Chapter 12

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867

The next couple of Sundays a familiar dance played out. Just before the final hymn echoed through the church doors, Róisín would slip out, she'd navigate the back alleys, her eyes scanning for any sign of a watchful gaze. The abandoned engine, beneath the cloak of rustling leaves and the watchful gaze of crows, Buck would be waiting, a reassuring smile on his face.

Their days were filled with stolen moments. They explored the tangled depths of the forest by the cave and spent hours sitting at the edge of the creek sharing stories of their lives before Cheyenne.

Buck regaled her with tales of his youth – the thrill of joining the Pony Express, his fellow riders, and best friends, as they braved the untamed wilderness. He spoke of his service with the Union Army, his voice taking on a somber tone when he recounted scouting missions. The war, a dark cloud that loomed over their generation, remained ground he navigated with trepidation.

Róisín was just a child when the war began, and could still recall its grip on her young life. The memories were etched in her mind – the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing weight of loss. The war had snatched away her entire family.

Her father and Lochlan had marched off to fight for the North, a flicker of hope burning in their eyes. Lochlan returned, a ghost of his former self, for a brief period after the war. But her father, his laughter forever silenced, never came home. Lochlan had ventured west, leaving Róisín with their mother. However, fate wasn't done with their family yet. Her mother passed earlier that year, and though the doctor attributed her passing to a faulty heart, Róisín knew she died of a broken heart.

One Sunday afternoon, as they sat nestled under a sprawling oak tree, a heavy silence settled between them. Buck, sensing the shift in her mood, reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "What is it, Róise?" He asked, his voice laced with concern.

Startled from her musing, she shook her head, a futile attempt to banish the phantoms of the past. "Just… bad memories of the war," she mumbled.

"Best to leave some memories behind us," Buck nodded in understanding.

"How did you end up working for the railroad?" She inquired, her voice regaining its usual spark.

Buck chuckled, "Well, a few months after… the war," he cleared his throat. "I found myself out of a job. I'd been wrangling cattle for some ranchers in Kansas, but nothing steady. Then, news reached my ears about the railroad needing men. Figured, hell, I can do that."

Róisín's lips curved into a smile. "And here you are," she whispered, leaning closer until their bodies brushed.

"Here I am," Buck echoed, his voice husky with desire.

He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, the touch sending a roaring of river of fire through his veins. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in and captured her lips in a tender kiss. Her soft sigh fanned the flames of his longing, and he deepened the kiss.

Buck cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt. The heat of the kiss still lingered on his lips, a stark contrast to the sudden chill that had settled over him. He forced himself to sit back, needing a moment to gather his composure.

"Tell me more about Boston," he said, his voice hoarse. It was a feeble attempt to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory they'd ventured into.

Róisín's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but she readily complied. "Like what?" She asked.

"Well, I ain't never been," Buck stated, raising an eyebrow in a half-hearted attempt at playfulness. "Let's say we are in Boston next week, and you can only take me to one place. Where would you choose?"

Róisín's tapped her finger against her lower lip. "Hmmm," she mused, drawing out the sound. "There's a beautiful park I used to visit whenever I had free time. I'd take a book and curl up under a big tree, or watch the ducks on the river. It's a peaceful place."

A warmth bloomed in Buck's chest at the image he conjured – Róisín bathed in sunlight, a book forgotten in her lap as she lost herself in the tranquility of the park. He reached for her hand, gently stroking his thumb across her soft skin.

"We could take a walk along the waterfront," he suggested, his voice low and suggestive.

Róisín hummed in agreement, leaning closer to him, her eyes sparkling with a desire that mirrored his own. "Mmm," she whispered, the sound sending shivers down his spine.

As the comfortable silence stretched between them, Buck ventured a question, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. "Think you'll be goin' back there?"

"No," she shook her head and shrugged. "I want to head west, see the ocean." She declared, nodding enthusiastically. "Have you ever been?"

Buck chuckled, a deep rumble that resonated in his chest. "Once," he admitted. "Sacramento, on a run for the Pony Express."

"Did you see the ocean?" Her voice brimmed with excitement, a stark contrast to his own muted memories. "Was it beautiful?"

He smiled, touched by her innocent enthusiasm. "I didn't see much," he confessed. "The job didn't leave much room for sightseeing."

Róisín's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. "Oh," she murmured, leaning into him and closing her eyes. "Well, what about you, Buck? Where do you see yourself settling down someday?"

The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge he wasn't prepared to answer. "Settle down?" He echoed, his voice tinged with amusement. "Who says I'm lookin' to settle down?"

Her dark green eyes flew open, meeting his gaze with a captivating intensity. He could almost see the gears turning in her mind as she processed his playful evasion. A slow smile spread across her lips, as playful as his own.

"You're a tease," she accused, her voice laced with mock frustration. She snuggled closer, seeking his warmth.

Buck chuckled, unable to resist her playful jab. "Maybe a little," he admitted, his fingers finding their way into her hair, stroking it gently. "But…" he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "it's not so much about the location for me."

He nuzzled his face into her neck, planting soft kisses along the sensitive skin exposed by her collar. "What I want," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, "is a family. A wife, kids, you know…"

"Have you been married before?" Her question hung in the air.

"No," he replied.

A flicker of a smile danced in Róisín's eyes as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "Do you think you might be able to fall in love with me?"

The question sent a jolt through him, a delicious mixture of fear and exhilaration. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the soft contours of her cheeks. "Darlin'," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, "there ain't no 'might' about it."