Chapter 21

Eagle Canyon, Nebraska - 1867

As they stepped into the restaurant, Siobhan's eyes widened in delighted surprise. The space had been transformed into a charming slice of Paris on the frontier. Crisp white tablecloths adorned intimate tables, each graced with a flickering candle and a single rose. Soft, amber light from delicate sconces bathed the room in a warm glow, reflecting off the few pieces of polished silverware. The walls, a calming blue, were adorned with simple yet elegant French prints.

A heavenly aroma wafted from the kitchen, a tantalizing blend of herbs and spices that hinted at culinary delights to come. The gentle clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation created a cozy atmosphere that felt worlds away from the dusty streets outside.

Siobhan flushed under Buck's admiring gaze as they were seated. "Thank you," she murmured. "This place is... unexpected."

Buck chuckled warmly, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "The owner's wife was a cook in New Orleans. It's a nice change from the usual fare."

As they settled in, perusing menus written in elegant script, conversation flowed as easily as the wine Buck ordered. Comfortable silences punctuated their talk, each laden with deeper meaning. Buck regaled her with tales from his Pony Express days, his eyes dancing with amusement at the memories.

"We were just kids," he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Teaspoon never even suspected Louise was a girl."

A fleeting shadow crossed Siobhan's face. "Do you keep in touch with any of them?"

Buck's smile softened, tinged with nostalgia. "Kid and Lou live a few hours from here. Teaspoon... he's no longer with us."

"I'm sorry," Siobhan whispered, reaching out to touch his hand gently. The warmth of his skin under her fingers sent a pleasant tingle up her arm.

As they savored the French cuisine – dishes with names Siobhan could barely pronounce but flavors that danced on her tongue – their conversation meandered through shared memories and the years apart. Siobhan spoke of her life in Philadelphia, the challenges and joys of caring for her uncle after her mother's passing.

The candlelight cast a soft glow on Buck's features, highlighting the strength and character etched there by years of frontier life. Yet in his eyes, Siobhan caught glimpses of the boy she once knew, full of mischief and dreams. As the evening progressed, she found herself leaning in closer, drawn by the deep timbre of his voice and the connection that seemed to grow stronger with each shared story and lingering glance.

"How did you choose the name Cross?" Siobhan asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

Buck's cheeks colored slightly. "It's from the mission school, actually. When I first got there, I couldn't write. A nun asked me to write my name, so I just made an X. That became my last name. When I left, I figured it was as good as any."

Siobhan's laughter, warm and genuine, filled the air. Buck joined in, squeezing her hand gently. "Let's get out of here," he suggested.

They strolled through the quiet town, the cool night air carrying the scent of wildflowers. Buck led her to a small park, where a small bench beckoned beneath gnarled oak trees.

"Tell me about the mission school," Siobhan prompted gently as they sat.

Buck's expression turned serious. "It wasn't easy," he admitted, his gaze distant. "Our village had been raided by buffalo hunters. We lost so many..."

Siobhan's heart ached for him. She placed her hand on his, offering silent comfort. "Your brother? Sweetgrass Woman?"

Buck's jaw tightened, pain flickering across his face. "We were both on the hunt that day," he said quietly. "Sweetgrass Woman... she—" He paused, visibly struggling with the memory.

Siobhan squeezed his hand, her touch conveying empathy and understanding.

"The nuns took me in," Buck continued after a moment. "They taught me to read and write. That's where I met Ike."

"Ike?" Siobhan encouraged, noticing how Buck's face softened at the name.

"My best friend. We were inseparable, dreaming of leaving the mission someday. He joined the Pony Express with me."

"What happened to him?" Siobhan asked softly.

"He was shot," Buck's voice wavered slightly. "Protecting the woman he loved."

Siobhan held his hand tightly, offering silent support.

Buck took a deep breath, visibly shaking off the melancholy. "Enough about me," he said, his tone lightening. "Tell me about that fancy academy of yours."

Siobhan laughed softly. "It wasn't that interesting, truly. I wanted freedom, and my mother wanted me to find a husband."

Buck's eyebrow arched playfully. "And did you?" He teased, a hint of his old mischief returning.

"What, find a husband?" Siobhan's cheeks flushed.

"Well," Buck drawled, a smirk playing on his lips, "you must have had your pick of gentlemen."

Siobhan met his teasing with a coy smile. "Perhaps," she admitted. "But if I had a husband waiting at home, I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

Her words hung in the air, a playful challenge laced with deeper meaning. Buck's chuckle was warm and genuine. "Noted," he conceded with a nod.

As the night deepened, Siobhan stifled a yawn. Buck stood, offering his hand. "It's getting late, and I have an early day tomorrow."

Siobhan took his hand, savoring the warmth of his touch. "Well—" she began, reluctant for the evening to end.

"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow," Buck interrupted, his voice low and earnest. "After I finish work."

Siobhan's heart quickened. "Where?"

Buck's lips curled into a secretive smile. "It's a surprise. I promise it'll be worth it."

"Haven't you had enough surprises lately?" Siobhan teased gently.

"Don't worry," Buck chuckled, his eyes warm. "This one's special."

They stood there a moment longer, the air between them thick with expectations. Siobhan felt torn between propriety and a yearning for something more.

"I should walk you back to the hotel," Buck said softly.

The walk back was filled with comfortable silence, broken only by nature's nighttime chorus. At the hotel entrance, Buck paused, the moonlight illuminating his strong features.

"Thank you for dinner, Buck," Siobhan whispered.

"It was my pleasure," he replied, his gaze lingering on her face.

For a heartbeat, it seemed Buck might lean in. Siobhan's breath caught, her heart racing. But Buck pulled back slightly, a flicker of regret in his eyes. "Good night, Siobhan," he murmured.

"Good night, Buck," Siobhan managed, her lips tingling with anticipation of a kiss that didn't come.

As she entered the hotel, disappointment mingled with hope. The memory of Buck's touch lingered as she drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with dusty plains, tender moments, and the promise of tomorrow.