Chapter 38

Zion Encampment, Wyoming - August 1874

With the contented sigh of a full stomach, Buck tossed a drumstick bone onto his empty plate, flopping back on the blanket with a satisfied groan.

"Man, I'd convert to their whole religion if it meant eating fried chicken like that every day," he declared.

Gabrielle glanced at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Not every woman here makes it that good, you know. You might be stuck marrying Jane to secure a lifetime supply."

Buck chuckled. " They have multiple wives, Gabrielle, not the other way around."

"Well, that dashes your dreams then," she teased.

"Seems like that's the story of my life," he replied with a laugh, though a hint of seriousness lingered in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Gabrielle's curiosity piqued.

"Why am I not married, you mean?" His dark eyebrow lifted as he turned to face her.

Gabrielle flushed slightly, suddenly aware of how forward her question had been. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

Buck shrugged. "Just unlucky in love, I suppose."

"You're... thirty-three, right?" She counted quickly in her head. "Most folks are married by your age."

"Think of me as twenty-eight," he said, tossing a napkin at her playfully. "Those five war years, didn't exactly have time for courting then, did I?"

"I suppose not," she agreed with a smile.

The conversation took a turn. "What about you?" Buck asked.

"Me?" She replied, feigning innocence.

"Why aren't you hitched yet?"

"I'm just eighteen," she said with a laugh.

Surprise flickered across Buck's face. "Eighteen? I didn't realize you were that young."

"Hey!" She protested with a playful frown.

"Honestly, I thought you were at least a few years older." He said with a grin. "You just have a way about you, you're very mature."

"Well, thank you," she replied, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"You're welcome," he said, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. "Gabrielle?"

The conversation deepened. Buck's jaw clenched tight. "Would you tell me about him?" He forced out, the word "father" sticking uncomfortably in his throat.

Gabrielle turned to him, her expression turning serious. "I'd be happy to," she said. "But the truth is, he wasn't really a father to me. Violette might be able to offer some insight, though."

"I tried talking to her," Buck admitted. "But she was so young when he passed away. It doesn't seem like she remembers him much."

"He was a very private man," Gabrielle explained.

"Maybe that's why Violette has such a rosy view of him," Buck mused. "Like any good daughter, I suppose."

Gabrielle nodded in understanding. "Yes, I imagine she does see him through rose-colored glasses."

"Speaking of Violette, you two seem incredibly close," Buck said, handing her a glass of grape juice.

"Thank you," she smiled, taking a sip. "Violette and I are best friends, practically inseparable. Honestly, I wouldn't have taken her on this hair-brained idea adventure if it weren't for her."

"Hair-brained, huh?" Buck chuckled. "I've been called worse."

"Well, that was before I knew you were such a gentleman," she teased with a laugh. "We had no idea what to expect when we came here."

"I hope she's not too disappointed with who I really am, then," Buck said with a hint of worry.

Gabrielle's laugh filled the air. "Are you kidding? She's elated."

"The truth is," Buck confessed, his voice dropping to a serious tone, "I never even considered the possibility of having siblings besides my older brother, Red Bear. When I first learned about Violette, I was furious, angry. But there was also this strange feeling of familiarity, like I somehow knew her."

Gabrielle nodded, a sincere smile gracing her lips. "I can see some similarities."

The weight of the conversation settled between them. Buck finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him. "What did he look like?"

Gabrielle offered a wistful smile as she met Buck's gaze. "He was a handsome man," she began, "Dark blonde hair, wavy like Violette's, with streaks of grey at the temples. His eyes were a striking blue, but cold as ice. Nothing like yours."

Buck cleared his throat, his pulse quickening as their eyes locked. "Like mine?"

"Your mother must have given you your eyes," she continued, her voice softening. "You have kind eyes, Buck."

A blush crept up her cheeks as she studied his features. Though attracted to him from the start, she hadn't truly examined his face until now. She saw echoes of his father in him, a resemblance to Violette, but the warmth in his eyes spoke of a different influence – his mother.

"You do have his smile, though," she said, her hand reaching out to gently touch his cheek. "I don't recall seeing him smile much, but Violette, she has that same lopsided grin of yours. Gets her out of any trouble with a flash of those pearly whites."

A flicker of concern crossed Buck's face as he noticed her quickly retract her hand and take a sharp breath. "Are you alright?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I'm fine," she stammered, her heart fluttering erratically whenever he was near, especially when their skin brushed.

"What kind of father was he?"

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she forced herself to focus on the question.

"Distant," she admitted, struggling to piece together memories of a man who held little significance in her life. "I don't remember my father, he passed away when I was still a baby. I was two when my mother married Mitchell. Perhaps he made more of an effort when I was younger. There's a faint memory... him pushing me and Mama on a swing in the backyard."

She closed her eyes, the sadness of the past pressing down on her. There weren't many happy memories of Mitchell Turner, and the ones she did have were fragmented and fleeting.

"He wasn't cut out to be a father," Gabrielle admitted, her voice heavy with repressed emotions. "Let alone a single parent. Violette was a handful, even with nannies around."

"Vee told me he pulled you out of school." Buck nodded in understanding. "Sounds like you both grew up surrounded by nannies and tutors," Buck said, piecing together the fragments of her childhood. He noticed a flicker of sadness in her eyes and followed her gaze. Across the meadow, children shrieked with delight as they splashed in the river.

"Exactly," she confirmed. "Weeks would go by without seeing him. Ultimately, he lived in the library, shrouded in cigar smoke and whiskey."

A tense silence settled between them. Buck finally broke it. "It's clear there wasn't much love lost between you."

"I'm sorry, I don't have fond memories of him." Gabrielle said carefully, choosing her words.

"That's okay," Buck reassured her, sitting closer and gently brushing a dark curl behind her ear. "The man I hate most has been a ghost haunting me since childhood."

A shiver ran down Gabrielle's spine. The touch of his hand lingered on her cheek. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more," she confided, closing her eyes momentarily to capture the fleeting warmth. "Nannies raised me, tutors schooled me, and Violette was my only companion. It felt like I was... a valuable possession, kept safe only because my name was tied to the wealth he squandered on gambling and women."

"I'm so sorry I brought up painful memories," Buck apologized, his voice laced with regret.

"It's all right," she said, offering a small smile and placing her hand on top of his. "I wish I could tell you better things about him," she shook her head, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek.

Buck, sensing a shift in mood, decided to steer the conversation towards happier memories. "Tell me about your mother," he said gently. "What was she like?"

Gabrielle's eyes softened, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "She was beautiful," she began, a flicker of warmth returning to her voice.

"Of course she was. Both you and Violette are beautiful."

"Thank you." She looked across the meadow as she felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Why do compliments embarrass you?" He smiled flirtatiously at her seeing her blush.

"It's not something I'm used to," she admitted, looking down at her hands and then back up to him.

Sensing her discomfort, Buck quickly changed the subject. "Were you close to your mother?"

"No, my mother was very distant and cold." She sighed quietly. "She was entrusted my father's business. She spent much of her time working."

"And you are planning to take over that business now?"

"I don't think I want to." She looked at him seriously and drew in a deep breath. "I've never admitted that to anyone before."

Buck's expression softened. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, Gabrielle. It's your life."

"It feels like it's my duty," she countered, her voice barely above a whisper. "To my father, to my family legacy."

Buck cupped her chin gently, his touch sending a spark through her. "Listen," he began, his voice a low rumble, "you spent your childhood raising your sister, and now, barely an adult, you're expected to shoulder this burden? No one would judge you for wanting to choose your own path."

"The trouble is," she said, her voice barely a whisper, vulnerability etched on her face. "I don't know what I want."

"Sounds like you need to figure that out first," Buck replied gently.