Chapter 9

San Juan Capistrano, CA - 1871

Time had stretched into a blurry mess since Halona vanished. Buck shouldered the weight of rebuilding his life, a life that felt strangely empty without her. Even though their years together were few, the void she left behind seemed to swallow him whole.

He slumped into his favorite chair, the worn leather welcoming him. His eyes drifted across the familiar room, taking in the faded wallpaper and the soft glow of the oil lamp. A flicker of a smile touched his lips as he watched Isaac, brow furrowed in concentration, turn the page of his book. The soft rustle of paper was oddly comforting in the quiet room.

Megan lay curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, the flames casting dancing shadows across her small form. A pang of grief stabbed at Buck's heart. He saw the emptiness mirrored in his children's eyes. Halona's absence hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the missing piece in their lives.

Explaining it felt impossible. How could he? He'd stuck with the story he told the Sheriff – he saw her go outside, then...nothing. It was true, in a way, but a hollow truth compared to the reality that gnawed at him. But the real truth, the one that twisted his insides, how could he even begin to explain that?

With no signs of a struggle and no body found, the sheriff had concluded Halona had simply left. Buck knew whispers snaked through the farmhands and townsfolk about what really happened to Mrs. Cross. Some echoed the sheriff's theory, painting her as a young woman restless with farm life and stepchildren.

Others murmured about a tragic accident or even suicide, with Buck as the shadowy figure covering it up to protect the kids. The darkest rumor, the one that sent chills down his spine, was that a fight had turned deadly, leaving him responsible for Halona's disappearance. He forced himself to push the rumors away, but the accusations stung his already broken heart.

The sound of rustling paper drew Buck's attention away from the flickering fire. Megan, still curled on the rug, was hunched over a small blue notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Are you drawing, Megan?" Buck asked, his voice rough from disuse. He pushed himself out of the chair with a soft grunt and crouched beside her.

Megan shook her head. "No, Papa. Just writing in my journal."

"A journal?" Buck raised an eyebrow, surprised by this new development.

"Yeah," Megan sniffled, her small fingers tracing the edge of the page. "Mama gave it to me before...everything." Her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken sadness. "She said it's for me to put all my feelings in."

"That sounds like a great idea," Buck said gently, reaching out to stroke her hair. The silky strands slipped through his calloused fingers. "Remember, you can always talk to me too."

Megan looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Papa?" she asked in a small voice, "Will she ever come back?"

Buck's heart ached, a dull throb that never seemed to fade. "I wish I knew, honey," he admitted honestly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

"Why did she leave?" Isaac piped up from across the room, his tone laced with accusation. The book lay forgotten in his lap.

"There are a lot of things people might be saying right now," Buck began carefully, choosing his words with caution, "things that aren't true. And I want you both to know that Halona would never do anything to hurt you."

"She wasn't our real mom anyway." Isaac shrugged, his expression sullen. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, avoiding Buck's gaze.

Megan gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. "Yes, she was!" She cried out, her voice cracking with emotion.

"No, she wasn't," Isaac countered, his jaw set stubbornly.

"She may not have given birth to you," Buck interjected, trying to calm the rising tension. He could feel it crackling in the air like static electricity. "But she who loved you and took care of you every day. And that's what makes a mother."

Tears streamed down Megan's face, leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. "I miss her, Papa," she choked out, burying her face in Buck's shirt. He could feel the dampness seeping through the fabric.

Buck wrapped his arms around her tightly, his own throat thick with emotion. "Me too, honey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Me too." He looked at both his children, their faces etched with grief. The weight of their sorrow pressed down on him, threatening to crush him. "But I want you both to remember this. Hallie, loved you both, very much. And she wouldn't have left you if she had any other choice."

The fire crackled softly in the background, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in Buck's heart. As he held his daughter close and met his son's troubled gaze.