Chapter 7
Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867
The train rattled and swayed down the uneven tracks, carrying Róisín and Carson towards the railhead. Unlike her usual workday decorum, Róisín had left her hair loose today, the wind whipping through it as she leaned out the window. With each gust, she closed her eyes, picturing herself soaring freely.
"Careful, you don't fall right out that window," Carson chuckled, his amusement evident.
Róisín grinned, retracting her head and taking a seat beside him. "It feels like flying!" She exclaimed, the joy in her voice unmistakable.
"Enjoying the ride?"
"Very much!" She sat back on the plush seat. This train ride was fairing much better than her last.
A satisfied smile played on Carson's lips. "Glad to hear it."
Curiosity flickered in Róisín's eyes. "How fast can the train go?"
He chuckled again. "Once this track is complete, this old girl will be hitting speeds of about thirty-five miles per hour."
"Amazing!" She breathed, captivated by the thought.
The rhythmic clacking of the wheels against the tracks lulled them into a comfortable silence until Carson announced, "Here we are." He offered his hand, and Róisín took it as they disembarked.
"I thought you might be interested in seeing the bridge construction," Carson said, leading her toward the front of the train.
Excitement bubbled within Róisín. "I would love that!" She replied, skipping ahead of him on the dusty path.
Carson pointed towards a large excavation. "This is the railhead," he explained. "The men here are carving a path for the railroad tracks. Then, another crew comes in to lay the ties and rails."
Róisín's gaze swept over the workers, the men laying the tracks and the men carving out the pathway, observing a stark difference in their complexions. "Forgive my ignorance but, why aren't there more white men working here?" She inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
"Hmmph." Carson grunted. "There are a few scattered about, but most of the laborers are… well, inferiors. They're suited for tough, manual work. The thinkin' jobs are for men like myself." He paused, then added, "Don't underestimate them, though. They're hard workers."
"Inferiors." Róisín frowned. "Some people say that about the Irish."
"I apologize, I meant no disrespect," Carson reassured her, lowering his voice slightly. "I fought for these men's freedom. But they ain't educated, and most them men, they ain't interested in polite niceties." A dry smile touched Carson's lips when he saw her considering what he had said. "I'm just a cog in the machine, Róisín. For example, I wouldn't have hired any of these half-breeds. I wouldn't turn my back on any one of 'em, can't tell if they are more white or savage."
Róisín furrowed her brow as she watched the workers expertly bind the rails together. The bridge was far from complete, but its skeletal form hinted at the impressive structure it would become. A loud horn blared behind them, tearing her attention away from the construction and back to the men laboring in the cut. Her gaze drifted curiously to a young man carrying a bucket. As he approached each worker, they paused momentarily to quench their thirst.
The heat beat down and Róisín's eyes scanned the sweat-slicked torsos. Suddenly, a familiar face caught her attention. She watched, transfixed, as Buck gulped down water and then doused himself. The water cascaded down his long hair, tracing a path down his bare, muscular chest.
A jolt of awareness shot through her as her gaze made her way down his body. She was staring, blatantly, as if she wanted to devour him whole. Mortification flooded her cheeks. She tried to look away, desperately willing her eyes to break the connection. When their eyes finally met, a blush bloomed across her face.
"Are you alright, Róisín?" Carson's voice, laced with concern, shattered the unexpected moment.
"I feel a little… feverish," she stammered, her breath catching in her throat. Finally, she managed to tear her gaze away from the man.
"The train ride might have been a bit more exhilarating than you expected." Carson chuckled good-naturedly, taking her arm and guiding her back towards the train. "There's lunch waiting for us inside."
"Thank you, Carson," she mumbled, a weak smile playing on her lips. As she boarded the train, she stole one last glance at Buck, a shy, smile gracing her lips before the train pulled away.