Chapter 11
Coyote Canyon, Texas - September 1872
It had been two soul-crushing months since Buck had ridden away from the Corbin's small farm. Every sunrise felt like a betrayal, every chore a dull reminder of her. He'd convinced himself he could bury the memory of her laughter in the dusty plains of his ranch, but her image lingered like a stubborn weed, pushing through the cracks of his resolve.
He rode with a restless urgency, the miles blurring together as his longing intensified. Doubt gnawed at him. Had he romanticized their brief time together? Was his memory painting her with colors far brighter than reality? Maybe seeing her again, seeing her in the clear light of day, would shatter the illusion.
But as he neared the familiar clearing, a new worry bloomed – what if that light revealed his feelings to be even stronger? Reaching the edge of the forest, he found the cornfields swaying in a warm breeze, heavy with the promise of a bountiful harvest. The garden, however, lay bare, devoid of the vibrant life he remembered. A pang of disappointment washed over him.
"Honor?" His voice echoed through the quiet morning. "Justice? Libby?" There was no reply. He dismounted and peered through the window. The house seemed empty, a ghost of its former warmth. Dejection threatened to consume him, but then a sound drifted through the air – a sweet melody carried on the wind.
His heart lurched. It was her voice, clear and carefree, weaving a song through the trees. Hope surged back, stronger than ever. He followed the sound, his boots crunching on fallen leaves. The melody led him to the familiar creek, and there she was, bathed in the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
Honor knelt beside the gurgling water, her fingers nimbly plucking ripe raspberries. Her hair, a soft chestnut brown, flowed down her back in a cascade of loose curls. She sang with an abandon that spoke of a heart at ease, completely oblivious to the world around her.
Buck couldn't hold back a smile. He stood there, a silent observer, for a moment too long. The sight of her, so vibrant and alive, stole the breath from his lungs. He knew then, with certainty, that his doubts had been foolish.
"Is there a charge for this private concert?" He teased, his voice soft but enough to shatter the tranquility of the moment.
Honor jumped, startled. A spray of red juice splattered her cheek as she turned, a raspberry still clutched in her hand. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked, his gaze lingering on the stain that mirrored the color of her lips.
She sputtered, quickly swallowing the berry and wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Buck?" Her voice held a tremor of disbelief.
"I had to see you." He admitted the simple words carrying the weight of his two-month struggle.
Before she could respond, he leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest. He brushed his lips against her berry-stained cheek, a silent apology and a blatant declaration. The taste of sweetness lingered on his tongue.
Honor stayed frozen for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again." She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
"You're not an easy woman to forget." He murmured, his hand finding hers.