Chapter 5

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867

Róisín spent two weeks having polite conversations and forcing smiles with Carson on Sundays, as she had promised her brother. Carson wasn't a bad man, she supposed. Agreeable, even handsome in a rugged way. But the fluttering feeling in her heart was simply absent. Perhaps her brother was right. Maybe love wasn't a passionate storm, but a slow-burning ember that grew over time.

Carson was certainly a man of the land. He commanded respect from the men he led. His tall stature of six foot five towered over Róisín's tiny five foot three frame. Though Doug Carson was thirty-five years old, a few years older than her brother and seventeen years her senior, she had to admit he was a handsome man. His face showed signs of age and years of working in the sun. There were lines near his clear blue eyes when he smiled and a few grey strands in his long, wavy blond hair near his temples.

Yet, as she sat in the stuffy church pew, every part of her yearned to escape. It wasn't that she disliked Carson's attention, she was truly trying. But the constant presence, the lack of solitude, was suffocating. Every waking moment was spent in the bustling saloon, even her room offered little respite with Haddie or one of the other girls bursting in. She craved a quiet moment, a moment to simply be alone with herself and her thoughts.

The moment the congregation bowed their heads in prayer, Róisín saw her chance. With a silent apology, she slipped out the back door. The warm sunlight struck her face like a welcoming embrace. Without looking back, she sprinted through the dusty town and into the open meadow beyond, pushing forward until her lungs burned. Only when she stopped, gasping for breath, did she realize how far she'd run. The distant town had become a blur.

A fleeting thought of the local tribes crossed her mind. A thought she quickly dismissed. Surely Indians wouldn't venture this close to the settlement. With a sigh of relief, she reveled in the sun's warmth soaking into her skin. Rolling up her dress sleeves to her elbows, she ventured deeper into the tall grass, the gentle brush of new growth tickling her palms. A sense of peace settled over her. Here, in the quiet embrace of nature, she could finally breathe.

"Hey, you shouldn't be out this far." A deep voice boomed from behind.

Róisín whirled around, startled. The tall man sat astride a powerful chestnut horse, his shadow stretching long across the meadow in the afternoon sun.

"Ehm, I didn't realize I had wandered so far," Róisín said, turning around startled.

"We got hostiles in this area." He said, dismounting with surprising grace. "Or don't you remember?"

Shame tinged her cheeks. Lochlan had warned her about venturing too far outside town, especially alone.

"Well yes," she mumbled, clutching the hem of her dress. She felt as though she was being scolded. She held out her hand and waited for an introduction. "I'm Róise."

"We've met," he said, looking at her closely.

"Your name?" She asked holding out her hand persistently.

"Buck Cross." He finally grasped her hand as briefly as he could, in his calloused grip.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cross," she smiled and shook his hand firmly. "I didn't get the chance to thank you for helping me the other day."

"Don't worry about it," he said, looking across the meadow. "I'll take you back to town."

Róisín hesitated. The urge to escape the stifling expectations of her life warred with the very real danger of venturing deeper into the woods.

Buck crossed his arms. "Didn't you hear me, lady? You can't be out here all by yourself. It ain't safe." He walked after her and grabbed her arm, stopping her from walking further into the trees.

"Well..." She turned around playfully and smiled. "I wouldn't mind your company if you wanted to take a walk."

Buck's jaw clenched. "Don't get cute with me, miss. I ain't interested in getting caught out here with one of Branigan's whores—"

"I'm not a…" Róisín looked up at him, her green eyes wide with shock. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks and then looked down, genuinely embarrassed.

"Hmm." Buck grumbled, now intrigued, He reached out and tilted her chin up to look at her better. "Workin' girl that blushes?"

The sunlight hit her rich brown hair, lighting up the few tendrils that had escaped their pins and danced around her face and neck playfully. He could lose himself in her mossy green eyes, she had the wide-eyed innocence of a child, yet her full pink lips held the smile of a temptress.

"Lochlan is my brother." Róisín met his gaze, her chin held high. "I'm stayin' there until I get my bearings."

A flicker of understanding softened his features. "Even more reason to get you back."

Before Róisín could protest further, Buck reached out and lifter her onto the back of his horse. The sudden movement startled a yelp out of her as she adjusted herself on the saddle.

"I just wanted to explore," she mumbled, a pout forming on her lips.

"Ain't safe," he said firmly, but kindly as he walked along the trail guiding the horse.

Both were silent as they made the short trip back to town. A fleeting thought of jumping off the horse and running back into the meadow flew in and out of Róisín's head. She knew it was pointless, and that he was right. It was dangerous. The happiness that she had felt only moments ago, the freedom, was gone. As they neared the outskirts of town, Buck slowed the horse to a stop near a cluster of large trees, their shade hiding an abandoned train car from view.

"You can walk the rest of the way." He announced, his hand resting on the saddle behind her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, the word barely a whisper.

Buck reached out, his touch was surprisingly gentle as he helped her down. But then, he saw them – the glistening tears welling up in her eyes. The sight caught him off guard, a punch to the gut that stole his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw. He'd come here to return her, not get tangled in her troubles. But resolve was a flimsy shield against the unexpected pull he felt. As he set her down, his hand lingered a moment too long on her waist.

"Hey," he said gruffly, his voice softer than he intended. He tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You gonna be alright."

Róisín offered a small smile, unconvincing even to herself. She leaned back against the horse and met his gaze. She had expected to find anger or at least irritation in his eyes, but she found kindness and a hint of understanding. Her dress felt like it suddenly constricted, her breath catching in her throat.

When his hand slipped away from her waist, a jolt ran through her, a silent plea for him to stay, for the contact to linger. Embarrassed by the unfamiliar yearning, a blush creeping up her neck, she did the only thing she could think of. She pushed past him, a mumbled goodbye escaping her lips. Her legs propelled her forward, a desperate flight back to the saloon.