Chapter 18
Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867
A knot of dread twisted in Buck's gut as he laid out his clothes for the day on his narrow cot. A whole week of waiting, hanging onto the promise of Róisín's warm smile and her presence beside him, had all evaporated into a cold, unsettling truth. He hadn't needed to see the tremor in her hands or the haunted look in those mossy green depths to know something was seriously wrong. The two large men flanking her every movement this past week, like ominous shadows, spoke volumes on its own.
He could feel the crisp parchment folded in the pocket of his mended shirt as he hastily made his way across the dusty street toward his cramped canvas tent. As soon as the weathered flap fell closed behind him, enclosing him in its modest solitude, Buck withdrew the note with a growing sense of disquiet. His breath hitched in his throat as his gaze instantly recognized the familiar slanted script - Róisín's handwriting.
Take heart that we will be together soon
Buck reread the hastily scrawled line, his brow furrowing as he processed the weighted implications behind such a simple reassurance. "We will be together soon." A flicker of hope ignited like a banked ember in his chest.
Carefully refolding the precious note, Buck tucked it securely back into his shirt pocket. A grim determination settled over his features as he reached for his dusty hat. It was high time he put a plan into motion - a plan to get Róisín far away from this shit-hole. The only lingering question was just how far Buck was willing to go?