Chapter 20
Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867
The general store's sparse shelving did little to appease Róisín's mounting irritation as she drummed her fingers against a dusty can of beans. A week's delay in the supply wagon's arrival, courtesy of the rapidly encroaching winter and the unsettled Indian tribes tearing up railroad tracks had ensured scant provisions. Lost in her troubled daydream, the creaking of the door hinge escaped her notice until it slammed shut with a resounding bang.
Róisín started, her heart thudding as her gaze snapped towards the entrance. Relief washed over her at the sight of Buck striding purposefully down the aisle, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes. A ghost of a smile played on her lips. These furtive moments over the past weeks - snatched glances and murmured words exchanged amidst the stacks of wares - had become their lifeline.
Feigning interest in the coarse fabric sacks of oats, the abrasive texture scratched at her fingertips as Buck's familiar presence approached. A gentle brush against her hand made her flinch before his warmth enveloped her, their eyes locking in a silent conversation. Swiftly, she squeezed his calloused palm, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
"Come on," Buck rasped gruffly under his breath, tugging her towards the rear exit.
"Buck..." Róisín hissed in panic, her eyes darting about.
Pressing a finger to her lips stilled her protests as he ushered her through the door into the brilliant sun, momentarily blinding her. Then he was upon her, cupping her face as his lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss, fingers tangling in her tresses. Róisín clung to him, her breath catching in her throat as she melted into his embrace.
"My brother has eyes watching me," she whispered brokenly when they finally parted, desperation lacing her tone.
Buck's jaw tightened as he glanced towards the window. "I know," he muttered, "But I had to see you."
Whispering gently, she confessed to him how much she had missed him. Her lips caressed his neck with soft, tender kisses, leaving trails of heat and longing in their wake.
Emboldened by the longing reflected in her gaze, Buck squared his shoulders. "Meet me Saturday after dusk falls."
Doubt furrowed Róisín's brow as she chewed her lip. "It's too dangerous."
"Slip out the back of the saloon," he countered, his voice low and determined. "I'll be waiting. We'll return before first light before anyone is the wiser."
Róisín's lower lip trembled. "I don't know, Buck," she stammered.
Drawing a steadying breath, he brushed an errant lock from her flushed cheek, their faces mere inches apart as his breath danced across her skin. "Trust me, love."
Staring into the fierce devotion burning in his eyes, Róisín surrendered her fears. Biting her lip, she gave a mere ghost of a nod, before turning and retreating back into the store.