Chapter 10
Butte Meadows, Nebraska - April 1874
Violette bounced impatiently on the edge of the bed, drumming her fingers against the mattress. Hours ago, she'd risen with the sun, eager to explore the town and, more importantly, meet her brother. But Gabrielle, pale and drained from the journey, had needed rest. Now, Violette watched as Gabrielle meticulously pinned up her hair, the slow movements a stark contrast to Violette's frenetic energy.
"I'm starving," Violette declared, clutching her stomach for dramatic effect.
Gabrielle chuckled, securing the final braid. "I wouldn't blame you. After yesterday, the thought of food made me nauseous, but now..." she grimaced, "well, let's just say I'm re-acquainted with hunger pangs."
"Honestly, I was tempted to gnaw on my shoes by nightfall," Violette confessed with a dramatic sigh. "But thank goodness for sleep."
Gabrielle smiled. "I apologize for missing dinner. We'll make it up with a hearty breakfast, then head to meet your brother."
A radiant smile lit up Violette's face. "Thanks, so much, Brie! You're the best."
Following Gabrielle out of the room, Violette marveled at her sister's strength. Despite the grueling journey, Gabrielle remained focused, a pillar of support for Violette's bubbling excitement.
The sisters were directed to a cozy corner cafe across the street. Gabrielle, surprised by the town's charm, found herself reevaluating her preconceived notions. It wasn't the dusty, wild frontier town she'd envisioned. Orderly rows of shops hummed with activity, families bustling in and out, and children, unsupervised but seemingly carefree, played on the boardwalk.
"Ready to go?" Violette tapped her fingernails on the table, impatience flickering in her eyes.
Gabrielle chuckled, finishing her coffee. "Not quite. Let a girl finish her breakfast in peace, will you?"
With a mock pout, Violette acquiesced as Gabrielle finally drained her cup. Stepping out of the cafe, Violette practically skipped ahead as she made her way towards the jail house.
"Remember, Vee," Gabrielle cautioned, catching her sister's arm before they crossed the street. "This might come as a surprise for him. He could be hesitant, or angry. You have to realize he grew up without a father. Be prepared for anything."
Violette nodded resolutely. "I know, Brie. I just... I want to be the one to tell him."
Gabrielle squeezed her sister's hand, her heart swelling with admiration for Violette's courage. Stepping through the swinging doors of the sheriff's office, they found themselves face-to-face with three men. All three turned simultaneously, their gazes landing on the sisters.
Gabrielle instinctively took a step back, allowing Violette to take the lead. As her eyes swept over the men, she dismissed the two with badges - one with dark auburn hair, the other with nondescript features. Her gaze lingered on the third man.
He bore a strong resemblance to Violette – the same brown eyes, the same broad brow. A shock of recognition jolted through Gabrielle. She hadn't anticipated such a familial resemblance. A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow.
"Can I help you ladies?" Buck inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice as he observed the stunned silence.
Gabrielle cleared her throat, forcing a smile. She waited a beat longer, hoping Violette would gather her composure, but her sister remained rooted to the spot, her wide eyes locked on the Sheriff.
"Hello, sir," Gabrielle finally said, stepping forward and extending her hand. "I'm Gabrielle Laurent. This is my sister, Violette Turner."
"Buck Cross." Buck shook Gabrielle's hand firmly, his gaze flickering to Violette with a curious glint. "Miss Laurent, a pleasure. And you, Miss Turner." He offered a hesitant smile towards Violette, his hand hovering in the air before dropping back to his side.
It wasn't uncommon for folks from out of town to be taken aback by the sight of an Indian Sheriff, but Violette's reaction was on another level. Concern flickered across Buck's face as he observed her motionless form.
"I apologize, Sheriff Cross," Gabrielle interjected, her voice laced with a hint of urgency. "We were hoping for a few moments of your time if you wouldn't mind. Perhaps in private?"
"Of course, ma'am," Buck readily agreed. He gestured towards a chair across from his desk. "Take a seat."
Turning to his deputies, he issued a quick dismissal. "Kid, tell Lou I'll be a bit late for dinner tonight. Jenson, could you give me a minute here?"
The two deputies nodded curtly and exited the office, leaving a tense silence in their wake. Buck studied his peculiar visitors. The taller, Gabrielle, with her composed demeanor and protective stance beside her sister, seemed to be the elder. Her concern for the younger brunette was evident. The way Violette continued to stare, unblinking and wide-eyed, sent a shiver down Buck's spine.
"What can I do for you ladies?" Buck finally asked, his voice gentle, as he settled into his chair behind the desk.
A few moments of silence stretched between them. Gabrielle nudged Violette discreetly, hoping to prompt her. Suddenly, a single, startling sentence shattered the quiet.
"I'm your sister," Violette blurted out.
"Violette!" Gabrielle exclaimed, her hand flying up to cover her sister's mouth. "Delicate, remember?" She hissed in a desperate whisper.
Buck's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's going on here?" He questioned, his gaze darting between the two sisters. The situation had taken a bizarre turn, and Buck was determined to untangle the mystery that these women presented.
"Sheriff, please accept my apologies," Gabrielle began, a strained smile plastered on her face. She placed a worn leather-bound journal on the desk with a soft thud. "This might come as a considerable shock, but I implore you to hear us out."
Buck's brow furrowed as he eyed the book, his curiosity battling with a sense of wary apprehension. "Alright, ladies," he finally conceded, leaning back in his chair.
"Does the name Mitchell Turner mean anything to you?" Gabrielle inquired, launching into their carefully constructed explanation.
Buck shook his head slowly. "Can't say it does. Though the name Turner ain't exactly uncommon around here."
"He was my stepfather," Gabrielle clarified, deciding a concise summary was their best hope for now. "Violette's father. He passed away a few years ago."
A flicker of sympathy softened Buck's features. "Sorry to hear that, ma'am."
"While sorting through his belongings," Gabrielle continued, taking a deep breath, "we stumbled upon this journal." She pushed the book towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. "He claims you're his son."
The air crackled with tension as Buck stared at the journal, his expression a mask of conflicting emotions. Anger, disbelief, a flicker of sadness – it all swirled in his dark eyes.
"You're sayin' this book was written by my father?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with suspicion. "Have you read it?" Buck demanded, his gaze darting between the sisters.
"I have not." Gabrielle shook her head. "Violette has—"
Buck slammed his hand flat on the desk, the sound echoing through the office. "Look, lady," he growled, his voice thick with barely contained rage, "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but I ain't interested." He rose abruptly, his movements predatory as he stalked towards them.
Gabrielle held her ground, her hand instinctively reaching for Violette's arm in a silent gesture of support. Fear flickered in Violette's eyes, but her chin remained stubbornly high.
Buck reached them in a heartbeat, his grip tightening on their arms with a bruising force. "I don't want any part of your sick delusions!" He roared, dragging them towards the door.
"Sir, please!" Gabrielle pleaded. "We're truly sorry to have upset you."
His voice laced with venomous sarcasm, Buck sneered, "What did you think would happen, huh? Bringing up the details of my mother's violation, written down for generations to gawk at?"
Gabrielle's eyes widened in confusion. "Violation? I... I don't understand," she stammered, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. She glanced at Violette, whose face mirrored her own bewilderment.
"Get out!" Buck bellowed, shoving them both out of the office. He slammed the door shut with a resounding bang, the sound echoing through the street.
Only then did Buck realize he hadn't returned the journal. He spun around, his gaze falling on the worn leather book lying innocently on his desk. An unexplainable urge, a mix of anger and morbid curiosity, drew him towards it.
The last thing he wanted to do was delve into the memories of the man he loathed, the man who'd destroyed his mother. Yet, the journal sat there, an unwelcome beacon, and Buck found himself reaching for it, his hand trembling slightly.