Chapter 11

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867

Róisín fidgeted in the pew, her eyes flitting between the stained-glass windows and the clock on the wall, her fingers barely able to hold still in her lap. The moment the pastor began a prayer, she slipped out of the side door. The broken engine sat rusting on the outskirts of town. It was an unlikely meeting place, especially on a Sunday, and precisely why Róisín had chosen it.

She hurried along the tree line, casting nervous glances around her. Ten minutes stretched into fifteen, then twenty. Disappointment gnawed at her. Had she misinterpreted his kindness? The look in his eyes? Perhaps she'd been too bold. With a defeated sigh, she turned to leave, regret threatening to drown her courage.

"Róisín?"

The familiar voice sent a jolt through her. Spinning around, she found Buck approaching on horseback, a serious expression etched on his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, his voice low.

Her skipped a beat, causing a flutter of butterflies in her stomach, but she met his gaze with a resolute nod. He smiled and offered a hand. Hesitantly, she took it, allowing him to lift her onto the horse behind him.

"Hold on tight," he instructed.

Róisín wrapped her arms around his waist and as he spurred the animal into a gallop, the world blurred into a rush of wind and trees. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, a thrill replacing the initial fear. They emerged from the trees onto vast, open plains. Buck slowed the horse to a leisurely walk, eventually stopping by a stream shaded by a cluster of oaks.

"I had no idea riding a horse could be so exciting!" Róisín exclaimed, her voice breathless. She waited patiently as he dismounted, then reached up to help her down.

"Ain't never ridden a horse before?" He inquired a hint of surprise in his voice.

Róisín shook her head. "Never had use for them in the city." A shy smile played on her lips as she glanced down at his hands, still lingering at her waist. "I didn't think you'd come," she admitted softly as she looked up and met his gaze.

Buck momentarily looked away, his eyes following the slow current of the creek, as he sorted through the thoughts in his head. He didn't think he would met her either, but here he was. He took a deep breath and turned toward her.

"How old are you?" Buck grumbled.

"Eighteen,"

Buck whistled a low, surprised sound. "Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. "I knew you were young, but…" His voice trailed off as his gaze turned serious. "What are you after?"

"What do you mean?" Her smile faltered slightly.

"This," he countered, his eyes searching hers.

Róisín bit her lip, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. "I don't have many friends here," she admitted softly. "You've been nice to me. I just thought, well I guess I thought that…"

"What about yer friend Carson?"

"Mr. Carson?" She looked up and noticed the look of skepticism in his eyes. "He and my brother are far more interested in our friendship than I am."

Buck nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I see."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle gurgling of the stream. Finally, Róisín, eager to break the tension, spoke up.

"Would you like to ride a little further?" She asked, her voice hopeful.

"I can show you how to handle the reigns." He patted his horse on the shoulder. "If you'd like."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up as she stood on her tiptoes excitedly. "I would love that!"

"Alright."

Buck guided Róisín's hands, teaching her to handle the reins with a gentle firmness. Though her fear had dissipated, replaced by an exhilarated glow, he could still sense her body's unease – the subtle tensing of her shoulders, the rigidity in her posture.

"You're doing well," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her back. "Let the horse sense your confidence."

Róisín exhaled slowly, willing her muscles to relax as the powerful beast beneath them forged ahead, following the narrow creek winding through the wilderness. Though the rhythmic sway of the saddle had initially unnerved her, she found herself succumbing to the natural cadence, her grip loosening on the reins.

"I come out here most weekends," Buck remarked, "to find solitude."

Róisín hummed in acknowledgment, too entranced by their surroundings to offer more than a fleeting response. The sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves, while the burbling waters beside them provided a soothing melody.

"Where are you from?" Buck cleared his throat.

"My family moved to Boston, from Ireland when I was quite young," Róisín explained as Buck dismounted, his boots sinking into the soft soil. "Lochlan was thirteen."

Buck nodded, extending his arm to assist her descent. "That's a large age gap."

"Our parents had other children, but they died in their youth." A hint of melancholy tinged her voice as she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," Buck murmured, squeezing her hand in a warm, reassuring grip.

For a moment, a heavy silence hung between them, laden with unspoken grief. Then, tilting her head inquisitively, Róisín prompted, "What about your family?"

"Have a half-brother," Buck replied, releasing her hand as he began to wander along the creek's edge. "Ain't seen him in a few months."

A heavy sigh escaped Buck as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Memories, like phantoms, flickered at the edges of his mind. Back before the war, his brother had issued a harsh ultimatum: his Kiowa family or a life with the Pony Express. Buck had walked away that night, the image of his brother's face etched in his memory, a bitter farewell. He'd thought it was forever.

But the war had changed everything. Then signing up with the Union Pacific offered a purpose, a way to chase the ghosts that haunted him. Yet, it was the railroad itself, the very symbol of progress that had brought him back to his brother. A flicker of a smile touched Buck's lips as he recalled spotting the familiar markings. The reunion had been quiet, and hesitant, but the relief in his brother's eyes, a mirror of his own. They had both changed, weathered by the storms life had thrown their way.

"Your Indian half or white half?" Róisín walked beside him.

"He's a Kiowa war chief." Buck's gaze grew distant, his mind drifting to memories long buried. "My mother raised me in the village until she died. I left a couple of years after."

"Why did you leave?" Róisín asked curiously.

Buck exhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of the past. "I don't know if it was because the man who forced himself upon my mother was also my father, or if it was being white – but I never felt accepted." Buck's reply was a low rumble. "Ended up at a mission school," he confessed, his fingers seeking hers and finding them with a gentle touch. "Learned to read, write, speak English."

Róisín tilted her head, her gaze flickering to their intertwined hands. "And how'd you wind up out here?" She inquired.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "That, darlin'," he drawled, his voice husky, "is a story for another day." He slanted a glance towards the horizon, where the sun dipped below the treeline. "Getting late," he murmured, squeezing her hand gently. "We should be headin' back."

"So," she pressed, a playful glint sparkling in her eyes, "there will be another day, then?"

Buck chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that warmed her from the inside out. "Mmm-hmm," he hummed.

As they retraced their path, Róisín's thoughts lingered on the memory of their ride, savoring the warmth of Buck's reassuring presence, the firm guidance of his hands upon hers. Though he maintained a leisurely pace, the journey back to town passed achingly quickly, leaving her yearning for more time in his company.

As they approached the abandoned engine on the outskirts of town, Buck scanned their surroundings with weary vigilance. Relief washed over him upon confirming they were alone and unobserved. He dismounted smoothly, offering Róisín a steadying hand as she slid down from the saddle.

Their bodies brushed together in that fleeting moment of contact, sending an electrifying jolt coursing through Róisín. She fought against the urge to shudder, keenly aware of Buck's intense scrutiny. His gaze smoldered with an unspoken hunger as he leaned closer, close enough for his warm breath to caress her cheek.

Emboldened by the desire simmering in the depths of his eyes, Róisín took the initiative. Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his in a gentle, chaste kiss. Though brief, the intimate gesture unleashed a torrent of longing Buck had struggled to repress. As Róisín pulled away, her eyelashes fluttered open demurely, a shy smile playing upon her lips.

But for Buck, that single, taste of her was the spark that stoked the fires of his want into an uncontrollable blaze. He watched, transfixed, as the hazy reverie of passion slowly dissipated from Róisín's eyes, replaced by an innocence that betrayed her naivete.

"Róise," he rasped, his voice rendered husky by the conflicting emotions raging within. "You got trouble written all over you, darlin'."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means a good, sweet girl like yourself shouldn't be getting mixed up with the likes of me," Buck replied, a hint of resigned frustration tingeing his tone.

"The likes of you?" A giggle rushed out of her. "You make yerself sound like some sort of criminal reprobate."

Meeting her gaze steadily, Buck's expression grew somber. "Even in a regular town, our... you and me, we wouldn't be accepted," he countered, his words carrying an undercurrent of grim finality. "You got any idea what would happen? If anyone saw us together?"

The teasing light in Róisín's eyes flickered and dimmed, replaced by fear as the weight of Buck's words settled upon her. "No," she whispered.

Buck sighed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. " I'd lose my job," he said, his tone hardening with cynical resignation as he downplayed the potential ramifications. "As for you... you'd forfeit any chance of finding a decent husband."

"I understand," the jarring truth behind his words visibly shook Róisín, her delicate shoulders slumping in defeated disappointment as she turned away, poised to retreat into solitude and lick her wounds.

"Damn it all to hell," Buck muttered beneath his breath, the vehement curse barely audible.

Ignoring the overriding voice of caution, he reached out, his fingers encircling her wrist in a gentle yet insistent grasp. Before Róisín could voice her protest, he spun her around to face him, his other hand settling at the curve of her waist as he pulled her lithe form flush against his body.

Though startled by his sudden actions Róisín's response was unguarded. Drawn by yearning that burned within her she wound her arms around his neck as their lips crashed together in a passionate, desperate kiss. Finally, Buck tore his lips from hers, his ragged breaths intermingling with Róisín's in the scant space between their bodies. A rosy blush stained her cheeks as she gazed up at him through her thick fringe of lashes.

"Does this mean you'll meet me here next Sunday?" She murmured.

"Mhmm," Buck confirmed, stealing one final, searing kiss before forcing himself to take an abrupt step backward. "Now go on," he urged, his hoarse voice tinged with urgency as he gestured towards town. "Before we get caught."

He leaned against the cold, bulk of the abandoned engine, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like the massive metal form itself. He drew in a ragged breath, watching Róisín's retreating figure grow smaller with each step.

Alone with her, the carefully constructed persona he presented to the world – the stoic, unapproachable man – had crumbled. He'd laughed with her, a sound he hadn't heard from his own chest in years. He'd felt a connection, a spark of something real that transcended the loneliness that had become a constant companion.

But the harsh reality slammed back, dispelling the warmth of their stolen moment. Róisín. Young, innocent, with eyes that held a trust that both terrified and enticed him. He could almost hear Lochlan's venomous scowl, the ever-present threat simmering beneath the surface. Getting caught with her wouldn't just mean losing his job – a harsh reality in itself, considering the options were scarce in this desolate town. It could mean accusations, even… a hanging. Elias's chilling words echoed in his mind:

"Half the men here would string you up if they saw the way you was lookin' at her."

He knew she was trouble. The word burned on his tongue, a bitter truth he couldn't deny. Yet, how could he resist her? The memory of her touch, the heat of her kiss, sent a jolt through him. Her sweetness in a place like this was both a temptation and a warning. He was a wolf, a creature of the wild, and she, a fragile moth drawn to a dangerous flame.

Buck closed his eyes, the image of her smile flashing behind his eyelids. He knew, deep down, that this stolen connection could only lead to heartache, for both of them. But the thought of letting her go, of snuffing out the flicker of joy she brought into his life, was a prospect almost as unbearable.