Chapter 7

Coyote Canyon, Texas - July 1872

The aroma of cinnamon and warm bread danced in the air, dragging Buck from a sleep riddled with fragmented memories. He attempted to stretch, a grimace twisting his face as a jolt of pain shot through his left leg. He felt like he had been thrown from a horse, and then run over by a train. As he came to he looked around the small room that he didn't recognize.

"Good morning." A gentle voice greeted him.

Buck looked up at the somewhat familiar young woman then suddenly remembered what happened.

"How are you feeling?" She inquired, concern etched on her brow.

"Not sure how to put it into words," he admitted, managing a lopsided grin despite the throbbing pain. "Like I wrestled a grizzly and lost."

"Looks like your head bled some last night." She leaned closer, examining the stitches on his scalp.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Two days," she informed him. "You must be hungry."

His stomach rumbled, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Starving," he confessed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

"Well, then breakfast is definitely in order. After that, I'll take a look at your leg and get you cleaned up a bit."

Buck wasn't sure what awaited him on the breakfast plate, but at that moment, he was convinced it could be anything and taste like heaven. His internal clock screamed that it had been far longer than two days since his last meal. His anticipation peaked when she returned, bearing a plate piled high with golden fried eggs, crispy bacon, fluffy potatoes, and a slice of warm bread. He swore he could hear angels singing.

Honor set the plate on the small wooden table beside the bed, the clatter echoing faintly in the quiet cabin. She hurried back to the kitchen, only to return moments later with two steaming mugs, she placed one on the table next to the injured man.

"Where are you from?" She asked, her voice a touch gruff, breaking the tense silence.

The man, propped against the rough pillows, reached out with a hand bandaged in a makeshift sling. His eyes met hers before he took the offered mug.

"Buck Cross." He said with a sheepish grin.

"Honor Corbin," she replied.

"Nice to meet you, Honor," Buck said, his voice warm and friendly. "I live just east of here in Shadow Valley."

The conversation flowed easily, the initial awkwardness fading. Honor learned Buck was a simple man, a ranch hand accustomed to hard work and long days under the open sky. He spoke of his life with an easy charm, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

"You handled that gun well back there," Honor said, her gaze lingering on him. The memory of the bandits and Buck's calm resolve still sent shivers down her spine.

Buck set down his mug, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You did alright yourself, from what I saw."

A blush crept up Honor's cheeks. "Let's just say I'm glad you showed up when you did." Her eyes held a flicker of gratitude mixed with a hint of admiration.

"Couldn't just let a pretty lady handle all the excitement by herself, could I?" Buck teased, savoring the warmth of the coffee.

Honor's lips curved into a genuine smile, a welcome sight in the tense atmosphere. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "For stepping in. Most folks would have kept riding."

He shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Well, you're welcome." His gaze dipped to the plate of food, then back to her with a playful glint. "If I'd known breakfast was this good, I might have come visitin' a lot sooner."

Honor couldn't help but laugh, a warm, genuine sound that surprised even her. "Thanks," she said, the tension easing from her shoulders.

"Where are your parents?"

Her smile faltered for a brief moment before she replied, "They passed away a long time ago."

"I'm sorry," Buck offered, a pang of sympathy shooting through him.

"Thanks," she said, her voice regaining its strength. "Would you like some more coffee or perhaps some more breakfast?"

"I wouldn't say no to more coffee, but I think I've reached my breakfast limit for now. Thank you, it was delicious."

Honor collected the dishes, a thoughtful look on her face as she headed towards the door. "I'll be right back to check on your wounds." She announced before disappearing.

"Where are my clothes?" Buck croaked, as he realized his state of undress.

"Here," she said softly, placing a pile of neatly folded clothes on a chair. "I cleaned and mended them. Even fixed that bullet hole."

"That's very kind of you."

Honor explained about the doctor's visit and the whiskey available, but Buck politely declined.

"Are you sure? For the pain?"

"It's ok." Buck nodded.

"Let's see how your leg is doing today."

As she moved to check his leg, Buck's hand instinctively reached for the blanket.

"I've changed your dressings a few times," Honor said, her voice firm but gentle. "I know what I'm doing."

Buck conceded, a silent acknowledgment of her care. He watched, mesmerized, as she carefully tended to his wound. Her long brown hair brushed against his thigh, sending a shiver down his spine. He welcomed the sharp sting of pain as a distraction from the unexpected yearning it triggered.

"Sorry, I know that hurts," Honor murmured, her voice laced with concern.

"It's alright," Buck gritted out, more focused on the touch of her cool hand than the throbbing in his leg.

After cleaning the wound, Honor busied herself in the next room, her quiet hum a soothing melody. She returned with a basin of water.

"May I unbraid your hair?" She asked, her voice tentative.

"Of course," Buck said, watching as she untied the leather thong securing the braid.

"I wasn't sure if it had some significance," she explained. "I didn't want to do it without asking first."

"Thank you," Buck said, touched by her sensitivity.

Honor smiled as she unraveled the long braid. "Yours is longer than mine."

"A little," he chuckled.

"Are you Comanche?" She asked.

"Kiowa." The instant he said it Buck could see she was visibly relieved. "Did you have a run-in with some Comanche?"

"It was a long time ago." She tried to hide the tear that rolled down her cheek by rubbing her face with the sleeve of her dress.

"Well, how does my head look doc?" He asked knowing full well she did not want to talk about past memories.

"You might have a little scar on your forehead here." She smiled and touched the edge of the wound delicately then continued to unbraid his hair. "I think you'll survive though."

"That's good to hear."

Honor dipped the cloth in the warm water and let it soak into Buck's scalp where the blood had dried and matted his hair. She did this several times until his hair was saturated with water. Gently she picked the dried blood out of the strands of hair then wet his hair again, carefully not getting his stitches wet. Buck leaned back and closed his eyes. Partially because he was tired, but mostly because it felt so good. Honor ran the warm cloth across his forehead and gently removed the layers of dirt from his face. As her fingers ran down his cheekbones and across his lips she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

She rinsed the cloth in fresh water and continued down his neck to his chest. She had seen her brother and his friends several times with their shirts off but she had never been in such close contact with a man before. She was certain that none of the young men she had been courted by from town were quite this well-built either. As her hands lingered across his muscular chest she took a shaky breath and felt his hand on her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his instantly.

"I got it from here." Buck finally broke the silence.

Honor, flustered, mumbled an excuse and retreated into the kitchen.