Chapter 24

Colorado border, 1867

The dying campfire cast a comforting orange glow across the rocky outcropping where Róisín huddled, chin resting atop her updrawn knees. Buck emerged from the shadowed treeline cradling a battered canteen, his face etched with worry. His features softened as he neared, taking in her solitary vigil.

"You ok?"

Róisín accepted the proffered vessel with a wordless nod. "No," she confessed at last, her voice little more than a hoarse rasp. "I can't shake the sight of... of Lochlan."

Buck settled beside her with a wince, their shoulders brushing as he lapsed into pensive silence punctuated only by the faint crackle of the banked coals and the mournful chirp of crickets.

"I'm so sorry, Buck," she finally choked out, the words tumbling forth in a breathless torrent as scalding tears welled in her eyes.

He turned, dark brows furrowing with concern. "For what?"

"All of this." She gestured vaguely. "If I had just said yes...if I hadn't been so…If I… Carson never would've..." Her voice cracked as a ragged sob tore from her.

Understanding dawned in Buck as he reached out, his fingers finding and gently squeezing her trembling hand in a steadying grip. "You didn't have no choice in the matter," he murmured, the depth of conviction in his tone resonating to her very marrow.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she met his steady gaze, the truth hovering on her lips before spilling forth in a breathless sigh. "I love you."

Buck's rough hands trembled as he cupped her face, his lips brushed hers in a searing yet achingly tender kiss. Tears streamed down her cheeks as they gazed at each other, the truth weighing heavily on her mind.

At length, they parted Róisín staring up at him. "So what do we do now?"

"Well," Buck groaned as a spasm of agony lanced through his battered ribs, his gravelly tone strained. Róisín issued no reproach, her delicate fingers instead gently resting upon the bruising already marring his forearm. "Way I see it, we got two choices."

He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders through sheer force of will. "We head west, maybe to that ocean you talk about. Get as far from this forsaken territory as we can. Won't make it before winter though," Buck continued with a weary shake of his head. "Maybe we could make it to Utah first. Hole up somewhere til the snows clear come spring."

Róisín noted the tightening of his jawline, the muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek as he no doubt weighed their precarious situation yet again. Battered and concussed, he lacked the strength and endurance to attempt such a grueling trek. Utah remained weeks of hard riding away.

"Can't say the Mormons will welcome us with open arms, neither," Buck groaned, shifting his weight to alleviate the strain on his battered ribcage. "They don't like Indians, but we could find shelter somewhere on the outskirts, wait out the worst of it."

"You need a doctor," Róisín protested faintly, her sleeve already stained crimson from daubing at the trickle of blood matting his tousled hair. "That head wound ain't gonna heal itself."

"Ain't got time," he countered with a pained wince, drawing a shuddering breath through gritted teeth.

"So what's our other option?" She pressed.

"My brother's village lies just a couple days' ride," Buck said.

Róisín's sharp gasp was her only response.

"We'd be safer there than anywhere," Buck murmured as he watched her reaction.

Róisín wet her lips as she considered the options. "Can I...can I sleep on it?" She asked at last.

A muscle twitched in Buck's cheek, but he inclined his head in a shallow nod. "Sure thing, darlin'." Shifting with another muffled groan of agony, he managed to guide her slight frame into the shelter of his embrace, her warmth a comfort against the cold night air. He retrieved the rifle from its resting place upon the stony ground and pressed the worn but serviceable revolver into her trembling hands. "You know how to use this?"

"Point the end at the bad guys?" Róisín replied with a small smile, quickly tucking the weapon into her coat.

Buck's lips curved ever so slightly at the corners. "Good 'nough," he wheezed with a final nod, the perpetual lines around his eyes crinkling with the ghost of a smile as he settled back against the granite slab. "Get some rest, Róise...gonna be a long day's ride come mornin'."

Róisín remained utterly motionless as Buck's breathing slowly steadied and deepened beside her, his battered body finally surrendering to the merciful slumber. Faint shivers wracked his body even in unconsciousness, shallow wheezes, and pain-laced twitches. Everywhere she looked, the bruises and oozing lacerations marred his skin, grim reminders of the violence they had narrowly escaped. He could not withstand the several weeks ride to Utah - he required rest, shelter, and the ability to recover his waning strength.

Her choice was clear.

With a final steadying sigh, Róisín settled more comfortably against Buck's solid warmth, surrendering herself to brave whatever unspeakable unknown awaited among his Kiowa brethren. For his sake, she would meet this challenge head on - he had risked everything for her, and she would do no less for him.