Chapter 10

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867

Weeks had flown by since Róisín began her mending service, and she was swamped. Lochlan, initially reluctant, had allowed her to set up a table in the saloon for an hour each day to take in her work orders. After the first week, she realized that only the white workers were allowed at the saloon. There were many more customers to be had if her Lochlan would allow it. Róisín had tirelessly argued with her brother, finally convincing him (though with gritted teeth) to allow the other's to drop off their clothing orders at the back door once a week.

Finishing a quick note, Róisín folded it with a sigh and slipped it into her pocket. She still hadn't convinced her brain to continue with her heart's foolish gamble. Grabbing the heavy basket overflowing with clothes, she balanced it precariously on her hip and made her way down the stairs, heading for the back door.

"Listen well, Róisín," Lochlan's gruff voice rumbled from the bar as she exited. "I don't want those men lingering here, even at the back. Make it quick, now."

Róisín flashed him a smile, the basket threatening to topple over. "I will," she called back, fumbling with the doorknob.

Just as the door creaked open, a strong hand reached out, relieving her of the heavy burden. "Here, let me get that for you, ma'am," Elias said kindly, placing the basket on a nearby table.

"Thank you," Róisín replied, her voice warm. Gazing up at the towering figure, she confirmed, "Elias Johnson, right?"

A smile broke across Elias's face. "Yes ma'am," he replied with a nod.

Róisín consulted her list, her finger tracing names until it landed on his. Matching it with a bundle of clothes, she said, "Here's yours. I noticed a few loose buttons, so I took the liberty of reinforcing them. No extra charge for that."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, taking the clothes. "What I owe you?"

"Twenty-five cents will do," she replied.

Elias handed her the coins and then surprised her by offering a shirt and coat. "They need some patchin' too."

"Of course," Róisín agreed, examining the garments. Her fingers brushed against a significant tear in the jacket. "I can have the shirt done by next week, but the jacket will take a bit longer, maybe two weeks."

"Thank you, ma'am," Elias said nodded.

The morning unfolded in a flurry of activity. Most of the men retrieved their mended clothes, a few leaving additional garments that needed repair. Róisín patiently waited by the table, her mind drifting. Her gaze followed a small sparrow flitting along the ground, its tiny body a blur of feathers and energy as it searched for breakfast among the leaves. A jolt of surprise ripped through her as a deep, smooth voice broke into her daydream. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up quickly as Buck's shadow fell across the table.

Róisín felt her heart flutter in her chest. "Hi," she managed.

"Mornin'," Buck responded gruffly.

She retrieved his mended shirt, her fingers itching to hand him the note clutched in her pocket.

"Seems I ain't the last one," Buck remarked, peering into the basket at the few remaining garments.

"My brother was very clear on the one hour," Róisín explained quickly. "Those men will have to wait until next week if they don't hurry."

"Hmm." Buck leaned over, his hand brushing hers as he scanned the names in her book. "Ross and Finley?"

Róisín swallowed, the nervous flutter in her stomach intensifying. "Mmm-hmm," she confirmed.

"They're in the can," Buck chuckled, pointing towards a lone freight car near the yard office.

"The can?" Róisín's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Jail's still bein' built," Buck explained with a smile. "It's just the can."

Róisín's eyes darted from the freight car back to Buck. "What did they do?" She inquired.

"Ain't my business," he grumbled a little harsher than he meant to.

"Well," Róisín mumbled, turning back to the basket. She pulled out his shirt. "That'll be ten cents, please."

Buck reached into his pocket and retrieved the coins.

"Thank you," Róisín replied, forcing a smile. She bit her lip, the note burning a hole in her pocket. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. "Just in case you don't need anything else mended…" she stammered, shoving the folded note into his hand.

Before Buck could react, the saloon door swung open with a bang, revealing Lochlan's scowling face.

"Róisín!" He barked. "Pack it up!"

"Perfect timing, then." Róisín said, forcing a smile as she turned away from Buck. "That was my last customer."

Lochlan shot Buck a venomous glare. "Get moving," he growled.

Tucking the mended shirt under his arm, Buck nodded curtly and crossed the road towards his tent. He wasn't just worried about Lochlan; it was the men he had at his beck and call, the power that came with having the law on his side.

Reaching the privacy of his tent, Buck carefully placed the shirt in a chest. He unfolded the small note, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation swirling in his gut. As he reread the message scrawled on the paper, his disbelief grew:

"Meet me by the tree line near the broken engine - Sunday 12:30"

The simple sentence sent a jolt through him. What exactly was she thinking? And was he crazy enough to consider it?