other city-girls he’s encountered on his belt.  My goodness, she was beginning to sound as absurd as Abigail.   With my luck, she thought, it’s some kind of family trait that only matures when the female child reaches seventeen.  She grinned at the thought. 

Still… there were other things that lived in the wild.  Animals.  Hadn’t Billy mentioned a bear?  And, there WERE other Indians.  Indians that didn’t take kindly to the things that the white man was doing to their land, their customs, their people.  She drew her arms across her chest, wishing that she had a gun.  Not that she knew how to use a gun, she reflected soberly, but at least it would look good.  It would look threatening.  Her eyes searched the forest frantically, just as the thicket behind her parted with an audible rasp. 

“Been waitin’ long?”

“BUCK!”  Jumping up she flew to his arms, nearly knocking him over with the force of her embrace. 

“Hey,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her gently.  “You’re shivering.  You all right?”

Claire pulled back to gaze into his deep brown eyes.  “I am now,” she whispered.  Buck gave her one of his lopsided smiles, and she smiled back.  With anyone else, she would have been ashamed at her earlier foolishness.  Right now, she just felt wanted and protected in his arms. 

“Good.  Come see what I’ve got for you.”  Taking her by the hand, he led her to the clearing.

“Oh Buck, he’s beautiful!”  Dropping her suitor’s hand, Claire scampered happily over to the horses, a radiant smile lighting her features.  She patted Warrior’s nose affectionately before studying the chestnut brown animal at his side.  “And he’s a real horse,” she teased. 

“’She’,” Buck corrected. 

Claire grinned.  “What’s her name?” 

The rider crossed his arms over his chest.  “Well now, that’s up to you to decide.  She’s yours.”  He laughed at the look of confusion on Claire’s face.  “She’s yours,” he repeated.  “I got her for you.”

“You got her for… Buck, what are you talking about?”  Claire turned a puzzled expression to the man she loved.  She knew very well the price of horseflesh, and she also knew very well that one did not just ‘get’ a horse, especially not one like this.  Just from being around the riders and their mounts, she could tell that this horse was of the best stock. 

“I went to visit Red Bear.  He gave me a good deal,” Buck was explaining, still plainly amused at her shocked and confused expression.  Mentally, he thanked the spirits that he was able to haggle his brother down to TWO ponies to replace this one.  With no one else to help on the hunt, it was going to be hard enough to capture one wild horse, never mind two… and all before the next new moon. 

Claire’s eyes widened.  “Oh Buck.  No one’s ever… I mean, this is just the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me, and… Oh thank you Buck, she’s beautiful!”  Her eyes glittered with unshed tears of happiness; her smile was the most luminous he had ever seen it.  She turned back to the horse, caressed its flank and murmured to it soothingly, reaching up to scratch the filly’s ears and all the while stealing glances over her shoulder at Buck, her eyes and her smile radiating warmth and love.  Watching her, he knew he’d willingly replace this horse with TEN ponies if Red Bear wanted them.  She was worth it. 

“How’s this?” asked Claire for the umpteenth time. 

“Real good,” Buck reassured her.  They’d been riding for thirty minutes and Claire was proving to be an excellent student.  Though tentative at first, she now sat the horse comfortably and looked, if not relaxed, at least not ready to bolt at every toss of the horse’s head.  Her need for approval on her riding technique could have been taxing to some; a quirk of neediness that demanded constant reassurance. Buck found it oddly endearing.  It only proved to him that she was trying to excel and, he knew, to please him in the process.  He smiled.  He’d come up with a dozen variations of ‘real good’ in the last half-hour. 

“Come up with a name yet?”

“Still thinkin’ on it.”  Claire leaned down to rub her as-yet-unnamed-horse’s neck affectionately and Buck smile widened, proud of her newfound confidence in the saddle.  “It has to be perfect.”  Claire sighed happily, straightening and flicking her long hair out of her face.  Perfect.  Things couldn’t BE more perfect. 

“You sure this is okay?” she asked tentatively. 

Buck, scanning the trail ahead, looked back at her with a tolerant grin.  “You’re doing fine.”

Claire shrugged, trying to return the smile but suddenly finding it difficult to summon.  “Okay,” she said slowly.  She paused, waiting until Buck turned back to the trail before she let a frown overtake her features.  She was being silly, she rationalized.  Buck said she was doing fine.  That meant she had nothing to worry about.  Fine.  She should just enjoy the rest of the day.  She was riding – riding her own horse!  She was with a wonderful man who cared about her deeply.  Hadn’t she just been thinking that the day was perfect?  Yes, she had.  So she will ride along on her horse and delight in the company of the man she loved.  She would most definitely not discuss anything that was not ‘fine’. 

“It’s just that,” Claire said nervously, surprising even herself by speaking, “I feel… clumsy.” 

Buck sighed.  “Claire, you’re doing fine,” he repeated firmly.  “Don’t worry.”  He waited until she gave him a tentative smile before turning back to his perusal of the trail.  Despite his reassurances, he was concerned as well.  Clumsy, she called it.  He felt the same way.  Like his hands were too big for the reins.  He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising.  He felt fidgety, anxious.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory was trying to surface.  A remembrance of another time, another place.   He bent his head over the reins, allowing his mind to drift back to his childhood with the Kiowa.  He’d felt this way before.  Now if he could only remember where…

“It’s so quiet,” Claire whispered. 

Buck’s head whipped up, eyes wide.  Abruptly he reined Warrior, happy that Claire’s horse followed suit, and listened to the sounds from the woods surrounding them.  Lack of sound would be more accurate.  Not a bird chirped, not an animal scrounged in the undergrowth.  He should have sensed it before, he inwardly chastised himself.  Too busy chatting with Claire; too caught up in the moment.  Red Bear would be ashamed. 

“Too quiet,” he whispered back, just as the sky darkened as though an unseen hand covered the sun and the first torrent of rain hit them. 

“Storm!” Claire announced unnecessarily. 

“No,” Buck countered, twisting in the saddle, trying to see all directions at once.  It was no use, there was too much cover.  It could be upon them before they even knew it.  They needed to get to shelter, and fast.  He turned back to Claire, who stared at him with wide and trusting eyes.  She raised one shaking hand to wipe the water from her face, flinching when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the forest around them.  Even in this situation, Buck felt another surge of pride in her.  She was obviously frightened yet she waited patiently on her mount, confident that he would take care of her.  He gulped, knowing that what he had to say would only terrify her more. 

“No,” he repeated, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain.  “Not just a storm.  I think… I think it’s a twister.”
 
 

Chapter Ten
 

Claire kept a white-knuckle grip on the reins, trying desperately to ignore the lashing rain and the lightning that crackled in the air.  Twister.  Had he said twister?  She shook her head, sure that she had heard him incorrectly.   “Tornado?” she whispered.

Buck saw her lips move though her words were drowned out by the sound of the storm.  Both horses shied and whinnied anxiously.  Certain of Warrior’s obedience, Buck leaned over hastily to place a steadying hand on the reins of Claire’s mount. 

“Claire!” he shouted over the ever-increasing noise of the storm.  He waited until she turned distracted eyes in his direction. 

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he assured her, wishing he could be certain of it.  “I just need you to listen to me.  Can you do that?”  To his relief, some of the panic faded from Claire’s eyes as she nodded once, quickly. 

“We’ve got to get to shelter,” he continued, keeping his voice calm and steady.  “The old Scotsman’s cabin’s not too far from here.  We can make it.  Some of the terrain is rough but you’ve got a good horse and you’ve been ridin’ real good.  Just remember all your lessons. That filly needs to know that YOU’RE in charge now.  Keep your knees tight and keep a steady hold on the reins.  Can you do that?”

Claire nodded shakily, adjusting her grip on the reins as she did so.  Rain poured from the sky in torrents and the thunder booming overhead made her want to run for her home in terror, but she tried to focus on Buck’s words only.  She was not a fool.  If they were caught outside, unprotected, when the tornado touched down… Claire let the thought drift away.  She didn’t want to think about that.  Yet by the way that Buck was acting, they might have had all the time in the world.  HE was calm.  HE knew what to do.  She relaxed slightly, certain that Buck would see them both through this. 

Buck flipped wet hair out of his face impatiently, making sure he maintained eye contact with Claire.  She seemed to be regaining her composure somewhat -- there was less panic in her eyes and more determination.   Taking a deep breath, he continued his instructions.  “Now we’re going to ride for the cabin.  I’m going to take your horse’s reins.  I’ll lead the way, and your filly will follow.”  He added a mental prayer to the spirits of his people that the filly would follow.  Red Bear had said she was the best horse in the camp – his brother had better have been right.  “All you need to do is hold on and remember your lessons.”

Pausing, Buck scanned the horizon in all directions.  Still no sign of the funnel cloud.  The memories were crashing in on him now – the raging storm that hit the summer of his ninth year, the way the sky had turned a sickly yellow, the twister snaking toward the small Kiowa camp.  He remembered standing in the middle of the clearing, watching in wide-eyed wonder as it tore trees from their roots and sent them spiraling into the sky.  Then Red Bear had been there, scooping him up and spiriting him to the safety of the nearby caves.   His brother had become his hero that day, unable to do any wrong in the eyes of the young Running Buck.  He shook his head rapidly and refocused on the situation at hand. 

“Are you ready?” he shouted over the roar of the storm.  Claire nodded, too nervous to trust her voice.  Impulsively, Buck leaned between the two horses, oblivious to rain and thunder and lightning for this one brief moment, and gave her a quick kiss.  “We’ll be fine,” he promised, and she smiled weakly as he gathered up her reins, instructing her on where to hold on in preparation for their flight through the woods.  Checking her readiness with a final nod, he said simply, “Let’s go!” 

Claire would never remember much of their mad gallop through the forest.  Trees seemed to appear out of nowhere, blocking their path and seeming to grow larger and larger until she was certain they were going to collide until suddenly, magically, the horses flew past them… Utter blackness abruptly lit by the brilliant crackle of lightning, illuminating everything like a photo-graphic plate she’d seen once at the fair in Boston…  White orbs that seemed to float like ghosts in the darkness, only revealing themselves as flowering bushes once they were behind her.  And always Buck, riding fast and furious and leading her to safety. 

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at what could only be the Old Scotsman’s cabin.  The structure was weather beaten and badly maintained, but large and solid.  Barely able to realize that the wild ride had ceased, Claire was still trying to catch her breath when Buck pulled her briskly from her horse and scattered the frightened animals. 

“The horses?”  Claire pulled at Buck’s arm. 

“They’ll be safer this way.  Let’s get inside.” 

The interior of the cabin was dark, lit only by the flashes of lightning that seemed to be increasing in frequency.  Claire stood in the middle of the main room, arms crossed at her chest and shivering, and watched with wide eyes as Buck paced one length of the chamber to the other, then dived into the smaller bedroom before finally emerging shaking his head.  He continued his examination of the cabin before noticing her agitated appraisal, and flashed her a tight smile.  “No cellar,” he explained quickly.  No lanterns or candles or wood by the fireplace either, he added silently.  Also no need to point that out to Claire right about now.  She looked wound up tight enough already. 

No cellar.  Her mind repeated the two words she most definitely did NOT want to hear.  No cellar meant no protection; no cellar meant that if the twister hit this cabin, she and Buck were taking a very long and windy trip; no cellar meant…

“Buck!”  Claire’s scream rent the air, her ruminations interrupted as Buck pulled open the front door and stepped back out into the storm. 

He was back inside and across the room in an instant.  Claire was subliminally aware of the gun in his hand, even as he grabbed her protectively and searched the cabin for the source of her fear.  “What is it?” he asked anxiously.

“Why… why are you going back out there?” Claire answered, hating the weakness in her voice.  “Please don’t go out there, Buck!”    She was aware that she was clutching at his vest, holding on so tightly that her fingers were turning white, yet she couldn’t stop herself.  She couldn’t make herself let go.  She couldn’t let him leave her – he couldn’t leave her alone.  Not now.  Not in the storm. 

Buck let out a deep breath before bending to holster his gun.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said patiently.  “I’m just gonna check the shed for firewood.  Get us warmed up.”  And check the sky, he added mentally.  Check for healthy black storm clouds and not the noxious yellow cast that brought the last twister he knew.  He kissed the top of her head, feeling her body relax slightly against his own and her grip loosen on his vest.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised. 

He returned five minutes later, dripping water and empty handed, and could only shrug at Claire’s expectant look.  The anxiety in her bearing hadn’t abated with their arrival at the cabin; if anything, it had increased.    Her eyes looked haunted, and he cursed himself for not being able to take away that primal fear. 

Keep busy.  That was the key.  The storm continued to crash around them, and as far as Buck knew, that was a good sign.  The sky above Crooks Hollow had turned a sickly pale and he could see no storm clouds there, but Crooks Hollow was many miles distant.  They were safe.  For now. 

“Looks like the twister’s passing us by,” he explained to Claire, making sure to keep his voice optimistic.  “No wood in the shed though.”  He looked around the small cabin a final time, then shrugged, picking up one of the small wooden chairs.  “Guess we’ll have to make our own.”  Admonishing Claire to stand back, he hefted the chair like he was swinging one of those ‘baseball bats’ that Teaspoon had bought the riders, sending the chair into the wall with a resounding crash.

“Buck?”

He glanced up from gathering the now-shattered pieces of chair.  “What?”

“Isn’t the Old Scotsman going to be a little angry when he gets back and finds out you smashed up his furniture?”

“What?”  Buck grinned, then smiled.  Claire frowned, glaring at him with her hands on her hips, and that made him laugh out loud. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his grin telling Claire he wasn’t sorry at all.  “Claire, there IS no ‘Old Scotsman’.  The scotsman died, oh, ten years ago.  It’s the scotsman’s old place!”  He chuckled again, wondering if Claire had been expecting a 90-year-old Scot clad in kilt and playing bagpipes to show up any minute.

“All right, smarty pants, so who DOES own this place?” Claire demanded petulantly.

He shrugged, bending to the wood again, still snickering.  “Bank bought it about a year ago.  Never did nothin’ with it though.”

“The bank?  So, basically you’re telling me that you’re busting up Jack Devlin’s furniture?!”

Buck lifted his head quickly to meet Claire’s eyes, only to find that she was grinning slyly. Perhaps even maliciously.  He found a slow smile playing across his features that was an equal to her own.  "I guess I am,” he said, grinning devilishly.  “Think we need some more, don’t you?”

Claire’s eyes sparked mischievously.  “I’ll help.” 

Fifteen minutes later, the couple sat drying in front of a roaring fire.  Claire had found an old moth-eaten blanket in the bedroom, which served as their simple pallet.  The splintered remains of two chairs fueled the flames, with the corpses of two others piled to the side “in case they needed them”. 

“You know, we’d feel a lot more comfortable and get dry quicker if we stripped off some of these wet clothes,” Buck suggested. 

“Buck Cross!”  Claire’s indignant protest filled the cabin.  “If you think I’m going to get undressed—“

“It was just a suggestion,” Buck laughed, holding up the edge of the tattered blanket.  He eyed her up and down roguishly before continuing, “You could wrap up in this.”

“I can’t believe you would even… I mean, there is NO way that I’m—“

“Suit yourself,” Buck shrugged.  “I’m taking off some of these clothes.”

“BUCK!  You are NOT taking off…” Claire let the words fade away and hid her face in her hands as Buck ignored her and stood, stripping off his vest, shirt, and undershirt quickly and dropping them in a heap beside the woodpile.  The rider considered moving towards the top button of his trousers, just to see what her reaction would be – he could just see her peeking from between her fingers, despite her appalled objection – but immediately thought better of it.  Knowing Claire, she was likely to get up and walk back out into the storm.    He retook his seat instead, enjoying the warmth of the flames on his bare skin. 

“All clear,” he said dryly, then arched an eyebrow.  “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

He was saved from Claire’s sure-to-be scathing response as a loud crack of thunder suddenly crashed through the small cabin, drowning out her words.  The girl jumped back, a small scream escaping her lips as she pulled up her knees and hugged herself in fear.

“It’s only thunder,” said Buck soothingly as another more booming clap shook the cabin, the lightning accompanying it dazzling his eyes.   Thunder was a good sign, he reflected.  There was no thunder, no lightning, in his memory of that other twister many summers ago.

Claire merely whimpered, hugging herself tighter, as though the storm would miss her if she could make herself small enough.  To his surprise, Buck saw that she was truly afraid.  He leaned forward, meaning to comfort her, then pulled back when Claire flinched as though she’d been slapped.  He tried, but couldn’t quite keep the hurt from his voice as he repeated softly, “It’s only thunder, Claire.”

Claire raised tear-filled eyes to the man she loved.  “I’m sorry, Buck,” she whispered, again feeling embarrassed and ashamed, sure that Buck would think her nothing but a foolish schoolgirl.  “I’ve just never… never liked storms.  The thunder…  Mama used to tell me that the thunder meant that God was mad at me.  If thunder came, I must have done something horribly horribly wrong, and God knew about it.  When I was a little girl I could never figure out what I’d done so wrong.”  The words flew from her lips rapidly now, all the terrors of childhood still manifested in the adult.  “The lightning… the lightning was the finger of God, trying to find me to punish me.  And some day, if I was very very bad, Mama said that God would send a storm to find me, a storm shaped like a dragon, and the dragon would find me and it would… it would…“ 

Buck scowled, disgusted at the whites who would torture their children with such tales of terror.  He remembered the nuns at the mission school telling a similar story to the younger children, though to their credit their tales never featured such a vengeful or vindictive God.  He mentally cursed Claire’s mother for causing her daughter this lasting fear. 

“Come here, Claire,” he said gently, holding out his hand.  “Let me tell you about the storm spirit.  Let me tell you why you don’t have to be afraid.”

Tentatively, Claire rose from her place across from him and settled herself in the crook of his legs, leaning back against his chest.  Her blouse was damp against his warm skin, her breathing soft and shallow.  Soothingly, Buck placed his arms around her shivering form, enveloping her in his comforting embrace. 

“The Kiowa recognize the storm spirit,” he began, pitching his voice low and soothing, and unknowingly taking on the cadences of the Kiowa storyteller who educated the young braves of his youth.  “Long ago, my people took to the land and fashioned a great horse out of clay.  But the Kiowa could not control the remarkable animal that they created, and soon it began to writhe and thrash, contorting in agony as it strained for release.  It began twisting faster and faster until it broke free, escaping into the sky and laying waste to the land, uprooting trees and villages and some say, even the buffalo.  Its head is the head of a horse, carrying the storm, whinnying in anger or frustration to bring thunder and lightning to the land.  It’s tail brings the wind of the storm, and when the great beast is truly agitated, the frenzied thrashing of its tail brings the tornado.  It is an extraordinary and powerful animal, and it still roams free.”

Buck kissed the top of Claire’s head, feeling her body relax against him.  “But we don’t have to be afraid of it, Claire.  My people invented the Man-ka-ih, and it understands our language and won’t harm the people who made it.  So when the great storm spirit comes, we simply speak to it.  We say, ‘Pass over me’.”

“Pass over me,” Claire repeated softly, almost reverentially.  Her breathing relaxed now, she was content to simply recline happily in Buck’s warm embrace, feeling his strong arms enfolding her protectively.   She turned her head slightly, marveling at the contrast of her pale complexion against his bronzed skin; a contrast that never failed to captivate her.  Safe in the circle of his love, she made a decision. 

Reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his body, Claire twisted to face Buck.  For a long moment, she simply gazed at his face.  His eyes were closed; his arms still entwined around her.  She touched his hair gently, then slowly reached up to caress his cheek, causing his eyes to flutter open lazily.  “More stories?” he teased. 

“I love you,” she said softly. 

Buck blinked.  Of all the things he expected her to say, ‘I love you’ was never one of them.  A dozen answers went through his mind rapidly, all of them bound to hurt her.  But he couldn’t do this.  There was too much to consider, too many factors all allied against them.  It was his fault – he should never have let it get this far.  She was too young… she didn’t understand the prejudice they’d face.  She didn’t understand the hate that could infuse a person – an average god-fearing person – when they saw the colour of his skin.  She’d get hurt.  He’d get hurt.  This was wrong.  He couldn’t do this.  He had to tell her now, before it was too late.  Maybe, if they were lucky, they could still salvage a friendship.  He opened his mouth to explain… to explain that he couldn’t love her. 

“I love you too,” Buck answered. 

Gently, he pulled her against him.  Her thin frame melted against his own, the rounded contours of her body melding perfectly against the firmness of his.  Her arms snaked confidently around his neck, hands twining in his hair as carefully, tenderly, he captured her lips in a soft kiss.  Her answering ardour thrilled and encouraged him and, engulfed in a passion he’d never known, he let the escalating desire overtake him, his tongue teasing gently against her lips until finally her mouth opened willingly under his own.  Encircling her waist, he endeavored to pull her even closer, knowing that she could never be close enough.  Even through the thin material of her blouse and camisole, he could feel the heat surging within her, and he cursed the fabric that kept them apart. Moving away from the softness of her lips, Buck turned his attention to her neck, trailing butterfly kisses along her throat and hearing her gasp with pleasure and surprise.  His hands roamed across her back, tangling in her long hair; his breath came in hot gasps against the softness of her neck.  It was only after a long moment that he reluctantly pulled away, his hunger unsatisfied, leaving them both breathless.  It would be so easy to continue, he thought, to take her as his woman not just in word but in deed. Her eyes were glazed, her lips bruised from the intensity of their kiss – she wanted him as much as he wanted her.  But he knew it was his responsibility to prevent things from going too far.  He had learned many things during his childhood among the Kiowa and, despite the differing circumstances, Red Flower’s example would not be repeated here. 

Gasping, Claire let her body go limp, conscious only of Buck’s strong arms holding her tight against him.  Her heart pounded against her chest, beating out a staccato rhythm that was matched by the man who held her so protectively.  Sighing, she snuggled closer, her skin tingling wherever Buck’s lips had wandered.  For a long moment she was content merely to be nestled in the arms of the man she loved, her head against his shoulder, listening to the sound of a storm that was no longer frightening. 

Finally she pulled back, gazing ardently into Buck’s deep brown eyes and seeing all the love, warmth and passion she felt reflected there.  Almost in awe, she cautiously brushed her fingertips against his lips, amazed at the longing and desire those lips could awaken within her. Before she could remove her hand, Buck’s own had snaked up to capture it.  Eyes never leaving hers, he placed a gentle kiss in her palm.  The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity.

Finally Claire sat back, eyes sparkling.  “Turn your head,” she ordered.  Buck’s eyebrow arched in response.  “Go on, turn your head.” 

Waiting until he complied, Claire tucked Buck’s hair behind his ear, then impulsively leaned forward to kiss his neck, peeking up shyly for approval.  His satisfied smile was all the encouragement she needed.  Pushing the rest of his hair out of the way, she reached for the long strands behind his ear and went to work.  One long thin plait came to life under her industrious fingers, then a second, tied at the ends with a tiny knot.  As she began working on the third braid, Buck’s curiousity got the better of him. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded inquisitively. 

“Wait and see,” she said, slapping back his questing hand.    She finished the third braid with a flourish, then settled back on her haunches.  “Done!”

Buck’s hand came up cautiously, examining the long thin braids hidden behind his mane of hair.  “Braids.” 

“They’re lo…” Claire cut her self off abruptly.  No matter how much she loved this man, she had no intention of telling him the truth: that these particular braids were called “love knots”, and that she’d read about them in a saucy dime-novel called “Love’s Enchanted Embrace”.  “They’re to remind you of me, when we’re not together,” she said instead, uneasy now and almost regretting her impetuous act.  She gnawed on her lower lip nervously.  “Wherever you are… on a run or at the way station, you can reach up and touch them, and think of me.  And you’ll know that wherever I am, I’m thinking of you too.”

Buck smiled, leaning forward to kiss her quickly.  The tension went out of her body in a rush. “Then you need some too,” he said softly, turning her head away from him.  Pushing her long hair out of the way, he resisted the urge to press his lips to her neck, knowing only too well where that could lead, and instead began working on his own braids.  When he finished, Claire reached up to stroke the four thin waist-long plaits with admiration. 

“Now you can always know that I’m thinking of you when we’re apart.  But people will be able to see them when you wear your hair back,” he apologized. 

Claire smiled.  “Good!” 

Relieved that she was pleased with his somewhat-clumsy efforts, Buck smiled also, tucking his arms around her as she once again leaned back into his embrace, still fondling the long braids he had made for her.  Somehow, he reflected, this was never the way he figured his life would turn out.  Growing up, even ostracized as he was, he thought he had a pretty good idea of what his woman would be like.  Maybe someone like Song Bird.  Pretty, and strong.  Someone who would know her place, who would serve him with honour, who would share in the bounties he brought and never cause him to lose face in the tribe.  He never thought he’d fall in love with someone like Claire.  He wrinkled his nose in amusement.  She was certainly ‘high maintenance’.  And he discovered that an obedient, deferential woman held little allure for him now.   Claire was a woman of contradictions: at one moment crawling under a printing press to do repairs – men’s work – and the next crying unashamedly, a child afraid of the thunder.  Willing and anxious to accept and love him for what he was – for who he was – despite what anyone else may think.  Strong and independent, yet also needing reassurance and guidance.  He remembered Teaspoon’s advice: “Hold her hand when it needs holdin’.  Stand by her when things are good and when things are 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.”  Yes, he could do that.  As she accepted him for all that he was – red blood and white, wise yet irrational – he too embraced all that she was – independent yet fragile, capable and capricious.  And if that acceptance included both watching her begin a career at The Sentinel as well as holding her close and comforting her when the storms came, well then…

“I am a very lucky man,” he whispered against her hair. 

“Yes you are,” Claire agreed with a giggle.  Laughing, he pulled her back for another long kiss.  When they finally broke apart, flushed and breathless, Claire said, “Buck, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh,” he teased.

“I’m serious,” Claire protested, then grinned as Buck put on his most serious expression.  “I want you to teach me.”

“Isn’t that what I have been doing?” he answered playfully, reaching to pull her against him again.

“Not THAT, silly!”  Claire pushed him away, laughing even as a blush made its way to her cheeks.  Buck vowed then and there that no matter how long they were together, he would always find a way to make her flush with delight like she did at that moment.  “I want you to teach me about the Kiowa.”

“What do you want to know?”

Claire spread her arms wide.  “Everything!” she announced triumphantly, giggling at Buck’s elaborate groan.  “But first, I want to learn the language.  I want you to teach me to speak Kiowa!”

“It’s a difficult lang—“ Buck began.

“Oh, wait!” Claire interrupted excitedly.  “FIRST, I want to learn Indian sign.  I want to be able to talk to Ike.”

“Indian sign.” 

“You don’t think I can learn it?” Claire challenged, moving to sit cross-legged in front of him. 

“Oh, I have no doubt,” replied Buck with a grin.  Noting her eager expression, he groaned again.  “You want to start NOW?” 

When she only raised her eyebrows expectantly, he folded his legs under him and sat across from her.  “All right, this is ‘hello’,” he instructed, beginning to make the sign, when suddenly Claire grabbed his wrists.  “NOW what?” he grumbled good-naturedly. 

“I want the first word I learn to be… ‘Love’,” Claire said softly. 

Buck smiled. 
 

Chapter Eleven
 

Hands on her hips, Rachel stood in the yard and surveyed the damage to Emma’s home – HER home, she amended silently – with a critical eye.  All told, the way station hadn’t suffered as much damage as they’d feared.  Shutters, ripped from the windows by the gale-force winds, now lay like scattered bones in the dirt; they’d lost an extensive portion of the west barn wall, lifted almost intact by the strength of the squall, then shattered on impact with the ground.  She drew her shawl around her shoulders and shivered.  They were lucky it hadn’t been worse.  At least, they hoped it hadn’t been worse.  For Buck and Claire still hadn’t returned, and now the sun was setting. 

“I’m sure they’re fine, Rachel,” a voice said softly from behind her.

Turning, Rachel forced a smile for the rider’s sake.  “I hope so, Kid.”  Inwardly, she wasn’t so sure.  She’d seen what those sudden storms could do to people caught out in the open.  Again, she shuddered involuntarily. 

“Kid’s right.”  Jimmy dropped the shutter he’d been holding and joined them.  “’Sides, Buck knows how to take care of himself.   Don’t worry about ‘em, Rachel.”

“I bet he’s got ‘em holed up in a cave somewhere, roastin’ a rabbit over a fire… hell, they probably had a better supper than we did!” Cody put in. 

“Or… they could be ridin’ up right this minute,” Lou added pointedly, then gestured over Rachel’s shoulder to the two bedraggled riders just now approaching the gate. 

“Buck Cross!”   Not wanting the others to see just how concerned she’d been, Rachel let the mother-hen in her take over.  She covered the ground between the house and the fence quickly.  “We been worried sick over you,” she scolded.  “Over you both!  Get down off those animals and let me take a look at you!”

Grinning sheepishly, Buck slid easily from his horse before putting his hands around Claire’s slim waist to help her to dismount.  Both horses were covered in mud, and the bottom-halves of their riders didn’t look much better.  Buck reluctantly let Rachel give him a cursory once-over before pulling away slightly to put his arm around Claire. 

“We’re fine, Rachel,” he insisted, turning troubled eyes to the property.  “Did we get hit hard?”

“It’s all surface damage.  We’ll start fixin’ it up tomorrow,” Rachel answered, not so easily put off.  “What happened to the two of you?”

“We figured you were hidin’ out somewhere,” said Kid, unable to wipe the grin of relief off his face.  No need to wipe it off though, he saw… it was echoed on the faces of all the other riders. 

“Or that you’d run off to elope!” Cody teased. 

Claire found herself blushing profusely as Buck replied, “We got caught in the storm but made it to the Scotsman’s place before it got real bad.  Managed to hole up there for a few hours.  I’m pretty sure a twister touched down though, over by Crooks Hollow.”

“It missed us though,” Claire put in.  “We just said ‘Man-ka-ih, pass over us’, and it did.”  She leaned against Buck comfortably, gazing up for his approval at her pronunciation.  Buck smiled, drawing his arm tighter around her waist as he continued, “Took a while to find the horses again.  But here we are!”

“Here you are, and Claire’s parents are probably worried sick!”

Buck shuffled uncomfortably.  “It’s not like we could help it, Rachel.”

The older woman’s stern look softened.  “Of course not.  I just know how worried I was; I hate to think of the McKinstry’s still bein’ worried at home.  Did you eat?” 

The change of subject didn’t faze Buck.  “Some,” he replied, with a reproachful look at the woman at his side.

After tracking the horses for thirty minutes, then leading them carefully back through the rubble-strewn undergrowth, he had finally reached the cabin where Claire had waited patiently.  They were halfway home when neither could ignore the rumblings of hunger any longer.  If he’d stopped to hunt they could have had a decent meal, but then they would have had to camp overnight.  Buck told himself that he didn’t want to worry their families by being away any longer than necessary, but the truth was that he just didn’t trust himself to be alone with Claire all night.  It was hard enough to stop himself in the cabin… he could only imagine the temptation they would face under a canopy of stars, with only one bedroll to share between them.  No, they HAD to get home right away.  So he’d dug into the saddlebags again, finding yet another (bruised) apple and the last remaining hardtack from his previous ride.  He didn’t want to eat hardtack again for a month of Sundays. 

Claire refused to drop her eyes.  “The horses were hungry too, Buck!” she insisted stubbornly.

“Uh huh.”

“Let me get this straight,” Cody interrupted them, grinning.  “You fed your food… to the horses?”

“Not ALL of it!” she clarified, clearly astonished that he would think such a thing. “I shared my apple.  Buck couldn’t share his.”

Cody’s grinned widened.  “Wouldn’t?”

“Couldn’t,” Buck answered dryly.  “I had hardtack.  They wouldn’t eat it.  Smart horses,” he muttered the last under his breath. 

“Well, we need to get you a decent meal and a hot bath.”  Rachel drew her shawl around her shoulders as the wind picked up again.  “And we need to get Claire home to her family, and you don’t look in any shape to do that, Buck.”

“I’ll take Claire home,” Cody offered. 

Buck grimaced inwardly.  HE wanted to take Claire home, but he knew that Rachel was right.  He’d had 5 hours sleep in the last three days, was covered in mud, and it was all he could do to stand upright at the moment.  “Do you mind, Claire?” he asked softly. 

Claire smiled.  “Of course not.  Billy and I haven’t talked in ages.”  She lowered her voice and whispered, “As long as you promise to come see me tomorrow?” 

“I promise,” he whispered back, leaning forward to run his hand under her hair while he kissed her good-bye.  Their farewell became more heated than he expected, and when they parted, it was to find Rachel and the riders gaping at them with varying levels of amusement. 

Buck cleared his throat. At his side, Claire bit her lip and ducked her head to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Now that he had finally given his heart, Buck wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed to show his affection for the woman he loved – at least not in front of his family, the people who loved him as well.  But he was acutely aware that the situation could be very different for a woman.  Claire had a reputation to maintain and beyond that, he knew that she was just becoming comfortable with the physical aspect of their relationship.  So while her answering passion left no doubt about her feelings, he still felt the need to safeguard her honour. 

He looped an arm casually about her waist, unwilling to let her go just yet, as he turned to Rachel, indicating the tired horses with his left hand.   “Claire’s folks don’t have any stables,” he explained, “I was wonderin’ if we could keep Claire’s horse—“

“’Tempest’,” Claire interrupted, her eyes sparkling now.  “Her name is ‘Tempest’.”

“Can we stable Tempest,” Buck grinned, emphasizing the name, “until me and Claire get somethin’ else sorted?”

Rachel was already nodding in the affirmative even as she pulled the young couple apart, apparently having decided that they had already spent too much time yammering in the cold.  Within moments, Claire and Cody were heading back to Sweetwater on the buckboard while Buck, with Ike’s willing help once again, set about grooming and bedding down Warrior and Tempest for the night. 

Claire had been laughing as they pulled away from the way station and she was still laughing as she walked up the short path to her front door.  Turning on the porch, she waved exuberantly as Cody departed in the wagon, waving his hat energetically in the air.  He could always make her laugh.  In many ways, she reflected, Billy Cody was so much like the suitors that Abigail routinely brought home – bright, spirited, enthusiastic and… well… full of themselves!  She couldn’t quite figure out why, then, she found Billy a treasure and Abby’s paramours simply dandified pomps.  Maybe it was because, despite his bravado and his ego, Cody was genuine.  He plainly cared about people, and that certainly wasn’t the case with most of Abigail’s beaus.  In another time and place, she mused, it might even have been Billy Cody she could have fallen for, just like her mother wanted. 

But she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone other than Buck.  Couldn’t imagine it, truth be told, since the first time she laid eyes on him outside the general store.  Had it really been almost three weeks ago?  A month ago she hadn’t known he existed; now she knew they were destined to be together always.  Claire sighed.  The way he listened to her, the way he made her feel, the way he looked at her… the way he touched her… 

Still lost in thought and smiling contentedly, Claire pushed the door open and had taken two steps across the tiny kitchen before she sensed the presence on the other side of the door.  She started to turn, already knowing it was too late. 

The open-handed slap sent her careening backwards into the table.  Her hand came up instinctively to her face just as her father’s second blow knocked her to the floor.  Dazed, she felt his fingers digging into her upper arms as he pulled her upward, his whiskey-fouled breath almost causing her to gag. 

“Where you been, girl?  Huh?  Where you been?  I know where you been!  Out whoring around with that god-damn half-blood, ain’t ya?  Ain’t ya?” 

Claire found herself crying not so much from pain as from terror, as Daniel punctuated each of his growled declarations with a vigorous shake.  Her head was still spinning from the force of his blows, her body limp.   “Wha…?” she stammered.  “Father… no…”

“Don’t you tell me NO!” Daniel shouted. “I know you been givin’ yourself to that half-breed freak Injun!” 

Rearing back, he struck his youngest daughter again, sending her flying back to the floor.  Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw her mother standing in the archway, her lips drawn together in a tight line, one hand fingering the filigree brooch she always wore, her back stiff and straight.  Claire reached out a hand.  “Mama, please…”

Shaking her head in disappointment, Marjorie McKinstry turned her back and returned to her bedroom. 

“You ain’t gonna be seein’ him no more, Claire,” Daniel announced ominously, his voice now suddenly cold and low.  “No daughter o’ mine is gonna disgrace herself with no half-breed!  You listen to me now, girl, and this don’t have to go no further.  You gonna stop seein’ that boy.  You gonna start paying attention to that Marcus fella again—“

“NO!” Claire screamed.  “No.  You can do what you want to me, I’m not gonna stop seein’ Buck!  I’m not.  I’m not.  I’m NOT.”   Repeating the refrain as though it would somehow keep her safe, Claire scuttled herself into the corner as Daniel approached, his face transformed by his rage into something barely human.  Claire closed her eyes, not afraid to let the tears come, and tried to think of Buck. 
 

In the small room that she shared with Claire, Abigail sat up in bed, pulled the blankets around her tighter, and tried to ignore her sister’s cries and the angry sound of flesh hitting flesh.  This was the worst one yet.  But… Claire had to know that it was all for her own good.  She couldn’t keep seeing that half-breed.  Abigail knew all about what those Indians did.  Oh yes, she’d read about their blood rituals, and their animal sacrifice, and their pagan dances to their heathen gods.  Claire was young; she didn’t understand.  She had to protect her sister, didn’t she?  That’s what big sisters did. 

But as the beating continued and Claire’s defiant cries of “No” faded away to incoherent whimpers, Abigail wept her own tears into the coverlet and tried to stamp out the tiny seeds of doubt that were being planted with each moment of Claire’s resistance to their father’s will.  She sniffled into the blanket, putting her hands over her ears, trying to do anything to block out the sound of her sister’s pain.  She hadn’t had a choice, after all…he was an Indian.  She HAD to tell her father about Claire and Buck, didn’t she?  Didn’t she? 

Buck flopped down on the cot, his long hair fanning out behind him, raised his arms above his head and stretched.  Warrior and Tempest were bedded down in the stable; Buck’s gunbelt and vest hung on the peg by the door, but he just didn’t have the energy to get further undressed.  Across the room, Ike picked up a book and leafed through it lazily before replacing it on the table; Kid stood looking out the window at the destruction the storm had wrought.  Cody, having safely delivered Claire to her front door, now lounged backward in a chair, absently toying with the fringes on his buckskin jacket. 

“So… Buck… what did you and Claire do all day?” Lou’s voice asked in the silence. 

The rider pulled himself to a sitting position on the cot, shrugging uncomfortably.  It wasn’t that he had anything to hide, but… the events of the day were just too close, too special.  To verbalize them would be to make them seem mundane, almost inconsequential.  On this day, he had found the woman that he would spend his life with; everything about it seemed private and personal. 

“We oughtta ride over to the Hollow,” Kid commented, turning from the window with a look of concern, and inadvertently saving Buck the trouble of answering Lou.  “If a twister did touch down…”

“Do the Harpers still live up that way?” asked Cody.  “Ain’t seen ol’ Caleb in a coons age.”

“He’s still there,” Kid confirmed.  “And Mabel’s been feelin’ poorly, last I heard.  We oughtta make sure they’re okay.”

We can ride out tomorrow after we get the barn fixed up, Ike suggested.

As the boys began making plans for the next day, Jimmy and Cody already arguing over which was the fastest way to Crooks Hollow, Lou turned inquisitive eyes to Buck.  The Kiowa rider still sat on the bunk, following the conversation quietly, but his eyes were distant and unfocussed.  It was rare to find Buck so lost in thought.  And judging by the little display as they said good-bye, things had definitely changed between Buck and Claire today.  Lou grinned, suddenly determined to find out just what HAD happened between the young couple. 

She raised her voice to be heard over the boisterous males.  “What did you and Claire do to keep busy today, Buck?”  Her eyes glinted mischievously as the tumult in the room faded; all eyes now turned in Buck’s direction. 

Buck suppressed a groan.  Lou, he reflected, was like a dog with a bone – sometimes she just wouldn’t let go.  He was reminded of his long discussion with Claire on the trail – their VERY long discussion – about the horses’ apparent “hunger”.  THAT conversation ended with him not only using his knife to split her apple into three pieces so that she could “share”, but had also seen Buck offering his own food – meagre hardtack though it was – to the animals.  He sighed.  With some women, it just wasn’t worth fighting it. 

Buck shrugged again, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.  “Nothin’ much.  Talked.  She wants to learn Indian sign.”  He directed the last comment at Ike, who ducked his head and smiled shyly, clearly pleased by the compliment this entailed. 

“Talked?”  Jimmy’s eyebrow rose a fraction as he grinned wryly.  “’Danced’, more like.”

It happened so fast.  One moment Buck was sitting cross-legged on the cot; the next he was across the room, one hand clutching Jimmy’s collar in a white-knuckled grip while the other arm forced his head back, pinning him against the wall. 

“Just what are you sayin’, Hickok?” he gritted. 

Jimmy smiled half-heartedly, trying to diffuse the situation that he didn’t even know he’d started.  “Now hold on Buck,” he said, trying to sound reasonable.  “I ain’t got no fight with you.”

“No?  Sure seems like you do.”  Buck increased the pressure of his arm on Jimmy’s neck, causing the rider to shift uneasily. 

“All I meant was… you had a lot of time to kill today—“

“You listen to me, Hickok.  Claire is a LADY.  A lady don’t act like that.  You ever say anything like that about Claire again…” He let the threat fade, pushing forcefully against his fellow rider a final time before furiously stalking away. 

“Christ, Buck, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it!” Jimmy swore, rubbing irritably at his neck where Buck’s arm had left an angry red mark.  “I just thought—“

“You never think, Hickok,” Buck rounded on the rider.  “You just open your mouth and start talkin’.”

“I think everybody needs to cool down—“ Cody began.

“Nobody cares what you think, Cody,” Kid jumped in, oblivious to the shocked look that crossed Cody’s face.  Crossing the room in three agitated strides, he grabbed Buck’s arm and pulled the Kiowa around to face him.  “Just what are YOU sayin’, huh Buck?”

Buck shrugged away from Kid, clearly confused. “What are you talkin’ about—“

“I’m TALKIN’ about Lou!  You sayin’ she’s not a lady, Buck?”

“Kid, stop it.”  Lou didn’t think her quiet voice was even heard. 

“You sayin’ that 'cause me and her went ‘dancing’, that she’s some kind of—“

“KID, STOP IT!”  Lou shouted, pushing her way between the two men.  She shook her head, irritated and dismayed by the turn the conversation had taken.  If she’d known this would happen, she’d never have brought it up.  “If anybody’s gonna take offense here, it’s gonna be ME,” she said pointedly to the Kid, before turning back to Buck, arms crossed at her chest.  “So just what DO you mean, Buck?” she asked him point-blank.

Buck ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.  The last thing he wanted to do was insult Lou.  And, by the way she stood, waiting patiently for an answer, he thought she understood that.  The boys though, they were another matter entirely.  So, for the purposes of this conversation, they weren’t there.  He eliminated them from the equation as easily as batting an eye. 

“With you and Kid, it was different,” he said quietly, speaking to Lou and Lou alone.  “You and Kid had somethin’ special goin’ on for a long time.  If you wanted to… be together… there didn’t have to be any strings.”  Buck gulped, sure he was botching this but determined to correct any insult the woman in front of him may have felt.  “With me and Claire… it’s different for the Kiowa.  I’ve taken her as manyi. My woman,” he explained when Lou frowned at the unfamiliar term.  “She’s under my protection now, and I love her.  But if me and Claire… if we ‘dance’… then she becomes something more, something like my… wife.”

The explanation was imprecise and not altogether accurate, but it was the best he could do at the moment.  He wasn’t about to start into a long treatise on the Kiowa family hierarchy and how it related to choosing a mate – or having one chosen for you.  Best to keep it simple and straightforward, in terms his white friends could understand. 

“Wife?” Lou’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. 

Buck nodded.  “I’m sorry Lou.  I never meant anything by what I said.”  He raised his head, taking in the others riders surprised expressions.  “Kid…”

“I’m sorry too, Buck,” Kid held out his hand to his friend. 

“Hickok,” Buck began. 

“Yeah yeah,” Jimmy interrupted shortly.  “You’re sorry, Kid’s sorry, I’m sorry.  Now can we just get some sleep?  We got a long day tomorrow.”  He smirked at his companions. 

“Yeah,” agreed Buck.  Matthew McKinstry was away in Blue Creek and Claire had promised to mind the Sentinel offices while he was gone.  Buck had happily agreed to keep her company for as much of the day as he could.  His hand came up to his hair, unconsciously fingering the long braids that lay hidden there.   “Yeah, we do.”

The door had slammed some time ago, her father’s muttering clearly heard as he passed outside the bedroom window.  Off to the saloon… IF it was still open, Abigail knew.  Still, it had taken her another ten minutes to get up the courage to leave her bed.  Pulling a robe on over her cotton shift, she took a candle from the nightstand and crept silently to the kitchen doorway. 

“Oh Claire…” Abigail’s breath hitched in a stifled sob. 

Her sister sat curled in the corner of the room, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head buried in her hands.  Even from this distance, Abigail could see the marks on Claire’s face already darkening to purple-black bruises.  Her blouse was ripped in several places, a long rivulet of blood making its way slowly down her arm even as Abigail watched. 

Shaking herself from her stunned reverie, Abigail crossed to the pump quickly and filled a basin with water.  Kneeling beside her sister, she tentatively placed a finger on Claire’s face.  “Oh Claire… I’m so sorry,” she breathed. 

Claire lifted her head slowly, opening her eyes and blinking back the last of her tears.  Abigail.  Of course it had been Abigail.  How else could her father have found out?  Uncle Matthew was sworn to secrecy, and she and Buck had been carefully circumspect.  Not anymore.  It didn’t matter anymore. 

“I love him, Abby,” she said softly, her throat rasping in pain from the use her voice had had in the past hour. 

“Claire, he’s an—“

“I love him,” Claire repeated more firmly.  “I’m going to marry him.  Someday.”

Abigail dipped the cloth in the basin, then carefully began to wash her sister’s face.  “Of course you will, Claire,” she said soothingly.  “Of course you will."