Rebel Heart

by RiderComin

Forbidden love blooms between Buck & Emelia, but war separates them. Years later, Emelia returns to find Buck with an old flame, Kathleen Devlin. Louise urges her to fight for him. Can Emelia win back Buck's heart?

Rebel Heart

By: H Forbes

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Closed Door Romance
There is a heavy romance theme, and kissing, but anything past that is completely fade to black. Intimacy is behind closed doors.

Themes & Tropes
First Kiss, 2nd Chance, Hate That I Love You, Love Triangle, Lawfully Good, Single Parent, Forbidden Love, Soul Mates, Forced Proximity

Content Warnings
Violence/Blood/Gore, Substance Abuse, Murder, Child Abuse/Neglect, Murder, Infidelity

10/2024 - Edited for typos, New formatting

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Foreword

The first part of this story unfolds during the events of the show. However, since filming took place in Arizona, a state known for its sunshine, we never witnessed a true Nebraska winter.

As a stickler for historical accuracy, I've incorporated the winter season and Christmas celebration between episodes that wouldn't be heavily impacted by weather limitations to the best of my abilities.

---

Part One – Whispers in the Wind

Chapter 1

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 Episode 11)

The lines on the page swam before Emelia's eyes. She reread the paragraph for the second time, but the words refused to sink in. Across the room, her twin sister Roselyn, chattered incessantly, her voice a high-pitched drone that scraped against Emelia's already frayed nerves.

They were fraternal twins, born a mere handful of minutes apart, yet as different as night and day. Roselyn, a whirlwind of fiery red curls and boundless energy, was boy-crazy to an epic degree. Standing barely five feet tall, and already developing her feminine curves, Roselyn's personality made up for every inch she lacked. Emelia, on the other hand, was the picture of quiet composure, tall and slender, she possessed a mane of honeyed blonde hair that she usually kept in a neat braid. Where Roselyn craved the spotlight, Emelia retreated into the quiet world of books, finding solace in the pages of faraway adventures.

The only thing they truly shared was their unusual eyes. Neither blue nor green, they shimmered with an otherworldly turquoise hue, that was their most striking feature.

Just three weeks ago, their lives had been uprooted. Their father, Adam Dunhurst, an attorney by trade but lately more of an investor. His latest venture – a stake in the Southern Pacific Railroad, and had moved the family from the bustling city of Chicago to the frontier town of Rock Creek, Nebraska.

Their new home was a far cry from the Windy City. Here, the days stretched out lazily, punctuated by the clip-clop of horses and the distant cries of farm animals. Emelia missed the comforting anonymity of Chicago, the ability to blend into the crowd. Here, everyone seemed to know everyone else, and the twins were the object of endless curiosity.

Roselyn, however, thrived on the attention. In just three short weeks, she'd managed to cultivate a collection of no fewer than five boys she was hopelessly smitten with. Today's obsession was currently monopolizing her conversation.

"Emelia!" Roselyn snatched the book from her grasp and slammed it shut. "Did you even hear a word I just said?"

Emelia blinked, momentarily ripped from her world of words. "Honestly, no." She reached for the book, but Roselyn flung it over the porch railing with a flourish.

"Hey!" Emelia protested, scrambling to retrieve her precious novel.

"This is much more important than that stupid book of yours." Roselyn declared.

Emelia scoffed. "Great." She bolted off the porch, scanning the bushes for her book. Relief washed over her as she spotted it. Snatching it up, she tried to brush away the dirt that now marred the cover and stained several pages. "Predictable," she muttered then turned to her sister, the annoyance clearly etched on her face. "Pink bonnet or white? Or maybe the earth-shattering decision of which ribbons would clash with your walking shoes?"

Roselyn rolled her eyes dramatically. "Emelia, there are more important things in life than having your nose permanently stuck in a book!" She watched with a smirk as Emelia retrieved her book and settled back onto the porch swing.

"Fine." Emelia sighed, resigning herself to another round of her sister's dramatics. "Enlighten me. What exactly you are babbling about today?"

"I'm not babbling! This is important!" Roselyn practically vibrated with excitement. "The most perfect man I've ever seen!"

"Uh-huh." Emelia said dryly, not looking up from her book.

"You're never going to find a husband with that attitude." Roselyn chimed, her voice laced with mock concern.

Emelia snorted. "And mother and father are never going to let you out of the house if you don't learn to act like a lady."

"I am a lady!" Roselyn huffed, puffing out her chest in indignation. At that very moment, a young man walked past the porch, his gaze lingering on Roselyn. Roselyn responded with a dazzling smile, completely oblivious to Emelia's smirk.

"Was that him?" Emelia asked, unable to resist a bit of teasing.

"Heavens no!" Roselyn scoffed, feigning disinterest. "That's just some random nobody." She grabbed Emelia's arm and pulled her to her feet. "Come with me!"

Emelia, despite her longer legs, found herself practically trotting to keep up with her sister's whirlwind pace. As they neared the southern outskirts of town, her sister abruptly stopped, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Just wait here." She whispered, gesturing towards a bench beneath a sprawling oak tree.

Emelia sighed, a familiar exasperation washing over her. But she indulged her sister, settling onto the worn wooden seat. Minutes ticked by. Emelia fidgeted, her gaze drifting across the dusty street.

"Trust me, he's worth the wait!" Roselyn promised, her voice breathless with excitement.

The jailhouse door swung open with a creak, expelling a group of men into the afternoon sun. They blinked momentarily, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Even Emelia, who usually kept her observations private, couldn't help but be drawn to the scene. Each man held a distinct air about him.

She noted the tall and broad-shouldered one, with long brown hair first. His face, etched with a brooding countenance, hinted at a past filled with challenges. Beside him was a man with a mane of auburn hair, not like her sister's fiery locks, but softer, the color of sun-warmed honey. His clear blue eyes held a sharpness that suggested a quick mind.

Then her gaze landed on a figure slightly apart from the rest. His warm bronzed skin and brown eyes, deep and watchful, conveyed a seriousness that seemed to weigh heavily on him. Unlike the others, his attire lacked any ostentatious flourishes. He moved with a quiet grace, as if attuned to a different rhythm.

But what truly set him apart was a sense of untamed spirit. Unlike the assimilated Indians Emelia had seen back in Chicago – men with store-bought suits and shorn hair – this man embodied the frontier. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, or the glint of untamed fire in his eyes. Emelia couldn't help but be drawn to his quiet magnetism.

"So?" Emelia nudged her sister, unable to contain a laugh at the lovesick look plastered on Roselyn's face.

"What?" Roselyn snapped, momentarily torn from her trance.

"Which one is your mystery beau?" Emelia pressed, her amusement growing.

Roselyn's gaze was fixated on the man at the back of the group. He stood out like a peacock in a barnyard, his blonde hair catching the sunlight. He wore a buckskin jacket adorned with intricate fringes.

Roselyn leaned in conspiratorially, her voice barely a whisper. "There he is. The blonde one. The one with the... the fringed everything."

"So, does Romeo have a name?" Emelia teased.

Roselyn's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know." she mumbled.

Emelia couldn't help but smile. Here was her ever-confident sister, reduced to a stammering mess by a man in fringed pants. The irony was delicious.

"You know." Emelia began, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You could always just walk over and introduce yourself."

---

Chapter 2

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 Episode 13)

The flickering candlelight danced across the pages of Emelia's book. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, but sleep was a distant thought. Engrossed in Elizabeth Bennet's passionate rejection of Mr. Darcy's proposal, Emelia was at a pivotal point in Jane Austen's timeless tale of Pride and Prejudice. A sudden eruption of shouts from the street shattered the tranquility of her room.

Jolted from her solitude, Emelia scrambled out of bed and rushed to the window. It stuck stubbornly, forcing her to wrestle it open. Before the flames themselves came into view, the pungent bite of smoke filled her senses.

Craning her neck around the building's edge, Emelia witnessed a scene of terrifying chaos. Billows of smoke plumed skyward, flames licking hungrily at the wooden walls of a nearby building. Frantic figures formed a bucket brigade, desperately trying to quell the inferno. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the town Marshal and one of the pony express riders disappear into the burning building, presumably to rescue any trapped souls.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing slowness before the two figures emerged, thankfully unharmed, but alone. Emelia squeezed her eyes shut, a silent tear rolling down her cheek for the unfortunate soul who perished within the flames.

---

Chapter 3

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 Episode 13)

The clatter of footsteps on the stairs announced Roselyn's arrival. She burst into the kitchen, flopping down at the table with a dramatic sigh. "Where's father?"

Miriam Dunhurst, already at the stove, glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. "He's gone west to meet with those railroad men." She replied, raising an eyebrow in question. "And what, pray tell, are you planning to do today to better yourself, Roselyn?"

Roselyn shrugged, a flippant reply hovering on the tip of her tongue. It died on her lips under her mother's withering stare. "Honestly, I haven't thought about it yet."

Just then, the front door swung open with a bang, and Emelia practically burst into the room. "Good morning, mother!" She chirped, throwing her arms around Miriam for a quick hug.

"Where have you been?" Miriam asked, returning the embrace and planting a kiss on Emelia's cheek.

"Town meeting! They're raising the new schoolhouse today, and I wanted to lend a hand. You should come too, Roselyn!" Emelia suggested brightly.

Roselyn grimaced. "No thank you."

Miriam sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Roselyn, charity is a cornerstone of our faith." She reminded her daughter gently.

"Well, I don't see you rushing over there, mother." Roselyn countered with a sly smile.

Miriam's lips thinned. "Unlike you, Roselyn, we at least have some semblance of order to maintain in this house. And that certainly isn't coming from you." She shot Roselyn a pointed look. "After I clean up after my slovenly daughter, perhaps I'll have the energy for some charity work myself."

Emelia winced at her mother's harsh words. "I can stay and help you clean if you like."

Miriam shook her head. "No, dear. You go help with the schoolhouse. You have a good heart, Emelia." She smiled warmly at her younger daughter, then turned a more serious gaze to her eldest. "But Roselyn, consider doing something selfless for a change. You might be surprised how good it makes you feel."

A mischievous glint appeared in Emelia's eyes. "Guess who'll be at the schoolhouse raising?" She whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "Mr. Cody."

Roselyn's posture straightened, and a hint of pink dusted her cheeks. "Well, maybe I could just go see what I can do to help out." She mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Perfect!" Emelia beamed. "They're looking for book donations, and I was planning to contribute a few of mine."

Roselyn snorted. "You certainly have enough to spare."

Miriam gave Roselyn a gentle but firm look. "It would behoove you to follow your sister's example and spend more time reading." She chided the elder twin. "That is very kind of you Emelia. Make sure you eat some breakfast before you go."

Emelia nodded to her mother and retreated upstairs. In Chicago, her bookshelf had overflowed with many books. Here in Nebraska, she'd only brought her most treasured companions. Setting aside her beloved copy of Pride and Prejudice (a parting she wasn't quite ready to make), she filled a small wooden crate with some of her collection.

Keeping her promise, Emelia grabbed a slice of toast and washed it down with orange juice before heading out the door. "Think you could lend a hand with these?" She asked Roselyn, who strolled beside her, conspicuously empty-handed.

"Ugh, no way," Roselyn replied, her expression one of mock horror. "I can't be sweaty and disgusting when I see him."

Emelia sighed, shouldering the crate of books on her own. By the time she reached the construction site for the new schoolhouse, she was certain her arms were threatening to detach from their sockets. Disappointingly, her sister was nowhere to be seen.

Emelia jumped a little, startled by the unexpected voice. Looking up, she saw a woman with hair the same blonde color as her own, rushing towards her. "Are these all for the school?"

"Yes, they are." Emelia nodded shyly.

"You, my dear, are a blessing!" The woman hoisted a generous portion of the crate's weight. "I don't believe we've met. Are you new in town?"

Emelia returned the smile. "My family moved here about a month ago. I'm Emelia Dunhurst."

"Welcome to Rock Creek, Emelia. I'm Rachel Dunn."

"Grab hold, everyone!" A loud yell cut through their conversation. "We're raising the frame!"

"Let's just step aside, dear." Rachel said, guiding Emelia out of the way with a hand on her shoulder.

The tense air crackled with anticipation. "Horses ready? Alright! On the count of three. One, two, three!" Teaspoon's voice boomed across the construction site.

Emelia watched, mesmerized, as the team of horses strained against the ropes, slowly pulling the massive wooden frame skyward. The men below grunted and heaved, guiding the structure until it stood upright with a satisfying groan.

A cheer erupted from the crowd, a wave of accomplishment washing over the assembled townsfolk. Emelia scanned the faces, her gaze finally landing on Roselyn, who stood a few yards away, completely enthralled by William Cody, the object of her recent unwavering affection.

"Thank you again, Emelia, for these books!" Rachel exclaimed, sorting through the titles with a grateful smile. "There are so many wonderful stories here. Did you read them all?"

"Yes ma'am." Emelia confirmed proudly, her love for the written word shining in her eyes.

"Emelia!" A breathless Roselyn skidded to a halt beside her, grabbing her arm with a vice-like grip began tugging her away from the crowd. "Let's go."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Rachel!" Emelia waved as her sister dragged her down the street.

Back at the crate, Noah plucked a book from the top of the pile, watching the two sisters disappear into the distance. "Quite the successful book donation, wouldn't you say, Rachel?" He remarked.

"They're new in town." Rachel explained, flipping through the pages of another well-read book. "I met their father last week. He's a railroad investor."

Buck and Noah exchanged a knowing glance. Having witnessed their fair share of fortune seekers drawn to the railroad like moths to a flame, they weren't surprised. The promise of wealth had a tendency to attract men with grandiose dreams of glory, their pockets often lighter than their ambitions.

Buck hefted the crate, estimating its weight. "Well, that was awfully kind of her."

"Have you noticed the way that little one has been making eyes at Cody?" Noah chuckled, nudging Buck with his elbow.

Buck grinned. "Seems like Cody doesn't mind the attention."

Rachel let out a hearty laugh and with her voice laced with sarcasm she interrupted their banter. "Boys, boys, boys. Cody can't help that he turns heads easily. It's a burden he must bear, and certainly nothing to tease him about."

"Of course not," Noah snickered, shaking his head.

---

Chapter 4

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 Between episodes 16-17)

The crisp autumn air bit at Emelia's cheeks as she peeked out the window. A blanket of fresh snow covered the landscape, transforming the familiar surroundings into a winter wonderland. The playful glint in her eyes betrayed her excitement to explore.

"Where are you off too?" Miriam's voice came from behind her.

"Just taking a walk, mother." Emelia replied, turning with a smile.

"I would ask you take your sister with you." Her mother winked at her and smiled. "But I am sure you would prefer the quietness for your thoughts."

"Thank you, mother!" Emelia smiled brightly.

"Make sure you bundle up well." Miriam cautioned. "Coat, boots, and mittens – all of it."

Emelia chuckled. "Yes, mother!" She chirped, pulling on her warmest coat and pulled the wool hood over her long hair. "Don't worry, I'll be back before supper."

With her mother's final reminder not to wander after dark ringing in her ears, Emelia burst out the door, her boots crunching on the pristine snow. The world glittered around her, the sun reflecting off the snow like a million tiny diamonds. Leaving the town's limits behind, Emelia set off across a vast field, following the soft gurgling sound of a nearby creek.

The babbling of the water grew louder, leading her to a hidden gem – a small creek, no more than five feet wide, snaking its way between towering oak trees. The edges were frozen solid, a stark white border framing the gurgling current that flowed freely at the center, perhaps only a few feet deep. With each careful step, Emelia ventured upstream, where a jumble of rocks had diverted the water's natural course, creating a small, swirling eddy. Lost in her exploration, Emelia didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

"Hello." The deep voice rang out in the silence.

Startled, Emelia jumped back, landing on her backside, unceremoniously in a soft snowdrift.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." A warm smile spread across his face as he carefully urged his horse across the creek. He dismounted with ease and extended a hand to help her up. "I'm Buck Cross."

"Emelia Dunhurst." She replied, taking his hand with a smile. "You're one of the pony express riders, right?" Emelia dusted the snow off her coat, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"That's right." Buck confirmed.

"I haven't seen you around town lately." She raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

A flicker of curiosity sparked in Buck's eyes. "You are very observant," he said, leaning in slightly.

Emelia felt her face redden. "Forgive me, I suffer from incurable curiosity," she sighed, running a hand through hergolden blonde waves, which now loose from their binding seemed to have a life of their own.

"You're forgiven." Buck chuckled, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. There was something about hernervous energythat was endearing.

"It's just..." she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "There's not much excitement in a small town like Rock Creek. So, I do tend to notice the most mundane things."

Buck nodded as he leaned against the rough bark of the oak. He could barely process what had happened in the last couple weeks with White Feather and Camille. How could he explain such a bizarre encounter to anyone when he could barely grasp it himself.

"What brings you out here all by yourself?" He asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I was taking a walk and heard the creek. It's beautiful, isn't it? Look closely under the ledge there – tiny little icicles clinging to the rocks!" She exclaimed, pointing towards a hidden wonder.

"Let me show you something." Buck grinned, his hand outstretched.

Sunlight glinted off the clear water of the creek, its gentle gurgling a soothing contrast to her racing heart. Hesitation flickered in her eyes, but as they met Buck's warm, genuine gaze, her worries melted away. A newfound thrill bubbled in her chest, replacing her apprehension.

With a shy smile, Emelia placed her hand in his, the touch sending a warm peaceful calm through her. Buck, his strong arm briefly brushing hers as he helped her across the slippery rocks, led her towards a magnificent rust colored stallion with a flowing black mane. Emelia's breath caught as Buck lifted her onto the horse's saddle. As he settled in behind her, a mixture of nervous excitement coursed through her. Buck nudged the horse forward and the stallion broke into a steady canter, carrying them deeper into the heart of the unknown forest.

They wove through a canopy of snow-laden branches, the sunlight spotted their path with light and shadow. Finally, Buck reined in the horse a short distance from a clearing. A glimmer of water peeked through the trees, hinting at the hidden destination. With fluid grace, he slid from the saddle and tied off the reins before extending a hand to Emelia.

Taking it with a shy smile, she allowed him to lead her through the snowy undergrowth, anticipation building with each step closer to the unseen wonder. The clearing unfolded before them like a hidden paradise, bathed in the golden light that streamed through the leafy canopy overhead.

Emelia gasped, a sound that escaped her lips involuntarily. The sight was breathtaking – a crystal-clear pond nestled amidst the snow-covered landscape, its surface reflecting the vibrant azure hue of the winter sky.

"Over there." Buck murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice as he pointed across the water.

Following his gesture, Emelia's gaze landed on a flock of ducks paddling towards them, their movements accompanied by a chorus of excited quacks.

"They haven't flown south for the winter?" She blurted out in surprise.

"The one with the darker feathers had a broken leg when I found him several months ago. He mended quite nicely. But he is fat and happy, so he never left." He reached into a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a cloth sack. "He and his companions become my winter guests."

"What's in there?" Emelia inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"Rice, peas, corn, oats." Buck replied, holding the sack open for her to peer inside. "They're like little feathered piglets, gobbling up anything they can their beaks on."

"Cute little piglets!" Emelia reached in and scooped out a handful of the feed mix, a smile blossoming on her face as she sprinkled it on the ground. The ducks swarmed the offering in a flurry of feathery activity, their excited quacks filling the air.

"I bring them lettuce or apples in the spring." Buck added.

Emelia's smile widened. "Sounds as if you frequent here quiet often."

"Just acquired this piece of land a couple of months ago." Buck said, a note of pride in his voice as he gestured towards the clearing.

"I didn't know this was your land." Emelia stammered. "I didn't mean to trespass."

"You're welcome to visit with my feathered friends any time you like." Buck's smile turned reassuring.

"Thank you." Emelia replied, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue.

A comfortable silence settling between them as they watched the duck's feast. Finally, Buck turned to her, and inquired. "Where is your family from?"

"Chicago." Emelia replied. "My father was an attorney there, but he recently became involved in some railroad business that required our relocation here. I suppose it allows him to make the journey back and forth and still spend time with us."

"Sounds like your family is close." Buck observed.

Emelia nodded. "Indeed, we are. My parents are wonderful people, and my sister..." she trailed off with a laugh. "Well, let's just say she's at that age where the opposite sex occupies a rather significant portion of her thoughts."

Buck chuckled knowingly.

Emelia winced. "She's not exactly the epitome of subtlety."

"Perhaps not." Buck replied, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is she your younger sister?"

"She is older." Emelia smiled and caught his gaze quickly before throwing more food for the ducks. "But only by a few minutes. We're twins."

"She's of the age," Buck chuckled, playfully mimicking her words. "She's noticing boys, but you're not?"

Emelia sighed, exasperation momentarily flickering across her face. Then, her eyes met his again, and a smile broke across her lips. The teasing glint in his eyes told her she'd found her match.

Buck raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You two don't bear much resemblance to each other."

A wistful smile touched Emelia's lips as she thought of her sister, Roselyn. Even as children, her sister had been a vision of delicate features and flaming sun-kissed hair, the undisputed beauty of the family. Emelia remembered well a comment from an uncle, a well-meaning but clumsy attempt at a compliment, that still irked her.

"Roselyn got all the familial beauty, and you, Emelia, inherited the brains."

The memory sent a prickle of annoyance down her spine. But as they grew, Emelia learned to find her own solace. She reveled in the sharp, inquisitive mind that buzzed with ideas.

"She might have inherited our mother's good looks, but I got the lion's share of intelligence." She chuckled to herself, the defiance in her voice laced with a quiet pride.

A slow smile spread across Buck's face. "I wouldn't say all the good looks." He countered, his gaze lingering on her.

Emelia felt a blush creep up her neck, a warmth blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with the winter sun filtering through the trees. "Thank you." She murmured, catching his gaze quickly before looking across the pond.

---

Chapter 5

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 Between episodes 17-18)

Roselyn's announcement that she was off to check on a dress from St. Louis was met with an uncharacteristically eager response from her younger sister.

"I'll come with you!" Emelia practically leaped out of her chair, abandoning her embroidery in a flurry of activity.

"I don't want to traipse around town." Roselyn's sigh was laced with exasperation.

"Promise." Emelia smiled genuinely at her sister. "Just the dress shop." The truth, a secret delight tucked away in her heart, was the possibility of encountering Buck again.

Emelia was all too familiar with her sister's flamboyant personality, but she was ill prepared for the task at hand. Roselyn, turned the simple act of selecting a gown into an impressive odyssey. The lace wasn't exquisite enough, the waist an insult to her form. Emelia, ever the diplomat, offered silent apologies to the beleaguered seamstress, all the while begging her sister to just decide on a dress.

An hour later, they emerged, Roselyn still radiating discontent. Her spirits, however, soared upon spotting Cody entering the general store. Grasping her sister's hand tightly she began to drag Emelia across the dusty street.

"Roselyn!" Emelia hissed, mortified by her sister's transparent ploy.

"I need to get some bath water!" Roselyn's eyes were alight with mischief.

Emelia begrudgingly followed Roselyn into the store. As soon as they were separated by the bustle, Emelia darted for the corner, seeking refuge behind a shelf of molasses. From her hiding spot, she peeked out to see the Pony Express riders browsing. Several of them gathered near the dry goods section where William Cody was looking at some trinkets in the case.

Despite being hidden, Emelia could hear every world they spoke. A blush crept up her cheeks with secondhand embarrassment for her sister.

"Oh look Cody, it's your girlfriend." Lou winked.

"I don't know why he don't just ask her out and get it over with." Jimmy scowled.

"Would you guys cut it out?" Cody gritted his teeth then turned and smiled at Roselyn from across the store. "You don't just ask a lady like that out."

"So, what's the proper course of action, Cody?" Kid chimed in, feigning innocence.

"Well, I gotta ask her father's permission, of course." Cody replied with a knowing nod.

A soft voice startled Emelia from her eavesdropping. "Those molasses must be real interesting," Buck drawled, a playful smirk twisting his lips.

Emelia whirled around, heart hammering against her ribs. "Buck!" She exclaimed, a touch too loudly. "You startled me."

"My apologies, Miss. Dunhurst." He chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your, shall we say, covert operation?" He gestured toward the corner of the store where she'd been hiding.

A blush crept up her neck. "Trying to disappear would be more accurate," she mumbled, then forced a smile. "Just watching Roselyn, make a fool of herself, that's all."

"Mmm, I see," he murmured, his voice low and warm. Buck followed her gaze to where her sister stood across the room, engaged in a silent game of stolen glances and shy smiles with his friend Cody. A knowing look crossed his face.

"I hope your ducks are doing well." Emelia forced the words out, her voice a touch higher than usual. Clearing her throat, she stole a glance at Buck, trying to tamp down the erratic thumping of her heart. His nearness was unsettling, a delicious kind of unsettling.

"You should come out and visit again." Buck leaned on the shelf slightly closer to her.

Buck sidled up to the shelf next to Emelia, and she felt her face get hot. Having him so close made her heart race a little. A tingle ran down her back, leaving her feeling all fluttery inside.

Emelia tried to act casual, but she could feel the warmth spreading across her cheeks. She snuck a glance at Buck, noticing how his presence seemed to fill up the space around her. It was hard to focus on anything else with him standing right there.

She fidgeted with the book in her hands, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Buck's closeness was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making her hyper-aware of every little movement.

"I'll make a point to." She replied, her voice barely a whisper. Her gaze darted back to her sister, then returned to Buck, a playful glint in her blue-green eyes.

Emelia's heart hammered in her chest. Roselyn's voice, sharp as a whipcrack, sliced through the warm bubble of conversation. She whirled around, a desperate plea hanging in her eyes as she returned Buck's gaze.

"Emelia!" Roselyn's voice boomed again, carrying across the dusty general store.

Defeat slumped Emelia's shoulders. There would be no lingering goodbyes, no stolen promises of another meeting.

"I have to go." She blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. She couldn't bear the endless interrogation that would erupt if her sister caught her engrossed in a private conversation with a stranger. With a soft, apologetic smile that did little to hide the disappointment blooming on her face. "It was nice seeing you again."

"Likewise." Buck replied with a kind smile, the flicker of disappointment mirroring hers.

He watched, a touch of longing etching his features, as the Dunhurst sisters, hurried out of the store and disappeared into the crowd of people bustling down the dusty main street. With a sigh, he turned and rejoined his friends, the encounter leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Lou nudged Buck with her elbow when she noticed his flushed face and his gaze steady on the girls that just left the store. "What's going on with you and that girl?" She teased, a playful smile played across her face. Seamed Cody wasn't the only one interested in the Dunhurst sisters.

"Nothing." Buck mumbled, his gaze lingering where he and Emelia had stood only a moment ago.

"Well Buck if you know her sister you could at least introduce me to her!" Cody complained.

---

Chapter 6

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 between episodes 18-19)

No matter how Emelia tried, her hair refused to cooperate. One side stubbornly remained flat. With a sigh, she surrendered and pulled out all the pins and tossed them on the table defeatedly. Out of nowhere her mother, appeared at her side with a gentle smile.

Taking the brush, she worked her magic on Emelia's wavy blonde hair. Two braids emerged, expertly coiled on top of Emelia's head and secured with pins. An ornate pearl comb added a final touch, taming the cascading waves down her back.

"There, you look very lovely, Emelia." Miriam declared, turning Emelia towards the mirror.

"Thank you, mother." She replied, finally satisfied with her reflection.

Across the room, a different kind of chaos unfolded. "I've looked everywhere!" Roselyn whined. "Where are my pearl earrings?"

"Did you check your drawer?" Emelia inquired.

Roselyn rolled her eyes at her sister. "Of course I did! Ugh, we're going to be late!"

A chuckle rumbled from downstairs. "Are the girls ready yet?" Came their father Adam's voice.

Miriam shook her head with a smile. "You know well the answer to that question."

"Another catastrophe for Roselyn I presume?" He sighed good-naturedly.

"Lost earrings, this time."

"The world may just end." He teased, planting a kiss on Miriam's cheek. "You look absolutely beautiful tonight."

"Thank you, dear." She smiled and kissed his cheek softly.

A triumphant yell echoed through the house as Roselyn found her missing treasures. She snatched her coat and bolted for the door. "Hurry up, Emelia!"

"Coming!" Emelia called after her.

The crisp December air whipped at Emelia's cheeks as she hurried through town, a thrill buzzing in her chest. Every stolen glance through shop windows over the past week had heightened her anticipation for this annual Christmas celebration. While glimpses of festive decorations had promised cheer, nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her now.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors, Emelia stepped into a wonderland. Strings of scarlet ribbons, danced from the rafters. The scent of pine filled the air, emanating from boughs that framed doorways and adorned tables. In one corner, a sight that nearly stole her breath - a table laden with an array of sweet treats, frosted cakes, and steaming pitchers of cider and eggnog. The warm glow of candlelight flickered on the scene, casting a magical aura over the entire room.

Inside, Roselyn made a beeline for the dance floor, quickly swept away by a handsome young man. Miriam, with a knowing smile, nudged Emelia towards the dancing crowd.

"Honey, why don't you join your sister? I'm sure there are many young men who'd love to dance with you."

Emelia's cheeks burned with a blush as warm as the crackling fire in the corner. "Mother!" She exclaimed and scooted towards the safety of the table, seeking refuge beside her parents.

Around her, couples twirled on the makeshift dance floor, their movements graceful under the soft glow of candlelight. The scene unfolded like a scene from one of her books - a world of swirling skirts and happy laughter. A slight yearning to join them tugged at Emelia, but for now, there was a strange satisfaction in simply being there, a silent participant in this magical night.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted her flustered thoughts. "Excuse me, miss. Can I have this dance?"

Miriam, with a playful glint in her eyes, pulled out Emelia's chair and playfully bumped her daughter's arm. "Go on, dear."

Emelia offered a shy smile to the boy and took his hand.

"I'm Jesse."

"Nice to meet you Jesse." She smiled politely. "I'm Emelia."

A soft giggle escaped Emelia's lips despite her usual shyness around boys. Her current partner was a mess of adorable awkwardness. Sweat slicked his palms, and his attempts at following the dance steps were endearingly clumsy. He was clearly a few seasons younger than her, but there was a sweetness to his fumbling efforts that Emelia found charming. Perhaps, with time, this awkwardness would blossom into the easy confidence of a man.

As the lively tune faded, Emelia dipped into a graceful curtsy, but her heart skipped a beat as a hand landed firmly on her shoulder. Disappointment washed over her features as she spun around, only to find not Buck's face, but another one of the express riders gazing down at her with a hopeful smile.

"May I have this dance?" Jimmy offered, extending a hand.

"Of course." Emelia replied, her forced politeness returning to her lips.

"Emelia, right?"

A hint of intrigue flickered in Emelia's eyes as she confirmed, "Indeed, I haven't had the pleasure."

"James Hickok." He offered with a polite nod, sweeping her into a gentle turn.

"And how is it you know my name, sir?" She inquired, raising an eyebrow with playful suspicion.

Jimmy's smile widened a touch. "We share a mutual friend," he explained, expertly navigating them around the makeshift dance floor.

"Not a friend who's currently absent, by any chance?" She countered, her eyes sparkling.

Jimmy chuckled. "He just got back from a run this evening and promised he wouldn't miss a dance with you. Seems he was a bit worried you might think he wouldn't be here."

A warm blush crept up Emelia's cheeks, reaching all the way to the tips of her ears. Overcome with shyness her eyes drifted down to the handkerchief tied around his neck.

"Hold on a tick." Jimmy chuckled, expertly twirling her around to get a better view of the commotion across the room.

Her gaze followed his, landing on a sight that sent a jolt of amusement through her. There, by her parent's table, stood William Cody. He was practically bowing from the waist, a hand outstretched towards Roselyn, who seemed a touch flustered by the sudden attention. Within seconds Cody whisked her sister away in a flurry of nervous excitement, leading her towards the dance floor.

"That, my dear Miss. Dunhurst." Jimmy explained with a grin. "Is my friend Cody. He's been wantin' to meet your sister for months now. He wouldn't dare approach her without your Pa's blessing, though."

Emelia rolled her eyes, a playful smile turning up the corners of her lips. "Honestly, Mr. Hickok, you'd think she was the Queen of England with all that bowing and groveling! He could have just walked up and said hello."

Jimmy chucked warming to her instantly. He had seen the Dunhurst sisters in town on several occasions, and had to admit they were both two of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen before. Until this moment he assumed as sisters, and twins they would have a more similar disposition.

He was wrong in assuming Emelia was as empty headed as her sister was. Full of dizzying thoughts and mindless conversations, but he was pleasantly surprised at the woman before him. She was smart, and unassuming.

Jimmy could see why his friend, despite being tight-lipped, was clearly smitten with her. Truth be told, Jimmy wouldn't mind taking a shot himself, but Buck had his claim for now.

---

Chapter 7

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 between episodes 18-19)

Buck entered the town hall, his gaze immediately landed on Emelia, who twirled elegantly on the dance floor with Jimmy. Her sapphire blue gown accentuated her pale skin, making it appear almost luminous in the warm candlelight.

He caught sight of her sister, her ruby colored curls bounced around her shoulder as she danced. He couldn't deny she was a lovely woman, but Emelia was very wrong when she said her sister got the looks in the family. Her sister paled in comparison.

Buck felt a warmth fill his chest. The moment Emelia's gaze met his, a shy smile blossomed on her face, transforming her from beautiful to radiant. As the final notes of the song faded, Buck couldn't wait a moment longer. He navigated the crowd, his eyes fixed on Emelia, eager to reach her side.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Hickok." Emelia said with a gracious smile.

"Thank you, ma'am." He smiled and patted his friend on the back as he excused himself.

The festive atmosphere seemed to dim slightly as her gaze met his. "I'm glad you came tonight." She said, taking a steadying breath.

"You look really beautiful," he remarked, his voice a husky whisper tinged with admiration.

A playful smile danced in Emelia's eyes. "You look very handsome yourself," she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. Their fingers brushed as Emelia reached for his hand, a spark of electricity shooting between them.

Buck spun Emelia around the dance floor, before pulling her close. The warmth of her body pressed against his, and the intoxicating scent of lavender filled his senses as her hair brushed his cheek. Lost in the moment, neither noticed the approaching figure until a heavy hand clamped down on Emelia's shoulder.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening in surprise as they met her father's. His face, etched with an emotion Buck couldn't decipher, was a mask of stoicism. The hand on her shoulder tightened, a silent command that pulled her away from Buck with an undeniable force.

"There you are, Emelia." He said, his voice low and gravelly. "I need a word."

Chapter 8

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 between episodes 18-19)

The past thirty minutes had been an agonizing eternity for Buck. He hadn't caught the exact words from Emelia's father, but the icy tension radiating from the Dunhurst table painted a clear picture. He watched helplessly as her parents, faces both etched with disapproval, engaged Emelia in a stern conversation.

A pang of sympathy shot through him as he saw the bewildered look on her face – utterly lost in the unfolding drama. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Emelia's repeated refusals of dance invitations as she glared in frustration at the flickering candle.

Suddenly, Emelia shot up from the table and stormed outside. Her father reacted instinctively, rising to follow, but a hushed word from his wife seemed to quell his anger. Buck waited a few tense moments, then grabbed his coat and slipped out the back door. He scoured the building's perimeter, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach. Finding her nowhere, he decided to check her house.

Despite the darkness, he was drawn towards a faint sound emanating from the garden's quiet embrace. There, on a secluded bench, bathed in the soft moonlight, he found Emelia. Her silhouette hunched over, she was methodically scraping paint off the wood with her fingernails, a silent reflection of the turmoil within.

"Emelia." Buck's voice broke the silence of the garden.

She flinched, startled, and hastily wiped at her tears. "Buck?" she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.

He sat down beside her on the bench, concern etched on his face. Her eyes were red and puffy, damp stains marking her dress where tears had fallen.

"What's wrong?" He asked gently.

"My father." Emelia looked away, forcing a smile. "He said I wasn't allowed to dance with you."

"I figured as much." He confided.

Even though he had a good guess of the situation, hearing if from her made the words bitter in his mouth. He had known exactly what her father had said.

"I will not be told what friend's I'm allowed to have!" She declared, her voice full of indignance.

Buck's heart hammered in his chest. He leaned closer, his gaze lingering on her lips. Hesitation halted him for a moment before he leaned closer, but before their lips could meet, the flickering lights of the Dunhurst house pierced the darkness. Figures started moving behind the windows. A blush crept up Emelia's cheeks, mirroring the warmth in Buck's eyes. Disappointment flickered across her face, quickly replaced by a shy smile.

"Come with me!" Emelia whispered then grabbed his hand and pulled him through the garden towards the back gate. The pair sprinted down the path and out the back gate, both breathless by the time they stopped. Leaning against the fence, Emelia reached out and grabbed his coat, pulling him closer to her.

"You must be freezing." Buck remarked, his breath forming white puffs in the cool night air.

He brushed his hands down her arms, sending shivers up her spin. His touch, hesitant at first, lingered on the soft skin above her elbow. Emelia, tilting her head back, closed her eyes in a silent plea. Moonlight painted her hair silver, highlighting the vulnerability etched around tear-streaked cheeks. He was powerless to resist. Leaning in slowly, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss.

Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss intensified. He cupped her face, the coolness a stark contrast to the fire igniting within him. Her fingers, trembling slightly, dug into his back, pulling him closer. It felt like a desperate search for solace, a defiance against a world that threatened to keep them apart.

"Emelia?" A deep voice shattered the peaceful moment. It was her father, bellowing from the porch.

Emelia pulled away, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. "I have to go." She whispered against his cheek.

"G'night Emelia." Buck murmured, stealing one last kiss.

Emelia took a final glance at Buck, a flicker of warmth lingering in her eyes as she latched the gate between them. With a small, apologetic smile, she turned and hurried towards her father. She practically ran onto the porch, the weight of her father's unreadable expression heavy in the air. Relief washed over her when he pulled her into a tight embrace, his strong arm wrapping around her. Concern etched itself onto his face as he looked down at her.

"What are you doing out here without your coat on?" He asked gently.

"I was just walking in the garden." Emelia replied, her voice calm despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her.

"Your mother and I would like to speak with you before you go to bed, darling." He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Emelia slumped onto the chaise lounge, her mother's pat a weak attempt at comfort. "We just wanted to explain why..." her mother began, voice trailing off as Emelia's icy stare cut through her.

"I understand." Emelia said coolly. "Because he's Indian, I know."

Her mother's smile faltered. "I'm sure he's a nice young man." She offered weakly. "But their ways are different from ours. It's best to keep things separate."

"He may act civilized, Emelia." Her father chimed in. "But don't let appearances fool you."

Emelia's stomach churned. The words were ugly, a stark contrast to the gentleness she saw in Buck's eyes. As her parents continued explaining all the reasons, they had for her to not pursue such a foolish match, thoughts drifted back - to the warmth of his touch, the shy smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and the stolen kiss.

"I won't see him again." She muttered, as her parents sat silently waiting for a response.

"Good girl." Her mother cooed, relief flooding her features.

Her father leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Such a sound mind you have."

"Good night." Emelia mumbled, escaping to the sanctuary of her room.

She burrowed into her bed, the covers offering little comfort against the chill that had settled over her. Her mind replayed the scene with her parents, their words a constant sting. Shame coiled in her stomach. She had only lied to her parents once before. It was years ago, Roselyn had convinced her to lie about where they had been and she had felt so guilty about the lie for the next several weeks she had terrible dreams of burning in hell.

Tossing and turning, she clutched the pillow to her chest, the memory of Buck's touch sending a pleasurable pulse through her. The feel of his hand brushing hers, the warmth of his breath against her cheek – these were the antidotes to the poisonous guilt. But the memory was tainted too, tinged with the knowledge that it might be their last.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the image of Buck's smile flashing behind her eyelids. Could she live without seeing it again, without hearing his quiet laughter? The taste of him lingered on her lips, a bittersweet reminder.

Tears welled up, blurring the image of Buck in her mind. Guilt or heartbreak? The scales seemed to tip precariously. Guilt was an ache, a dull throb she could learn to manage. But the thought of a life without Buck, was almost too much to bear.

With a shaky breath, Emelia made her choice. She chose the guilt, a constant reminder of the lie that choked her. Maybe, just maybe, the dreams of hellfire wouldn't come this time. Maybe she could find solace in stolen moments. Sleep, when it finally arrived, was a fragile thing, haunted by the echoes of Buck's voice and the bittersweet taste of rebellion.

---

Chapter 9

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 episode 19)

Buck checked his pocket watch again – twenty past the agreed-upon time. Disappointment gnawed at him. Was she coming? He kicked a lump of snow off the frozen ground, the sound echoing in the stillness. Just as he was about to turn and leave, a muffled cry pierced the silence.

"Buck!"

He spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. There, across the expanse of the frozen pond, stood Emelia, a tiny silhouette against the glittering snow. Relief washed over him, warm and sweet. A broad smile lit up his face as he raced towards her, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound in the hushed meadow.

She wove her way across the slippery stones bordering the pond, her movements cautious yet determined. Reaching the edge, she hopped down with a small yelp, her arms outstretched towards him. He swept her into his embrace, the warmth of her body a welcome contrast to the biting cold.

"I thought maybe you weren't coming," he admitted, burying his face in her hair.

"Sorry I'm late." Emelia's words were quiet, barely audible as she spoke into Buck's shirt. She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers gentle on his cheek. The soft touch made Buck's skin tingle, sending a shiver through him.

He stood very still, afraid to break the moment. Emelia's hand was warm against his face, and he could feel her breath through the fabric of his shirt. It was like time had stopped, leaving just the two of them in their own little world.

Buck's heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Emelia could feel it too, pressed up against him as she was. Her touch was light but it felt like it was burning right through him, leaving him breathless.

"My mother, gave me a list of chores a mile long before I left."

He chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. "Well, you made it," he said, pulling back slightly to look at her. Her face, flushed from the exertion and the cold, was lit by the soft sunlight. "I missed you."

The words hung heavy in the air, a blush crept up her cheeks as she met his gaze.

"You did?"

"Mm-hmm." He confirmed.

"I saw you in town yesterday." She snuggled closer to his warmth.

Buck's heart clenched with a sudden understanding. "Yeah Emmy," he said, his voice low. "I saw you too, with your parents."

He murmured, his voice a husky whisper. He knew, with a heavy certainty that settled in his gut, that at some point they would need to address her parents' disapproval. But for now, it was a festering wound neither of them wanted to prod. The stolen moments they shared were too precious.

"Did you hear? The army has camped outside town now?" She asked.

"This war—" Buck began, his voice heavy. "It's going to tear this country apart."

"My father says when the war breaks out—" Emelia said, her voice barely above a whisper, "He's sending us back home." Her fingers tangled in his hair.

The future was uncertain, a storm cloud looming on the horizon. But for now, he had her, and that was all that mattered. He pressed his lips against hers, the kiss a silent promise to hold on.

---

Chapter 10

Rock Creek, Nebraska

1860 (Season 3 episode 22)

In a daze, Emelia sat before the mirror, her eyes drifted to the hairbrush lying near her hand. Death, a concept that had existed only in hushed whispers and stories, now felt terrifyingly real. Noah Dixon, a young man she'd exchanged only a few words with in town, was gone.

Emelia hadn't planned on attending any funerals when they'd left Chicago. Black, the symbol of mourning, was absent from her carefully packed wardrobe. Smoothing the fabric over her hips, she found little comfort in its familiarity.

Emelia flinched at the sound of her mother's sharp voice echoing down the hall. Curiosity gnawed at her as she peeked into her sister's room. Roselyn, usually the picture of carefree defiance, was currently locked in a battle of wills with their mother. Emelia's breath hitched at the sight. Roselyn, clad in a froufrou concoction of pink and yellow taffeta.

"Roselyn, you are absolutely not wearing that!" Miriam's voice was laced with exasperation.

"Why not?" Roselyn retorted, her chin jutting out defiantly. "I didn't know the man, why should I wear something dowdy like that?" She gestured disdainfully at her sister who wore a dark grey dress.

"Because it's respectful!" Miriam snapped. "If you don't put something on that is appropriate you aren't going. I don't know what goes on in that brain of yours sometimes."

Emelia bit her tongue. She didn't know exactly what fueled Roselyn's rebellious streak. Their sister, once a playful companion, had morphed into a constant source of tension in the past few years. With a sigh, Emelia headed down the stairs into the hushed parlor where she found her father already waiting. As she settled beside him, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Father?" She began hesitantly, her voice barely a whisper. "There's something that's been on my mind today."

Adam, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the window, turned towards her. "What is it, child?"

Emelia took a deep breath. "You told me, you said we shouldn't be too friendly with others, like the man at the dance... and the one who died." Her voice trailed off, a question hanging in the air.

Adam nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes."

"But then—" Emelia continued, her voice gaining a hint of defiance. "Why are we going to this man's funeral? We didn't even know him."

The question hung heavy in the air, a spark of rebellion mirroring the one burning within her sister began to ignite in her. It was a question that hinted at a deeper struggle, a budding sense of injustice that Emelia couldn't quite articulate. Her father's response would shape the answer, not just for the funeral, but for the many unspoken questions gnawing at her heart.

Adam's hand landed on Emelia's shoulder, a gesture more of habit than comfort. "This man who died," he began, his voice heavy. "Was a good man. It's a sign of reverence that we pay our respects today."

Emelia nodded slowly, the weight of his words a puzzle she couldn't quite grasp. "But respect?" She echoed, her voice laced with confusion. "Isn't that what you said we should show everyone, regardless of—"

A muscle ticked in Adam's jaw. "It's not that one man is inherently better or worse than another, but their differences can create complications."

Emelia frowned, the answer doing little to quell the disquiet in her heart. Her parent's teachings were a tangled web – on one hand, courtesy and respect for all, on the other, an invisible wall separating them from those deemed different. It was a frustrating paradox, a seed of rebellion taking root in the fertile ground of her confusion.

Upstairs, the battle between Roselyn and their mother raged on for another twenty minutes. Finally, her sister emerged, clad in an attire deemed mutually acceptable. By the time they reached the cemetery, the crisp winter air hung heavy with the murmur of prayers and the quiet hum of grief.

Adam and Mirium Dunhurst, ever mindful of appearances, positioned themselves near the back of the crowd, their condolences offered from a distance. Emelia's gaze darted across the gathering, searching. There, amidst the mourners, stood Buck. His face, etched with a profound sadness she hadn't seen before.

The preacher's words, a somber melody against the backdrop of rustling leaves, washed over her.

"In the midst of life, we are in death." He intoned. "To whom may we seek for succor but of thee oh Lord?"

Emelia's eyes met Buck's for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. The message was clear – death, the great equalizer, touched them all. Yet, even in the face of shared grief, the invisible wall her father spoke of loomed large, a constant reminder of the forbidden connection that pulsed between them.

"Man that is born of a woman has but a short time to live and is full of misery." The preacher said. "In the midst of life, we are in death. To whom may we seek for succor but of thee oh Lord? For who our sins Thou are justly displeased. Oh Lord, most mighty. Oh Holy and most merciful Savior, deliver us not in to pains of the eternal death, but to light everlasting. Amen."

The somber "Amen" echoed through the cemetery, a collective sigh of farewell. Emelia swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze fixed on Buck. The haunted look in his eyes pierced her heart. A fierce ache settled in her chest, an urge to reach out, offer a word of solace, a simple touch, but she remained rooted by her parents' side, a silent prisoner, an obedient daughter.

Teaspoon shuffled forward, his boots crunching softly on the frost-dusted ground. He stopped a few paces from the freshly turned earth, his weathered face etched with a sadness that transcended the immediate loss.

"I guess I ah—" He rasped, his voice a low rumble. " I guess I've seen more than my fair share of funerals. Kind of got use to 'em. Seamed like they were a natural part of life. But this, this here, this ain't natural. What's happening around us ain't natural. A nation bein' divided, friends are turning against friends, family against family, and it's all leadin' to the same place."

His gaze swept over the crowd, a mosaic of tear-streaked faces and clenched jaws. The tension hung heavy in the air, a reflection of a nation fracturing at its seams. Friends turned strangers, families divided by unseen lines. All roads leading to this – rows upon rows of freshly dug graves, each mound a testament to lives cut short, dreams extinguished.

Teaspoon clenched his fists, a surge of anger battling the despair in his eyes. "That's cemeteries like this. With grief-stricken friends and family like this. Young lives cut short, goin' before their time. We're allowing ourselves to be ripped apart. I'm tell you right now if we don't think about healin', instead of killin' we're gonna' loose everything. Our homes, our friends, our families."

He paused, his gaze locking onto each face in turn. "Whether you knew Noah Dixon or not, his passin' should mean as much to you as those of us that considered him our friend and part of our family."

With a heavy sigh, Teaspoon bent low. His gnarled hand reached out, scooping up a small handful of dirt from the cold mound. The soil, loose and damp, trickled between his weathered fingers like the passage of time itself. He held it for a moment, a silent connection to the life buried beneath. Then, with a quiet reverence, he let the dirt slip through his fingers, a soft cascade falling onto the top of the wooden box below.

Teaspoon stood tall, his face resolute. "God bless you, son." he whispered, a final tribute to the young man buried beneath the cold earth. But his words echoed far beyond the grave, a plea for unity in a time of strife, a desperate hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they weren't too late to mend the fractures tearing their world apart.

---

Chapter 11

Rock Creek, Nebraska 1860

The past couple months had been a whirlwind. The unimaginable had happened – the South had attacked Fort Sumter, and President Lincoln had called for troops. The fever of war had gripped the nation, spreading like wildfire across the country. William Cody and James Hickok, once fixtures of the town, had ridden off to scout for the Union cause, leaving a void filled by Roselyn's tearful moping. Even their father, felt the pull of duty, making plans to join the fight and send the family back to the safe haven of Chicago.

The increased military presence had tightened the reins on Emelia and Roselyn's freedom. Gone were the days of unaccompanied strolls through town. Now, outings required an escort or a forced sisterly alliance. Most of Emelia's days were spent in the quiet refuge of the garden, a haven of blooming flowers and buzzing bees – unless, of course, Roselyn could be persuaded to accompany her on a short walk.

The Pony Express, once a constant stream of riders passing through town, seemed to have dwindled to a trickle. Buck had disappeared on rides that seemed to stretch longer with each passing week. The last time Emelia had seen him felt like an eternity, and a gnawing worry had settled in her stomach. She couldn't leave for Chicago without seeing him, without saying goodbye.

Then, a glimmer of hope. Tucked between the weathered planks of the garden bench, she'd found a small, folded piece of paper bearing Buck's familiar handwriting. A clandestine meeting was arranged, and ever since, anticipation had thrummed like a live wire beneath her skin.

As the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven, her heart hammered in her chest. Her parents, she hoped, were already lost in slumber - her mother, a notoriously light sleeper, was the one variable that could throw their entire plan into disarray.

With a silent prayer, Emelia cracked open her door, her movements slow and deliberate. Barefoot, she tiptoed down the creaky stairs, the worn wooden floorboards groaning under her feeet. She clutched her shoes, the leather cool against her skin, and made her way to the back door.

Stepping out into the night air, she slipped on her shoes and raced through the moonlit garden. As she rounded the corner by the gate, her breath caught in her throat. There, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, stood Buck. Relief washed over her, warm and sweet, chasing away the shadows of worry and fear.

"Buck!" She whispered and launched herself into his arms almost knocking him over.

"It is so good to see you." He held her tightly. "It seems like it's been weeks."

"Almost three." She buried her face against his neck and kissed him softly.

"Too long." He agreed.

Buck's touch was a lifeline in the storm of emotions swirling within her. His roughened fingers cradled her face, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. As their lips met, the world around them faded.

"Buck." She breathed against his cheek, her voice thick with emotion. "My father..."

He silenced her with a gentle kiss, his touch a silent promise of understanding.

"He's sending us back to Chicago." Her eyes, when they finally met his, were filled with a well of unshed tears. "I don't know when, but I have a feeling it won't be long now."

"We'll figure it out." He assured her.

Doubt flickered across her face. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because—" He said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze searching hers. "I love you." The words hung in the air, a declaration that echoed the frantic thump of her heart.

A hesitant smile touched her lips. "But what happens if—"

A playful glint entered his eyes as he raised an eyebrow. "Emmy," he said, his voice a gentle mix of amusement and seriousness. "Do you love me?"

The question hung in the silence, a challenge and a plea rolled into one.

"Of course I do." She replied, her voice unwavering.

"Then don't doubt." He pulled her close, the comforting scent of her hair filling his nostrils. His fingers wove a soothing pattern through the cascading waves, a silent promise of comfort. "This war won't last forever. When it's all over, come back to Rock Creek. We'll get married and build a life together."

"Married?" A flicker of surprise lit up her eyes. "Are you—"

A grin spread across his face. "Guess I am." he admitted, a hint of shyness in his voice. "So, what do you say, Emelia? Will you marry me?"

"But what if the war drags on?" She interjected, worry etching lines on her forehead.

"A year? I'll wait." He declared with unwavering confidence.

"Two years?" She challenged.

"Two, five, ten—" he chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. "Even if this blasted war stretches on for a decade, I'll wait for you, my love."

A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. "I'll come back." She vowed, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise."

---

Part Two – Pride & Devotion

Chapter 12

Satterlee General Hospital, Philadelphia - 1863

The air hung thick with the smell of sweat and antiseptic. Buck swam in and out of consciousness, the world a blurry canvas of flickering gaslight and worried faces. Pain, a constant dull throb, pulsed through his leg, the ongoing discomfort that occasionally flared into a white-hot agony that stole his breath.

Buck felt a familiar wave of nausea as the nurse began to cut away the soiled bandages on his leg. Briefly, the world narrowed to the agonizing thoughts, would they need to remove his limb? The metallic tang of blood suddenly sharp in the air. Then, amidst the discarded linen, he saw a small, worn leather packet tucked against his side.

"Careful with those, please." He croaked, gesturing weakly to the packet.

The nurse's gentle hands grew even more careful as she retrieved the bundle, her brow furrowing slightly. "Letters from home?"

"I have to make it home." His voice was week and breathless as his lips curved into a faint smile. "I promised her."

The nurse smiled, "Sounds like someone special."

As the examination continued, the image of Emelia filled Buck's mind. He saw her standing at the gate of her family's home, the sunlight catching the golden strands of her hair as she waved him goodbye. It had been over three years, yet her letters had comforted him that their bond would survive. He had to make it home to her. The world felt like a different place then, a lifetime away from the sterile white walls of the hospital and the constant groan of pain.

Buck heard the nurses voice continue as his heavily-lidded eyes closed. He could barely feel anything other than the searing pain in his leg. Flashes of the battle flickered behind his closed eyelids – the deafening roar of cannons, the choking smell of gunpowder, the desperate charge through a wheat field turned into a muddy hellscape.

The image of his friend, Corporal Davies, etched itself painfully in his mind. Davies, always with a joke on his lips, crumpled beside him, a crimson stain spread quickly on his chest. Buck squeezed his eyes tighter. The pain in his leg throbbed with a renewed intensity, a dull contrast to the sharp sting of loss. He drifted back into a restless sleep, the hospital ward fading away.

He vaguely registered a gruff voice, "Soldier? You awake there, son?" His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a young doctor, his face etched with fatigue under a sweat-dampened brow.

"Water?" Buck croaked, his throat sandpaper dry.

The doctor, a lanky man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, scurried to a table overflowing with vials and instruments. He held a tin cup to Buck's lips, the cool liquid an instant relief.

"Easy there." The doctor said gently as he inspected the man's body thoroughly. "Took a few bullets, haven't you?"

"I guess so." Buck grunted ruefully.

"Fractured fibula." The doctor muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he prodded Buck's leg. "Clean break, though."

Relief washed over Buck. He'd braced himself for the worst, the specter of amputation a constant fear gnawing at him. "So... no taking it off then, Doc?" He rasped, the words thick with the remnants of fear.

The doctor straightened, a relieved smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Not a chance, soldier. You'll be sore for a while, but this will heal up just fine. You might have a bit of a limp, but you'll walk again."

Buck's lips stretched into a genuine grin, the first in what felt like weeks. "Sounds like a dream come true, Doc." He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing himself back on his land, the familiar creak of the porch swing beneath his weight. The thought of holding Emelia in his arms, of feeling the solid ground beneath his boots, filled him with a newfound determination. He would heal. He would walk again. And he would get find his way back to her.

---

Chapter 13

St. Louis, Missouri - 1863

The rhythmic clickety-clack of the train lulled Buck into a restless doze. The journey home to Rock Creek, was a blur of dust, fatigue, and a gnawing anxiety that overshadowed his relief at leaving the confines of the hospital. He held Emelia's letters clutched in his hand, their worn edges a testament to countless readings. Yet, the joy he'd initially felt was replaced by a growing disquiet. The last letter, dated over a year ago, spoke of a looming winter and anxieties about the war's duration. It felt like a lifetime ago, a message from a world that no longer existed.

March 20, 1862

My Dearest,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. It's with a heavy heart that I tell you my dear father has fallen in battle. My mother has taken it hard, as you can well imagine.

My sister, married an English merchant and left just weeks after the news of our father. Now, I find myself here with Mama. Caring for her is a daunting task, a duty that weighs heavily upon me. I miss the strength of your arms, the unwavering support that always seemed to lift a burden whenever I felt overwhelmed.

I scan the newspapers for your name amongst the fallen and my heart soars when I find no trace of you. I pray daily that you are safe from this war that has torn our country apart. Every morning brings a sliver of hope, a desperate wish to see your face again.

Oh, Buck, how I long for the day when you walk through the door. I dream of burying my face against your chest feeling your strong arms wrapped around me. I long for the time where we can forge a life together, a family.

I pray you stay safe my love.

Your Emmy

He yearned for her. Her fiery spirit, her sharp wit that had challenged him and filled their pre-war days with laughter. The thought of Emelia having moved on, was a bitter pill to swallow. War had a way of stealing more than life and limb, it stole time, dreams, and sometimes, even love.

As the train lurched forward and jolted Buck awake, he glanced out the dusty window, watching rolling plains unfurl. He shifted uncomfortably on the worn wool blanket, his leg throbbing a dull ache. Looking around, he saw the other passengers – a motley crew of weary soldiers, families displaced by the war, and a handful of businessmen with pinched faces and starched collars. The air hung heavy with unspoken stories, a collective weariness etched on every face.

As the train pulled into the bustling St. Louis station, Buck rose with a groan, his leg stiff and protesting. He collected his worn satchel and tucked Emelia's letters safely into his inner pocket. Stepping down onto the wooden platform, he was greeted by a vibrant pandemonium. Shouts mingled with the clang of metal and the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves.

Shouldering his bag, he navigated the crowd, the boardwalk slick with mud and horse manure. The prospect of a hot meal and a clean bed in a hotel room spurred him on. Just a few more days, he thought, his pace quickening. A few more days and he'd be back in Rock Creek, back in the familiar embrace of home.

Suddenly, a commotion down the alleyway from where he walked caught his attention. A young Indian woman, her dark hair in braids and her face etched with worry, clutched a young child close to her. Her eyes, the same shade of deep brown as his own, he saw the fear and desperation flickered within them.

He stood frozen as the woman approached him, desperation etched on her face. As she signed rapidly, a language he hadn't used in many years. Buck felt a jolt of familiarity. Her words were unfamiliar to him, but he watched her hand gestures intently.

He only understood the highlights of her story, after so many years he realized how much he had forgotten. Disease had ripped through her Cherokee tribe, and her son Wohali, had survived. She was on the brink of death, too weak to journey further, and begged Buck to take her son, and raise him amongst the white people.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He knew the brutality that was inflicted on their people, understood the resentment simmering beneath the surface. He glanced at the child, a small, solemn boy with eyes mirroring his mother's fear.

Yet, doubt gnawed at him. Was he, a wounded soldier with an uncertain future, equipped to be a father? What did he know about raising a child?

The woman's cough grew raspier, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Seeing her struggle, a deep well of empathy rose within Buck. He looked at the boy, the brave child met his gaze with a mixture of fear and something akin to hope. With a heavy heart, Buck nodded.

As he took Wohali's hand in his and before he could utter another word he watched as the woman scurried into the crowd and disappeared. He felt a pang of loneliness as he navigated the crowded platform, the boy clinging tightly to his neck.

---

Chapter 14

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1863

The stagecoach lurched to a dusty halt in front of the familiar wooden facade of the Rock Creek General Store. Buck's heart thumped a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Home. He was finally home. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, momentarily eclipsing the ache in his leg and the lingering anxieties about Emelia.

He helped Wohali down, the young boy clinging to him tightly. Guilt gnawed at Buck. How would he explain an orphaned Cherokee child to the townsfolk of Rock Creek, a community already strained by the ongoing tensions with the tribes?

A burst of laughter drew his attention. A woman with soft brown hair streaked with golden and auburn hues, her face imprinted with familiar laugh lines, emerged from the General Store. "Buck? Buck Cross!"

"Lou!" He managed a grin, his voice hoarse. "You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in years."

Louise rushed forward, engulfing him in a hug that sent a jolt of pain through his leg. He winced, but her warm embrace soothed his weary soul.

"Don't mind Louise—" A gruff voice boomed, followed by a slap on Buck's back that nearly sent him to his knees. "She forgets sometimes that folks come back a little worse for wear from the war."

Kid stood behind Lou, taller and broader-shouldered than Buck remembered. A scar ran down his cheek, a stark reminder of the battlefield. Yet, the twinkle in his eyes remained unchanged.

"Kid!" Buck exclaimed. "Never thought I'd see you as sheriff."

Kid chuckled. "Someone had to keep this town in line."

"There's no way these are all yours." Buck stammered, eyes bouncing between the two toddlers Kid was valiantly wrangling and the infant Lou cradled in her arms. A warm smile blossomed on Lou's face as she brushed a fingertip against her daughter's cheek.

"Four years is a long time." She chuckled, glancing with playful exasperation at the twins and her husband. "Those two were already a twinkle in our eyes when you left."

Kid grunted, a corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he secured the mischievous hand of one child before it could dash off. "This little rascal here is Noah." He announced, his voice strained yet brimming with affection. "And this one is Isaak."

A bittersweet pang tugged at Buck's heart. Memories of friends that now carried on in these young boys. Life, it seemed, had marched bravely on in his absence. Yet, the warmth radiating from his dear friends, chased away the melancholy with a smile.

As they settled on the steps of the General Store, Louise fussed over him, insisting he come up to their house. Kid, ever the pragmatist, insisted Buck stay at the hotel until they got a doctor to check on his leg.

"Doc Miller's retired." Kid said, his brow furrowed. "But there's a new lady doctor in town, Dr. Evans. Heard she's real good."

Buck's stomach clenched. A woman doctor? Rock Creek was a traditional town, and a female doctor seemed an unlikely addition.

Seeing his apprehension, Kid nudged him. "Don't worry, Buck. Doc Evans is a good one. Saved Mrs. Hansen's youngest from a bout of scarlet fever last month."

The mention of illness reminded Buck of Wohali. He glanced at the boy, who sat quietly on the steps, clutching his worn blanket. Louise and Kid exchanged a confused glance.

"This is Wohali." Buck explained, taking a deep breath. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "His tribe was hit hard by disease, and his mother—"

His voice cracked. Briefly, he recounted his encounter in St. Louis. Louise and Kid listened intently, their faces etched with a mixture of sadness and understanding.

"Come on, Buck, let's get you settled in and that leg looked at."

With Louise taking Wohali under her wing, promising him a warm bath and something hot to eat, Buck allowed himself to be ushered towards the hotel. The prospect of a warm bed and a doctor's assessment felt like a luxury after weeks of travel.

Kid had assured him that his land was just as he left it. The run-down shack that stood, a little worse for the years, but the years had been a harsh on them all.

---

Chapter 15

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1866

The wind whispered a mournful song through the skeletal branches of the cottonwood trees bordering the dusty road. A year had crawled by since the war ended, a year filled with a silence that gnawed at Buck's soul more fiercely than any bullet ever could. He gripped the reins tighter, knuckles white against the worn leather.

He'd written Emelia three times, each letter filled with a hesitant hope that dwindled with each unanswered reply. The last letter, tucked into his saddlebag, remained unread, the weight of its unspoken words heavy against his chest.

Lou's words echoed in his head, a constant reminder: "Emelia's gone, Buck. You gotta face that."

Easier said than done. Emelia's laughter, her fiery spirit, the way her eyes danced with excitement – these memories were a constant ache in his heart. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the western sky in hues of orange and red. Buck pulled the reins and the horse came to a stop at the crest of a small hill overlooking the pond where he first met her.

He dismounted, the creak of his saddle a harsh sound in the twilight silence. A knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach. Lou had been right. He couldn't keep chasing a ghost. He had a responsibility now, a responsibility that wore a tiny pair of overalls and had a mischievous glint in his eyes just like his father.

Wohali. His son.

The thought brought a smile to Buck's lips, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of his own tired eyes. It didn't matter than the child was not if his blood, he was his son completely.

Buck surveyed his handiwork, a satisfied grin splitting his sun-weathered face. The ranch house, a sprawling affair with a porch that stretched the length of the building, was a far cry from the ramshackle shack he'd called home before the war. Built with the sweat of his brow and the help of some good men, it embodied the life he'd once dreamt of with Emelia - a life that now held a new meaning with his son Wohali.

The journey hadn't been easy. The year he had returned, the war had still ingulfed the country. Crops failed, leaving many families on the brink of starvation. Buck, however, had seen an opportunity. Remembering a conversation with a traveling horse trader years back, he pooled his meager savings with Kid and convinced a few other ranchers to do the same. They bought a small herd of wild mustangs, a gamble that paid off handsomely.

Buck's natural horsemanship, honed over years spent wrangling his own unruly steed and countless others, proved invaluable. They trained the mustangs, breaking them in and gentling their fiery spirits. When the market finally opened up, their small herd fetched a premium price, earning Buck a reputation as a skilled trainer and a tidy sum. With his newfound wealth, Buck set about building his dream. The house became a symbol of his resilience, a testament to the life he was now determined to build for himself and his son.

---

Chapter 16

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1866

Buck squinted against the afternoon sun, its glare bouncing off the dusty boardwalk with an intensity that mirrored the sudden jolt of his heart. There, leaning against the weathered railing, stood a vision from his past. A past he'd thought long buried.

Kathleen Devlin.

Just thinking her name made Buck's whole body tense up. It was barely a thought, more like a ghost of a word in his head, but it hit him hard. His gut twisted, caught between old feelings he thought he'd buried and a spark of fresh anger.

The memory of her stirred up a mess of emotions. Part of him still ached for what they'd had, that fire that used to burn so bright. But there was bitterness there too, sharp and cold. It left him feeling off-balance, like the ground wasn't quite steady under his feet.

Buck clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the feeling. It wasn't just a shiver - it was like his whole body was fighting with itself. The past and present crashed together in his mind, leaving him unsure which way was up.

Time, it seemed, had been kind to her. The soft golden-brown hair he remembered cascaded down her back in gentle curls, framing a face still dusted with the same charming freckles across her nose. Her brown eyes, those depths that had once captivated him, held a depth of emotion that both unsettled him and drew him in. He stood frozen, a statue carved from shock, as she hesitantly approached.

"Buck?" Kathleen's voice was a soft melody, tentative and laced with an unspoken plea.

"Kathleen." He finally found his voice, a rusty rasp that emerged from a parched throat.

The name hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their shared history. A history marked by stolen glances, whispered secrets, and a love that ultimately shattered, leaving behind a jagged scar on his heart.

The awkward silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and the ghosts of what could have been. Kathleen, sensing his trepidation, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the familiar nervousness from their younger days flickering across her features.

Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I know there's bad blood between us, Buck. Things left unsaid, things I owe you an explanation for."

"An explanation? After all this time?" The dam holding back the years of resentment threatened to burst.

Kathleen flinched at the bitterness in his voice, yet it seemed to embolden her. "Yes." She said with resolute determination. "You deserve that much."

A sigh escaped Buck's lips, heavy with the weight of the past. He gestured towards a nearby bench, a silent invitation for her to speak. With a hesitant nod, Kathleen sat down, her eyes filled with a vulnerability that tugged at the knot of anger in his chest.

As Buck settled onto the bench, a million questions buzzed inside him. Why now? Why reappear after all these years? He had carried the pain of her rejection for months. Now she was just a haunted memory that barely crossed his mind.

Kathleen didn't waste time. She spoke of her father, the formidable Jack Devlin, a man Buck remembered all too well. A stern disciplinarian who's hired thugs had Buck beaten, tarred and feathered. To Jack Devlin, he was nothing more than an Indian savage that in Devlin's eyes, wasn't good enough for his precious daughter.

"He wouldn't have accept you, Buck." Kathleen confessed, her voice cracking with emotion. "He saw you as an Indian, nothing more. Someone who wouldn't be able to give me the life he thought I deserved."

Buck's jaw clenched tight. The sting of the old rejection resurfaced, a bitter echo of the past.

"But I loved you," she continued, her eyes pleading for understanding. "It was tearing me apart, seeing you treated like that, knowing our future together was impossible."

She spoke of the countless nights she lay awake, torn between her love for Buck and the fear of her father's disapproval. Fear that, ultimately, had won.

"I couldn't bear to see you hurt any further." Kathleen whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "That's why I left, Buck. I was selfish, I know, but I couldn't bear the pain for either of us."

As she spoke, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Anger at her sudden desertion, a flicker of understanding for her difficult situation, and a surprising pang of something similar to forgiveness.

He looked at Kathleen, the woman who still held a strange power over him, and saw a vulnerability he hadn't noticed before. The confident facade that masked her youthful anxieties had cracked, revealing a woman burdened by the weight of past regrets.

"So, you just waltzed back in after all this time?" He finally asked, his voice softer than he intended.

"It took losing my father to truly understand what I'd lost." Kathleen admitted. "His passing left me untethered and alone. It made me realize that the life I built, while comfortable, lacked the spark, the joy I once dreamt of having. I missed you."

With each word, the defenses Buck had built around his heart began to crumble. The image of Emelia, the love he held most dear, remained a beacon in his soul, yet Kathleen's presence stirred something long dormant.

"You see Buck." Kathleen said, her voice gaining strength. "I never stopped loving you."

"Kathleen…" he began, his voice thick with a mix of emotions. "What you're telling me, it's a lot to process." He paused, the weight of the past year pressing down on him.

"I understand." She said gently. "But I'd like to think there was hope for us still. Even if it's just friendship."

A flicker of respect kindled in Buck's eyes. He appreciated her honesty, her recognition of the complexity of the situation. He looked out at the bustling town square, the dusty road a stark contrast to the vibrant dreams he'd once shared with Emelia. A part of him yearned for that simpler life, the life he'd envisioned with her.

"The truth is, Kathleen," he finally said, choosing his words carefully, "a lot has changed since we last saw each other. After everything that happened, I built a life here. My son—"

"You're married?" A flicker of concern etched her forehead.

"He's adopted." Buck clarified. "There's something else." He finally admitted, meeting her gaze. "The war changed me, Kathleen. I'm not the same man you knew."

Kathleen nodded slowly in understanding. "Neither am I." She said with a melancholic smile.

The afternoon sun dipped below the horizon as Buck and Kathleen rose from the bench, a new chapter began to unfold. The path ahead remained uncertain, filled with unanswered questions and the ghosts of the past, but for the first time in a long time, a genuine connection sparked between them. It wasn't the passionate fire of their youth, but a flicker of warmth, a tentative chance at understanding, and perhaps, a future.

---

Chapter 17

St Louis, Missouri - March 1866

Emelia perched on the edge of a plush armchair, its worn plum colored velvet cool and comforting against her clammy skin. Her gaze wandered aimlessly across the towering bookshelves, their s a blur of forgotten stories and accumulated dust. Since they'd moved from the bustling chaos of Chicago to the sprawling acers just west of St. Louis, her life had transformed into a monochrome existence.

The war had ripped a gaping hole in the fabric of her world. The memory of her father, still brought a sharp pang to her heart. His sudden passing had plunged her once-vivacious mother, into a deep well of despair. Emelia, was accustomed to Roselyn's constant chatter and often exasperated by her elder sister's frivolous pursuits, found herself missing their sibling rivalry. Now, the echoing silence in the wake of Roselyn's departure for England was a constant reminder of the fractured family they'd become.

Letters, once their only form of connection, now felt like flimsy threads failing to bridge the gap between them. Roselyn's infrequent replies, filled with details of her new life and social whirlwinds, were a stark contrast to Emelia's own reality. Here, in this imposing Victorian mansion belonging to distant relatives she barely knew, Emelia felt like a transient visitor, an unwelcome reminder of a past they'd rather forget.

A year had crawled by since the war had finally sputtered to a halt, a semblance of normalcy returning to the world. Yet, for Emelia, freedom remained an elusive concept. Responsibilities kept her tethered to St. Louis. Her mother's health demanded constant care and attention.

With arrival of her extended family, a wave of unfamiliar faces bearing condolences and casseroles, had offered a temporary reprieve from the silence. But now, a mere handful of hours after the ceremony that marked the end of an era, the house had emptied, leaving her adrift in a sea of grief and uncertainty. Even Roselyn, hadn't bothered to attend their mother's funeral. Did she even know? Did it matter?

At twenty-two, a time when most young women were embarking on journeys of motherhood, Emelia felt utterly alone. The weight of her isolation pressed down on her, a relentless tide threatening to drown her in despair. Goosebumps erupted on her arms, the cool air of the library offering no solace against the chill that had settled deep within her.

What now?

The question lingered in the air, a weighty reminder of the years she'd devoted to everything but her own aspirations, her own dreams. The war had taken so much. She'd lost her family. She'd lost Buck. Years had passed without a word from him, leaving her to assume he'd fallen in battle like her father had, or perhaps he had simply chosen a different path.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself to her feet, the plush armchair groaning in protest. Sleep, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of her situation, beckoned. Climbing the grand mahogany staircase, its polished surface reflecting the dim gaslight flicker. Collapsing onto the starched white sheets Emelia closed her eyes, yearning for the oblivion that sleep promised.

---

Chapter 18

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1867

The town was unusually quiet for a hot afternoon Kid thought suspiciously. He walked over to the doorway of the Marshal's office and leaned against frame. They had been in the middle of a heat wave and it showed no sign of letting up. Wiping the sweat from his brow he sighed. It was good things were slow, but heat like this made people crazy and it wasn't going to be long before someone was going to blow.

"Papa!"

Kid's head snapped up at the sound of his son's call. A smile instantly lit up his face as he saw Noah and Isaak barreling down the boardwalk towards him, arms outstretched.

"Whoa there, cowboys!" Kid laughed, scooping both his sons up into a bear hug. The scent of sweat and fresh grass filled his senses, their laughter was a welcome break from the oppressive heat and the unsettling quiet. "What are you doing down here in town?"

"Just gettin' some supplies." Lou's voice chimed in as she walked up, a basket swinging from on arm as she balanced Mary on her hip. "Look who I found in the general store."

Following Lou's gaze, Kid's breath caught in his throat. There, leaning nonchalantly against the porch railing of the general store, stood Buck.

"Well Buck, I haven't seen you in weeks," Kid boomed, wiping the surprise off his face and walked across to where Buck stood. "Have you been hiding out on that fancy new ranch of yours?"

"Something like that." Buck mumbled, looking dusty and weary despite the short distance from his ranch.

Lou and Kid exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them. They knew exactly what had kept Buck holed up for weeks.

"Don't give me that look," Buck said, his voice gruff, already anticipating their unspoken concern.

Lou started to speak, but Kid cut her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Buck, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the horizon, continued before she could voice her worries.

"You both said it was time to move on." Buck admitted, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. "And you were right. The war's been over for a year. She's not coming back. I was a fool for thinking that after all these years, after all that happened, she'd just walk back into my life. We were just kids back then."

"That doesn't mean that Kathleen Devlin is the best way to numb the pain, Buck." Kid countered, his voice low. He knew the sting of heartbreak all too well. He'd seen it in Buck's eyes ever since he returned from the war.

"She's not the woman she used to be." Buck defended her weakly. "She's changed. We all have. It's time to move on with life."

"Come on, Wohali." Buck said. "We gotta get back home before sundown. Wouldn't want you to miss your supper."

"Buck, we're just lookin' out for you." Lou persisted, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. Her eyes, full of concern, held a hint of something else – a protectiveness that stemmed from their long-standing friendship.

Buck met her gaze, a flicker of gratitude briefly warming his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Lou's cheek, the familiar comfort of their friendship.

"I know, Lou." He muttered, his voice thick with emotions.

With that, he turned on his heel and started walking down the dusty street. Kid watched him go, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Buck's stubborn streak was as strong as ever, a part of him that both endeared and frustrated him. He knew Buck wouldn't budge until he was good and ready, no matter how much they cared.

Lou, ever the optimist, nudged Kid with her elbow. "He'll come around, you watch." She said with a knowing smile. "He just needs a bit more time."

Kid hoped she was right. Buck deserved happiness, and a chance to find peace after all the hardship he'd endured. But Kathleen? He wasn't convinced. There was a darkness in her eyes, a shadow that hadn't been there before the war. He'd seen it briefly when she'd returned.

"Let's get those supplies unloaded." Kid said, forcing a smile. "We got chores to do before this heat turns our brains to mush."

As they made their way back to their house, Noah and Isaak bouncing between them, Kid couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Buck's connection with Kathleen felt like a ticking time bomb, a potential disaster waiting to explode. He just hoped he and Lou would be there to pick up the pieces when the dust settled.

---

Chapter 19

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1867

Buck trudged back towards his ranch, his boots kicking up puffs of dust with each heavy step. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parched earth, mirroring the lengthening shadows in his own heart. He knew his heart still belonged to Emelia. The memory of her laughter, the way her hair tangled in the wind – these were the ghosts that haunted his dreams and lingered in the quiet corners of his mind. Realistically he needed a mother for his son and partner to share his burdens with.

Kathleen's reappearance had stirred something within him, a flicker of a forgotten desire. He remembered the stolen glances across the crowd the day he first laid eyes on her. A part of him yearned for that youthful innocence, for a connection that transcended the harsh realities of life.

Yet, the memory of their past, the way things had ended, left him hesitant. Was she genuinely interested in a future with him, or was she simply seeking solace of her own? Her life too had been fractured by the war, leaving her searching for a familiar face in the wreckage.

Reaching the crest of a small hill, Buck paused and gazed out at his sprawling ranch. The horses grazed peacefully in the distance, their gentle sighs the only sound that disturbed the oppressive heat. Each animal represented countless hours of sweat and toil, the foundation of the new life he'd built after he returned home. But as he looked at their tranquil forms, a pang of loneliness twisted in his gut. It was a good life, a life he was grateful for. Wohali's laughter filled the evenings, his small hand a constant companion. Yet, there were moments, especially in the quiet solitude of the night, when the silence pressed down on him. It was a good life, but it felt incomplete.

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Buck continued his walk. He didn't have the answers, but one thing was certain – ignoring his emotions wouldn't make them go away. Forcing himself to forget Emelia was like trying to dam a river with his bare hands. The grief, the love, the memories – these were a part of him. But perhaps, he thought, acceptance was different. Perhaps acceptance meant acknowledging the past while holding onto the future.

He stopped at a weathered oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky like bony fingers. It was here, under the shade of this very tree, that he'd confessed his love to Emelia, their words carried away on the summer breeze. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him – the warmth of her hand in his, the nervous flutter in his stomach, the hope that bloomed like a wildflower in his chest.

A tear escaped, tracing a warm path down his cheek. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding himself together, how desperately he'd tried to bury the pain. But the dam had finally cracked, and the emotions, long suppressed, came flooding out. He leaned against the rough bark of the tree, letting out a sob that tore through silence.

When the wave of grief subsided, Buck opened his eyes. The world seemed sharper, the colors more vibrant. He took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with a newfound clarity. He could never forget Emelia. Her memory would forever hold a cherished place in his heart. But he also wouldn't let her memory hold him hostage. He deserved to live, to love again.

With steady resolve, Buck straightened his shoulders and started walking towards the house. The path ahead remained uncertain, but an ember of hope had ignited within him. He would face his past, embrace the present, and open himself to the possibilities that the future held.

---

Chapter 20

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1867

The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow across the dinner table. Buck had spared no expense for this evening. A crisp white tablecloth adorned the table, its surface a canvas for a centerpiece of vibrant wildflowers he and Wohali picked earlier that day. The aroma of roasted chicken, filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread and a hint of woodsmoke from the fireplace crackling in the corner.

Kathleen, dressed in a simple yet elegant emerald green dress that accentuated the golden blonde of her hair, was a vision across from him. Her laughter, light and carefree, filled the room as Buck regaled her with a humorous anecdote from his time at the express. The war, a dark shadow that had loomed large over both their lives, seemed a distant memory in this haven of warmth and companionship.

They savored each other's company, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they enjoyed the dinner. They spoke of their childhood dreams, the future they envisioned for themselves, and their hopes for a life built together. Kathleen, her eyes sparkling with affection, reached across the table and squeezed Buck's hand.

A sudden, sharp whinny shattered the peaceful atmosphere. Kathleen's brow furrowed slightly. "What was that?" She asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Before Buck could answer, the whinny was followed by a restless snorting and the unmistakable sound of pawing at the ground. His brows knit together in worry.

"Excuse me for a moment." He said, rising from his chair. "There seems to be a commotion in the stables."

He hurried outside, as he reached the stable door, the frantic whinnying reached a crescendo. He threw open the door to find one of his horses, rearing up in its stall, whinnying in agitation. Buck rushed in, his voice calm and reassuring as he soothed the startled animal.

Back in the house, Kathleen, left alone with her thoughts, found herself drawn to the unassuming wooden desk tucked away in a corner of the living room. Curiosity nudged her towards it. She idly traced the smooth surface with her fingertips, her gaze falling on a stack of neatly tied letters held together by a faded red ribbon.

A pang possessiveness twisted in her gut. These were personal letters, addressed to Buck in a flowing feminine script. Her fingers itched to know the contents, to know who had written them to him with such obvious care.

Kathleen couldn't say why, but she felt drawn to the pile of letters. Her hands were shaking a bit as she picked them up. Something about this felt big, important. Her heart was racing as she pulled at the ribbon holding them together.

The first letter on top looked old. The writing had faded, and the paper was yellowed around the edges. Kathleen saw the date at the top - it was from years ago. As she held the letters, a chill ran through her.

Kathleen took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Whatever was in these letters, she had a feeling it was going to change things. With trembling hands, she unfolded the letter and began to read. Each word was a fresh stab of jealousy, a searing reminder of a love that Buck had clearly cherished. Emmy, whoever she was, had poured her heart out on the pages, her words filled with a love and longing that resonated deeply. Kathleen felt a cold fury rise within her.

These letters, these testaments to a love that might have been, were a threat. A threat to the fragile bond she was trying to build with Buck. Blinded by this consuming jealousy, she reached for a nearby candle, her intent clear – to destroy these relics of the past.

Just as the flame touched the corner of the first page, a hand shot out, snatching the letter away. Kathleen spun around, her eyes blazing with defiance, only to meet Buck's stunned gaze.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"Who is Emmy?" She spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

The utterance of the nickname that Buck had affectionately called Emelia hit him square in the chest. The warmth that had filled the room just moments ago had vanished, replaced by a suffocating tension. Buck stared at the scattered letters, his jaw clenched tight. "These are private." He finally said, his voice low.

"Private?" Kathleen scoffed. "I'm the woman you claim to love! How could you hide these from me?"

Buck raked a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. "They're not hidden, Kathleen. They're part of my past, a past that includes people who were important to me." He reached for the letters, his intention clear.

Kathleen snatched them back before he could reach them. "Who is she?"

"These letters are memories, reminders of a life I once had. They don't diminish anything between us."

"Don't they?" Kathleen challenged, her voice rising. "How can I compete with a ghost from your past?"

A pained silence filled the room, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. Buck looked at Kathleen, his gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and exasperation. He understood her insecurity, the fear of being overshadowed by a past love. Yet, he couldn't simply erase a significant part of his life.

"She was someone I cared about deeply before the war." He admitted, unable to even say her name, it was painful on his lips. "But the war changed everything. We lost touch, and…" He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"And?" Kathleen pressed, her voice softer now, a flicker of doubt replacing the anger.

"And that's all it is, Kathleen." Buck continued, taking a step towards her. "A memory. A past chapter. You, Kathleen, are my present and my future."

He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, temporarily calming the storm raging within. "These letters don't threaten what we have." He said, his voice sincere. "They simply exist. But if they make you uncomfortable, I'll put them away. Out of sight, out of mind."

Kathleen looked at the letters in her hand, the fire forgotten. In the flickering candlelight, they seemed less like a threat and more like a window into Buck's past, a past that had shaped him into the man she was coming to love. Shame washed over her. Her jealousy had blinded her to his feelings, to the trust he was trying to build. With a sigh, she handed the letters back to him.

Buck took the letters, relief flooding his features. He tucked them back into their place on the desk, the red ribbon a symbol of a past he wouldn't – and couldn't – erase. He then turned his full attention back to Kathleen, his gaze filled with warmth.

"Now," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Where were we? Dessert, perhaps?"

Kathleen offered a shaky smile in return. "Sounds lovely."

---

Chapter 21

St. Louis, Missouri - 1867

Emelia stared blankly at the legal document in her hand, the crisp, official language a blur against the pounding in her chest. Land. Parcels of land. In Utah, Wyoming and Nebraska. The lawyer, a portly man with a perpetually worried frown, cleared his throat, jolting Emelia back to the present.

"Did you hear me Miss. Dunhurst?" He said. "It seems your father had several parcels of land out west. He intended to sell them to the railroads, according to the documentation we found. However, the sale never materialized."

"Just sell it, sell everything." She struggled to understand why this hadn't been taken care of years ago when her had father died.

"What of the house in Rock Creek, Nebraska?"

Emelia's mind reeled. She hadn't thought of Rock Creek for years now. Though he had crossed her mind several times. She closed her eyes and allowed her memories to replay in her mind. His smile, and tender embrace. She was young, and naïve, her life was blissful before the war. A war that had stolen him from her, leaving an unfillable hole in her heart.

Suddenly, the quiet hum of activity in the lawyer's office – the rhythmic tapping of a typewriter, the murmur of hushed conversations – seemed to fade away. All that remained was the echo of the attorney's words.

"Don't sell it." She breathed softly as she excused herself from the lawyer's stifling office.

Her thoughts raced as she walked through the city streets back to her small apartment. The weight of the legal documents and the leather pouch a heavy burden in her hands. Back in her tiny apartment, the silence seemed oppressive.

With a resolute breath, she rose and made her way to the small chest tucked away in the corner of her closet. It held the few keepsakes she had left from her childhood – a chipped porcelain doll, a faded photograph of her parents on their wedding day, and a worn leather-bound journal. But what she sought wasn't there.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she knelt before the chest, her fingers trembling as they brushed past the other trinkets. Relief flooded her as her fingers finally met their target – a blue velvet pouch nestled at the very bottom. Tears welled up in her eyes as she carefully retrieved it, the worn velvet was soft against her skin.

This wasn't just any pouch. It was a treasure trove of memories, a lifeline to a past she couldn't let go of. Inside lay the letters, each one a cherished fragment of a love story that had seemed destined for a happy ending. But the war, a cruel and unwelcome intruder, had rewritten their story.

With a deep breath, Emelia sat back on her heels and unfolded the pouch. The familiar scent of old paper and a dried flowers from the meadow near his home wafted in the air. Tears welled up in her eyes as she carefully untangled the stack of letters, each one addressed to her in Buck's familiar, handwriting.

She read them again, each word a cherished memory come alive. Stolen moments under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, whispered promises under the starlit sky, their shared dreams for a future that seemed so close yet had become so cruelly out of reach. The war, a specter in the background of their earlier letters, had gradually taken center stage, casting a dark shadow over their last few exchanges. The final letter, dated months before all communication ceased, spoke of his determination to fight, and his unwavering love for her.

Had Buck survived? The question hung heavy in her mind, an unanswered prayer that had haunted her nights. Had he moved on, finding solace in another's arms? Or did he, too, carry a torch for their love?

These questions, a relentless storm raging within her, demanded answers. The letters, cherished testaments to a past that could have been. Only the truth could set her free, free from the shackles of doubt and the heavy burden of unanswered questions.

A surge of resolve coursed through her. Emelia rose from the floor. The weight of unanswered questions and the gnawing ache of "what ifs" demanded action. She wouldn't allow the rest of her life to be haunted by the past, by the shadows of what could have been. It was time to confront the truth.

---

Part Three – Echoes of the Past

Chapter 22

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Emelia sat by the window, a familiar habit from her youth, watching the town stir awake with the rising sun. Sleep had eluded her since dawn's first light, a consequence of the past several restless days spent in Rock Creek.

She hadn't found the courage to ask about Buck yet. Though necessities had been procured at the general store, most of her days had been consumed by cleaning the once-abandoned house and exploring the overgrown garden. Several times, she'd found herself lingering near the back gate, her gaze drawn across the field. The path to the pond, a cherished memory, seemed shrouded in the haze of time.

This internal debate, replaying on a loop in her head, had plagued her all morning. She'd come this far. To leave without even inquiring about Buck, alive or not in this town, seemed ludicrous. Yet, the possibility of him still living here, perhaps even married, filled her with nervousness.

"What am I doing?" Emelia scolded herself, the weight of her own indecision heavy in her heart. "You will never know if you don't leave this house!" She sighed and stood up from the window seat.

Eight years had carved a new face onto Rock Creek. The town hall, once a weather-beaten sentinel at the heart of the town, now gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. The candy store, a fixture in her childhood memories, had vanished from its familiar corner, replaced by a vacant lot overgrown with weeds. A pang of nostalgia tugged at her heart as she navigated the unfamiliar streets.

Yet, amidst the changes, remnants of the past peeked through like stubborn wildflowers. A weathered barn, leaning precariously but still standing, brought a smile to her lips. She recognized her neighbor Mrs. Peterson, now with streaks of silver in her hair, bustling outside the bakery, its sweet aroma a familiar beacon. And there, defying the tide of change, stood the schoolhouse.

She was taken aback by the sudden rush of memories from the night it had burned. Bringing the books to the new school house, she remembered seeing him amongst the crowd. She hadn't spoken to him, but she remembered the way her breath caught in her chest when their eyes met.

A hesitant smile touched Emelia's lips as she approached the schoolhouse. Every chip in the paint, the faded windowpane held a faint memory – whispered secrets with friends on the steps, stolen glances across the classroom, the thrill of victory during a spelling bee. The schoolhouse wasn't just a building. It was a repository of her past, a tangible link to a simpler time.

"Are you here about the job?" A petite brunette, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, opened the schoolhouse door and blinked in surprise. Her smile was hesitant, polite rather than welcoming. "Boys! Take your sister with you, and be careful!"

Emelia jumped out of the way with a startled laugh as two boisterous boys, their faces flushed with the thrill of escape, came barreling out of the schoolhouse doors. A moment later, a tiny whirlwind of a girl, presumably their younger sister, followed close behind, her braids whipping through the air. Emelia watched with a smile as the trio ran across the meadow, their joyous shrieks echoing in the crisp morning air.

"I'm just visiting." Emelia said, forcing a smile back. The woman's face looked familiar but she couldn't quite place her name. "I used to live here when this schoolhouse was built."

"You must have been here for the fire then?" She stepped down the steps, her gaze lingering on the stranger for a moment trying to place her in her memories. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but it was fleeting.

"I watched it burning from my bedroom window."

"I'm Louise McCloud, by the way."

"I remember you now." Emelia smiled as her memories flooded back. "I went to your wedding before my family moved to Chicago. You were such a beautiful bride."

Louise's gaze remained guarded. "What's your name?" She pressed, her voice leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself properly." Emelia held out her hand, a touch of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I'm Emelia Dunhurst."

The moment the name left her lips, Louise's eyes widened in recognition. "Dunhurst?" She echoed, her voice rising an octave in surprise before dropping back to a more controlled level. "What brings you back to Rock Creek?"

"Just here to see a friend." Emelia replied nonchalantly, though her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

A sly smile played on Louise's lips, her eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief. "Well I pretty much know everyone in this town, I'm happy to help you!"

Emelia's breath caught in her throat. Before she could stop herself, the name tumbled out in a rush. "His name is Buck Cross."

"Rings a bell." Louise tapped her chin thoughtfully, a playful glint in her eyes. "So, Emelia, why don't you join us at our place for dinner? And who knows?" She added, linking her arm with Emelia's in a familiar gesture. "Maybe I can convince a certain Mr. Cross to join us as well."

Emelia glanced at Louise's arm, surprised by the sudden physical contact. "Where exactly are we going?" She asked, a hint of suspicion lingering in her voice.

"My husband is in town." Louise explained casually. "I'll ask him to take you out to our house this evening. Isaak, Noah, Mary we are going to see Papa!"

Emelia's gaze shifted to the three children. The moment Louise's voice hitched as she mentioned their father, all three froze, their heads swiveling in unison. Then, as if a silent command had been issued, they tore off at a breakneck pace, a tangle of limbs and giggles.

Emelia couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "That's very… accommodating of you." She said, her voice laced with disbelief.

Louise's eyes sparkled. "Well, let's just say it isn't every day a beautiful friend of Buck's comes rolling into town." she said with a wink.

A blush crept up Emelia's cheeks. "Oh, well thank you." She mumbled, both grateful and slightly flustered. "I take it you know him well enough to go out of your way like this?"

"My husband, Kid, and I have been friends with Buck for going on eight years now," Louise explained.

Emelia's eyes widened as realization dawned. "Did your husband ride with the old Pony Express too?"

"We both did." Louise finished, a hint of pride in her voice.

Before Emelia could fully process this revelation, Louise walked confidently into the Marshal's office, Emelia trailing behind her like a shadow. "Hey, Kid." She greeted her husband, a broad smile plastered on her face. "You'll never guess who's coming to dinner tonight."

The Marshal, a tall man with crystal blue eyes and a kind smile, looked up from his desk. "Who?" he asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

"Emelia Dunhurst." She announced with a smirk and a glint in her eyes.

He rose from his chair and extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Any news on a new teacher yet?" Louise inquired, already rolling her eyes in anticipation of the answer. Her husband, accustomed to her frustration, simply shrugged helplessly. Louise sighed impatiently. She reached into her pocket and flipped open a worn silver pocket watch. "Well, I suppose I'm stuck in school until one." She muttered, snapping the watch shut.

"I'm working on it Lou." Kid reminded her gently.

"I was going to run out to Buck's with the kids, if you wouldn't mind taking Emelia to our home with you tonight."

"Lou," he began, his voice low. Kid, hesitated a moment, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He grabbed his wife's arm gently pulling her into a small room for privacy. "I don't know this is the best idea."

Louise leaned in and gave him a quick hug, a playful glint in her eyes. "She came all this way to see a friend, honey." She whispered conspiratorially. "I'm just facilitating."

---

Chapter 23

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The aroma of roasting beef wafted through the house. Louise watched Emelia, entertain her children with a quiet grace. Gone was the poised young woman who had arrived earlier. In her place, a girl with her hair tumbling down her shoulders, her laughter soft and genuine as she engaged in a game of blocks with the children.

A sudden clatter of hooves outside the window shattered the peaceful scene. Louise exchanged a knowing glance with her husband, Kid, a silent conversation passing between them.

Kid swung the door open with a welcoming wave. "Looks like we're adding another to the table," he drawled, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"What?" Louise scowled.

With a determined glint in her eye, she hurried to the door. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw Buck dismounting the buckboard, with Kathleen Devlin seated next to Wohali.

Louise's carefully crafted plan seemed to be unraveling before her very eyes, but she wasn't deterred. Taking Emelia by the hand, she whisked her away to the bedroom, shutting the door with a decisive click.

"What's going on?" Emelia asked, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension.

"There's a few things you need to know." Louise said, her smile strained. "I didn't tell Buck you were here. I thought it would be a nice surprise, you see. But, well, he, uh… brought someone with him."

"Oh…" Emelia's breath caught in her throat. She knew this was a large possibility but the image of Buck with another woman sent a wave of disappointment crashing over her. "He's married." Her voice barely whispered. It wasn't a question. It was the realization that all hope was gone.

"No, no!" Louise reassured her, placing a gentle hand on Emelia's arm. "But he is… courting someone."

The image of Buck, arm in arm with another woman, sent a wave of emotions crashing over her – disappointment, a flicker of jealousy, and a deep, gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach.

"I should have told you. I'm sorry, Emelia." Louise apologized sincerely, her eyes filled with regret.

Emelia forced a smile, its fragility betraying the turmoil within. "It's okay, Lou." She took a deep breath and her voice stronger this time, laced with a newfound resolve. "I don't want to make him feel awkward in front of his lady. Please don't mention I was looking for him?"

"Of course." She said, her voice warm and reassuring.

Louise reached out, her touch a silent reassurance. This woman was full of grace and kindness, she could see why Buck had been so in love with her. With a gentle squeeze of Emelia's arm, Louise linked theirs together and guided her out of the bedroom.

The living room offered a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. Laughter echoed from outside as the children reveled in the freedom of the approaching dusk. In the center of the room, Kid and Buck stood in conversation, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of amusement.

As Louise and Emelia entered, the conversation died down, all eyes turning towards them. Buck's gaze met Emelia's, and a flicker of surprise crossed his features, quickly replaced by a question in his eyes. Louise, cleared her throat, ready to navigate the unexpected turn of events.

"My friend is visiting from back east." Lou smiled. "Emelia Dunhurst this is Buck Cross, and Kathleen Devlin."

"Pleasure." Emelia bit the insides of her cheeks lightly, forcing a smile on her lips.

"Where are you from, Emelia?" Kathleen inquired, her voice laced with a hint of superiority.

"Chicago." She replied, her voice barely above a murmur.

"I simply adore Chicago!" Kathleen gushed. "It's been years since I've been there, but it's a marvelous city! You haven't been back east, have you Lou? How did the two of you meet?"

"My family lived in Rock Creek for a short while before the war." Emelia interjected, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself.

"Then you must know Buck." Kathleen pressed, her hand possessively slipping into Buck's arm.

Emelia's breath hitched. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to the awkward situation.

"No, I don't recall." She lied, averting her gaze from Buck's searching eyes. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing any pity or… worse… indifference in his expression. Suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of unspoken emotions and the unexpected turn of events, Emelia excused herself and made her way towards the table.

"Well, she's certainly very rude!" Kathleen whispered to Buck, her voice laced with a sharp edge that sliced through the previously jovial atmosphere.

Buck, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on Emelia's retreating figure. A muscle in his jaw clenched for a brief moment, betraying a flicker of annoyance.

"Keep your voice down, Kathleen." He finally said, his tone low and firm.

"I don't care if she's Louise's friend." Kathleen huffed, her perfect facade momentarily cracking. "She shouldn't be so rude. I'm tired of people looking at us that way because you're an Indian."

Buck recoiled as if struck, he glared at her, his dark eyes hardening. "I'm sure that's not it, Kathleen." He said, his voice cold. He took a deep breath to steady himself then took her hand and walked to the table uncomfortably.

"Tell me again how to say your name," Emelia asked Wohali as she carefully listened.

"It is like this Who-HAL-lee."

"It's a very strong name." She smiled. "What does it mean?"

"I means eagle." He smiled broadly.

"How old are you? Six? Seven?"

"I am eight years old."

"Eight?" She scowled involuntarily at Buck and quickly looked away as their gaze met.

Sensing Emelia's sudden stiffness, Buck felt compelled to explain. "I was on my way home from the war in '63." He began his voice a touch gruff. "I was wounded and sent home. I met his mother at the train station. She entrusted him to me. To raise as my own." He reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with a tenderness that both surprised and saddened Emelia.

"How much your mother must have loved you," Emelia said softly. The very idea of parting with a child seemed unimaginable to her. She reached out, taking Wohali's hand in hers. His small fingers, warm and trusting, intertwined with hers.

Just then, the kitchen door swung open. Lou, a vision in a floral dress and white apron, marched in bearing a giant pot of steaming beef roast. Laughter lines crinkled around her eyes as she announced, "Who's ready for some dinner?"

Buck chuckled, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "I see that apron I gave you all those years ago holding up well." he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Lou feigned offense, swatting at him playfully with a roll. "Don't you get any ideas, Buck!" She warned, a wide smile gracing her lips. "Or I might just take you outside and refresh your memory on proper manners."

---

Chapter 24

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

After dinner, an awkward tension lingered in the air. Lou, ever the master of matchmaking, saw the opportunity to give Emelia and Buck some much-needed privacy. With a wink towards Emelia, she announced, "Well, Buck mentioned he needed to drop Kathleen off at her cottage in town. Perhaps he could give you a ride back to your house as well, Emelia?"

Emelia felt a flicker of dread at Lou's suggestion, battling with a wave of uncertainty. Buck seemed hesitant at first, stealing a glance at Kathleen, who sat primly sipping tea. However, Lou's persistence, as usual, eventually won him over.

"Of course, Buck and I can drop her off." Her gaze lingered on Emelia for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes.

"Wohali would you like to stay here tonight?" Lou conspired further. "I can take him into school with me tomorrow."

Buck stole a glance at Emelia, perched precariously on the edge of the buckboard. The comfortable silence from earlier had vanished, replaced by a tense energy that crackled between them. Kathleen, wedged uncomfortably between them, seemed oblivious, her smile a touch too bright as she chattered about the upcoming spring festival. Buck grunted noncommittal replies, his gaze drawn back to Emelia like a compass needle seeking north.

He yearned to decipher her expression. Was it feigned indifference masking a storm of emotions, or had time truly washed away their past connection? The memory of stolen kisses under the canopy of snow and whispered secrets felt like a lifetime ago, a stark contrast to the current formality.

The trail was getting dark, with the sun going down and all. Emelia saw the shadows getting longer and more distorted. It reminded her of how confusing everything seemed lately. The weight of the past, a tangled web pressed down on her. How long could they maintain this charade?

As the outskirts of town came into view, the rhythmic clopping of the horses seemed to echo the frantic beat of Emelia's heart. The initial awkwardness of the ride had morphed into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the wagon wheels. She stole a glance at Buck, his profile set against the fiery hues of the setting sun. His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed on the dusty road ahead.

As they reached the town's edge, Buck finally spoke, his voice loud over the clatter of the wheels. "Where are you staying?"

The question, impersonal, felt like a slap. She wanted to shout, to scream at him, "You know exactly where I am staying! You kissed me in the garden, we would meet at the gate!" But a voice of reason, or perhaps a sliver of self-preservation, held her back.

"Last house on the right on the east side of town." Emelia replied, biting back a retort.

He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of her house, the familiar silhouette etched against the twilight sky. A knot of anticipation tightened in Buck's stomach as he dismounted, his boots crunching on the gravel driveway. He extended a hand to help Emelia down.

Their fingers brushed, sending a wave of electricity sparking through them both. Buck opened his mouth to speak, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. Where had she been all these years? How much had changed since their last encounter? But the words died on his tongue.

Emelia mumbled a choked "Thank you" her voice barely a whisper, before turning and disappearing into the welcoming darkness of the house.

Buck stood there for a moment longer, the echo of her hurried steps the only sound breaking the stillness. The warmth of her touch lingered on his hand, a stark divergence to the chill that settled over him. He climbed back onto the buckboard, his heart heavy with a complex mix of emotions.

"I've always loved that house." Kathleen smiled as they rode towards her cottage. "I wasn't aware of anyone living there."

"Yeah." Buck replied, his mind still racing.

"You're awfully quiet tonight." She rested her hand on his thigh. "Are you alright?"

With a forced smile and a hurried goodnight, Buck said goodbye to Kathleen. As she disappeared into her cottage, a wave of guilt washed over him. Yet, the thought of seeing Emelia again propelled him forward. He flicked the reins, urging the horses towards the east end of town, a knot of unease twisting in his gut.

He hadn't planned what to say, but the need to see her again was a raw ache in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he removed his hat, the familiar weight grounding him slightly. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. The sliver of light that peeked through the crack widened slowly, revealing Emelia's face. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, were red-rimmed and puffy. A gasp escaped her lips, a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Buck?" She whispered, her voice trembling.

"What are you doing here?" He countered. The sight of her, vulnerable and heartbroken, sent a pang through him.

"I promised I'd come back." Her lower lip quivered, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Their promise, whispered under a starlit sky before he left for war, felt like a lifetime ago. "The war ended years ago, Emelia."

"You said you'd wait." She choked out, tears finally cascading down her cheeks. "You told me you loved me and you promised to wait."

"Emelia," he began, but the words died on his tongue.

"How long did you wait?" Her voice hitched, raw with emotion. "A few months? A year?" Her fists clenched, pounding a desperate rhythm against his chest.

"It's not that simple." He mumbled, his voice thick with regret. He cupped her face gently, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "Why did you wait so long to come back?"

Emelia looked up at him. "My mother was sick. I had to take care of her." Her voice softened.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, his heart heavy with empathy.

"I shouldn't have come here." She said, her voice barely a whisper.

Buck reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "I thought…" he trailed off, his voice laced with a mixture of guilt and confusion. "I thought you had moved on."

Emelia felt a tremor run through Buck's hand as it rested on her shoulder. It was hard to think straight with him this close, his ragged breathing matching the quick rise and fall of her own chest. Her gaze, previously clouded with tears, locked with his. In a slow, almost agonizing movement, her fingers reached out. They brushed against the rough fabric of his shirt, the familiar scent of leather and woodsmoke igniting a spark deep within her.

The unspoken need hanging heavy in the air finally found its voice in the desperate press of her lips against his. It wasn't a gentle exploration, but a collision of emotions, a plea for solace and understanding. Her kiss was a torrent – a storm of longing that had brewed for years, laced with the bittersweet taste of regret and loneliness.

Buck, taken aback by the suddenness of her action, froze for a moment. Then, as if a dam had broken, he responded with an urgency that mirrored her own. His lips molded to hers. The kiss was a whirlwind – tongues intertwining, unspoken words mingling with ragged breaths.

But just as quickly as it began, Buck pulled away. He stumbled back a step, his chest heaving, his eyes searching hers. Emelia, breathless and yearning, reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing against his cheek. The touch felt electric, a tangible reminder of the connection that still thrummed between them.

"Emmy." Buck rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "I—" He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. His gaze darted away from hers, shame flickering across his features.

The silence stretched on, each passing moment amplifying the weight of unspoken questions. What was he going to say? Her heart raced in her chest. Was she too late? Could he still love her?

"Emelia—" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I care about you. But this… it's not that simple."

Shame burned hot on her cheeks, and with a trembling hand, she slammed the door shut. The reverberating crash echoed through the hallway, a punctuation mark to their tumultuous encounter.

Buck stood there, rooted to the spot. The sound of her muffled sobs seeped through the wood, each choked breath a shard of pain piercing his heart. Guilt tightened its icy grip around his insides. He had never meant to hurt her. In fact, seeing her again had stirred a dormant ember of affection within him, a flicker of the love they shared.

He took a deep breath, the air thick with the fading scent of her lavender perfume, a poignant reminder of their past intimacy. The echo of her sobs faded, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

---

Chapter 25

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Emelia glanced down at her pocket watch for the umpteenth time, a sigh escaping her lips as her foot tapped a restless beat against the weathered wooden floorboards of the boardwalk. The sun had already climbed an hour past the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, and Emelia was eager to be on her way. The stagecoach, according to the schedule, should have arrived by now, but there was no sign of the dust cloud that usually heralded its approach.

"Leaving already?" Lou's voice startled Emelia from her reverie.

Emelia offered a tight smile. "Mhmm." She mumbled, the single syllable heavy with unspoken emotions.

"That's a shame." Lou drawled, her voice laced with disappointment. "I was hoping you'd stay a little longer."

Emelia swallowed hard. "Lou, I told you yesterday that Buck was just a friend, but —"

A knowing smile played on Lou's lips. "The moment you said your name. I knew who you were right away, Emelia. That's why I invited you to dinner."

Emelia's breath hitched. "You knew?" She choked out, a wave of hurt and confusion washing over her. The image of Kathleen, seemingly comfortable by Buck's side, replayed in her mind, a fresh stab of pain accompanying it.

"Why?" She felt the tears spring anew in her eyes. "Why would you do that? He's… taken." Emelia stammered, her voice cracking on the last word.

"Buck is one of my closest friends. He's like a brother to me, and I'd do anything to protect him. Even if it's from himself." She said honestly.

Emelia frowned, her brow furrowing in bewilderment. "What are you saying, Lou?"

Lou's gaze softened, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. "If that man didn't love you, then I don't know what love is. When Buck came back after the war, wounded and weary, he spent months recovering. But after that, he waited. He waited until the war was over. He waited over a year, Emelia. I was the one who finally urged him to move on. I'm so sorry."

Emelia stared at Lou, a flicker of warmth battling the chill of despair that had settled around her heart. "It's not your fault." She finally managed, a small, sad smile gracing her lips.

"It's clear you still care about him, or you wouldn't have come all this way." Lou pressed, her voice firm yet gentle. "Don't let go without a fight, Emelia. You deserve happiness and so does he."

Emelia shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I'm not that kind of woman, Lou." Regret, a heavy weight, settled in her stomach as she replayed the events of the previous night in her mind. Her impulsive actions, fueled by raging emotions, seemed foolish now. "My leaving will ensure his happiness. I shouldn't have come."

"That's where you're wrong." Lou countered, her jaw firm. "That woman broke his heart years ago, and she'll do it again."

Emelia opened her mouth to protest, but Lou cut her off.

"Buck told me about how close you were to your family." Lou continued, her gaze searching Emelia's. "He said you defied your parents to be with him." A beat of silence followed, then Lou sighed. "Look," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hope I'm not overstepping here, but—"

Emelia raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes despite herself. "What's your stake in this, Lou?" She asked, her voice cautious.

"Like I said, Buck's family." Lou gave her a wry smile. "He just needs time."

Emelia hesitated, caught in a tug-of-war between her bruised pride and a flicker of hope that Lou's words had ignited. Flight, the familiar comfort it offered, whispered temptations in her ear. But the embers of a long-dormant yearning stirred within her.

"First of all, I can't just twiddle my thumbs around town waiting for Buck to decide what he wants. And secondly," she added, her voice firm, "my access to my father's money is frozen until those land deals go through."

The financial burden, a constant weight on her shoulders, threatened to tip the scales back towards leaving. Until the land her father purchased years prior, sold, she was on a very limited budget. Yet, a seed of doubt had been planted. Lou's unwavering belief in Buck's feelings, a stark contrast to the cold reality Emelia had witnessed, offered a glimmer of a possibility.

"I have just the job for you." A mischievous smile spread across Lou's face.

Intrigued despite herself, Emelia leaned forward. Lou leaned in conspiratorially.

"The schoolhouse needs a new teacher, and Mrs. Henderson, bless her soul, retired unexpectedly and I've been filling in."

"Me?" Emelia shook her head in disbelief. "No, I have no training as a teacher."

"Neither do I." Lou's soft laughter bubbled out as she placing a comforting hand on Emelia's arm. "You have more learnin' than most here so you'll do just fine."

Emelia remained silent, her gaze drifting towards the dusty horizon. The stagecoach, now a mere speck in the distance, was slowly appearing into view. Perhaps a new beginning, even a temporary one, was exactly what she needed. A chance to heal, to rediscover herself, and maybe, just maybe change Buck's mind.

Taking a deep breath, Emelia met Lou's gaze, a tentative smile gracing her lips. "Alright, Lou." she said, her voice gaining strength with each word.

A flicker of hope, fragile yet determined, ignited within her. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear - her journey with Buck wasn't over yet.

---

Chapter 26

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Buck sat on the buckboard and waited as he watched the children run down the steps of the schoolhouse. He offered a smile to Wohali, genuine affection creasing his eyes as he watched his son race across the dirt road. Pride swelled in his chest as Wohali clambered onto the seat beside him. Just about to the crack the reigns he stopped when he heard his son's name being called from the school yard.

"Wohali!" Emelia ran from the gate and handed him his coat. "You left this."

She held out a small garment, her gaze meeting Buck's. A million unspoken words hung heavy in the air – regret, longing, a flicker of something that might have been defiance. Emelia's smile, though polite, held a hint of something deeper, a hidden well of emotions.

"Thank you, Miss. Dunhurst!" Wohali chimed in, his innocent voice shattering the charged silence. He reached out and took the coat Emelia offered, a grateful smile lighting up his face.

"Now remember." Emelia continued, her voice reaching Buck despite being addressed to Wohali, "You promised to work on your arithmetic."

"Yes, Ma'am." Wohali nodded solemnly, his youthful enthusiasm dampened slightly by the reminder of his academic struggles.

Buck, tongue suddenly thick, managed a gruff, "Good day, Emelia." His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, a rusty echo of a past life.

She met his gaze again, a hint of vulnerability softening the edges of her smile. "Mr. Cross." She replied, her voice a gentle melody.

There was a lingering warmth in her eyes, a flicker of recognition that both acknowledged the past and held questions for the future. Then, with a subtle shift in her posture, as if severing a connection, she turned and headed back towards the school.

"Is she your teacher, Wohali?" Buck asked as he watch her shut the door behind her.

"Yes." Wohali declared, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "She is much better than Mrs. Henderson."

"Oh yeah?" Buck managed, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. Despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him, Wohali's innocent joy was a welcome anchor.

"She's very nice," Wohali elaborated.

"I'm glad to hear it." Buck replied, his hand finding its way to Wohali's head in a comforting ruffle. "So, you had a good day at school?"

Wohali beamed. "Yes, father!" He chirped, the simple joy of childhood temporarily pushing aside the complexities of the adult world.

As Buck steered the buckboard away from the school, a silent conversation played out within him. The unexpected encounter with Emelia had thrown his carefully constructed world into disarray.

---

Chapter 27

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Five months had crawled by, each one a slow, torturous tick of the clock for Emelia. Buck, on the other hand, seemed to be moving at breakneck speed. Not only was he still pursuing Kathleen, but news had recently spread like wildfire – they were engaged.

Lou watched the scene unfold with a simmering fury that threatened to boil over. If she didn't know better, she'd swear Buck was doing it all just to spite Emelia. But then again, spite wasn't Buck's style. He was more the brooding, self-destructive type. Lou forced a smile onto her face as her gaze drifted towards Emelia, who was currently wrestling a miniature top hat onto a giggling Noah's head.

The fourth of July celebration was the biggest event of the year in this small town, and it seemed to grow grander with each passing year. Several businesses and community groups had decorated floats to participate in the parade, and Lou knew Emelia had poured her heart and soul into crafting a whimsical float for the children. It was a testament to her dedication to the town and the joy she found in working with the children.

A pang of sympathy stabbed at her heart. Emelia deserved so much more than the heartbreak Buck was inflicting on her. But Lou also knew her friend wouldn't crumble. Still, the injustice of it all burned. How could Buck be so blind to the woman standing right there, the one who had loved him fiercely and loyally, the one who had defied her own family for him?

Lou's gaze flickered back to Buck and Kathleen, who were strolling hand-in-hand down the bustling street. Kathleen, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair, seemed to bask in the attention she received from the townsfolk. Buck, however, wore a mask of forced cheerfulness. Lou could almost see the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

This whole charade wouldn't last, of that Lou was certain. The truth, like a stubborn weed, had a way of pushing through the cracks. And when it did, just maybe, Buck would finally see what a treasure he'd almost thrown away.

Emelia's heart hammered against her ribs as she materialized between Paul and Wohali. Paul, a scrawny boy with eyes full of bravado, was shoving Wohali, who stood there, bewildered.

"Paul." She said, her voice firm but laced with a calmness that belied the anger simmering beneath. "There's no need for that kind of talk you hear me?"

Paul sneered. "My pa says there weren't no injuns around when we signed the declaration." Paul's face contorted. "He says you're one of them injun lovers." He spat the words like a curse.

Emelia took a deep breath. "If your father has something to say to me." She addressed Paul directly. "He can come talk to me like a grown man. But I will not tolerate this behavior."

A flicker of shame crossed Paul's face, quickly replaced by a sullen mumble of "Yes ma'am." He shuffled back a few steps.

Emelia knelt down beside Wohali, offering him a reassuring smile. "Are you alright?" She asked gently.

"Yes ma'am." Wohali nodded quietly.

"Alright everyone!" Emelia announced, her voice carrying a cheerful lilt. "When the horses start walking, it's going to get bumpy! So hold on tight to the rails. Remember to wave at everyone, and let's show this town our fourth of July spirit!"

A chorus of "Yes ma'am" rose from the children, their innocent enthusiasm caried on the soft breeze.

---

Chapter 28

Rock Creek, Nebraska – 1868

Buck stood next to Kathleen and watched as the parade continued down the street. He laughed as Kid and his deputies dressed as clowns, road donkeys down ahead of the floats. Buck's chuckle rumbled through his chest as the children's float lumbered into view, pulled by a pair of his horses.

A grin split across Wohali's face, waving furiously when he saw his father in the crowd. Buck waved back, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He hadn't seen Wohali much after school lately, lost in a whirlwind of wedding planning with Kathleen.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on Emelia, perched amidst the excited children. Her smile, warm and genuine, sent a wave of emotions through him. It had been months since their last encounter, an encounter that had left him reeling. He'd buried himself in work and the wedding planning with Kathleen, a desperate attempt to outrun the ache in his heart.

He'd managed to avoid Emelia, their schedules conveniently misaligned. Early morning drop-offs for Wohali, late afternoons spent finalizing wedding details – it had almost felt orchestrated. Yet, seeing her now, vibrant and alive, shattered the illusion of control he'd carefully built.

A flurry of movement on the float caught his eye. Several children, caught up in the parade's energy, began bouncing on the hay bales. Emelia, her smile morphing into a flicker of concern, was on her feet in a flash. Her movements were swift and sure as she guided the children back to their seats, a picture of unwavering care.

As she settled back down, a slight wobble sent a tremor through her body as she toppled from the slow moving float. Her hand flew to her ankle, and a sharp cry escaped her lips. Buck's heart lurched. Before conscious thought could intervene, his body was already in motion, a primal urge to reach her overriding everything else.

But a hand clamped down on his arm, a vice-like grip that sent a jolt of irritation through him. He glanced down at Kathleen, her face etched with concern, but something else flickered in her eyes – a flicker that might have been jealousy, or maybe even anger.

Several men, already closer to Emelia, their concern echoing his own had made it to her side within seconds. He watched through a haze of frustration as they lifted her carefully, carrying her away from the parade route.

Duty, responsibility, the life he'd built with Kathleen – it all threatened to anchor him in place. But the image of Emelia, vulnerable and in pain, burned into his mind.

---

Chapter 29

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

After the parade's festive chaos, they found a patch of shade beneath the sprawling branches of a giant oak. Wohali, buzzing with sugary treats and the thrill of the day, darted off to join a gaggle of children playing a makeshift game of tag.

Kathleen spread out a checkered picnic blanket, its red and white squares a stark contrast to the vibrant green grass. She then unpacked a feast – succulent fried chicken, golden brown and crispy, nestled amongst fluffy buttermilk biscuits. A platter of potato salad, dotted with vibrant green peas and flecked with fresh dill, sat beside a bowl overflowing with ruby-red sliced watermelon. Buck's stomach rumbled in appreciation.

Yet, despite the delicious spread, Buck found himself picking at his food. His gaze kept straying towards the doctor's office, a silent question gnawing at him. Was Emelia alright? The memory of her pained cry echoed in his mind, a stark difference to the carefree laughter of the children playing nearby.

Kathleen, usually oblivious to his internal struggles, seemed particularly attuned to him today. Perhaps it was the lingering tension from the crowded parade. As they strolled hand-in-hand through a grove of cottonwood trees, their leaves shimmering like silver in the dappled sunlight, Kathleen broke the silence.

"It's her, isn't it?" She asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

Buck flinched, momentarily startled from his thoughts. "What?"

Kathleen stopped walking, her brown eyes raging with hell's furry met his. "Emelia Dunhurst."

"It was a long time ago." Buck muttered, defensive. He hated the way Kathleen's words dredged up a past he'd tried so desperately to bury.

"Long enough to forget how you looked at her today during the parade?" Kathleen countered. Her voice laced with a sharp edge. "Long enough to forget the way you tried to rush to her side when she fell?"

"Kathleen, listen." He began, his voice gentle. "Emelia and I… we had a history. But that's all it is – history."

He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. Kathleen didn't pull away, but her grip remained cool and distant.

"And now?" She pressed, her voice a mere whisper.

Buck squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Now, I have you. You're the one I want to spend my future with." His voice firmed with conviction as he spoke the words, hoping they would dispel the shadows of doubt clouding Kathleen's eyes, as well as the growing doubts in his heart.

Kathleen sighed, the tension slowly draining from her body. "I guess… I guess I just want to be sure." She admitted, her voice soft.

As they walked on, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, Buck held onto his words, clinging to the hope that Kathleen believed him. Yet, a tiny ember of doubt flickered within him. Could he truly bury his feelings for Emelia so completely? He knew he had to end it once and for all with her to even have a chance at happiness with Kathleen.

---

Chapter 30

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Buck fidgeted with the bouquet of sunflowers, their vibrant cheer a stark disparity to the emotions churning within him. He rapped his knuckles against Emelia's imposing front door, the sound echoing through the silent house. A hollow dread gnawed at him, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Finally, a shuffling sound emerged from within, followed by the hesitant creak of the door opening.

Emelia stood framed in the doorway, her eyes widening in surprise. His throat tightened, the words he'd rehearsed all afternoon dissolving on his tongue.

"Can I come in?" He managed his voice barely a rasp.

Emelia's smile faltered, a flicker of wariness crossing her features. "Of course." She stammered, a strand of hair escaping her braid and curling around her cheek. The familiar gesture tugged at a forgotten memory, a pang of tenderness shooting through him. Hesitantly, she stepped aside, opening the door a fraction wider.

Buck stepped over the threshold, offering the sunflowers forward. "These are for you." He said, his voice thick.

Emelia took the flowers, a small smile on her face. The yellow petals caught the light, making soft warm light dance across her cheeks. She placed them on the nearby table, the vibrant yellow seeming to brighten the room that had felt strangely cold a moment ago.

"Thank you."

The formal edge to her voice hit him harder than he expected. It was subtle, but it was there, and it made everything feel different. A chill ran through him as he realized things had shifted between them, and he wasn't sure how or even if he should fix it.

"How are you?" He asked, his brow furrowing as he watched her move. There was a slight hitch in her step, barely perceptible, but enough to raise a red flag.

"I'm fine." She replied, the word clipped and lacking conviction. "I'll be back at school later this week."

Buck's stomach clenched. "I didn't come about that." He forced himself to meet her gaze, the familiar turquoise depths swirling with a storm of emotions he couldn't decipher.

"Why are you here then?" She asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

The weight of his actions, the heavy silence of the past months, pressed down on him. "I wanted to make sure you were alright." He said, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

"I'm fine." She repeated, the emphasis sharp.

"Wohali mentioned that one of the students tripped you." He said, his voice gruff.

"I'm sure he's mistaken." She assured him. "I just lost my footing."

Buck felt a surge of frustration, a tangled mess of concern and unspoken words. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with his hat in his hands. "Well." He mumbled, looking down at the worn felt brim. "If you need anything—"

The sentence hung unfinished in the air.

Emelia's gaze hardened. "I have friends here in town." She said coolly. "But thank you for your concern."

Disappointment coiled in Buck's gut. "Friends," he echoed, the word tasting bittersweet on his tongue. Had he misread the signals all along? A flicker of pain crossed his features, then the irony hit him hard. This was what he wanted for her, to move on as he was trying to. He forced a smile, trying to mask the ache in his heart.

"You can see yourself out," Emelia stated, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. The vibrant sunflowers, abandoned on the table, mirrored the sudden chill in the air. Buck stood there, frozen, the weight of undeclared apologies and regrets threatening to drown him.

Emelia retreated to her bedroom, the silence amplifying the pounding in her chest. She waited, a prisoner of her own home, until the sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, followed by the heavy thud of the front door closing. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image of the now-empty hallway. She longed to escape Rock Creek, to slam the door shut on this heartache and forge a new path. But reality was a cruel taskmaster.

Trapped.

The word echoed in her mind, mirroring the state of her finances. Without the finalized land sale, the money remained inaccessible, leaving her tethered here. Swallowing a sob, Emelia braced herself against the wave of despair. She wouldn't let him see her crumble, wouldn't let him witness the wreckage of her heart. This realization, sharp and painful, brought a fresh wave of tears. Emelia knew, with a chilling certainty, that she had lost him forever.

---

Chapter 31

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The cotton fabric felt soft and smooth as Emelia ran her fingertips along its surface. She bit her lip as she considered her options, torn between the lavender calico print with its tiny flowers or the crisp blue gingham.

Suddenly, a snatch of conversation from the front of the shop pierced her concentration. Emelia hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the women's hushed tones carried surprisingly well across the open space. Normally, she wouldn't pay much attention to snippets of other people's conversations, but the familiar name that drifted through the air froze her in place.

"Are you really going to marry Buck?" Janessa asked. "I mean he's rich for sure, but he's an Indian."

"Only part." Kathleen turned over the cuffs on the coat she was looking at and smiled. "But he's mostly white."

"But your children would be part half breeds."

"If we have children."

"Surely you want children Kathleen!" Janessa's mouth dropped open in shock.

"I don't know." She scowled. "They might be like that little brat he has right now."

"You might as well go live with the Indians." Janessa shook her head and laughed. "I don't think I could do it, not even for as much money as he has."

"That orphan won't be around once we are married. That's for sure." Kathleen smiled and rolled her eyes. "And none of that gibberish language they speak either."

"How are you going to get rid of him?"

"I have Buck around my little finger." She smiled. "I'll just have to convince him that a mission school is the best option for the little heathen."

Emelia lunged, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. As the entire rack of dresses came crashing around her. Mortification flooded her cheeks, hot and prickling. If there was ever a moment, she wished the earth would swallow her whole, this was it.

As she sank to the floor, the fallen gowns pooled around her feet. Her gaze darted upwards, meeting the concerned eyes of Abigail the dressmaker as well as Kathleen and her friend Janessa. The silence stretched, thick with tension, broken only by the nervous flutter in Emelia's chest.

"Are you alright dear?" Abigail reached out and helped her to her feet. "I've been meaning to fix that stand."

"Oh yes, I'm sorry." Emelia apologized to Abigail for the mess as she stood up. "I'm so clumsy. I'll take both of them though."

"They look so beautiful on you." The older woman smiled. "I have your measurements so I will have these ready in a couple days for you."

Emelia fumbled with the wad of bills she carefully laid on the counter. Shame burned a fierce crimson on her cheeks. With a mumbled "thank you," she practically bolted from the shop, the awkward silence clinging to her.

She quickened her pace down the familiar road that led to her home, the weight of the incident pressing down on her. Reaching the town's edge, just before her own gate, a hand clamped roughly on her arm. Emelia yelped, spinning around to find Kathleen Devlin, a steely glint in her cold eyes.

"I know you overheard my conversation." Kathleen growled, her voice low and dangerous.

Emelia's heart hammered against her ribs. "Excuse me?" She stammered, feigning innocence, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"Don't play coy with me." Kathleen hissed, shoving Emelia back against the rough brick wall of the library.

"I'm not interested in your business." Emelia retorted, a spark of defiance igniting within her.

"Why don't you just go back home?" Kathleen snarled, the mask of friendliness slipping away. "You aren't getting him back, Emelia. He's made his choice." Her voice rose, echoing between the buildings.

"What?" Emelia felt her heart race.

"I know who you are." Kathleen smirked. "And I know why you're here."

"I don't know—"

"You are way out of your league. You were just a childhood crush nothing more." Kathleen looked at her with rage fueled eyes.

A surge of anger surged through Emelia, momentarily eclipsing the humiliation. "You don't deserve him!" She spat.

Before Emelia could react, Kathleen's hand whipped out, connecting with a resounding slap across her face. A stunned silence followed, broken only by the rasp of Emelia's shaky breath. She touched her stinging cheek, a smear of red splashed across her pale skin. Her eyes narrowed at Kathleen, a storm brewing within them.

"Stay away from Buck."

The shove sent Emilia stumbling back. Kathleen's icy glare lingered for a moment before she turned and walked away, leaving Emilia speechless in her wake.

---

Chapter 32

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The classroom smelled of old books and chalk. Emelia pulled the pencil from her hair, and her blonde curls tumbled down. Late afternoon light poured through the grimy windows, lighting up the empty desks in the small schoolhouse.

Emelia sighed, looking around the quiet room. Her eyes drifted over the scuffed floor and the faded writing on the chalkboard. She twirled the pencil in her fingers, lost in thought. As the day faded, Emelia knew it was time to head home, but something made her linger in the peaceful quiet of her classroom.

She had spent the last hour meticulously erasing the remnants of the day's lessons from the giant blackboard, the scratch of the eraser a rhythmic contrast to the dull throb of a headache that had begun to form at the base of her skull. With a sigh, she tossed the damp cleaning cloth onto her desk and turned to face the unexpected visitor who stood framed in the doorway.

"Buck." She said, surprised. "What brings you here so late?"

Buck shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a hint of hesitation flickering in his brown eyes. "Wohali isn't feeling too well. Has a bit of a fever."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Emelia said sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do for him? Maybe some willow bark tea? My grandma swore by it for fevers."

Buck shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Thanks, I already gave him some. Doc stopped by earlier and said it should break soon. But he's bored out of his skull, driving me crazy with his endless questions about everything under the sun. I was hoping maybe you had some extra schoolwork he could do."

Relief washed over Emelia. Wohali's illness, though concerning, thankfully wasn't serious. "Of course," she said, her smile widening. "Let me see what I can find. There's a great book of animal stories I think he'd love. He's such a quick learner."

"He's something else." Buck agreed, stepping further into the room. "He's already asking about constellations and the different kinds of birds. Drives me nuts sometimes, but I wouldn't trade him for the world."

Emelia busied herself rummaging through the stacks of books and papers piled on her desk. She admired the way Buck interact with Wohali, his gruff exterior melting away to reveal genuine tenderness. It warmed her heart, but a pang of sadness followed. It was a side of him rarely revealed, a wellspring of gentleness reserved for only a few. A memory flickered – a memory of that same tenderness once directed at her.

Finding the book with colorful illustrations of various animals, Emelia turned back to face Buck. Their eyes met, and for a stolen moment, the air crackled with a tension. Emelia felt a blush creep up her neck.

"Here you go." She said, her voice a touch breathless as she handed him the book. "He'll love this. The pictures are great, and the stories are simple enough for him to follow along."

Buck took the book, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The brief contact sent a jolt through Emelia.

"Thanks." Buck said, his voice a low rumble. "This is a big help."

Emelia longed to bridge the invisible gap that separated them, to reach out and touch him, to feel the solid comfort of his presence against hers. But the memory of Kathleen's warning last week, held her back like an icy chain.

"Have a good evening, Buck." Emelia finally managed, forcing a brightness into her voice that she didn't quite feel. "And tell Wohali I wish him a speedy recovery."

Buck nodded, his gaze lingering on her face a moment longer. "I will. Thanks for this." He turned to leave, then hesitated once more. "Emelia?"

Emelia's heart hammered against her ribs as she turned back to face him. His voice, a husky murmur, hung in the air, heavy with palpable desire.

Buck took a hesitant step closer, his hand trembling as it reached for her cheek. He longed for the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, a comfort he craved more than anything. Yet, the image of Kathleen, beautiful and poised, flashed in his mind, a constant reminder of his duty. With a deep breath, he forced his hand back down, the gesture a physical manifestation of the wall he'd built around his heart.

Buck groaned, frustration etched on his face. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "This is senseless," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I shouldn't be thinking this way about you, Emmy."

Emelia's breath hitched. He'd called her Emmy, a term of endearment reserved only for him. He still loved her. That small confession, a whisper in the storm of his confusion, allowed hope to bloom anew in her heart. But the harsh sting of reality quickly followed, a cold wind that threatened to snuff out the flickering flame.

"You're engaged." She said simply, the words a bitter truth on her tongue.

"Kathleen." He repeated the name as if it were a foreign word. "She's... well, she's perfect. Beautiful, accomplished, everything a man could ask for."

"Then you have everything you could want." She replied, blinking back tears. Her voice sounded hollow, a reflection of the emptiness that echoed within her.

"Not everything." His gaze flickered to her face, then down to her lips, soft and inviting.

Desperation tinged her voice as she whispered. "Do you still love me?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy with desire and a future filled with paths they couldn't take. They both stood at the doorway neither of them moving for several moments.

Finally he averted his gaze, leaning against the doorway. The question still hung heavy in the air. "What do you want me to say?" His voice was rough, betraying the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

"The truth," she choked out, a single tear tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

He let out a ragged sigh. "I wake up every damn morning with the image of your face burned into my mind." His eyes locked with hers for a beat, a spark of the flame they once shared blazed between them. "That every night, I close my eyes wishing I could just…"

Buck stood close to Emelia, the warmth from his body mixing with the summer heat. She could feel his breath on her cheek, making her shiver despite the weather. He reached out slowly, pausing for a second before gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Emelia leaned in, her heart pounding. Buck's gaze dropped to her lips, hen, with a sigh of surrender he closed the space between them. Their lips met, a collision of longing and bittersweet desire. His hand slipped around her waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were pressed together.

The wood felt cool against her back as he pressed her into the doorframe, his body a heated weight against hers. The kiss deepened, urgent and hungry. The light brush of his fingers made her tingle all over. She felt a sudden rush of warmth, and from the look in his eyes, she could tell he felt it too.

"Emelia," he rasped, his voice thick with regret.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring his image. "Do you love me?" She repeated the unanswered question.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I gave my word to Kathleen."

His words were a hammer blow to her heart, shattering the fragile hope that had momentarily taken hold. He turned, his broad shoulders slumped with defeat, and walked away from the doorway.

Emelia watched him leave, a sob escaping her lips. As his figure disappeared into the distance.

"You gave me your word once too, Buck." The words were barely audible, lost in the vast emptiness that surrounded her.

---

Part Four – Price of Defiance

Chapter 33

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The pretentious white envelope sat on her desk for the last couple days. Emelia knew what it was and she didn't want to open it. It could only be one thing. It was the wedding announcement. Just looking at the crisp white paper and her neatly handwritten name she felt ill. Kathleen was behind this. Buck would never have been so cruel.

Finally, the curiosity got the best of her. She picked up the envelop and ripped it open. She scanned the formalities to the date, November fifteenth. Only two months. She wasn't certain what she was going to do but she needed to make some plans. Staying in Rock Creek was feeling more and more like a death sentence, and now she had her date.

She always knew she was on borrowed time she had just fooled herself into thinking that she somehow, she could change Buck's mind but it was far too late for that. She realized that now. She was glad for her friendship with Lou however, had she not come to Rock Creek she never would have met her.

"I see you received our announcement." Kathleen walked into the school house and shut the door behind her.

"Congratulations." Emelia barely looked up at her as she tossed the announcement in the trash bin next to the desk.

"You'll notice you weren't invited to the wedding." Kathleen continued. "So I don't expect to see you there and I would imagine your time here in Rock Creek would seem at an end as well."

"I will be moving if that is what you are asking."

"It's good that you know when you have been beaten."

"My leaving town has nothing to do with you or your idle threats." Emelia stood up and looked down at Kathleen who was several inches shorter than she was."You caught me off guard last time. I had expected you to act like a lady, a mistake I will not make again."

Emelia's words hung in the air, heavy with defiance. The carefully constructed mask of confidence on Kathleen's face flickered for a brief moment, revealing a flicker of something similar to… fear?

"A lady?" Kathleen scoffed, a touch too quickly. "Perhaps you've forgotten your social graces, Miss Dunhurst. Buck chose me, a woman who can offer him everything a successful man needs – a beautiful wife and companion."

Emelia's eyes narrowed, taking in the desperate attempt to appear perfect. "Perhaps that's all you have to offer – a pretty face and a promise of a life you haven't built yourself."

The barb hit its mark. A deep flush crept up Kathleen's neck. "Unlike you, I don't chase after men who are clearly unavailable."

Emelia's lips curved into a sad smile. "Unavailable?" She echoed, amusement dancing in her eyes. "The only thing unavailable is Buck's heart. Something you seem to cling to, despite the emptiness in his eyes whenever he looks at you."

Kathleen's face paled, the vulnerability Emelia had glimpsed earlier returning full force. This time, it wasn't fleeting. It was raw and undeniable. Emelia knew then that Kathleen understood. Buck might be marrying her, but it was Emelia he truly loved.

"How does it feel knowing he's thinking of me when he kisses you?" Emelia drove the blade deeper.

But just as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it vanished, replaced by a cold, steely glint. "You've had your say, Miss Dunhurst." Kathleen said, her voice laced with controlled fury. "You should leave before the wedding. Buck certainly doesn't need a constant reminder of his past mistakes lingering around."

With that, Kathleen stormed out of the schoolhouse, slamming the door with a finality that echoed through the empty room. Emelia stood alone, the silence pressing down on her. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock her with its cheerfulness.

A wave of loneliness washed over her, so profound it threatened to drown her. The hurt, the anger, the betrayal – all of it threatened to consume her. But amidst the storm of emotions, a seed of resolve began to sprout.

It wasn't a bitter resolve, fueled by anger or a desire for revenge. It was a quiet, dignified resolve, born out of a deep understanding. She wouldn't allow herself to be a constant reminder in Buck's life, a painful symbol of what could have been.

---

Chapter 34

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Lou sipped her tea, her gaze lingering on Emelia across the table. A heavy silence hung in the air between them, though the small cafe was a buzz of conversation. Lou knew, with a certainty that settled heavy in her gut, that Emelia's days in Rock Creek were numbered. The sale of Emelia's family home as well as the land, had finally gone through, severing the last physical tie that bound her to this place.

Lou had held onto a sliver of hope, a desperate wish that Emelia might somehow stay. She had become a confidante, a sister in spirit. But the truth, etched in the lines around Emelia's eyes and the forced lightness of her smile, was undeniable. Buck's upcoming wedding wasn't just a social event. It was the final curtain call on a dream that had slowly curdled into something bittersweet.

When Emelia had first arrived, a lone figure shrouded in hope and uncertainty, Lou had welcomed her with open arms. Now, Emelia was preparing to leave, a woman transformed by experience. The heartbreak in her eyes was undeniable. Lou knew, with a pang of sadness, that this wasn't goodbye, it was a 'see you later.'

The town's leadership, in a display of unexpected foresight, had decided to keep Emelia's departure under wraps until after she left. The announcement of a new teacher search would come later, a way to ease the sting of her absence for the students.

Lou set her teacup down with a soft clink. "So," she began, her voice gentle. "What do you think you will do when you get home?"

"I'm not sure yet." Emelia smiled. "I'll miss you though. Promise me that you'll come visit."

"If I can get Kid retire, we will be on the next train that I promise you!" Lou hugged her.

"I would love to show you both around the city."

"I'm sorry things didn't work out here." Lou looked at her sadly.

"It wasn't meant to be." She shrugged.

"You at least sound like you have come to terms with everything."

"I've been furious, depressed, angry, jealous, now…" She looked blankly at her friend. "I just feel empty."

"Would you like to come to our house for supper tonight?"

"I have some things I want to do before I leave town." She smiled. "But thank you."

"I guess this is goodbye." Lou scowled and set her jaw firmly to hold back tears.

"No, just farewell." Emelia hugged Mary softly, the warmth of the child a comforting counterpoint to the storm brewing within her. She pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek, the slumbering child oblivious to the impending goodbye.

With a final squeeze, Emelia pulled away. Stepping out of the cafe, she took a deep breath of crisp morning air. Today was the day. Today, she'd walk down memory lane, a sentimental pilgrimage before leaving Rock Creek behind. The town itself held little appeal anymore, tainted by the ghosts of her lost love. But there was one place, a sanctuary nestled amidst the bustle, that demanded a final visit.

She smiled, a touch sad, as her feet carried her down the familiar main road. The houses blurred past, each one holding snippets of memories - friendly faces, shared laughter, the sting of childhood disappointment. Yet, it was the house at the end of the street, now sporting a FOR SALE sign, that truly resonated with her past. Technically, she no longer held the deed, but thanks to a kind realtor, she still had access until the end of the month.

Reaching the white picket fence, Emelia pushed open the familiar gate, its hinge groaning slightly in protest. Stepping into the garden, a wave of nostalgia washed over her. The air hummed with the memory of lazy summer afternoons spent reading beneath the shade of the old oak. The flowerbeds, once overflowing with vibrant blooms, now displayed the telltale signs of neglect. But the heart of the garden, the haven she sought, remained unchanged.

There, nestled beneath the sprawling branches of a majestic dogwood tree, sat a bench. Not the weathered one she remembered, worn smooth by countless shared secrets and stolen kisses. This one was new, crafted from a light, unfinished wood. This bench, like the memories it evoked, would remain long after she was gone. She closed her eyes, leaning against the cool wood, and allowed herself to be swept away by a tide of long-forgotten emotions.

But as the last echoes of those memories faded, a flicker of determination sparked within her. With a resolute breath, Emelia pushed herself away from the bench. There was one more place she needed to go.

She wasn't certain she would remember the way but as she walked across the field, then further toward the creek everything came flooding back. Gingerly she stepped across the rocks to the other side of the bank. She walked along the winding path and through the trees. Seeing the pond ahead she picked up her skirt and ran into the clearing.

"You guys are still here!" Emelia grinned widely when she saw the family of ducks waddle across the pond and hop into the water. "Boy you have been busy haven't you mister are all those ducklings yours?"

She laughed as the ducks shook the water off and headed her way. Nailed to a nearby tree she saw a small bag. Guessing it was some food she pulled it off the nail and opened it.

"Here you go." She sprinkled the corn and peas on the ground.

"Don't let them lie to you." Buck walked up the pathway behind her. "I fed them earlier today."

"Sorry." She pulled the bag shut and hung it back on the tree.

"I'm just teasing. It's fine."

"I have to go." She walked past him and back toward the creek.

"Emmy wait!" Buck caught up to her quickly. "What are you doing out here?"

"I wanted to see this place, before I left." She replied, her smile faltered, a single crack appearing in its carefully constructed facade.

Buck's brow furrowed. "Leaving?" His question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

Emelia met his gaze, the familiar ache in her chest intensifying. "I need to go home." She stated, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

"But... your home is here now." He stammered, a flicker of desperation crossing his features. Denial, a futile attempt to cling to a past that was rapidly slipping away.

Emelia shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "No, it's not." She countered, her voice gaining strength with each word. "This town, these memories... they're all part of my past."

A tense silence descended, broken only by the chirping of unseen birds. Buck took a step closer, his concern morphing into something more complex. "You have friends here." He said softly, his voice laced with a plea.

"Friends." She echoed, the word a hollow shell in her mouth.

"Lou, the Kid." He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. "Me."

A steely glint entered her eyes, replacing the vulnerability that had threatened to consume her. "And how long do you think you can be faithful to your wife if I'm still here?"

The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a lament rolled into one. It was a truth they both knew. With that, Emelia turned away, her heart heavy but her resolve unwavering.

"I do love her." Buck stated.

"It doesn't matter how many times you say it! It won't make it true!" Emelia picked up her skirt and trudged through the grass.

Suddenly, Buck lunged forward, desperation raw in his eyes. "What has gotten into you?" He demanded, his voice thick with emotion. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. The instant their eyes met, Emelia knew there was no turning back.

"Do you have any idea what torment it is seeing you together? Knowing your lips, those lips that use to kiss me are now kissing her?"

A whirlwind of emotions swept through her – the bitter sting of betrayal, the agonizing ache of unrequited love, the desperate yearning for a future that would never be. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Buck, fueled by the same desperate need, pulled her close, crushing her lips with his.

Emelia surrendered to the passion, clinging to Buck as if he were a lifeline in a storm. Her soft moan turned into a sigh when she felt his hand still at the small of her back, a possessive touch that both comforted and tortured her. She knotted her fingers in his hair, pulling him tightly against her, a silent plea for a solace she knew wouldn't last.

Their bodies tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs, a temporary refuge from the harsh reality. Buck's kiss was urgent and demanding, fueled by a frantic need. Knowing this was the last time she would ever see him; Emelia gave in to raging fire inside her. The soft curves of her body pressed firmly against the hard muscled edges of his, a final desperate attempt to feel whole.

Moments later, gasping for breath, they reluctantly parted. Reality, cold and unforgiving, settled back in. They lay on their backs, both lost in their own thoughts. Buck was the first to speak, his voice hoarse with emotion. He rolled on his side and traced her collarbone with his fingertip, a silent apology.

"I don't want you to leave."

Emelia closed her eyes, the memory of his touch already fading. "I won't be your mistress, Buck." She said. Rolling over, she pushed herself to her feet.

"I would never ask that." He scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around her from behind, a desperate attempt to hold onto the fading warmth of her presence.

Emelia leaned back against him but the embrace felt hollow. The passion that had flared moments ago had been consumed by the weight of the unspoken truth. "Where else do you think this is headed?" She asked, her voice laced with a quiet sadness.

He remained silent, the answer hanging heavy in the air between them. Emelia turned in his arms, her tear-streaked face etched with a heartbreaking resignation.

"Emmy..." Buck began, his voice thick with a mixture of regret and longing.

"Goodbye, Buck." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Then, with a final lingering look at the place that held so many memories, Emelia turned and walked away. Her steps were slow and deliberate, each one carrying her further from the life she could have had, further from the man she loved.

---

Chapter 35

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Emelia flew out of the schoolhouse and descended on the group of boys like a whirlwind. They were a tangled mess of limbs and rage, rolling around in the dusty schoolyard. She reacted instantly, throwing her weight between them. Her yell, sharp and authoritative, echoed across the deserted yard. She grabbed the collars of both boys, yanking them apart.

"Stop it! Paul, I want you in the schoolhouse right now!"

Paul, momentarily stunned by her intervention, finally obeyed. He slunk off towards the building, muttering under his breath. Emelia knelt down beside Wohali, her concern etched on her face. Blood trickled down his lip, staining the dust on his chin.

"Are you alright?" She asked gently, tilting his head up to get a better look.

Wohali, usually full of shy smiles, only stared at her with a wounded animal's wary gaze. Emelia pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to his bleeding lip.

"Here, take this." She said softly. "Why don't you go home and I'll deal with Paul."

Wohali nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "Ok, Miss Dunhurst." He turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

---

Chapter 36

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

A wicked smile crept on Kathleen's face as she watched the Wohali walk along the dirt road. She had seen the fight between the two boys but hadn't come up with a plan until she saw Wohali walking home alone. With a predatory grace, Kathleen quickened her pace, she walked behind the boy and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Where are you going Wohali?" She asked smiling sweetly.

"Home." He instinctively raised a hand to his lip, wincing at the sting.

"Did that nasty Miss Dunhurst do this to you?" She asked, feigning concern as she reached out, her touch seemingly gentle, to peel the makeshift bandage from his lip.

"No, ma'am," Wohali stammered, his voice barely audible. "I... I got in a fight."

A flicker of frustration marred Kathleen's carefully constructed expression. "Don't lie to me, Wohali!" She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. "I saw her, you see! Saw her strike you in the face just like this!" She slapped his face hard.

Wohali recoiled, his eyes brimming with confusion and terror. "But she didn't—" he whimpered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Listen to me you little brat." She grabbed his arms and shook him violently. Kathleen's smile vanished completely, replaced by a mask of cold fury. "You will tell people that she is the one that hit you or I will hurt your father. Do you understand me?" She continued, her words punctuated by each forceful shake. Wohali, overwhelmed and terrified, could only nod mutely.

Kathleen leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a chilling whisper. "I'll bash your head in while you're sleeping." She threatened, her breath hot and foul. "Now, how did you get hurt?"

Wohali, tears welling in his eyes, stammered out the lie she demanded, his voice barely a choked sob. "M-Miss Dunhurst hit me," he whimpered.

"Excellent!" Kathleen purred, her smile returning, this time radiating a triumphant malice. "Now come with me."

Practically dragging Wohali across the dusty town square, Kathleen marched towards the Marshal's office, her steps purposeful and vindictive. Bursting through the doors, she flung Wohali into a chair, the force of the impact eliciting a gasp from the bewildered Deputy.

"Marshal! Deputy!" Kathleen bellowed, her voice laced with righteous fury. "Do something about that woman they installed as our teacher! She's out there abusing our children!"

Kathleen launched into a fabricated account of the nonexistent assault, her voice dripping with feigned outrage and concern. She spun a tale of witnessing Miss Dunhurst strike Wohali on the schoolhouse steps, her every word dripping with calculated deceit.

As she spoke, Wohali sat frozen in his chair, his tear-streaked face a stark contrast to Kathleen's performance. He was trapped in a web of her malicious invention, a pawn in a twisted game whose purpose remained shrouded in the shadows.

"Is that what happened son?" Kid asked.

Wohali, wide-eyed and terrified, darted a panicked glance at Kid before nodding rapidly. Kathleen's grip tightened around him.

"There you have it, Marshal!" Kathleen declared triumphantly, her voice ringing with manufactured outrage. "Who knows how many other children she has beaten? This poor boy is living proof of her cruelty!"

With a sickeningly sweet smile, Kathleen wrapped a possessive arm around Wohali, drawing him close. Her touch, unlike the genuine comfort Emelia offered, felt cold and clammy, sending a tremor of disgust through the child.

"I'll take him home to Buck." Kathleen announced, her voice laced with a possessiveness that made Kid narrow his eyes. "Just promise me, Marshal, that you'll do something about that woman!"

Kid sighed when he watched her walk out of the office. He didn't know what was going on but he needed to get to the bottom of it, and fast. He didn't need any rumors starting around town. He figured he would wait until that night and discuss the matter at her house in private.

The rest of his shift felt like an eternity. Every tick of the clock echoed in his mind, a maddening reminder of the task at hand. He'd already questioned several townsfolk and none of them had witnessed anything unusual near the schoolhouse that morning.

The sun was sinking low as Kid finally lost his patience and slammed his office door. He stood there for a second, breathing deep to steel his nerves. This wasn't going to be easy. With his jaw set, he started walking towards Emelia's place. The whole town felt on edge, like everyone knew what was coming.

Kid's boots kicked up little puffs of dust from the town square as he walked. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how to handle this mess. The accusation against Emelia was serious business, and he knew confronting her about it could get ugly fast.

He reached for the door, his knuckles rapping sharply against the weathered wood. He needed answers, and fast. The longer this dragged on, the more damage Kathleen's venomous whispers could inflict. With each passing moment, the knot of unease in his gut tightened.

Emelia opened the door, a tired smile gracing her features. "Good evening, Marshal. Please, come in."

Kid stepped inside, the weight of his purpose settling heavily on his shoulders. He removed his hat, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his growing frustration. "Thank you." He mumbled, taking a seat on the edge of the offered chair.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Emelia offered, her voice laced with a hospitality that felt at odds with the unspoken tension in the room.

Kid shook his head, his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall. "No, I… ah…" He cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained. "I'm here on business."

Emelia's smile faltered slightly. "I assumed that, being you are a married man." She replied, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Though I can't imagine what business brings you to my doorstep at this hour."

"It's about Wohali." Kid finally blurted out. "He… he said you hit him today." Kid stated, his voice heavy with the weight of the accusation.

Emelia's jaw dropped, disbelief etched across her face. "What? Hit him? Marshal, you must be mistaken! Wohali wouldn't lie. He was in a fight with Paul Miller again."

Kid sighed, a deep rumble that spoke of the weight of his investigation so far. "The boy told me himself."

"I don't understand." Emelia whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "There must be some misunderstanding. I would never lay a hand on any of my students."

"Look, Emelia," Kid began, leaning forward in his chair. "Until I can talk to the Miller boy and sort this out," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you not to go to school tomorrow."

Emelia's eyes widened. "Not go to school? Who's going to teach the children?"

"The committee will have a temporary substitute until this is cleared up." Kid explained, his own frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "It's not an ideal situation, but—" Kid nodded and put his hat on as he opened the door to leave. 'I know you are planning on leaving soon, but I need to ask you to wait. Just until I can clear this up."

Emelia slumped back in her chair, the fight momentarily draining out of her. The weight of the situation, the implication of her harming a child, settled on her like a suffocating cloak. "Alright." she said, her voice barely a whisper.

---

Chapter 37

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

All through dinner, Wohali remained silent, a stark divergence to his usual chatty demeanor. Buck, picking at his food, couldn't help but notice the change. His son, usually an open book brimming with stories, was withdrawn, his eyes clouded with a worry that tugged at Buck's heart.

Buck sighed, setting his fork down. Wohali was far too young to be burdened by secrets, especially ones he felt uncomfortable sharing with his own father. Buck pushed himself away from the table and walked towards Wohali's chair, gently nudging him to make space. He then lowered himself onto the worn wooden seat, the creak echoing in the tense silence.

"Is something bothering you?" He asked softly, placing a hand on Wohali's shoulder.

Wohali hesitated for a moment, then mumbled a barely audible, "No." It was a blatant lie, one that scraped against Buck's instincts.

Buck chuckled softly. "Come on, son. You know you can't keep secrets from me. Especially not when you look like a kicked mule." He winked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Is it girls? Is someone breaking your heart already?"

A faint blush crept up Wohali's cheeks, but he quickly shook his head. "No, father."

Buck felt a pang of disappointment. He'd been hoping for a light-hearted dilemma, not something that weighed so heavily on his son. "Well, whatever it is." Buck said, his voice turning serious. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Wohali hesitated, his gaze flickering around the room before landing on his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Then, in a rush of words, he blurted out, "Have you ever done anything you knew was wrong?"

Buck was caught off guard by the question. It wasn't the one he'd expected, but it held a weight that demanded an honest answer. "Yes." He admitted, a flicker of past regrets flitting across his mind. "There are many times I've made mistakes."

"What did you do?" Wohali asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"That doesn't matter right now." Buck said gently. "What matters is learning from them, making things right."

Wohali frowned, a deep furrow etching itself between his brows. "But what if..." his voice trailed off, replaced by a worried silence.

"What if what, son?" Buck prompted, sensing a crucial piece of information hidden within Wohali's reluctance.

"What if someone will hurt you?" Wohali finally blurted out, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrored Buck's own growing unease.

Buck placed a hand on Wohali's forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from beneath the skin. "Wohali." He said firmly, "I'm here to protect you. If someone is going to hurt you, I need you to tell me."

Wohali stared at him, a flicker of doubt clouding his eyes. "What if they are your friend?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

This question, laced with suspicion and a heartbreaking betrayal, sent a jolt through Buck. His mind instantly conjured the image of Emelia, her warm smile replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "Is this about Miss Dunhurst?" He asked, dread creeping into his voice.

Wohali nodded mutely.

Buck smoothed Wohali's long hair, trying to chase away the confusion clouding his son's eyes. "She isn't going to hurt you." He said, his voice laced with a conviction he didn't quite feel.

The truth was, the situation was far from clear. While Buck knew Emelia wouldn't intentionally harm a child, the accusation, especially coming from Wohali, gnawed at him. Wohali wouldn't lie, not about something this serious.

Suddenly, a wave of anger crashed over Buck. He knew Emelia was upset about his impending marriage, but to use a child as a pawn in their personal drama? It was unforgivable. Yet, a nagging doubt remained. This wasn't the Emelia he knew.

As if sensing his turmoil, Wohali burst into tears, rolling onto his side with muffled sobs racking his small frame. Buck gathered him close, the warmth of Wohali's body grounding him amidst the storm of emotions.

"Wohali, whatever it is, you can tell me." Buck whispered,

"I got Miss. Dunhurst in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"Paul and I got in a fight again. Miss. Dunhurst broke it up."

"Did she hit you?"

"No." Wohali handed him her handkerchief. "She helped me."

"Why did you lie about her hitting you?"

"Miss. Kathleen told me to."

"Kathleen told you to say those things?"

"She told me if I didn't, she would do bad things." Wohali looked down at his hands.

"What kind of bad things." Buck felt his blood begin to boil.

"She said she would hurt you." He looked up at his father. "She would smash my head while I sleep."

"Don't you worry about any of that." Buck kissed Wohali on the forehead. "Go get ready for bed."

As the boy rose from the table Buck hugged him quickly. "You did the right thing by telling me the truth Wohali. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Father."

Buck's heart ached as Wohali shuffled towards his room, the weight of the conversation heavy on his small shoulders. He watched him go, a fierce protectiveness rising within him. There would be time for comfort later, but right now, Buck had a fire to put out.

Sitting back down at the table, he ran a hand through his hair, the silence in the room was deafening. The image of Emelia, her kindness a constant in his life, clashed violently with Kathleen's accusation. Betrayal simmered in his gut, a bitter taste alongside the confusion.

He replayed Wohali's words in his mind, searching for any inconsistencies, any hint of a misunderstanding. But Wohali wouldn't lie, not about something this serious. He knew his son's honesty like the back of his hand.

Buck slammed his fist on the table, the sudden noise startling the crickets chirping outside. Kathleen. She made a fool of him again. How could he ever have believed a word she said? The anger was a white-hot coal in his chest, threatening to consume him.

---

Chapter 38

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

He brought his horse to a trot through town. The night before he hadn't slept more than an hour or two. He was trying to decide what to do and how to make sense of everything that had happened. Again Kathleen had made a fool of him. Instead of breaking his heart this time however, this time he knew it was his pride.

Emelia had been right. He wasn't in love with Kathleen. He was infatuated with the idea of her wanting him again after all these years. Buck gripped the reins tighter, the leather cool beneath his calloused hands. It wasn't heartbreak he felt, but a bitter aftertaste of betrayal and a simmering anger at his own foolishness. What a prideful fool he'd been.

The doorknob practically ripped off in Buck's hand. Kathleen's face, feigning innocence, contorted into confusion as he shoved an envelope at her. "This," he spat, voice laced with venom, "is for you."

"What is this for?" Her voice, like nails on a chalkboard, grated on him. She reached for him, a practiced move he knew all too well.

He recoiled, the memory of Emelia's tear-streaked face flashing behind his eyes. "Don't touch me," he snarled. "This isn't some act for your benefit anymore."

Kathleen unfolded the envelope hesitantly. "Money?" Her brows furrowed, a flicker of greed momentarily replacing the confusion.

"Enough for a train ticket and new start far from here." He growled.

"Buck, what are you talking about?" Her voice, a sickeningly sweet whine, did little to mask the fear creeping into her eyes.

"You know exactly what I mean." He roared, the last vestiges of control snapping. "My son! What you did to him!"

"I swear—"

"I know what you did!" His voice filled her small cottage.

Her hand darted out, a desperate attempt to grasp at him. He swatted it away with a disgust. "Don't even try that pathetic act again."

"We're getting married, Buck! You can't just—"

A humorless laugh ripped from his throat. "Married? That hollow promise was the biggest mistake of my life. You almost turned my heart from the one woman I truly loved."

"No! You love me! You promised!" She burst into desperate tears.

"Stop it." Buck grabbed her by her arms and shook her softly. "You never loved me. You used me, again!"

"Please don't—"

He leaned into her face, voice a low growl. "The only thing I regret is not listening to my gut. Now, get out of this town. If I ever see you again, I swear to God—" The threat hung heavy in the air, a chilling promise fueled by righteous fury.

Tears streamed down Kathleen's face, replaced by a mixture of terror and defiance. "Buck, please!" she choked out, collapsing onto the porch steps.

He didn't flinch. He didn't turn back. With each pounding step away from her house, the weight of her lies loosened its grip on him. But a new, steely resolve settled in its place, a vow to protect his son, a promise he could never break.

---

Chapter 39

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The weight of the past several days had finally begun to lift. It had been three days since the truth about the schoolhouse incident exploded, shattering the fragile peace of their town. It had been two days since he broke the wedding off. Kathleen, thankfully, had vanished like a thief in the night, leaving behind a hollow silence. Buck, though still processing the betrayal, couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief.

He'd expected Emelia to be back in the classroom that week, a beacon of normalcy amidst the chaos. Yet, when Friday rolled around, Lou's familiar face still greeted him by the door. A pang of concern shot through him. He hadn't heard from Emelia either, and Lou's tight smile offered little reassurance.

"Where are we going father?"

"You still need to apologize to Miss. Dunhurst." Buck pulled the wagon up to the house.

"I can't." Wohali shook his head.

"Wohali. You have to make it right."

Wohali climbed down from the bench slowly, his small boots thudding softly against the dusty street. He cast a worried glance back at his father, who remained rooted by the wagon, a furrow etched deep between his brows. Wohali took a deep breath, the air thick with the premonition of something amiss, and rapped his knuckles on the weathered door.

"Hi Wohali." Emelia smiled softly when she opened the door.

"I'm sorry Miss. Dunhurst." He mumbled.

"The Marshal told me what happened." She knelt down and looked up at him. "You must have been very scared."

"I didn't mean to get you in trouble." His chin quivered slightly.

"I know." She smiled and hugged him softly. "It's not your fault."

"Are you mad at me?" He patted her fluffy curls.

"No. I'm not mad at you. You were very brave to tell the truth."

"Are you going to be my teacher again?"

"No, I have to go home." She rocked back on her heels.

"I'll miss you." He said sadly.

"I'll miss you too." She stood up. "Hold on just a moment."

Emelia approached the overflowing bookcase, her fingers trailing along the spines until they landed on a familiar favorite. It was Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days. Turning back to Wohali, she held out the book.

"This is one of my treasures," she said, her voice soft. "It's a bit much for you know, but I hope you'll read it." With a shy smile, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Wohali, uncharacteristically solemn, nodded tightly. He turned and began his descent down the dusty steps, his small figure kicking up puffs of dust in the fading sunlight. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Emelia's gaze swept the street and landed on Buck standing beside the buckboard. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, a silent conversation passing between them. Emelia felt a pang of longing so sharp it stole her breath. Yet, she steeled herself, pushing down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

The door slammed shut behind her with a finality that mirrored the shattering of her heart. Leaning against the weathered wood, she allowed a shuddering breath to escape, the weight of unspoken goodbyes pressing down on her.

Just then, a shadow flickered across the floorboards. Emelia whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. Kathleen stood behind her, a venomous smile twisting her lips. All warmth had vanished from her brown eyes, replaced by a cold, predatory gleam.

"What are you doing here?" Emelia straightened, her initial fear hardening into defiance.

"I gave you a chance. I begged you to leave town. To leave us alone." Kathleen said in a trance-like state.

"Get out of my house!" Emelia opened the front door and waited impatiently for the intruder to leave.

"Buck belongs to me, and you've caused enough trouble."

In a flash, Kathleen was upon her. A viper striking, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Emelia's hair with a ruthless grip. The world tilted as Kathleen yanked her head back with a sickening snap. Emelia cried out, the pain lancing through her scalp. The force of the yank sent her stumbling backwards, crashing into a nearby table with a bone-jarring thud. Books and papers exploded in a flurry, scattering like fallen leaves across the floor.

The room became a battlefield. A vase, once filled with vibrant flowers Emelia had picked from the garden, lay shattered on the floor, its contents painting a wet stain on the worn rug. The scent of lilies, once sweet and innocent, now mingled with the acrid tang of sweat and a metallic undercurrent. Grabbing the first thing she could get her hands on, a heavy leather-bound copy of Jane Eyre, Emelia hurled it at her attacker.

Kathleen let out a surprised yelp, the sound momentarily ripping through the veil of rage that consumed her. The book connected with a satisfying thud, catching Kathleen on the forehead and sending her reeling backward. Seizing the opportunity, Emelia shoved her with all her remaining strength. Kathleen stumbled back, a look of shock momentarily replacing the venomous hatred that had twisted her features.

The chair splintered with a loud crack, the sound echoing through the empty house like a gunshot. Kathleen crashed to the floor in a heap of broken wood, a gasp escaping her lips. Emelia, her chest heaving, watched for a flicker of movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the frantic pounding of her heart against her ribs. In the aftermath of the struggle, the room looked like a scene from a nightmare. Papers from her desk, meticulously organized just that morning, lay scattered across the floor. A bookshelf, toppled during the melee, had spilled its contents, a jumble of novels and biographies now scattered amongst the debris.

Weakened and frightened, Emelia lurched towards the back door, her vision blurring at the edges. Each pounding step sent a fresh jolt of pain through her throbbing head, and nausea churned in her gut. Escape. That was the only thought in her mind. Escape this twisted nightmare.

Just as her hand grasped the doorknob, a searing pain ripped through her back. A choked scream died in her throat as she spun around, her gaze falling upon the glint of cold steel in Kathleen's hand. The kitchen knife, usually reserved for slicing apples and chopping vegetables, now gleamed with a sinister purpose.

Panic flooded Emelia's veins. Her arms flailed uselessly, failing to ward off the first brutal slash that tore across her forearm. Adrenaline surged through her, temporarily masking the growing weakness in her limbs. But it wasn't enough. Kathleen, fueled by a twisted sense of entitlement and years of simmering resentment, attacked with relentless fury.

Emelia was tackled to the ground, the worn wooden floorboards scraping against her raw skin. She could feel the knife tearing through her flesh, each one a dull ache chipping away at her already dwindling strength.

Emelia wasn't sure what stopped the attack but she heard the knife hit the floor. Suddenly she felt the air being squeezed out of her as she looked up and saw Kathleen straddling her chest. The weight of her body pressed the air from Emelia's lungs, making her vision swim with black spots.

"He'll always be mine!" Kathleen hissed, as her fingers coiled around Emelia's neck. "No one takes what belongs to me!"

Emelia's world narrowed to the suffocating pressure on her chest and the grip of fingers at her throat. Her own fingers, slick with sweat and blood, clawed uselessly at Kathleen's iron grip. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room dissolving into a hazy grey. Just as she felt the darkness begin to claim her, her hand brushed against something cold and hard – the hilt of the knife.

Desperation, a primal instinct for survival, surged through her. With a strength born of pure terror, Emelia grasped the knife and, in a single, desperate motion, dragged it across Kathleen's throat. A choked gasp escaped Kathleen's lips, her eyes widening in shock as a crimson geyser erupted from the wound.

The pressure on Emelia's chest vanished. Kathleen's body convulsed, then crumpled backwards, her hands clutching at the gaping wound in her throat. Emelia watched in a daze as the life drained from Kathleen's eyes.

Though the eminent threat was over, Emelia struggled to maintain consciousness. She knew she had little time to get medical help, she could feel her body weaking. Kathleen's body now slumped against the back door, effectively cutting off her escape. Each ragged gasp for breath felt like a betrayal, a harsh rasp against the suffocating silence of the room. The metallic tang of blood, her own and Kathleen's, filled her mouth.

The room spun, the familiar replaced by a scene ripped from a nightmare. The overturned table and shattered picture frames, now spattered with blood, were stark reminders of the violence that had unfolded. Emelia pushed herself off the floor. But her legs refused to cooperate. They buckled beneath her weight, sending her sprawling back onto the bloodstained floorboards.

Surrender gnawed at the edges of her consciousness, a siren song tempting her to succumb to the darkness. But the image of Buck, his warm eyes and gentle smile, flickered in her mind. It was a lifeline, a beacon dragging her back from the encroaching void.

With shaking hands, she tore the sash from her waist. Ignoring the fresh wave of pain, she fumbled to tie it tightly around her wounded arm, a futile attempt to stem the tide of blood draining from her. Inch by agonizing inch, she began to crawl, leaving a trail of crimson across the rough floorboards.

The front door loomed like a distant mirage. Every movement was a testament to the raw will to survive coursing through her veins. But the loss of blood was a relentless enemy, sapping her strength with each labored breath. The darkness at the edges of her vision began to creep inwards, threatening to engulf her completely. And then, with a final flicker of defiance, it did. Emelia slumped forward, unconscious.

---

Chapter 40

Rock Creek, Nebraska – 1868

Buck adjusted his position on the worn leather of the buckboard. He glanced down at Wohali, who sat perched at the edge of the seat, clutching the worn copy of "Around the World in Eighty Days" to his chest.

The fading sunlight gave the dirty road a warm, honey-colored tint, softening the harsh edges of the day. Wohali, usually a ball of boundless energy, seemed unusually quiet. Buck reached out and gently ruffled his son's hair.

"That was nice of Miss Dunhurst to give you that book," Buck said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

Wohali shrugged, his lower lip trembling slightly. "She wasn't mad at all."

Buck forced a smile. "Feels pretty good to tell the truth, huh?"

Wohali nodded slowly, a faint spark returning to his eyes. "Yeah," he mumbled, tracing the worn leather cover of the book with his thumb. "I'm going to miss her."

A lump formed in Buck's throat. He understood Wohali's sentiment all too well.

"I'm sure she'll be back at school soon." Buck said, more to himself than Wohali.

Wohali looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion. "No, she's going home."

A hesitant smile grew on Buck's face. "Well," he began, his voice laced with uncertainty, "maybe we can talk her into staying."

With a heavy heart, Buck steered the wagon towards Lou's house, a knot of determination tightening in his gut. He needed to talk to Emelia, and fast. He needed her to understand he was wrong. He would beg her if he had to.

Reaching Lou's house, Buck helped Wohali down from the buckboard. "Stay here with Lou for a bit, son," he said, his voice gruff but kind. "I need to talk to Emelia, something important."

"Alright." Wohali looked up, his brow furrowed in concern, mirroring the worry etched on Buck's face.

Buck ruffled his hair in a gesture of reassurance. "I won't be long." He promised.

Lou emerged from the house, a warm smile on her face that faltered slightly at the sight of Buck's grim expression. "Hey boys! You're a bit early for super but I can use the extra hands."

"Can you keep an eye on Wohali for a few hours?" Buck jumped off the buckboard.

"Of course." Lou nodded.

"I just need to talk with Emelia in private." Buck hesitated, the weight of his unspoken confession heavy on his tongue.

"She'll forgive you," Lou said with a knowing smile.

"Thanks, Lou." Buck nodded. "I appreciate it more than you know."

With a wave goodbye to Wohali, Buck unhitched the horses quickly. He secured one in Lou's barn, his movements brisk and purposeful. Every second wasted felt like an eternity.

Swinging onto the horse, Buck nudged it into a gallop, the wind whipping at his face. Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless tide threatening to drown him. He had been so lost in his own sense of duty and pride, he hadn't seen Emelia's pain, her loyalty and affection.

---

Chapter 41

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

He reached Emelia's house in a flurry of dust and determination. Dismounting with a thud, he pounded on the weathered door, the sound echoing through the deserted street. He had to make her understand. He had to convince her to stay.

But the house remained stubbornly silent. The windows, once glowing with the warm light of Emelia's presence, were now dark and lifeless. A cold dread coiled in Buck's gut, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Had she left already? Left without a word, without a chance for him to explain, to apologize for the colossal mess he'd made? He couldn't blame her. The truth, buried beneath the weight of his doubt and Kathleen's poisonous lies, remained unspoken. Shame burned a bitter hole in his stomach.

He knocked again, a series of frantic raps that echoed unanswered in the empty street. Peering through the dusty windowpanes, he saw nothing but the dim reflection of his own distorted face. Panic gnawed at the edges of his reason. He circled the house, his boots heavy on the wooden porch, his gaze scanning every corner for a sign, a clue. It was then he saw her – unmoving on the floor surrounded by broken furniture and glass.

His heart lurched into his throat. He sprinted towards the back door, his breath a ragged rasp in his ears. The doorknob turned easily in his trembling hand, the silence inside a heavy weight pressing against him. He pushed against the door, but it wouldn't budge. Something, or someone, was obstructing it from the inside.

Adrenaline surged through him. With a primal roar, Buck threw his entire weight against the wooden barrier. The hinges groaned in protest, and with a splintering crack, the door gave way, sending him sprawling into the dimly lit room.

The sight that greeted him froze the blood in his veins. Emelia lay sprawled on the floor, a crumpled heap. Blood, a crimson stain pooled on the wooden floorboards. His breath caught in his throat. A silent scream trapped behind his lips.

"Emmy!" Buck lunged forward, dread twisting his gut into a knot. He knelt beside her, his gaze frantically scanning her form. Blood – gashes staining her arms and chest. A choked sob escaped his lips, a raw sound that mirrored the terror clawing at his throat.

Then, a flicker of movement. Emelia's eyelids fluttered open, a mere sliver revealing the blue green depths he adored. A soft, weak sigh escaped her lips, a whisper lost in the deafening silence of the room. Relief, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated relief, washed over him, momentarily drowning out the chilling scene. As her lips moved ever so slightly, a single word, barely audible, reached his ears.

"Buck..."

Grief threatened to paralyze him, but the urgency of Emelia's condition snapped him back to action. He scooped her fragile form into his arms and turned to the back door he had just broken down.

He wasn't prepared for fresh wave of terror crashing over him. Kathleen lay sprawled on the floor pinned under the door. Her perfectly coiffed hair was now a tangled mess, framing a face contorted in a silent scream. Wide, vacant eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, the crimson blossoming around her, in a gruesome confirmation.

Every second felt like an eternity. With a surge of adrenaline, he bolted towards the door, his boots pounding a frantic rhythm against the floorboards as he held Emelia tightly against his chest.

Bursting outside, he didn't run – he flew, fueled by a desperate need. Each gasp for breath mirrored the shallow, erratic rhythm of Emelia's breathing, sending a fresh jolt of terror through him.

Finally, the whitewashed facade of Doc Evan's office emerged from the twilight. Relief, a sweet and agonizing sensation, flooded Buck's veins. With a final burst of speed, he reached the porch and thundered on the door. The sound echoed through the night.

"Doc! Open up! It's Buck Cross! I need help!" His voice, hoarse from exertion and raw with fear, shattered the evening stillness.

There was a long, agonizing moment of silence before a faint shuffling sound came from inside. Then, the creak of the door opening, and the concerned face of Doc Evan's emerged, a lantern casting a warm glow on her worried features.

"Buck? What is…" The doctor's voice trailed off as her gaze fell upon the sight of Emelia, limp, pale, and covered in blood, in Buck's arms. The question died on her lips, replaced by a grim understanding.

Without a word, Doc Evans ushered Buck inside. He gently laid Emelia on the examination table and the doctor wasted no time, her movements efficient and practiced as she began to assess Emelia's injuries. Buck stood helplessly by, watching with a mixture of dread and a desperate hope.

---

Chapter 42

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The early morning sunlight pierced through the dusty panes of the doctor's office, casting a warm glow over Emelia's still form. Buck, perched on an uncomfortable chair beside her bed, had barely blinked throughout the long, agonizing night. Every shallow rise and fall of her chest was, a sign to her fierce will to survive.

Doc Evans emerged from the back room, a steaming mug clutched in her hand and exhaustion etched on her face. She offered it to Buck with a tired smile.

Buck took the mug with a mumbled thanks, the warmth seeping into his chilled fingers a small comfort. "How is she, Doc?" His voice was hoarse, a mere rasp against the silence of the room.

Doc Evans took a long swallow of her coffee before setting the mug down with a sigh. "She's a fighter, that much is clear. The wounds themselves aren't deep enough to be life-threatening. But she lost a considerable amount of blood. She's weak, Buck, real weak. She's just barely hanging on."

He hadn't dared to let himself believe she might not pull through. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the horror of what she had been through. Kathleens lifeless stare burned into his memory a constant reminder of the brutality that had unfolded.

"Is there anything I can do?" Buck's voice cracked with a raw emotion he couldn't suppress.

Doc Evans shook her head. "Get some rest. You look like you could fall over from exhaustion yourself. You won't be any good to her like that. Go home, get some sleep, clean yourself up. She's in good hands."

Buck nodded his thanks, a small flicker of gratitude. Stepping out into the crisp morning air, he took a deep breath, the cool air stinging his raw throat. He glanced up at the sky, a pale canvas splashed with streaks of pink and orange. It was far too early for Kid to be in town.

Kid was likely still at the ranch, Lou by his side with a warm breakfast, the kids a whirlwind of giggles chasing chickens in the dusty yard. A pang of guilt twisted in Buck's gut. He'd only planned to be gone a few hours. Now, the weight of that promise, broken by the night's events, settled on him.

---

Chapter 43

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Buck's boots crunched on the dry dusty path leading to Lou and Kid's house. Exhaustion gnawed at him, a persistent ache that threatened to pull him under. He barely remembered the ride from town, the rhythmic hoofbeats against the dusty trail a distant echo in his mind. Reaching the porch, he hoisted himself up the stairs and trudged towards the open doorway.

"Father!" Wohali jumped up from table and ran to Buck, throwing his arms around his middle.

A warm smile lit up Lou's face as she emerged from the kitchen, a steaming mug clutched in her hand. "I guess your chat with Emelia went better than you thought." Her voice held a playful lilt, the implication clear.

But the teasing light in her eyes faltered as she took in his haggard appearance. The worry etched on his face, the slump in his shoulders, and the smears of blood on his clothes. "Buck? What's wrong?" Concern laced her voice, replacing the playful banter.

He forced a weak smile. "Hey, Lou. Can you get the kids outside for a bit? Need to talk to Kid, private-like."

Lou's brow furrowed with concern, but she nodded without question. "Sure thing. Come on, y'all! Time to go feed the chickens!" She ushered the giggling children out the back door, their joyous shouts momentarily filling the air.

As soon as they were gone, Buck turned to Kid, who had appeared in the doorway, his face a mask of stoicism. "What happened to you?"

Buck shook his head, his throat too raw for anything but water. He sank into the nearest chair, the exhaustion hitting him like a physical blow. "Kid," he began, his voice hoarse. "I went to see Emelia last night."

Kid's eyes narrowed, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Yeah Lou told me you were hoping to convince her to stay in town."

"I didn't get a chance to." Buck admitted, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. He recounted the scene he'd found at Emelia's house, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper as he described Kathleen's lifeless body.

Kid listened intently, his face a canvas of conflicting emotions. "You said you don't know what happened?"

"No, I don't," Buck confessed, shaking his head. "Emelia's barely hanging on at Doc Evan's."

Silence descended upon them. Kid's gaze drifted out the window, his jaw clenched tight. A muscle in his temple pulsed with a rhythm that mirrored the frantic hammering of Buck's own heart. Finally, he spoke, his voice gruff but laced with a quiet strength.

"You stay here and get some rest." Kid said, gesturing to the worn armchair. "I don't want you heading out to your place, it's too far and you're in no state. I'll go check on Emelia and see what Doc Evans says. We'll figure this out, Buck. We always do."

"Alright," Buck rasped, his voice thick with exhaustion. He hesitated, searching for the words. "Thanks."

Kid simply nodded, a flicker of understanding passing in his clear blue eyes. He clapped Buck on the shoulder. "Go get some sleep, Buck. We'll talk when I get back."

With a heavy sigh, Buck rose from the chair, his body protesting with every movement. He longed for the oblivion of sleep, a chance to escape the relentless questions that gnawed at him. As he walked towards the spare room Lou kept ready for guests, the constant gnawing of guilt was unyielding.

---

Chapter 44

Rock Creek, Nebraska – 1868

The days had bled into each other, a repetitious blur. Buck had barely left Emelia's side, a vigil of worry etched onto his haggard face. He existed in a state of suspended animation, fueled by stale coffee and the need to be there when she woke.

Then, on the third day, a miracle unfolded. Emelia's eyelids fluttered open, a slow, deliberate movement that stole Buck's breath. He leaned closer, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Emmy?"

Her gaze, clouded with exhaustion, met his. A flicker of recognition ignited within them, a spark of life in the depths of her turquoise eyes. A ghost of a smile graced her lips before she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Relief, a warm wave that threatened to topple him over, washed over Buck. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. She was fighting, and as long as she fought, so would he.

Time crawled by. The sun was sinking when Emelia finally moved again. She blinked, and this time her eyes seemed a bit clearer as she looked at Buck. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a rough cough that made Buck's skin crawl.

He'd been sitting there for hours, watching and waiting. The room had grown dim as afternoon turned to evening. When Emelia stirred, Buck leaned forward, hope and worry mixing in his gut.

Her cough sounded painful, like sandpaper on wood. It wasn't much, but it was the first real sign she was coming around. Buck held his breath, not sure if he should be relieved or more worried than ever.

"Buck?" She croaked, her voice a mere whisper against the sterile silence of the room.

"Shh, Emmy." He soothed, his voice thick with a tenderness. He reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, his hand trembling slightly. "Here, take a sip."

She complied, her parched lips clinging to the cool glass. With each labored swallow, a spark of color returned to her cheeks.

"I thought I lost you." Buck admitted, his voice laced with a tremor he couldn't control. "I'm so sorry. I never thought..." He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

Emelia managed a weak smile, her hand reaching out to squeeze his with surprising strength. "It's not your fault, Buck." She rasped, her voice barely audible. "I..." She coughed again.

"Don't talk." Buck pleaded, his own voice thick with concern. "Just rest. You need your strength."

She shook her head, a flicker of determination replacing the exhaustion in her eyes. "No, Buck. I need to tell you..."

He leaned closer, all his attention focused on her faint words. "What is it, Emmy?"

"I understand," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "You couldn't wait forever. You didn't know..."

Buck flinched at the accusation, however muted. "I promised I'd wait." His voice heavy with regret. "I was wrong."

"It's in the past." She squeezed his hand again, a silent reassurance.

"You need to know…" Buck struggled to explain. "I knew you would never hit Wohali, I knew it, in my heart." Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks in a torrent of relief and gratitude. "Emelia," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Can you ever forgive me? For leaving you, for not being there when you needed me most?"

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a love so profound it took his breath away. "There's nothing to forgive, Buck. I've always loved you."

A wave of warmth washed over him, chasing away the cold grip of fear that had held him captive for the past few days. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss.

---

Chapter 45

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

It had been a week since the nightmare became a memory, a week since the world fractured and Emelia wasn't sure what was real anymore. The crimson stain that had soaked the floorboards, the twisted snarl on Kathleen's face – it all melded into a horrific blur that clung to her. Every blink threatened to yank her back into that violent scene.

So, when the doorknob rattled, Emelia flinched. But as the door creaked open and Buck stepped into the room, a warmth flooded in her chest, chasing away the chill. It wasn't just relief, though. It was a sense of grounding. His face, etched with worry lines deeper than she remembered, held a familiar concern that had become her anchor these past few days.

"Mornin', Emelia. You up for talking?" Kid sat down on the chair across the room.

Emelia hesitated. Was she? Was she ready to relive the terror, the fight, the… emptiness that followed? Yet, the alternative – staying trapped in that hazy nightmare – seemed worse. With a small nod, she pulled the scratchy blanket around chest, as if to protect herself from the questions that loomed.

She watched as Buck entered the room and moved towards the chair beside her bed, his steps a comforting thud against the wooden floor. Emelia felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Tentatively, she reached out, her hand trembling slightly. Buck didn't flinch. He met her halfway, his large hand engulfing hers in a warm grasp. The touch was a silent promise, a wordless reassurance that he was there, that she wasn't alone.

"Everything is going to be alright." Buck whispered and leaning over he kissed her cheek softly.

As Emelia rested her hand in his, a shaky breath escaped her lips. The terror, the confusion – they were still there, lurking in the shadows of her mind. But for a moment, with Buck's hand clasped in hers, the room felt a little smaller, the world outside a little less daunting.

"Alright, Emelia." Kid began gently. "Take your time. Tell me what happened."

Emelia sank into the bed. Her throat felt tight, sandpaper dry. "It's... It's all a bit foggy," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Kid's gaze softened. "That's alright, take a breath. We can start with whatever you remember clearly."

Emelia closed her eyes, trying to focus. Images flickered, fragmented and surreal. Colors bled into each other. The metallic taste of blood filled her senses. "Kathleen." She croaked, the name a jolt in the quiet. "She was there. In my house."

A flicker of surprise crossed Kid's face, quickly replaced by grim understanding. "You didn't let her in?"

"No." She whispered. "Buck and Wohali had just left. I saw her in the hallway, I guess she came in the back door."

"Go on." Kid urged her.

"I don't know," Emelia whispered, frustration creeping into her voice. "We… we argued. About Buck."

Suddenly, a memory surfaced, sharp and clear. Kathleen's voice, dripping with venom, twisting the truth into a weapon.

"He belongs to me, Emelia! You stole him from me, and now you'll pay."

Emelia flinched, the words still stinging. Anger, hot and sudden, flared within her. Images flooded back – Kathleen lunging, the desperate struggle, the glint of metal in Kathleen's hand. The fight unfolded in her mind's eye, a chaotic dance of desperation. Her own actions felt blurry, disconnected. Panic, adrenaline, a primal urge to survive.

"She attacked me." Emelia gasped, her voice rising. "She had a knife. I tried to stop her, but I could feel the knife —"

Then, a chilling emptiness.

The vividness of the memory brought a wave of nausea. Emelia lurched forward, gasping for air. Buck was by her side instantly, a calming hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Emmy." He murmured, his voice a steady anchor. "Just breathe."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. "I can't remember exactly." She choked out, the confession tearing at her throat. "It's like… a nightmare. I can't tell what's real."

Kid squeezed her shoulder gently. "It's alright, that's normal."

"There was so much blood." Emelia swallowed, the question catching in her throat. "She's dead, isn't she?"

Kid hesitated, then met her gaze with a heavy heart and nodded. The silence that followed hung heavy in the air.

---

Chapter 46

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

Leaving Doc Evan's office felt surreal. The sun beat down on Emelia's face, a stark difference to the sterile environment she'd occupied for the past week. As they walked towards Kid's wagon, Emelia couldn't help but steal glances at Buck, a million unspoken questions swirling in her mind.

"You'll feel better once you get some real food in your belly." Buck smiled warmly and helped her up onto the wagon's bench. "Let's get you home."

Home. The word echoed in Emelia's mind, a hollow sound devoid of comfort. The house, the scene of the horrifying nightmare. Sold. Gone. A suffocating knot formed in her throat. Where was she supposed to go?

Emelia met his gaze, the question hanging heavy in the air. "I... I don't have a home anymore." She whispered, her voice cracking.

"Don't worry about that, Emmy." Buck smiled and climbed up next to her. "Lou took care of everything."

Emelia blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Until you are healed." Kid rode next to them on horseback. "You can stay with us."

"No, I can't impose on you." Emelia protested.

"Lou wouldn't have it any other way." Kid warned her.

"It's only temporary." Buck leaned over and whispered.

When they reached the modest two-story house on the outskirts of town, Emelia felt a tremor of apprehension. Stepping onto the porch, she braced herself for the unknown. However, the moment the door swung open, a wide smile greeted her.

Lou stood there, her warm brown eyes sparkling with genuine welcome. "Emelia! Come in, come in!" She chirped, ushering her inside. "I've got a room all set up for you."

Lou's house was a haven of warmth and comfort. The living room was filled with mismatched furniture that spoke of laughter and family. The scent of freshly baked cookies hung in the air, a welcoming aroma that instantly put Emelia at ease.

Lou led her up the creaking wooden stairs to a room at the back of the house. Sunlight poured through the window, illuminating a cozy space decorated in soft blue hues. A rocking chair sat near the window, invitingly open with a patchwork quilt draped across its back. A small bed sat in one corner, a nightstand stacked with her own well-worn books beside it.

"Buck brought those over for you." Lou motioned to the books. "Your clothes are in the chest here. It's not much," Lou said apologetically, "but it's yours for as long as you need it."

Emelia blinked back a sudden surge of emotion. "It's perfect." She whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. The gesture, the thoughtfulness behind it, was overwhelming.

---

Chapter 47

Rock Creek, Nebraska - 1868

The weeks blurred into a comforting routine. Emelia, nestled in the warmth of the Marshal's house, found a rhythm amidst the chaos of shared breakfasts, bedtime stories for Isaak and Noah, endless hours of peekaboo with Mary, and the clatter of dishes after dinner.

But a part of Emelia remained adrift. Buck's visits, although daily, were laced with a melancholic silence. His eyes, usually a warm golden brown, held a haunted weariness. He'd take her out for short walks, their conversations stilted, filled with long pauses instead of easy laughter. Emelia understood. The weight of guilt, hung heavy on his shoulders.

One afternoon, after a walk that ended in their usual comfortable silence on the porch swing, Emelia reached out. Her fingers brushed against his hand, the warmth chasing away the chill that had settled between them. Buck flinched, his gaze darting away.

"Buck." She said, her voice soft but firm. "It wasn't your fault."

He finally looked at her, the pain in his eyes mirroring the ache in her own chest. "I should have been there." His voice was tight with emotion. He shook his head, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Emelia cut him off, leaning closer. "You couldn't have known." She whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't let this come between us."

The air crackled with unspoken words, with a yearning that hung heavy between them. Buck's eyes searched hers, a question flickering in their depths. Emelia, her heart racing, slowly, deliberately, she leaned in further. Her lips brushed against his, a feather-light touch. Buck's breath hitched, his surprise evident in his wide eyes. The floodgates opened, his hesitation melted away.

He cupped her face in his hands, his touch both gentle and strong. His kiss, when it came, was a torrent of emotions – regret laced with desperate need, tenderness tinged with a fierce protectiveness. Emelia surrendered to him, her entire being consumed by the familiar warmth of his touch.

They kissed for an eternity, a silent language spoken in hushed sighs. It was a kiss that held the weight of their past, the scars etched upon them, but also the glimmer of a future they dared to hope for. When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, their foreheads rested against each other.

"Emmy." He whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, "I don't deserve you."

She smiled, a faint tear tracing a path down her cheek. "I've always loved you Buck."

A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. But a spark of doubt lingered. "What if…" he started, his voice trembling.

Emelia placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "No more 'what if's'." She declared, her voice laced with a newfound strength. "We face what's ahead, together."

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. Then, a smile broke across his face, a hesitant smile that slowly grew into a look of pure joy.

"You remember that night?" He said, his voice thick with a playful reminiscence. "Under the cottonwood tree by your family home?"

Emelia laughed softly. "How could I forget?" She teased. "We use to meet at the fence line by that old tree."

"You promised to marry me." He continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

A blush crept up Emelia's neck. "I did."

"I haven't forgotten, Emmy." He said, his voice low and husky. "I took a wrong turn, but I found my way back to you."

He gently took her hand, his eyes filled with a love so fierce it threatened to consume her. "Will you do me the honor, Emelia? Will you be my wife?"

Emelia didn't hesitate. Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. "Yes, Buck." She choked out, her voice thick with joy. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

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THANK YOU for reading!

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Afterword

Buck Cross and other characters from the TV show The Young Riders belong to the copyright holders of The Young Riders. (1989-1992)

No infringements of copyright by any rights-holder to The Young Riders is intended or implied.

The author receives NO monetary benefit from the electronic or physical distribution of this work.

ALL original characters created by the author, as well as plot and book art, are copyrighted by the author.

Please do not distribute these works without permission from the author.

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About the Author

Holly, a 2nd generation California Native, relocated to the Midwest after the 2018 Camp Fire devastated her hometown. She brought along with her unwavering love of her home state, her loyal companion Cass, better known as Cass the Stinky Chicken.

In the 90's she became a devoted fan of 'The Young Riders' series. Inspired by the characters and the time period, she crafts tales set in the Wild West, often featuring the beloved character, Buck Cross.

In addition to her historical interests, Holly is a recognized fashion designer and custom doll artist under the brand D.A. Fashion.

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