Savannah's Pride

by RiderComin

Savannah Quinn, barely sixteen when the Civil War began, pledged to marry Robert upon his return. Despite the war's devastation, she cared for family and land. Kid and Lou anticipate their fourth child in 1866, with Buck unexpectedly involved, his heart at risk in Georgia.

Savannah's Pride

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
Marriage before Intimacy, Love Triangle, Farm/Ranch Life, Family/Children/ Hate that I Love You, Lawfully Good, Single Parent

Content Warnings
Mental Health, Non-Consent/SA (Off page)

10/2024 - Edited for typos, New formatting

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Prologue

Savannah, Georgia - April 1860

The salty tang of the sea hung heavy in the air, mixed with scents of honeysuckle and jasmine. The early spring sunshine bathed the manicured gardens of the Cavanaugh estate in a golden glow, casting long shadows from the towering oak trees. But for Savannah Quinn, the approaching spring held no warmth.

A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach as she scanned the crowd of brightly dressed figures milling about the garden party. Her gaze finally landed on her dearest friend, Jane Cavanaugh, a flurry of lavender silk flitting through the crowd.

Jane and Savannah were practically sisters, their friendship forged their childhood. Tonight, however, a shadow darkened Savannah's usually radiant eyes. The impending war loomed large, casting its long, ominous finger over the celebratory mood.

Robert Cavanaugh, Jane's older brother, stood near the grand staircase, a picture of conflicted emotions. His handsome face, usually etched with carefree amusement, was now etched with worry. He watched his sister weave through the crowd, a trail of laughter and admiring glances in her wake. He couldn't help but smile, even though it was a forced action. His gaze then shifted to Savannah, the undisputed belle of the ball.

Savannah, a vision in shimmering emerald satin, was surrounded by a gaggle of young men, all vying for her attention. Her auburn hair, swept down her back in a cascade of curls, framing a face as flawless as porcelain. Her eyes, a mesmerizing blend of blue and green, held a depth of emotion that belied her youthful sixteen years.

One suitor, a lovestruck Peter Harrison, fumbled at her feet, retrieving a lace glove that had slipped from her grasp. Robert watched the scene with a pang of jealousy, a familiar feeling that had intensified with the news of his imminent departure. He had a command in the Confederate army now, and tomorrow, he would be leaving for the battlefields.

The war, a brewing storm on the horizon, had thrown a wrench into his plans. He had dreamt of marrying Savannah that very summer, but the drums of war had drowned out the wedding bells.

"Savannah, you will save me a dance, won't you?" Peter pleaded, his voice thick with adoration.

An easy practiced smile graced Savannah's lip. "Of course, Peter, but only if you promise a dance to my dear sister Deidre as well."

Her gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar face. There, near the entrance, stood James, the young man that had captured her friend's heart. He seemed an unlikely suitor for the vivacious Jane, but Savannah, ever the matchmaker, decided to nudge fate a bit.

"I'm sure James noticed how lovely you look tonight, Jane. Wouldn't you agree, James?" She called out, her voice carrying over the murmur of conversation.

James, startled by the unexpected attention, approached them, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

"How could one not be captivated by such a vision of beauty?" He said, taking both their hands in his and kissing them with practiced courtesy. "May I have the pleasure of a dance with each of you this evening?"

"My dance card may be quite full, James." Savannah teased, batting her eyelashes playfully. "But I'm sure Jane might be able to spare a dance. Don't you let her get away!"

"You are a true friend, Savannah," Jane whispered, squeezing her hand in gratitude.

Savannah turned away and scanned the room again, searching for Robert. The ballroom was a whirlwind of activity, the music pulsing through the air, but Robert was nowhere to be seen. Just then, Peter appeared at her side, eagerly awaiting her next dance.

For the next hour and a half, Savannah twirled through a series of dances, her smile becoming increasingly strained with each passing minute. The corset constricted her lungs, the music blurred into a monotonous drone, and the weight of the unspoken goodbye to Robert pressed down on her chest.

Finally, seeking refuge from the relentless gaiety, she excused herself and slipped away towards a secluded alcove overlooking the moonlit gardens. The Cavanaugh estate, far grander than her family's sprawling mansion, seemed to echo with the looming specter of war.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, she sank onto a plush window seat, the cool night air a welcome relief against the stifling heat of the ballroom. The vast expanse of the lake shimmered under the starlit sky. A tear traced a silent path down Savannah's cheek.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence. "Why are you hiding away in here?"

Savannah whirled around, startled, only to find Robert standing there. Relief washed over her, quickly followed by a surge of joy.

"Robert!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. The scent of his cologne, a mixture of citrus and woodsy notes, brought a wave of comfort. He held her close, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool night air.

"You've been a very busy young lady tonight." He teased gently, pulling away slightly to brush a stray curl from her cheek. His gaze held a quiet intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you all night." She replied, a hint of reproach lacing her voice.

"When did you have time to look for me? I don't think there was a moment when there wasn't another man at your side asking for a dance." He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.

"Jealous, are we?" Savannah smiled playfully, batting her eyelashes at him. But the playfulness couldn't mask the worry that simmered beneath the surface.

"Perhaps," He admitted as he cupped her face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "Savannah, my darling." He began, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I won't lie. Leaving you tomorrow is tearing me apart."

"That stupid war! I don't want to hear about it anymore!" Savannah closed her eyes, leaning into his touch she pressed her cheek to his chest. She knew the war was a certainty now, threatening to tear everything apart.

"I had planned for a different kind of farewell tonight." He continued, his voice laced with a bittersweet yearning. "I know we planned on marrying when I returned, but I thought we should marry tonight. Before I leave."

"Absolutely not!" She scowled and pulled away from him. "When I marry I will have a grand wedding. With a beautiful dress and flowers everywhere, you'll see Robert."

"And you will be the most beautiful bride." A flicker of disappointment crossed his features, but understanding quickly replaced it. He knew she was right.

"I have it all planned out." She smiled and closed her eyes.

"So will you wait for me?" He held her hands tightly.

"When you come back and you ask me properly," She turned and smiled. "Then we'll see."

"Savannah don't play with my heart like this." He grasped her arm and pulled her close again. Tilting her face up with his hand and gazed into her eyes.

"It serves you right for leaving me."

"I'm fighting for you! Don't you understand that?" He tilted her head up and kissed her softly.

"I guess." She huffed, clearly unsatisfied with his response.

"Don't make me leave without your promise." He pleaded, taking her hand in his. His voice was low and urgent. "Promise me you'll wait for me. Promise me that when I return, you'll still be mine."

The weight of his plea settled on her shoulders. Could she wait for him? The war could drag on for years. But the thought of losing him, of him not returning to her, was unbearable. She looked into his eyes, those crystal blue eyes that held an intensity that spoke of love, devotion, and a yearning that mirrored her own.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed his hand. "I promise, Robert." She said softly. "I'll wait for you."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, his hold fierce and possessive. The promise hung heavy in the air, a fragile thread of hope amidst the chaos of war. They stood there for a long time, holding onto each other, drawing strength from each other.

Robert reluctantly released her, his face etched with the weight of responsibility and the looming separation. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek.

"I'll return to you, Savannah." He promised, his voice husky with emotion. "As soon as I can, I'll be back."

Savannah nodded, unable to speak, the lump in her throat choking back a sob. An ache settled deep within her, a premonition of the long and lonely days that stretched before her.

Robert took a step back, a conflicted look clouding his features. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. "This is for you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Hesitantly, Savannah took the box, her fingers trembling slightly. She opened it with a soft click, revealing a delicate silver locket engraved with a single, entwined S and R. Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson velvet, was a miniature portrait of Robert, his handsome face captured in a carefree smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, blurring the image for a moment. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. The locket felt warm in her hand, a tangible reminder of him, a promise carved in silver.

He leaned in and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Keep it safe, Savannah." He murmured, his voice husky with unshed tears. "It will be a piece of me to hold onto while I'm gone."

She nodded, unable to form words. He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body. It was a chaste kiss, filled with bittersweet tenderness.

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Chapter 1

Savannah, Georgia - February 1866

Savannah pricked her finger on the needle, a tiny crimson bead blooming on the worn leather of her thimble. She sucked it absentmindedly, the metallic tang a faint echo of the blood that had soaked the South these past five years. The tattered black dress she was mending felt like a second skin, a constant reminder of loss. It wasn't just any black dress. It meant another funeral, another loved one gone.

Her gaze drifted across the once-grand room, stripped bare by the relentless hand of war. Gone were the days of shimmering silk gowns and lace petticoats that hung in the now-empty closets. Gone, too, were the sweet-smelling perfumes and glittering jewelry that graced the vanity, long since sold to buy a meager loaf of bread or a handful of potatoes. All that remained were hollow memories, echoes of another life, a time before the war had cast its long shadow across Savannah and ripped everything apart.

A pang of longing tightened her chest. It had been weeks since the last news of casualties, a tense silence that gnawed at her more than any confirmed death. The Harrison brothers, James and Peter, had been the first local boys to fall, their deaths marking the beginning of a seemingly endless litany of losses. Every morning, Savannah woke with a dread that clawed at her throat, a constant fear of finding another name scrawled on a bloodstained telegram.

The war had devoured more than just soldiers. Disease, its insidious companion, had stalked the ravaged land, stealing lives with ruthless efficiency. Deidre, her elder sister, had been the most shocking casualty. Fragile and delicate, she'd never truly recovered from the news of Peter Harrison's death three years prior. Her smile, once as bright as the Georgia sunshine, had faded, replaced by a haunted look. Deidre sought solace in long walks, disappearing for hours on end. One morning, Savannah found her sister's lifeless form floating in the river, a tragic escape from the unbearable weight of grief.

Their father, a man already weakened by age, had succumbed to a heart attack within hours of receiving the news. The loss of his firstborn child, coupled with the ongoing war, had been too much for his frail heart to bear.

At twenty-one, Savannah found herself burdened with the responsibility of her younger sister Hope, a sprightly nine-year-old with eyes that still held a flicker of innocence. The war had forced Savannah to grow up at an alarming pace, leaving behind the carefree laughter of her youth. But the daunting task of caring for her sister was compounded by the constant threat of marauding Yankee soldiers.

Unlike some of their neighbors whose homes had been reduced to smoldering ash, the Quinns had been "lucky." The Union troops had commandeered their grand house, forcing the family to seek refuge in the cramped slave quarters. But Savannah had witnessed the true brutality of war firsthand. Her cousin Abigail's home, a haven of warmth and laughter before the war, had been burned to the ground, its occupants trapped inside. The only reason Abigail wasn't among them was because the soldiers had found a more "desirable" use for her.

Savannah shuddered, the memory a raw wound that refused to heal. The vibrant, spirited girl she once knew was gone, replaced by a ghost who wandered the land with vacant eyes and a ravaged spirit. Often, Savannah would wake in the dead of night to Abigail's muffled sobs, a chilling reminder of the atrocities committed in the name of "freedom."

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled hair, the coarse texture a stark contrast to the silken tresses she barely remembered. The rustle of a skirt, a foreign sensation these days, made her glance down at the mended dress. She loathed black, its oppressive weight a constant reminder of her losses. A silent vow formed on her lips. When this war was finally over, she would burn this dress and all the others like it, a symbolic cleansing of the darkness that had shrouded her life.

She smoothed down the moth-eaten shawl draped over her shoulders, the worn fabric offering scant warmth against the encroaching chill. Another loss, another funeral. Jane, her dearest friend and would-be sister-in-law, had succumbed to the fever just two nights ago. Jane, who was closer to her than any blood relative, even closer to her than her twin brother Veldan. The ache in her heart felt like a living thing, a constant reminder of the gaping hole left by her friend's absence.

Savannah descended the creaking stairs, her hand finding Hope's small one. The day mirrored her mood, the sky a canvas of gray, a drizzle spitting from the low-hanging clouds. There would be no preacher, no flowers, none of the somber formalities that had become a grim routine these past years. This was just another burial, another loved one laid to rest in the already crowded family plot on the windswept hill overlooking their ravaged land.

As they walked, the silence was broken only by the mournful sigh of the wind and the rhythmic squelch of their boots in the muddy track. Hope, oblivious to the weight of grief that pressed down on her sister, skipped ahead.

Reaching the hilltop, Savannah found a small group gathered around a freshly dug grave. Weathered faces, etched with the lines of hardship, turned towards her with a mixture of sympathy and shared sorrow. Among them was Mr. Davies, their kindly neighbor, his weathered hands trembling slightly as he held a worn Bible.

The ceremony was brief, the words of comfort hollow echoes in the face of such immense loss. As the men lowered the simple pine box, Savannah felt the familiar sting of tears threaten to spill. She choked back a sob, forcing herself to be strong for Hope who stood beside her, clutching a fistful of wildflowers.

After the earth was shoveled back, burying Jane beneath the cold Georgia soil, Savannah lingered for a while. Hope, unable to bear the silence, ran down the hill back towards their once grand mansion, now a shell of its former glory.

Alone, Savannah allowed herself to grieve. Her tears fell freely now. "How many more?" She whispered.

Savannah stood up and attempted to wipe the dirt from her filthy dress. Realizing her attempts were futile she quickly made her way down the path and caught up with her sister.

Would this sorrow ever end? In that moment she wished that the fever would take her too, so she could escape this torment. But as soon as the thought entered her mind she chastised herself for her selfishness. She had to survive for Hope.

"Don't you dare think that Savannah! Don't you dare!" She scolded herself out loud. "You are not going to quit. When you are at the bottom you can only look up! Things are only going to get better."

"Sissy, who are you talking too?" Hope questioned.

"Just talkin' to myself." Savannah picked her up and hugged her tightly.

"You aren't going crazy like cousin Abigail are you?" Hope looked up at her sister with fear in her eyes.

"No I am not going crazy." Savannah raised an eyebrow at her young sister. "And don't poke fun of Abigail. It's not her fault."

"I'm hungry."

"I am too Hope. Go inside and boil some water. I'll be there in a minute."

Hope scurried inside and left Savannah standing on the front porch. She looked across the horizon as the sun began its slow descent. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder of their meager circumstances, but a pang of hope overshadowed it.

The war had been over for a while now. Surely, Robert and Veldan would be coming home soon. Everything would be better when they returned. Savannah reassured herself, as her fingers wrapped around the silver locket at her neck. It was the only remaining physical connection she had to Robert, a tangible reminder of happier times. She had sold just about everything her family owned to survive, but she couldn't part with the locket.

A soft cough broke the silence. Savannah turned to see Abigail approaching, a single, fragile wildflower clutched in her hand. Shame washed over Savannah. Grief had made her blind to her cousin's absence at the funeral.

"Abigail! Where have you been?" Savannah stepped off the porch and stomped over to her. "Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

"Funeral?" Abigail looked at her cousin with wide-eyed confusion.

The sigh escaped Savannah's lips unbidden, a weary sound that spoke volumes of the burdens she carried. Looking at Abigail, a pang of protectiveness washed over her. Her cousin, once a whirlwind of laughter and vibrant life, now resembled a lost child. Those beautiful green eyes, once sparkling with mischief, were now vacant and empty, haunted by unseen horrors.

With a gentle gesture, Savannah reached out and placed a comforting arm around Abigail's shoulders. The touch was tentative at first, unsure of how it would be received. But as Abigail didn't flinch, Savannah squeezed slightly, hoping to offer a silent understanding and a sliver of warmth.

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Chapter 2

Savannah, Georgia - April 1866

The morning sun beat down on Savannah's back as she knelt in the small garden, pulling carrots from the loosened earth. Sweat trickled down her forehead, a small price to pay for the fresh vegetables that had become a rare treat these days. Three months had gone by since Jane's passing, and a tentative peace had settled over their war-torn lives. No new losses, no fresh waves of grief – it felt like a fragile victory.

A frantic cry shattered the quiet, sending a flock of startled sparrows into the air. Savannah dropped a carrot, and whirled around. Abigail, her blonde braid flying behind her, sprinted towards the garden, her face flushed with exertion.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Savannah scrambled to her feet, heart pounding in her chest. "Is something wrong with Hope?"

Abigail skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. "No, nothing's wrong." She paused, gulping in air, before continuing in a rush. "I've just come from town and… Mr. Windler, you know the man that owns the general store?"

"Yes, Abigail, I know who Mr. Windler is," Savannah interrupted impatiently.

"He asked me if I had met our new neighbors."

Savannah stared at her cousin, frustration building as Abigail seemed to lose all track of the conversation. "What about our new neighbors?"

Abigail seemed oblivious to Savannah's impatience. "Well, they are new!"

"Yes, you've said that." Savannah took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Did someone buy the old Harrison Plantation?" The vast, once-grand estate had stood empty since the Harrison brother's demise. The family had fled for safer grounds.

"And Cavanaugh's!" Abigail exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Someone bought both of them?" Savannah repeated, a knot of unease forming in her stomach.

"No, of course not!" Abigail burst out, then giggled in a high-pitched way. "A man named Morgan from Boston bought the Cavanaugh's. I assume though he'll change the name though. Don't you think?"

Savannah grimaced. Jane and Robert's home, just another reminder how their world had changed. The arrival of a Yankee in their midst was hardly news to celebrate. Yet, a part of her was relieved it wasn't the closer Harrison Estate. "I'm sure he will." She mumbled, more to herself than Abigail. "What about the Harrison's Plantation?"

"A Mr. McCloud bought it. Mr. Windler said he's a horse rancher, so he's heard."

"Just what we need here, more Yankees!" Savannah spat, her anger flaring. The bitterness of the past years rose to the surface, the resentment towards the occupying forces a constant companion.

"How do you know they are Yankees?" Abigail tilted her head, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Of course they are, Abigail! They're buying up all the land around here. Like a bunch of hungry vultures!" Savannah muttered, her voice heavy with hatred.

"I guess you're right." Abigail conceded, her earlier excitement fading.

A loud bleating drew Savannah's attention. Lady Penelope, their mischievous goat, was munching on the fresh grass that peeked through the gap in the fence on the other side of the garden.

"Who let Lady Penelope out?" Savannah sighed, her frustration returning.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you." Abigail mumbled, her voice small. "She's been out since yesterday."

Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Abigail." She said through gritted teeth. The last thing she needed was another chore added to her already overflowing plate.

"I can help you with the fence." Abigail offered.

"Please go in and help Hope dip the candles."

Abigail scurried towards the house, leaving Savannah alone with the escaped goat and a growing sense of foreboding. Fixing the fence wouldn't be a quick task, and the goat would have to be relocated until then.

Savannah scanned the fields, searching for Floyd, their Clydesdale, the last remaining horse they owned. With a chuckle, she thought about Abigail's "help" with the fence. The image of her cousin standing by muttering about the usefulness of fences brought a smile to her lips.

Mounting Floyd, she rode bareback along the fence line, the morning breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. A welcome change from digging in the dirt. After a while, she reached the damaged section, her smile fading as she realized the extent of the problem. It was worse than she initially thought.

Suddenly, a glint of metal caught her eye. Barbed wire fencing, a new addition to the landscape, stretched along the property. Adrenaline surged through Savannah. It wasn't the familiar wooden fence they could easily repair.

Panic set in her gut as she realized Floyd, with his powerful legs, wouldn't stand a chance against the unforgiving metal. He hadn't seen the new obstacle in his path, his large head lowered as he grazed contentedly.

By the time Floyd registered the obstruction, it was too late. His powerful legs became entangled in the barbs, sending him into a violent panic. He reared up, whinnying in fear and pain. The sudden movement only worsened the situation, the barbs digging deeper into his flesh.

Her grip on his mane slipped, and for a terrifying moment, she dangled suspended, the ground rushing up to meet her. Agony ripped through her body as she tumbled face-first in the dirt, the breath knocked out of her lungs. Coughing and gasping, she rolled onto her back, her vision blurring at the edges. Floyd's frantic thrashing tangled her further in the cruel embrace of the barbed wire. Her scream, hoarse and raw, was swallowed by the vastness of the field.

Through the haze of pain, a primal instinct for survival flared. Ignoring the burning gashes on her arms and legs, she clawed at the unforgiving wire, desperate to free herself. Blood seeped through her dress, painting a nauseating design against the coarse fabric. Her fingers, slick with a mixture of sweat and blood, fumbled with the metal barbs.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted in her shoulder. A yelp escaped her lips as Floyd reared again, the force of his movement wrenching her body against the unrelenting wire.

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Chapter 3

Savannah, Georgia - April 1866

Buck Cross was just about to hoist the heavy saddle off his chestnut mare, the familiar leather cool against his calloused hands when he heard the sudden, bloodcurdling scream that afternoon calm. Buck reacted instantly, tightening the saddle, his years of experience kicking in. He vaulted onto the horse's back in one fluid motion. Kicking his heels, he urged the mare into a ground-eating gallop.

As he crested the familiar rise overlooking the river, the scene that unfolded before Buck sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. A massive Clydesdale, its coat the color of midnight, reared up in a frenzy, whinnying with a mixture of pain and panic. Its powerful legs churned the air, tangled in a mess of barbed wire fencing.

But what truly chilled Buck's blood was the sight of a young woman, clearly the horse's rider, lying sprawled near its thrashing hooves. Her body was contorted at an unnatural angle, and strands of barbed wire snaked around her leg, crimson blooming where the metal tore at her flesh.

Buck urged his horse closer, his heart hammering as he drew near, the details became agonizingly clear. The woman was being ripped to shreds by the wire fencing and was trapped beneath the flailing hooves of the panicked horse.

Time seemed to stretch and warp. Buck knew he had to act, and fast. His hand instinctively reached for the well-worn shotgun holstered on his saddle. "Ma'am? Hold still!" Buck bellowed, his voice filled with urgency.

A new voice, weak but filled with desperate defiance, sliced through the tense air. "No! Don't shoot him!" The young woman, raised her bloodied hand to halt him.

"Get out of the way!" Buck roared, the urgency of the situation battling with his reluctance to use deadly force.

"Please, don't shoot him!" Savannah's voice rose to a desperate plea. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Floyd was not just a horse. He was a lifeline for their struggling household.

Savannah, her strength spent, crumpled to the ground once more. Buck gritted his teeth. He couldn't waste another precious second. With a silent curse, he dismounted and approached the scene with a practiced caution born of years spent around spooked and dangerous animals.

He carefully navigated the treacherous web of barbed wire, his boots crunching on the dry earth. Reaching the unconscious woman, he scooped her up in his arms, her slight frame surprisingly fragile against his broad chest. Carrying her to safety beyond the immediate danger, Buck gently laid her down on the soft grass and assessed the damage.

Relief washed over him – there were no obvious broken bones, but several nasty gashes marred her skin and a large, worrying lump throbbed on the back of her head.

"Damn it," Buck muttered under his breath as Floyd whinnied again, a sound laced with both pain and confusion, thrashing against the unforgiving metal confines. The horse's plight was dire, but Buck couldn't abandon the injured woman either.

He knew this wasn't over. Ignoring the gnawing worry in his gut, he took a deep breath, hoping he didn't regret it. With a determined stride, he grabbed a large blanket draped over his saddle. Sprinting back to the Clydesdale, he needed to calm the panicked animal before attempting a rescue.

Reaching the thrashing horse, Buck acted swiftly. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he unfurled the blanket and draped it over the horse's head. The effect was immediate and his frantic whinnies subsided, replaced by soft snorts and the muffled thud of hooves pawing at the ground.

Seizing this opportunity, Buck worked quickly. He knelt beside the horse, his movements measured and calming. With gloved hands, he carefully untangled the barbed wire from the horse's legs, the metal whining in protest as it was freed. Relief flooded Buck as the Clydesdale stood relatively still, its massive black form trembling slightly.

Leading the freed horse by the halter Buck walked it over to its unconscious rider. Her breathing was shallow, and her face was pale and marred by dirt. Carefully, Buck lifted her again, his concern for her growing with each passing moment. He carried her to the bank of the nearby river, the cool water a welcome contrast to the heat of the afternoon sun. Using his bandana, he soaked it in the cool water and dabbed at her dirt-streaked face, gently cleaning the minor scrapes.

Just as he finished, a groan escaped her lips, and her eyelids fluttered open. Disoriented and scared, panic surged through her when she realized she was at the mercy of this stranger. Fear turned to desperate resistance. With a surge of adrenaline, she lashed out, sinking her teeth into his forearm.

"You little hellion!" Buck roared, his voice laced with surprise. He drew his arm back, but concern for her well-being kept him from letting go.

"Who are you?" Savannah hissed through gritted teeth, her body still tense with fear.

"Calm down," Buck soothed. "I'm the one trying to help you."

The mention of help eased her frantic struggle slightly. "My head hurts." She whimpered, the fight momentarily draining out of her.

Buck took one of her hands, cool and damp, and guided it back to feel the lump on her head. "I would think so." He said gently. "You have a lump back there the size of an orange."

"Good heavens!" Savannah gasped, cupping the large mass and wincing in pain.

"Are you one of the Quinns?" Buck asked.

"Savannah." She mumbled, closing her eyes and letting him hold her up. The world seemed to be tilting on its axis, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her eyelids.

"Oh no you don't," Buck said firmly, pulling her to her feet despite her wobbly legs. "You can't go to sleep on me now."

Savannah just let out a weak moan in response.

"Come on, keep walking." Buck urged, offering her his arm for support.

As she leaned heavily against him, her eyes fluttering shut, Buck knew he had to act fast. His years with the Pony Express had given him a fair share of experience with head injuries. A plan formed in his mind. He quickly scooped Savannah up in his arms, ignoring her surprised yelp. Wading into the river, the cool water lapped at his thighs as he carried her deeper. He stopped when the water reached his waist and began to lower her in.

A jolt of icy shock ripped Savannah from the brink of sleep. She sputtered and flailed, disoriented and terrified. All she could sense was the rushing water surrounding her.

"Savannah, calm down! I got you!" Buck's voice cut through the roaring in her ears. He held her soaking body tightly against his own, his strong arms a dam against the current. Slowly, her frantic thrashing subsided.

"Are you trying to drown me?" She sputtered, her voice trembling.

"I figured the cold water would wake you," Buck said with a wry smile, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. "Seems it worked."

"Who are you?" She demanded again, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Come on, let's get you out of this water." Buck carefully helped her back to the shore, settling her on a grassy patch. "Name's Buck."

"Buck?" She echoed as she surveyed him critically. Despite her ordeal, a flicker of curiosity sparked in her eyes. She reached out a shaky hand and took his.

"Buck Cross." He confirmed, handing her a dry blanket from his horse.

"Where's Floyd?" She blurted out, her main concern returning.

"Who's Floyd?"

"My horse! You didn't shoot him, did you?" She scanned the area frantically.

"No, I didn't shoot him," Buck reassured her, pointing towards a tree where he had tethered the two horses together. "He's right over there. He'll be alright."

Relief washed over Savannah's face. "Thank you." She whispered, then raised a wary eye at him. "What are you doing here? You don't look like a Yankee?"

Buck chuckled. "No ma'am, I'm not a Yankee." He gestured towards the distant hills. "I'm working at the old Harrison's place, just a few miles that way."

"Yes, I'm familiar with it." Savannah said, squinting up at him.

She took a moment to study him more closely. He certainly didn't look like anyone from around these parts. His long black hair was currently plastered to his back and forehead by the water. Tanned skin, the color of weathered leather, spoke of days spent under the sun but also his Indian heritage. But it was his eyes that held Savannah's attention. Warm brown pools, flecked with gold, held a kindness that contradicted the gruffness of his earlier words.

"You don't look like the Indians around here either." She finally ventured, her voice tinged with suspicion.

"No ma'am, I'm not."

"Are you working for the McCloud's?" She pressed, her brow furrowed.

"Word gets around, doesn't it?" Buck replied, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"It certainly does." She said curtly, standing up with a wince. The fall and the cold water had left her stiff and sore. She brushed off the dirt and grass clinging to her skirt, straightening her shoulders in an attempt to appear composed.

"I have to get home, Mr. Cross." She announced, handing him back the damp blanket. "If you would be so kind as to see me home, you would be welcome for supper. Modest as it may be."

Buck raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. The invitation, though clearly born out of necessity, surprised him. He couldn't deny there was a certain charm to this fiery young woman.

"I think I can manage that." He said finally, extending a hand to help her onto his horse. With a practiced ease, he swung himself up behind her.

"It's my fault Floyd got tangled in that wire," Savannah mumbled over her shoulder, guilt gnawing at her. "I should have been paying more attention."

"He's a good horse," Buck reassured her. "Strong and built for this land. He'll heal up just fine. I'll bring some ointment over tomorrow that will help him along."

"I am very grateful, Mr. Cross," Savannah said softly, leaning back slightly against him. The rhythmic clopping of hooves and the gentle sway of the horse beneath them eased the tension in her muscles.

---

Chapter 4

Savannah, Georgia – April 1866

"Hope! Hope, come quickly!" Abigail's voice, laced with panic, echoed through the house. She dragged her young cousin to the front door. "Look!"

Hope, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes. "It's just Savannah."

"No, there's someone with her!" Abigail's voice trembled. She clasped her hands together, her knuckles white. "What if it's a Yankee soldier? What are we going to do?"

"The war is over, Abigail." Hope said patiently. "The Yankees aren't going to bother us anymore."

"You're right, it's not a Yankee!" Abigail conceded, her voice barely a whisper. "It's an Indian!" Her eyes grew wide with terror. "My Papa used to tell me about the Indians here. They are worse than the Yankees!"

"Savannah says no one is worse than the Yankees."

"Hush with what Savannah says!" Abigail retorted, her voice rising. "She doesn't know anything about Indians. My Papa told me that they scalp and torture women!" She let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Oh, we are going to die!"

Hope stepped onto the porch and waved to Savannah. She knew she should be kind to Abigail, but sometimes it was so difficult. Her heart lurched when she saw her sister riding on the same horse as the man, and Floyd limping along beside them.

Something was obviously wrong, and she hoped Savannah wasn't hurt. She waited patiently as the man dismounted and in turn helped Savannah down. Hope's fears subsided a fraction as Savannah rushed over and hugged her tightly.

"Savannah, what happened to you?" Hope asked, concern etched on her face.

"Floyd and I got in a little trouble, but Mr. Cross was kind enough to help us out." Savannah explained, her voice strained. She rested a hand reassuringly on Buck's arm.

"A pleasure to meet you." Buck replied with a courteous nod.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the peaceful scene. Savannah jumped a mile high, her heart hammering in her chest. By the second shot, Buck had reacted with lightning speed, shoving both Savannah and Hope to the ground behind the horse for cover.

"Abigail!" Savannah screamed with fear in her voice. As Buck pushed them down, she spotted Abigail standing awkwardly a few feet away, a smoking pistol clutched in her trembling hands.

"Did I get him?" Abigail called out, her voice barely audible over the pounding in Savannah's ears. As soon as her cousin saw Buck, her eyes widened in terror and she squeezed her eyes shut before firing again.

Fury surged through Savannah. Ignoring Buck's restraining hand, she scrambled to her feet and wrenched the gun from Abigail's grasp.

"Have you lost your mind?" Savannah roared, her voice laced with a mixture of anger and fear. She slapped Abigail across the face, to break her from her trance-like state. "It's a good thing you can't shoot worth a damn!"

Abigail, overwhelmed by the situation, burst into tears and crumpled to the ground in a sobbing heap.

"Hope, please take your cousin inside and put her to bed," Savannah instructed her voice firm despite the tremor running through her.

"Come on, Abigail," Hope said gently, guiding her distraught cousin towards the house. "Everything's alright now."

"Is she going to be alright?" Buck asked once they were gone, his voice low and concerned.

"Oh, never mind her." Savannah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "She hasn't been the same since the war."

Savannah settled Buck down at the kitchen table, the worn wood cool against his skin. A single flickering candle cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the meager light. She ladled a thin, watery soup into a chipped bowl, a pang of shame twisting in her gut. This paltry fare was a far cry from the grand meals they used to enjoy.

Back then, the laughter of her family would echo through the grand hallway, the polished floors gleaming under the warm glow of the chandeliers. Supper wasn't just a meal. It was a celebration of togetherness, filled with lively conversation and the sweet scent of fresh baked bread and roasting meats.

A lump formed in her throat as a wave of longing washed over her. She hadn't allowed herself to dwell on all she'd lost, focusing solely on keeping Hope safe and the household running. But now, surrounded by the remnants of her former life, the memories came flooding back, bittersweet and painful.

She placed the bowl in front of Buck, forcing a small smile. "It's not much, but it's all we have."

"Your home is very lovely," Buck remarked. He could see the remnants of its former grandeur, despite the peeling paint and neglected appearance.

"It used to be quite grand." Savannah agreed a wistful note in her voice.

Hope, who had been watching them from the doorway, spoke up. "Abigail locked herself in her room again."

Savannah sighed, the weight of her responsibility settling on her shoulders. "Come eat dinner." She murmured and set down a bowl for her sister. "Hope, this is Mr. Cross."

A shy smile peeked out from behind the girl's dirt-streaked face. 'Hello sir,' she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. She perched gingerly on the edge of the chair, her eyes wide and watchful as she dipped a spoon into the soup.

Savannah glanced back at Buck, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. This stranger, with his quiet strength, had offered help. It wasn't something she had been accustomed to in the last few years.

---

Chapter 5

Savannah, Georgia – April 1866

Savannah thanked Buck once more, her voice thick with gratitude. As he rode away into the darkness, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She collapsed onto the creaky bed, the musty scent of the threadbare blanket filling her nostrils. Hope snuggled closer, seeking comfort. Savannah wrapped her arm around her sister.

She closed her eyes, and a memory surfaced, sharp and vivid. Supper time had been a joyous affair, filled with laughter and the lively chatter of her siblings. After dinner, they'd gather around the fireplace, her mother reading from the Bible while Roselyn and Deidre had secretly devoured Shakespeare's sonnets. A pang of longing tightened her chest. Those carefree days felt like a lifetime ago, stolen by a war that seemed to have taken everything from her.

She could almost see Robert, his wavy blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, his blue eyes sparkling with life. The image was so real, so tangible, that for a moment, the pain of his absence threatened to engulf her. But then, she felt Hope stir beside her, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Savannah held her little sister tighter, the weight of responsibility grounding her. She was all Hope had left, and she wouldn't let the darkness consume them.

With a determined breath, Savannah pushed away the memories and focused on the present. The war might have ravaged their lives, but they were still here, together.

---

Chapter 6

Savannah, Georgia – April 1866

The cool spring breeze carried the scent of wildflowers as Savannah wandered through the meadow. The rhythmic chirping of birds and the distant babbling of a stream were a welcome change from the constant clamor in her head – a dull ache that pulsed with every beat of her heart.

She hadn't slept well in the past few days. The fall from the horse had left a throbbing lump on her head, but the nausea had finally subsided. Now, all she was left with was a persistent headache and the unsettling feeling of Abigail's constant fear hanging over her like a storm cloud. No matter how many times Savannah reassured her cousin that their new neighbor wasn't a threat, Abigail remained convinced he was planning to scalp her in her sleep.

A soft whinny startled Savannah from her thoughts. She turned to see Buck leading his horse from the creek, his dark hair skimming the top of his shoulders, was loose and blowing in the soft breeze. He smiled as he saw her, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Cross." Savannah said, her voice a little hoarse from disuse.

"Good morning, Miss Quinn." He replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"I meant to call on you and check to see how you were doing." He walked next to her. "I apologize. There's a lot of work on that property to get it ready for my friends to move in."

"It is a beautiful house." Savannah said, unable to keep a hint of wistfulness out of her voice. She noticed Buck's gaze linger on her for a moment before he looked away. "Where's your friend from?"

"Virginia." Buck replied curtly.

"At least he's not a Yankee." Savannah allowed herself a small smile.

Buck chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled through his chest. "No, he's not a Yankee."

"Were you in the war?" She asked cautiously.

"I did some scouting." Buck chose his words carefully.

They continued walking in companionable silence for a while. Savannah stole glances at Buck. He moved with a quiet grace, a man comfortable in his own skin. She wanted to ask about the war, about the life he led before the world turned upside down, but something held her back.

Suddenly, a sharp, throbbing pain lanced through her head, causing her to wince and stumble. Buck was instantly by her side, his hand reaching out to steady her.

"You should take it easy." he said, his voice laced with concern. "You look pale."

Savannah swatted his hand away, a surge of anger momentarily overriding her gratitude. "I'm fine." She snapped, surprised at the fierceness in her own voice.

Buck's hand hovered in the air for a moment before slowly retracting. His expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something – hurt? annoyance? – crossed his features.

"I was just concerned—" he said evenly.

"Well, don't be." Savannah retorted, her voice softer this time. "I have enough to worry about without adding myself to the list."

At that moment, a new voice shattered the peaceful morning. A tall, blonde man on a dapple-grey mare emerged from behind a stand of trees, his face handsome in a cold, aristocratic way. He stopped a few feet away from them, his gaze sweeping over Savannah before settling on Buck with a sneer.

"What is the trouble here?" He drawled, his voice dripping with condescension.

Savannah stiffened instinctively, her hand hovering over the handle of the small paring knife she'd been absentmindedly carrying in her pocket. Buck, however, remained calm, his posture relaxed but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"There's no trouble, sir," Buck replied evenly. "We were just enjoying the morning."

"Who are you?" Savannah looked him over suspiciously and subconsciously took a step closer to Buck.

"Pardon my manners, Ma'am." He slid off his horse and took his hat off before offering his hand to her. "I'm Garret Morgan. I recently acquired the Cavanaugh place."

"Where are you from Mr. Morgan?" She raised an eyebrow as she shook his hand hesitantly.

"Baltimore, Ma'am." His smile faltered slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "And your name?"

A wave of dizziness washed over Savannah, causing her to stumble. A Yankee in her backyard! Buck's hand shot out, instinctively catching her arm to steady her. The touch sent a jolt through her, both from the surprise and the unexpected warmth that spread through her.

"Are you feeling alright?" Buck's voice held a hint of concern as he looked down at her.

"The lady doesn't need your half-breed hands all over her!" Garret growled, his words dripping with disdain.

Savannah's anger flared, hot and immediate. Yanking her arm free from Buck's grasp, she whirled around to face the newcomer, her gaze flashing with defiance. "I don't need a Yankee coming to my aid!" She retorted, her voice laced with ice.

The vibrant spring scene morphed into a bleak landscape as anger surged through her veins. Her head throbbed in time with her racing pulse. One desperate need eclipsed everything else – the safety of her own home. Spotting Buck's horse grazing nearby, she practically sprinted towards it, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Buck watched, a knot of worry twisting in his gut. He could have intervened easily, but something stayed his hand. Maybe it was the vulnerability etched on her face, a vulnerability she tried to hide behind a defiant mask. With a sigh escaping his lips and a chuckle he fought to suppress, he watched her wrestle onto the horse before urging it into a gallop.

Garret Morgan disappeared into the distance as quickly as he'd arrived. Buck took his time meandering towards the Quinn house. The memory of Abigail's wild accusations from their last encounter cautioned him. He hesitated at the fence, debating whether to approach.

As if on cue, Savannah appeared, leading his horse back. Her apology came out in a rush, laced with a tremor that belied her attempt at composure. Buck reached out, intending to help her dismount, but stopped mid-air when his fingers brushed her waist. The unexpected spark of warmth sent a jolt through him, momentarily suspending his thoughts.

"It's alright." He finally managed, his voice low. He couldn't help but notice how her fiery defiance had softened into a flicker of something akin to embarrassment as she slipped from the horse and into his arms. The sudden closeness sent a wave of heat through him that left him breathless. He hadn't anticipated such a potent reaction.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you." She mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes, the color of the stormy sea, locked with his for a fleeting moment before darting away.

A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "I understand." He said, his voice husky.

He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face, the touch lingering a fraction of a second too long. He was acutely aware of the way her breath hitched at the contact. The air crackled with unspoken words and a tension neither of them wanted to address.

"I should get inside." She murmured, breaking the spell. "I need to get dinner ready."

"Of course." He said, his voice gruff. "If you need anything, I'm just over the hill."

Savannah offered a small, shaky smile before turning and walking towards the house. As she reached the porch and paused, glanced back at him, and then disappeared inside. Buck watched the door close, a strange mixture of emotions swirling within him.

He couldn't explain the pull he felt towards this woman, a woman he barely knew. Yet, there she was, consuming his thoughts in a way he hadn't anticipated.

---

Chapter 7

Savannah, Georgia – July 1866

Savannah and Hope sat on the porch, the rhythmic scrape of peeling potatoes a backdrop to Abigail's soft humming. Savannah finished drying her hands and forced a polite smile as Garret Morgan dismounted from his horse.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan." She greeted, her voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

Over the past month, she'd begrudgingly come to terms with the presence of their new Yankee neighbor. He'd kept his promise, studiously avoiding any mention of the war, and even Abigail, with her fragile mental state, seemed to enjoy his visits.

"And to you, ladies." Garret replied, his gaze lingering on Savannah. "Charleston was pleasant." He continued, changing the subject. "But it would have been infinitely more enjoyable with you by my side, Savannah."

"It was very kind of you to invite me." A blush crept up Savannah's neck despite her best efforts. She offered a small smile and busied herself placing her knife back in the potato pot.

"I brought presents for you ladies." He retreated to his horse and returned with three parcels. "For you Abigail, this one is for you Hope." Then he handed Savannah a small box.

Hope's eyes widened as she tore into the package, revealing a cascade of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. Satiny ones shimmered like puddles of water, while others, woven with delicate threads of gold and silver, winked in the sunlight.

"They are so beautiful Mr. Morgan." Hope smiled broadly.

"Every little girl should have beautiful ribbons for her hair." He ruffled her strawberry blond waves.

"This is lovely." Abigail ran her fingers across the stunning shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Thank you."

Savannah finished braiding Hope's hair into a neat bun, a bright blue ribbon adding a splash of cheer to her sister's day. With a gentle kiss on the forehead, she handed Hope the pot of potatoes. "Put these in the kitchen, sweetheart, and then go put your lovely new ribbons away."

Hope skipped off, clutching the pot with surprising strength, a melody of humming escaping her lips.

Alone on the porch, Savannah finally turned her attention to the box Garret had presented. The brown paper felt rough against her trembling fingers as she peeled it back, the anticipation building with each rustle. Her breath hitched as she lifted the lid, revealing a sight that stole the air from her lungs.

The earrings were breathtaking. Amethyst gemstones, the color of twilight fading into dawn, hung delicately from intricate gold settings. Tiny seed pearls, like a constellation of fallen stars, traced the edges, catching the afternoon sun and scattering a kaleidoscope of colors across the porch floor.

For a mesmerizing moment, Savannah simply stared. The war had stolen so much color from her life, leaving behind a dull ache and a world painted in shades of grey. These earrings were a rebellion against the monotony, a vibrant splash of life bursting from the box. They shimmered with a promise of beauty she hadn't dared to imagine.

"They're... stunning." She whispered. A wave of guilt washed over her as she met Garret's expectant gaze.

"I knew they were perfect for you the moment I saw them." He said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

Savannah's fingers tightened around the box. The earrings were undeniably beautiful and she couldn't dismiss a small part of her yearned to accept, to feel a touch of luxury from her past. But loyalty, like a heavy weight, pressed down on her.

"Mr. Morgan," she began, then stopped.

"Garret, please." He urged, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

"Garret," she repeated, her voice gaining strength. "I appreciate your generosity, truly. These are magnificent, but I can't accept them. It's too much."

A shadow crossed Garret's face, momentarily replacing his usual charm. "They are nothing compared to what I am prepared to offer you, Savannah." He said, his voice low and intense.

"I've told you, Garret…" she said, her voice firm. "I've given my word to another."

Garret's smile faltered, but recovered quickly. "The war is over, Savannah." He whispered, his voice almost a plea. "How long will you wait for a man who isn't coming back?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Savannah's heart ached. She longed to believe Robert was still alive, but doubt gnawed at her like a hungry rat. In desperation her fingertips flew to the silver locket she wore around her neck, hidden safely under the neckline of her faded calico dress.

"I have to help Hope with dinner." She finally said, holding out the earrings with a resolute hand.

Garret's smile returned, but it seemed strained this time. "They're yours, Savannah." He said, tipping his hat with a flourish. "Take care. I'll see you soon."

As Garret disappeared over the rise, her gaze darted towards the opposite field. Buck, his broad back silhouetted against the setting sun, hammered away at the fence post. Their eyes met briefly, a silent exchange that sent a jolt through her. She quickly looked away, the guilt of her interaction with Garret twisting in her gut.

For the past month, she'd deliberately avoided Buck. The memory of his touch, the warmth in his eyes when he'd held her after the dizzy spell, haunted her. She clung to her promise to Robert, a shield against the growing attraction she felt for Buck. Yet, every time she saw him, the yearning for a connection, for a life that wasn't defined by loss, threatened to shatter her resolve.

---

Chapter 8

Savannah, Georgia – August 1866

Hope's heart hammered against her ribs, mimicking the frantic rhythm of the thunder echoing outside. Abigail's shrill screams sent tremors up her spine, a familiar terror gripping her. She raced towards the house, her bare feet squelching in the mud churned up by the downpour.

Bursting through the back door, Hope was met with a scene of chaos. Rain lashed through the broken windowpanes, soaking the worn rug and sending shivers through her already trembling form. Abigail's wails came from upstairs, a chilling addition to the storm's fury.

Taking a deep breath, Hope forced herself to climb the rickety stairs, each creak a magnified echo in the storm's roar. Reaching the landing, she saw Abigail's room door ajar, a sliver of golden light spilling out. Hope hesitated, the sound of her sister's soothing voice muffled by the thick wooden door.

"It's alright, Abigail." Savannah's voice, usually strong and confident, now held a tremor of concern. "It's just the storm."

Hope inched closer, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A part of her wanted to burst in and be enveloped in the safety of her sister's presence, but another part held her back. Abigail's outbursts was something Savannah always handled alone.

Suddenly, a particularly loud crack of thunder split the sky, and Abigail's scream tore through the house. Hope could no longer bear the thought of her sister facing this alone. With a determined glint in her eyes, she pushed open the door and peered in.

"Go to my room." Savannah whispered as she saw Hope's terrified tear-stained face through the crack in the door. "I'll deal with our cousin."

Hope obediently ran to her sister's room and shut the door. She lay on the bed, burrowing under the covers and listened as the frantic shouts died down, replaced by a tense silence punctuated by Abigail's muffled sobs.

A few minutes stretched into an eternity until the bedroom door creaked open. Hope flinched, peeking out from under the covers to see Savannah kneeling beside the bed. Her normally composed face was etched with worry, a single braid escaping the neat bun she usually wore.

"Hope, sweetheart." Savannah said, her voice soft despite the tremor in it. "I need you to be a brave girl. Can you do that for me?"

Hope, wide-eyed and unsure, could only nod.

Savannah took a deep breath. "There's a fire over the ridge." She explained quickly. "It's just from the lightning. It's nothing to worry about. I'm just going to check on Mr. Cross and see if he needs any help putting it out alright?"

Hope clung to the thin blanket, her lower lip trembling. "Alright Savannah." She finally whispered.

Savannah knelt there for another moment, her hand hovering over Hope's. "I'll be back soon." She promised, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Hope's ear.

But before Hope could ask about Abigail, Savannah was already on her feet, moving with a determined stride towards the wardrobe. She pulled out a pair of worn brown breeches and a simple cotton blouse, a stark contrast to the floral dress she'd been wearing moments ago.

As Savannah changed, a sense of dread gnawed at Hope. Even from a young age, she understood the dangers of fire. The vivid memory of their cousin's house burning, flashed in her mind, the choking smoke and terrified screams echoing even years later.

"What about Abigail?" Hope finally managed to ask, her voice barely a squeak.

Savannah paused, her expression unreadable for a fleeting moment. "Here's the key to her bedroom." She said, pulling a small metal key from a hidden pocket. "I gave her something to help her sleep and the door is locked. You don't need to worry sweetheart. She can't hurt you."

Hope's stomach lurched. Locking someone in a room felt wrong, but the memory of Abigail's wild eyes and frantic screams made her understand the need for it. Savannah leaned down and gave Hope a quick, tight hug.

"Be careful." Hope whispered, clinging to her sister for a moment longer.

"I promise." Savannah replied, her voice firm despite the worry lingering in her eyes. Then, with one last reassuring smile, she turned and hurried out of the room, leaving Hope alone with the storm and a locked door, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her small shoulders.

Savannah raced down the worn wooden steps, and swung open the front door. Wind whipped at her hair, rain stung her eyes, and her boots sank into the mud with every desperate stride as she made her way to the barn.

The heavy wooden doors groaned under her shove. Inside, the dimness offered a brief respite from the storm's chaos, but the earthy scent of hay and leather did little to calm the frantic pounding in her chest. Wind howled like a banshee, whipping around her as she raced to saddle Floyd. Her movements were a blur of urgency, fueled by a fear that gnawed at her insides.

With a final tug on the cinch, she swung onto Floyd's back. Sensing her urgency, the massive horse responded with a powerful surge forward, hooves pounding against the muddied ground.

Lightning split the sky with a blinding flash, momentarily illuminating the treacherous path ahead. Smoke, a black plume against the storm-wracked sky, confirmed her worst fears.

Savannah urged Floyd on, pushing him to his limits. Every second felt like an eternity as they raced through the rain-soaked darkness. The pounding of hooves, the roar of the wind, and the hammering of her own heart were the only sounds that pierced the storm's fury.

---

Chapter 9

Savannah, Georgia – August 1866

Seeing the first flicker of flames erupt from the house, Buck had raced into town for help. Now, returning with a band of men to fight the blaze, a cold dread settled in his stomach. He'd been in the barn when lightning struck the ancient oak, splitting it in two and sending a flaming chunk crashing through the kitchen roof. Without hesitation, he'd ridden for reinforcements.

Back at the house, the sight that greeted him sent a jolt of terror through him. Floyd stood tied to the fence, whinnying in distress. Buck's gaze darted across the muddy yard, then scanned the vast meadow. Floyd wouldn't be restrained like this if he had just wandered there. Where was Savannah?

He dismounted, the urgency in his movements echoing the frantic rhythm of the storm. Leaving the men at the back with their buckets in a well-rehearsed line, he raced towards the house.

The sight that greeted him at the open front door sent a wave of uneasiness him. The house was silent, an unnatural stillness that contrasted with the chaos outside. Smoke, thick and choking, billowed from the interior, obscuring the view and clawing at his throat.

"Savannah!" Buck roared, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. His call was met with only the crackling of flames and the hiss of rain hitting the hot embers. Fear, sharp and cold, gripped him. Where was she? Had she gotten trapped inside?

Ignoring the sting of smoke in his eyes and the burning sensation in his lungs, Buck lunged for the doorway. But the heat radiating from the interior was intense, pushing him back. He stumbled, momentarily disoriented. Panic gnawed at him, but he forced himself to think. He couldn't just charge in blindly.

Taking a deep breath, he scanned around the yard. His gaze landed on the kitchen window, a fragile barrier against the inferno within. With a surge of determination, he grabbed a large rock from the garden and smashed the windowpane. Glass shattered with a deafening crack, offering a small opening into the smoke-filled house.

Through the broken window, Buck could just barely make out a dark shape lying on the kitchen floor. His heart hammered against his ribs, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Carefully he crawled through the window and rushed to her side, dread coiling in his gut.

Unresponsive.

Lifting her up, he ignored the searing heat on his exposed skin and carried her out into the rain. Panic hammered in his chest as he shook her, his voice rough with urgency. No reaction. A desperate slap.

A gasp escaped her lips, followed by a coughing fit that wracked her body. When her eyes finally fluttered open, they held a flicker of confusion, then recognition sparked within them.

"Buck?" She rasped, her voice hoarse.

"It's alright. Breath deeply." He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He gently pushed back her wet hair.

"The fire..." she started, her voice weak.

"Under control." He assured her, guiding her to sit on the rain-soaked grass. Briefly explaining the situation, he took charge, leaving her to recover while he tackled the blaze with the men.

Hours bled into twilight before the flames were finally subdued. Exhausted but grateful, Buck thanked everyone for their help. Back at the house, he found Savannah surprisingly obedient, still sitting on the grass, her face etched with a lingering fear.

He knelt beside her, the concern evident on his face. As his hand touched her shoulder, a faint shiver ran through her. He could tell she was still shaken, her bravery tinged with a vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

"You must be freezing." Buck shook his head and took her hand helping her to her feet. "Let's get you home."

He led her to Floyd, the familiar warmth of the horse a comforting presence. He hoisted her up, then swung himself behind her, drawing her close as they rode. The rain had stopped, leaving a cool dampness in the air. Leaning into his warmth, a sense of security washed over her.

Reaching her house, a jolt of reality coursed through her. With a mumbled apology, she rushed inside, guilt gnawing at her. Buck secured Floyd in the barn and let himself into the house, settling onto the worn chesterfield. A few moments later, Savannah descended the stairs, her face streaked with tears.

"Everything alright?" He asked as she sat down next to him.

"I completely forgot about Hope." Savannah said, the weariness evident in her forced breathing. "I told her I would be right back and it was hours."

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine, thankfully she fell asleep." Savannah sighed.

Buck sighed, relief washing over him now that she was safe. "What were you thinkin' running into the house like that?" He asked gently, his voice laced with worry.

Tears welled up in her eyes, tracing silver trails in the soot clinging to her cheeks. "I saw the fire." She whispered, her voice cracking. "When I got to the house and couldn't find you..." Her voice trailed off, the fear of those moments returning.

Buck opened his arms, and Savannah, overcome with exhaustion and relief, collapsed against his chest. He held her tightly, a silent promise of safety.

"Sorry," she mumbled after a while, pulling back slightly.

Buck tilted her chin up with a gentle touch, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. "You've had to be strong for so long, Savannah." He said softly. "It's alright to let someone else be strong for you."

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. In that moment, overwhelmed with gratitude for his comfort, Savannah leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and closed her eyes. She trembled as his fingers tenderly caressed her neck then cradled the back of head. Giving in to her desires she wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed softly.

"I should be going." He whispered and reluctantly pulled away.

Savannah looked up breathlessly and nodded slowly. She wanted to scream not to leave, to stay but she knew he was right to go.

---

Chapter 10

Savannah, Georgia – August 1866

As dawn painted the sky a pale orange, Savannah awoke with a jolt, the memories of the previous night flooding back. Denial, a shield she'd carefully constructed for months, crumbled under the weight of her actions.

She'd kissed Buck. Not a chaste peck on the cheek, but a full-blown, heart-stopping kiss. Shame burned in her throat... Months of emotional suppression had erupted in a moment of vulnerability, fueled by the terror of the fire and the unexpected comfort of Buck's embrace.

But guilt wasn't the only emotion swirling within her. A tremor of something else, something she couldn't quite name, vibrated beneath the surface. It was a feeling she'd long buried, a secret yearning she'd refused to acknowledge: her affection for Buck.

Yet, a fierce loyalty warred with this emerging desire. Robert, had sacrificed so much for their future together. He deserved her unwavering commitment. Garret Morgan's words, a voice from her past, echoed ominously in her mind. How long would she wait for someone that may never come home?"

Savannah squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories and emotions to recede. She couldn't afford to unravel now. Years of unwavering devotion to Robert wouldn't be cast aside on a whim, on a night fueled by smoke and fear. Surely, the kiss – the undeniable spark that ignited within her – was a mere aberration.

With trembling hands, she pulled on her clothes, the fabric feeling rough against her skin. She wouldn't let this derail her. It had to be the smoke, she fiercely told herself. The smoke that had muddled her thinking, that had made her act so recklessly.

But even as she repeated the mantra, a phantom sensation lingered on her lips – the lingering warmth of Buck's touch, the taste of his kiss, a bittersweet reminder of a yearning that refused to be completely extinguished.

The morning unfolded in a haze of forced normalcy. As she tackled her daily chores, the image of Buck kept intruding on her thoughts. His worried face as he pulled her from the smoke, the fierce protectiveness in his embrace, the tenderness of his kiss – all of it played on a loop in her mind.

Guilt and a strange sense of longing battled for dominance within her. She missed Robert, of course, the familiar comforts that his memories brought. Yet, the memory of Buck's touch sent a now-familiar tremor through her. It was a disorienting feeling, and a kiss like she had never experienced before.

---

Chapter 11

Savannah, Georgia – September 1866

A cool breeze blew through the garden and sent a chill up Savannah's neck as she meticulously brushed a plump beet free of clinging dirt. Beside her Hope giggled, her attention captured by a fat bumblebee buzzing lazily through the small garden. The idyllic scene was shattered by the unmistakable thud of hooves on the dusty path leading to the house.

Savannah's stomach clenched. A single, dappled grey stallion stood hitched to the porch railing, Garret Morgan, never one for subtlety, had arrived. With a sigh, she set the beet in the basket overflowing with vibrant turnips, carrots, and cabbage.

"I hope when I'm your age I'm just like you Savannah." Hope declared, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She held up a large head of cauliflower, mirroring her sister's careful handling of the beets.

Savannah managed a smile. "Why's that, little sis?"

"All the boys like you." Hope blurted out with a mischievous grin, eyes sparkling.

Savannah laughed, a genuine sound that chased away the frown creasing her brow. "Well, you can certainly have them. More carrots for me, right?"

Hope giggled, her attention diverted by the bumblebee once more. Savannah, however, couldn't shake off the impending confrontation. For the past month, she'd carefully navigated the social minefield of avoiding both Garret Morgan and Buck Cross. But Garret's presence on the porch was a stark reminder that her charade couldn't last forever.

"Would you check on your cousin please?" Savannah set the basket down on the kitchen table.

"Do I have to?" Hope whined, her voice trailing in from the back door.

Savannah turned a mischievous glint in her eye. "Please, Hope?"

"Yes ma'am." Hope stuck out her lower lip in mock protest, but with a playful roll of her eyes, she conceded.

With a deep breath, Savannah straightened her shoulders and walked towards the porch. The wood creaked under her weight as she stepped out, the midday sun momentarily blinding her. Finally, her eyes adjusted, revealing Garret Morgan leaning against the porch post, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Garret." She greeted, her voice flat, and extended a hand in forced courtesy.

"Savannah." He replied, his hand engulfing hers in a firm, almost possessive grip. "You look radiant today."

"Thank you." She managed, forcing a polite smile. She quickly retreated from his touch, resting her hand on the porch railing.

"Savannah." Garret began, his voice dropping to a serious tone, "I'd like to call on you. Formally."

The air crackled with tension. Savannah's heart hammered against her ribs. Here it was, the inevitable confrontation. She'd dreaded this moment, rehearsing responses in the privacy of her room, but none of them seemed adequate now.

"I am flattered by your attentions, Garret, truly." She began, her voice surprisingly steady. "But—"

"How long are you going to wait?" Garret interrupted, his voice laced with a sharp impatience.

Savannah gritted her teeth. "I gave my word." She replied, her voice firm.

"I can offer you and your family the comforts you deserve." The suggestive lick of his lower lip only amplified the underlying message - his "comfort" came with strings attached.

Savannah swallowed the lump in her throat. "There's no denying your offer is generous," she admitted, her voice hoarse. "Frankly, for most women in my situation, it wouldn't even be a question."

A primal shiver danced down Savannah's spine, she felt like a trapped animal, recognizing it was in the presence of a predator. The way his gaze lingered on her wasn't admiration, it was a hungry assessment. Disgust churned in her stomach.

"Savannah," Garret sighed, the glint in his eye was demanding. "You need to realize you are wilting daily. A few more years and you won't be the rose you are today."

His words were like a slap. Her cheeks burned with anger. "Mr. Morgan!" She huffed, her voice tight with controlled fury.

Garret raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'm just speaking the truth, my dear. How much longer will you be able to attract a man with your looks?"

His audacity was astounding. "I certainly hope my husband will love me for more than my face!" She retorted, glaring at him.

"Savannah, darlin—"

"You'll never need to worry about my fading beauty, Mr. Morgan!" She spat.

With that, Savannah threw propriety to the wind. She hiked up the hem of her skirt, revealing a pair of sturdy work boots, and stormed across the front yard towards the welcoming shade of the barn. Her fury simmered like a pot left on high heat.

Garret's arrogant pronouncements about her beauty were infuriating enough, but the thinly veiled threat about her promise only served to solidify her resolve. She wouldn't be bullied, wouldn't be forced into a loveless marriage of desperation.

---

Chapter 12

Savannah, Georgia – September 1866

Seven days had crawled by since Garret's last unwelcome visit, and a newfound sense of peace had settled over Savannah. With a determined glint in her eye, she tightened the worn leather straps securing the saddle on Floyd's broad back. The crisp autumn air sent a shiver down her spine, but it was nothing compared to the thrill of independence coursing through her veins. Today, she wouldn't be distracted by unwanted attention, only the satisfying rhythm of a hard day's work.

Floyd, her loyal companion, stood patiently as she hitched the sturdy wagon to his harness. Leaning down, she scratched his neck affectionately and planted a soft kiss on his velvety nose. "You're a good boy, Floyd." She murmured, her voice filled with gratitude.

The rhythmic rattle of the wagon filled the air as she guided Floyd out of the yard. Chopping wood wasn't her favorite chore, but the thought of a cold winter without warmth gnawed at her. With a resolute sigh, she steered Floyd towards the familiar grove of towering oak trees. A flicker of memory sparked in her mind – a few large limbs lay dormant on the forest floor, casualties of the last storm.

Rounding a bend just before the fallen branches, a sound split the peaceful silence – the unmistakable crack of an axe against the wood. Savannah halted, her brow furrowing in surprise, as the horse continued at a leisurely pace down the trail, she peered across the sparsely wooded area. There, in a sun-dappled clearing, stood Buck, his powerful physique a stark contrast to the fallen trunk he tackled with practiced ease.

For a moment, Savannah found herself captivated by the raw power of his movements. Each swing of the axe was a testament to his strength and determination, the sun glinting off the polished metal was a poor distraction to the muscles that flexed under the rhythm of his labor. Shamefacedly, she realized she'd been staring, only snapping out of it when Buck lowered the axe and started walking towards her.

The remnants of his shirt hung limply around his shoulders, the fabric fluttering in the cool breeze. He wiped the sweat clinging to his bare chest with a bandana, the crimson fabric briefly highlighting the bronzed expanse of his torso. Tossing the bandana on the log before him, he approached Savannah.

"Good mornin'." He drawled, a hint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Nice to see you, Savannah." He reached out and rested one of his hands on Floyd's withers.

"You too." She mumbled, the words barely audible as she quickly looked away, the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Here." Buck helped her from the wagon and took the reins from the bench. "I'll load up your wagon."

"No, I can't ask you to do that." Savannah countered, quickly snatching the reins from his grasp.

Buck's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I have more than enough wood here." He leaned against the weathered stump he'd been using as a makeshift chopping block, his gaze fixed on her.

Savannah fidgeted under his scrutiny, desperately trying to ignore the way his words resonated with the truth. The winter chill was already creeping into the nights, and her meager woodpile offered scant comfort. With a defeated sigh, she conceded. "Alright, thank you."

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, Buck cleared his throat. "Are we going to talk about the other night, or are you going to keep pretendin' it didn't happen?"

Savannah's breath hitched. Garret might have been a nuisance, but Buck was a storm waiting to break, and she wasn't sure she was ready to face it.

"There's nothing to talk about." She mumbled, her gaze flitting to the ground as she picked up stray twigs, tossing them absentmindedly into the back of the wagon.

"Savannah," his voice was a low rumble, and he reached out, gently turning her face towards him. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Leave it alone, Buck." She pleaded her voice barely a whisper. The memory of their kiss still sent dizzying waves through her. She had barely managed to convince herself, with each passing day, that it had been a fleeting aberration, a moment of weakness fueled by grief and desperation. But Buck's intense gaze cut through her flimsy defenses, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. "I was weakened from the fire that was all."

"Is that all?"

"You should not have taken advantage of me like that." She continued, avoiding his gaze as she turned to walk away.

A week of her cool indifference, a week of stolen glances and averted gazes, culminated in this - an accusation that branded him a predator? Fury ignited in his chest. He lunged forward, his hands finding her face with a desperate urgency. He didn't care about gentleness, not now. His lips crushed against hers, demanding a response, a confirmation that the night they shared wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Under the onslaught, Savannah's carefully constructed wall began to crumble. Her initial resistance, fueled by guilt and fear, dissolved against the raw hunger in his touch. A gasp escaped her lips, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, a yearning she couldn't suppress. When he finally broke the kiss, her breath hitched in her throat. Her cheeks burned a feverish pink beneath her dark lashes, her eyes reflecting a well of emotions that mirrored his own.

His thumb grazed her swollen lips, a silent apology for his initial ferocity. Shame warred with desire within her, but the touch of his work-roughened hand sent a jolt through her. He leaned in again, this time his kiss a slow exploration. He teased her lips apart, his tongue a whisper against hers, awakening a fire that had been smoldering. Her arms, which had been stiff at his sides, snaked up his back, pulling him closer.

The need for him was a physical ache. Her fingers danced down his spine, the warmth of his skin searing through the thin fabric of his shirt. A boldness she hadn't known she possessed flared within her. With trembling fingertips, she ran her fingers across the bare skin of his chest, a gasp escaping his lips at the unexpected touch. The sound fueled a flame within her, an intoxicating mixture of power and vulnerability.

His lips moved against hers, a slow dance, each touch a whispered promise, an unspoken apology. His touch sent shivers down her spine. He trailed kisses down her neck, his lips lingering on the sensitive spot where her pulse hammered its frantic rhythm. His fingers grazed the neckline of her blouse, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Please stop." She whispered breathlessly, her voice laced with a desire she couldn't quite control. A part of her craved the continuation of this passionate exploration, yet another part, the more cautious one, urged restraint.

Buck, as if sensing her internal battle, pulled back slightly, his chest heaving with exertion. His eyes, darkened pools, held a mixture of hunger and concern. "Tell me you don't want me, Savannah—" he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "And I'll walk away."

The challenge hung heavy in the air. Savannah stared into his eyes, searching for a hidden motive, a manipulative ploy. But all she saw was a reflection of her warring desires – the need for comfort, the yearning for connection, and the nagging fear of getting hurt again.

Just as she was about to voice the words she knew he wanted to hear, a distant shout shattered the silence. It was Hope's voice, laced with urgency, echoing through the trees.

"Savannah!"

Savannah's heart lurched. Reality came crashing down, shattering the passionate haze that had clouded her judgment. With a gasp, she pushed Buck away, her cheeks still flushed with desire.

"It's Hope," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Buck, his face unreadable, understood. He walked towards his horse, tethered a short distance away, and returned with a silent efficiency. "Take my horse." He said, his voice gruff but laced with a kindness that surprised her. "I'll bring Floyd and your wagon back when I'm finished."

"Thank you," she mumbled.

---

Chapter 13

Savannah, Georgia – September 1866

With a desperate gasp, Savannah fumbled with Buck's horse's reins, tying them hastily to the porch railing before tearing through the front door. A muffled voice, laced with concern, called out from the parlor.

"We're in here, Savannah!" Abigail called out.

Bursting into the parlor, Savannah froze in the doorway. A figure stood on the worn chair, silhouetted against the afternoon sun streaming through the window. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, to recognize the outline of a broad-shouldered man. He turned, and as he did, the light bathed his face, revealing a countenance that sent a jolt through her.

Time, etched with the harsh realities of war, had carved lines onto his face. His once neatly trimmed blonde hair, worn long now, had acquired a glint of silver at the temples. Even his eyes, once like a sunny blue sky, were different. A coolness, a weariness, now resided in their depths.

A single word escaped her lips, barely a whisper. "Robert?" The name hung heavy in the air, a question laced with disbelief.

A smile, hesitant at first, then widening with recognition, spread across the man's face. "Savannah." His voice held a husky warmth that resonated in the quiet room.

He strode forward, his long legs eating up the distance in mere steps. As he reached her, he enveloped her in a tight embrace, momentarily transporting her back to a simpler time.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she clung to him. "I don't believe it!" She breathed, pulling back slightly to study his face. "Is it really you?"

"It is," Robert confirmed, his voice thick with emotion. He held her at arm's length, his gaze filled with a mixture of joy and sorrow. "It's good to be home."

Shame washed over Savannah. "I'm so sorry we didn't know you were coming home." She stammered. "We would have had the whole town out to greet you!"

Robert chuckled softly. "All the people I care about are right here."

A sudden ache pierced her heart a the realization that Robert didn't know - about his dear sister. She looked up at him, the words catching in her throat. "Jane..."

"Abigail told me." Robert said gently, his smile fading slightly.

"I'm so sorry," Savannah whispered, wiping a stray tear that traced a path down her cheek. "There was nothing we could do."

Robert reached out and cupped her face with his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You and Jane were like sisters." He murmured. "From the moment you met, the two of you were inseparable."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a sad smile. It was true. They had been inseparable, sharing secrets and laughter as only best friends could.

But there was one more question gnawing at her, a desperate hope that refused to be extinguished. She looked up at Robert, her voice shaking slightly. "Have you heard anything from... about Veldan?"

Robert shook his head slowly. "I haven't heard." He admitted. "But I know the unit he was in. When I settle in, I'll see what I can find out from some of the officers I know."

A flicker of gratitude warmed Savannah's heart. "Thank you, Robert."

Abigail stepped forward then, her voice light and cheerful. "Why don't we go sit on the porch and you can tell us all about your adventures?"

Savannah winced. Adventures. What a stark contrast that word seemed to the brutal reality of war Robert had undoubtedly faced.

"The war wasn't an adventure Abigail!" She snapped. Her sharp tone surprising everyone in the room.

Abigail's smile faltered for a moment before she recovered, her eyes filled with concern. "Of course not." She soothed. "Forgive me, Savannah. I spoke thoughtlessly."

Robert's gaze flicked between the two women, a silent understanding passing between them. He placed a comforting arm around Savannah's shoulder and reached for Abigail's hand with his other. "Let's just sit down," Robert said, his voice calming to the tense atmosphere.

---

Chapter 14

Savannah, Georgia – September 1866

Robert leaned back against the porch railing, the setting sun painting his face in a warm orange glow. He finished recounting his tale of injury and recovery in New York City, a place that felt a world away from the dusty streets and rolling hills of Georgia. A heavy silence descended upon the porch, thick with unspoken questions.

"It sounds like you've been through a lot, Robert," Abigail said gently, her voice laced with a tenderness that mirrored the concern in her eyes. "We're so happy you're back."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "It's good to be home, amidst familiar faces." His gaze shifted towards Savannah, he reached out and grasped her hand tenderly.

Savannah felt a familiar pang of doubt tighten in her chest. Robert's story, while delivered with a weary sincerity, resonated with a hollow ring. The war's toll was undeniable, etched onto his face and woven into the fabric of his every word. Yet, a nagging suspicion refused to be quelled.

For a stolen moment, Savannah allowed herself to savor the simple joy of his homecoming. The image of Robert, older and weathered but unquestionably present, brought a fragile sense of normalcy back into their lives. It was a normalcy she desperately craved.

Just then, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves shattered the peaceful evening. Buck, his familiar figure silhouetted against the fading light, steered her wagon into the yard. A furrow creased his brow as his gaze landed on the stranger nestled between Savannah and Abigail.

He dismounted from the wagon, the reins slipping through his calloused fingers. "Good evening." He greeted them, his voice gruff and laced with a hint of reservation.

"Buck!" Savannah rose to greet him.

The chaos surrounding Robert's return had completely taken over Savannah's attention. How quickly she had forgotten she had borrowed his horse and left her wagon with him. But beneath the surface of forgetfulness, a different memory flickered. The memory of their kiss. The way his touch had sent shivers through her. Now, as their eyes met, the memory roared back to life, igniting a fire in her chest that mirrored the rhythm of her suddenly racing heart.

"This is our neighbor, Buck Cross. His friend bought the Harrison's place." She breathed deeply, calming her raging emotions.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cross." Robert offered, extending a hand and rising from the porch step. "Robert Cavanaugh."

"Welcome home," Buck said, his voice strained with a spark of possessiveness deep within him. Robert's return, while long-awaited, complicated everything.

---

Chapter 15

Savannah, Georgia – October 1866

Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silvery sheen on Savannah as she traced patterns on her bare arms. Outside, laughter drifted across the yard, the joyous sounds of Abigail and Robert a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within her.

Robert's return had brought comfort not just to their town, but specifically to Abigail. The debilitating fits that had plagued her cousin had vanished, replaced by a semblance of her former self. Witnessing Abigail's joy, filled Savannah with happiness.

Yet, beneath the surface, a tangled knot of emotions threatened to unravel. The image of Robert, etched with the harsh lines of war, wasn't quite the boy she remembered. Sure, war changed people, and she was no stranger to loss. But when their lips met a few weeks ago, a kiss meant to rekindle a spark, it had ignited nothing. No flicker of excitement, no warmth blooming in her chest - just a hollowness that echoed in the space where those feelings once resided. The memory of that kiss, devoid of passion, left a bitter yearning.

The worn leather cover of her Bible felt cool against Savannah's fingertips as she flipped through the pages. Her gaze scanned the verses. Finally, her eyes landed on the familiar passage her mother had cherished. In the margin, faded ink whispered a message written in a hand long stilled:

"Charity and Love are much the same, never so much as in this passage."

The scripture read, "Charity suffereth long, andiskind". She read through the remaining passage in Corinthians and stopped at the eleventh verse. "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things."

Savannah sighed and pondered upon what she had read. Was she being childish? Holding on to a romanticized love? What was love? Or was she being childish and selfish in the way she had felt about Buck? Though the way she felt with him wasn't that love? She had never felt that way about a man before.

Her memory was pricked with a minister's sermon from her youth. "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour." She arched her eyebrow at the thought. A smile played on her lips. His kind heart and patience knew no end that was for sure. He had forgiven her several times for her wicked outbursts. Buck was certainly no devil.

Savannah wrestled with her conscience, the flickering gas lamp casting long, accusing shadows across the room. Her father's voice, a memory from a simpler time, echoed in her mind. He'd granted Robert permission to court her, a formality that now felt like a weight around her neck. Back then, marriage prospects were a game of social climbing, and Robert, a lawyer and the son of one of the wealthiest families had fit the bill perfectly. In her youthful innocence, she hadn't questioned it.

But the war had rewritten the script. Robert returned a changed man. Their recent kiss, a desperate attempt to recapture a lost connection, had exposed a chilling truth - the spark was gone. Now, a sense of duty, a phantom obligation to her father's wishes, warred with the burgeoning feelings she harbored for Buck.

A scowl furrowed her brow. Buck, with his quiet strength and unwavering kindness, had become a steady presence in her life. But he was a rancher, his calloused hands a testament to honest labor, not societal pedigree. Not just that, but she knew his Indian blood would never be acceptable. Her father would have scoffed at the prospect.

Savannah squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of the past and the pull of the present threatening to tear her apart. The world had changed, and with it, her priorities.

---

Chapter 16

Savannah, Georgia – November 1866

The crisp autumn air had settled with a surprising swiftness. Leaves, once vibrant green and fiery oranges, now swirled in a slow dance towards the ground. Savannah finished layering fresh hay across the barn floor, its sweet scent offering a comforting memory of summers riding through the pastures.

Floyd nickered softly as she approached, his coat a canvas of dust and contentment. Picking up the worn brush by the door, she began to groom him, her touch gentle as she spoke in low, soothing tones. The rhythmic rasp of the brush lulled them both into a peaceful routine, shattered only by the creak of the barn door swinging open.

Floyd whinnied again, his head snapping towards the entrance, ears pricked in what seemed like an alert. Savannah followed his gaze to see Robert standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the fading sunlight. A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach.

"Shhh," she whispered, nuzzling Floyd's neck reassuringly. "Good boy."

Robert cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the quiet barn. "Savannah?" He began, his voice hesitant. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

She glanced over her shoulder, the brushstrokes on Floyd's coat momentarily stalling. "What is it?" She asked, her voice guarded.

He shuffled his feet, his gaze flickering around the barn before settling back on her. "Savannah," he started again, a tremor in his voice betraying the weight of his unspoken words.

Minutes stretched into a tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of Floyd chewing on hay. Exasperation tinged with a sliver of worry bubbled up in Savannah. The cold was seeping through the barn walls, and Robert's discomfort was becoming palpable.

"Robert, it's freezing out here." She finally interjected, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. "Whatever it is, just say it."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't know how to say this without just coming right out with it."

"Well go on already!" She urged, her curiosity piqued by his obvious unease. What on earth could be so difficult to say?

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers. "We... we said things to each other before I left…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

A wave of dread washed over Savannah. Here it comes, she thought, bracing herself for the inevitable. Promises whispered in the innocence of youth, a lifetime ago. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. No, she wouldn't be pressured into something she no longer desired.

"You were just a child then." Robert continued, reaching out to touch her cheek. His touch, once a source of comfort, now sent shivers down her spine for a different reason entirely. "People change, Savannah."

"What are you saying?" She pressed, her voice sharp with a mixture of confusion and anger.

"You're strong and independent," he said, his gaze lingering on her face. "You don't need me."

His words hung heavy in the air, their meaning sinking in slowly. Rejection, sharp and unexpected, ripped through her heart. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! All those years of waiting, of clinging to a fragile hope, dissolving in a single, suffocating conversation.

"What?" She choked out, the single word a betrayal of the storm brewing within her. Anger, hurt, and a deep sense of humiliation warred for dominance.

"We aren't well suited for each other." He said, his voice laced with a sadness that mirrored her own. "Maybe we once were, but not now. I'm sorry."

The apology did little to quell the rising tide of emotions within her. "How dare you?" She spat, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. She shoved his hand away, the contact sending a jolt through them both. "How dare you tell me that? After I've waited years for your return?"

Robert flinched at her outburst, his eyes widening in surprise. But before he could respond, she cut him off again.

"Don't you touch me!" She screamed, swatting his hands away with a ferocity that surprised even her. The barn, once a haven of comfort, now felt like a cage, the weight of unspoken words and shattered dreams pressing down on her.

---

Chapter 17

Savannah, Georgia – November 1866

Buck pulled his horse around the yard of the Quinn house and tethered him to the porch railing. He could hear screaming, laced with a bitter edge, from the barn when he approached. With a furrow in his brow and his hand hovering near his holster, a familiar unease settling in his gut, he walked towards the barn cautiously.

"Abigail?"

Buck could hear Savannah's voice was sharp with anger.

"Are you out of your mind?" She continued.

As Buck peeked around the corner, he could see Savannah and Robert locked in a heated exchange. From the way Savannah's eyes blazed, it was clear she wasn't very happy. Buck took a hesitant step back as a curry comb clattered against the stall door, narrowly missing him.

"We never meant to fall in love!" Robert blustered, his voice laced with desperation.

"Fall in love?" Savannah spat the words out like they were poison. "I doubt you even know the meaning of the word!"

"Savannah, I swear on my..." Robert began his hand instinctively covering his heart. "I loved you with all my heart and I had every intention of marrying you when I returned." His voice trailed off, unconvincing even to his ears.

"I guess you should be thanking your lucky stars that I didn't take you up on your offer of marriage before you left!" Her voice rose in anger and volume, both of equal measure.

"Savannah, you know things aren't the same between us anymore." He tried to placate her.

"I waited for you!" She was a storm cloud gathering fury, not so much by his declaration of supposed love for another, but by the sheer audacity of him changing his mind after she'd poured her heart and soul into waiting for him.

"You and I..." Robert stammered, searching for the right words. "You are so strong-willed, so independent. It's just not what I need anymore. Your cousin… she needs me in a way you never did."

"She needs a sanitarium I just didn't have the heart to take her!"

"Stop it, Savannah!" Robert's voice cracked.

"No, I won't stop!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I think that's why you want someone like Abigail, isn't it? Someone who won't question you, someone who'll bend to your every whim. Someone who won't challenge you?"

"That's not..."

"I've sacrificed more for you than you'll ever know!" Savannah's voice hitched with a sob, but she quickly hid her emotions behind her safe mask of defiance. "I've survived this hell on earth for the last six years! Buried family, and friends, faced illness and starvation head-on. You're right, Mr. Cavanaugh. We are not suited for each other!"

She turned to stalk out of the barn, her every step radiating anger and a deep sense of betrayal. Then, her gaze landed on Buck, who stood frozen by the doorway, and a new wave of fury washed over her face.

"I need a strong man who respects me as an equal, who understands that my place is by his side not as some ornament but as a partner!" She yelled across the yard.

"Savannah!" Robert pleaded, but she cut him off with a withering glare.

"I never want to hear my name fall from your lips!" Savannah said, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "This is goodbye, Mr. Cavanaugh. I wasted far too much of my life pining away for you! But no more. You won't occupy another moment of my thoughts!" A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. With a resolute sniff, she turned and marched across the meadow.

Buck waited at the gate near the barn as Robert retreated into the house. He gave Savannah several minutes to cool off before he followed her trail through the meadow. He didn't want the fire still raging in her eyes to be turned on him, so he approached cautiously.

As he drew closer, he saw her standing motionless, her gaze fixed on a silver locket that dangled between her fingers. She traced the worn inscription with a sigh, a world of unspoken emotions swirling in her eyes. The anger had receded, replaced by a profound sadness that tugged at Buck's heart.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern.

"I'll be fine." She said, her voice strained. She brushed a stray tear away with a trembling hand. "I suppose you're going to tell me I was foolish for waiting for him."

"I wouldn't say that to you." Buck countered gently, extending a clean handkerchief towards her. "I wasn't even thinking it."

"My cousin!" She choked out a sob, burying her face in the handkerchief Buck offered. When she pulled away, her eyes blazed with a new kind of fury. "He's in love with my silly, dimwitted cousin!" she spat her voice thick with betrayal. In a fit of sudden wrath, she flung the locket out towards the creek. It arced through the air, a glint of silver against the golden sunlight, before disappearing with a soft plop into the depths.

"You aren't in love with him, he just bruised your vanity." Buck reached out, a hesitant gesture, and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was light, a spark against the storm raging within her.

"And who are you to tell me what my heart feels?" She slapped him across the face, the sting echoing the turmoil within her. Without a word, she stormed off across the tall grass, her amber hair whipping behind her like a defiant banner.

Buck stood there for a moment, a hand on his cheek where her palm had struck. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps "normal" was vastly overrated. He watched her go, a strange mix of amusement and concern battling in his gut. Maybe, just maybe, a passionate, impulsive, crazy woman was exactly what he needed.

---

Chapter 18

Savannah, Georgia – November 1866

Savannah stood at the window, the papers fluttering from her numb fingers like fallen leaves. The war had been over for a year and a half, there was little hope left that her brother would be returning. But there was hope. A tiny sliver of hope, that she had held onto during her darkest moments.

That morning, a letter arrived from Vicksburg, Mississippi, a name that now echoed with a chilling finality. The woman's words were stark and clear, laying to rest any lingering dreams her brother Veldan might return. She hadn't wanted to know the details, the gruesome realities of war. Just the confirmation was enough to shatter the last piece of hope.

Tears welled up, blurring the already faded ink on the page. She sank to the floor in hopelessness. Gathering up the scattered pieces of paper, she clutched them to her breast, the fabric dampening with silent tears. She lay there until her body wracked with sobs had no more tears to give.

"Savannah?" Hope's voice, laced with concern, broke through the fog of despair.

Savannah raised her tear-streaked face and met Hope's gaze. With a choked sob, she whispered. "He's not coming home, Hope." The words hung heavy in the air, a shared weight of grief settling over the sisters.

---

Chapter 19

Savannah, Georgia – December 1866

A gentle breeze rustled the dried stalks of wildflowers, carrying the faint scent of lingering fall despite the crispness in the air. The winter sun cast a warm glow on the meadow. She and Hope had been playing tag, their laughter echoing across the field.

Savannah spread out the thick blanket, the worn fabric whispering stories of past picnics and family gatherings. As she handed Hope a sandwich, she couldn't help but notice Buck across the field, his broad shoulders hunched over as he mended yet another downed portion of the fence. A pang of regret shot through her. Their last encounter had been far from pleasant, and she knew she owed him an apology.

"Hope, would you mind if I spoke to Mr. Cross for a few minutes?" Savannah asked, her voice laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Can I have that apple?" Hope's question broke the tension, and Savannah offered a weak smile.

"Yes, of course."

Taking a deep breath, Savannah crossed the field, each step a battle against the weight of unspoken emotions. Buck straightened as she approached, but his gaze remained fixed on the broken fence post in his hand.

"Buck." She began, her voice barely a whisper.

He finally turned, his eyes meeting hers. "Savannah." His voice was gruff, but not unkind.

"Please," she started, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have behaved that way the last time we saw each other." She took a hesitant step forward, placing her hand gently on his arm.

Buck's gaze softened, and a flicker of understanding crossed his features. He turned, leaning his arm against the weathered fence post.

"I shouldn't have struck you either." She continued. The hot shame burned in her cheeks. Reaching out, she touched his face where she had slapped him. "I'm so sorry."

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of Buck's lips. He grasped her hand briefly, his touch sending a spark of warmth through her chilled fingers. He leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles before releasing it.

"You're forgiven."

A wave of relief washed over Savannah, followed by a pang of something else, a flicker of something she couldn't quite define. She forced a smile, the weight of her grief momentarily forgotten. "Thank you."

As she turned to walk back to Hope, Buck's voice stopped her. "Savannah?" He touched her shoulder lightly, his concern evident. "Is something wrong?"

The dam holding back her emotions finally broke. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. "My brother's dead." She choked out, the words raw and painful.

Buck's eyes widened in understanding. He moved closer, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. A heavy silence descended upon them, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind through the dry grass.

"I'm so sorry." Buck said finally, his voice low and sincere. He reached out and pulled her into a brief, comforting embrace. The gesture was simple, yet it spoke volumes. In that moment, Savannah felt a weight lift from her chest, a sense of shared sorrow that transcended words.

She pulled back, wiping away a stray tear. "Thank you." She whispered, a newfound strength flickering in her eyes. "I'm going to sell the house. I was only keeping it in case Veldan came home. It's just filled with memories I don't want."

"I can understand," Buck replied, his voice filled with empathy.

"Hope and I can move on and have a fresh start." She continued, her gaze drifting towards her sister. "She's young, she can forget all this," Savannah finished, her voice trailing off.

Buck hesitated, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure," she shrugged, the uncertainty echoing in her voice. "We have family in Ireland—"

Buck reached out and touched her shoulder gently. "Savannah," he began, his voice low and sincere.

"I should go." She smiled. "It's cold out. I don't want Hope to get sick."

She smiled and turned to walk back to her sister, halting for a moment. She turned and looked over her shoulder at Buck. Wherever they went, she was certain she would never again meet another man like him. With a final, lingering glance, she continued towards Hope, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek.

---

Chapter 20

Savannah, Georgia – February 1867

Savannah opened the wedding invitation and rolled her eyes. Why did they bother inviting her to their wedding? She wasn't upset any longer that Robert and Abigail were getting married but it still stung that she was a fool for all those years. Anyone else would have been bad enough, but her cousin was just adding insult to injury, her cousin whom she had painstakingly taken much care of for many years.

She tore the invitation in pieces, a fiery anger mirroring the flames that consumed the paper in the fireplace. Hearing the knock at the door, she swept the stray ashes quickly. Leaning the broom against the wall, she took a deep breath to compose herself, before opening the door.

"Good afternoon, Buck." She said, forcing a smile. "Please come in. Can I get you something to drink?"

Buck stepped inside, his gaze lingering on Savannah's flushed cheeks and the tremor in her hands. "No, thank you." He replied, taking off his hat and setting it on the small table. He plunged straight into the reason for his visit. "Savannah, I want you to come to Nebraska with me. You and Hope."

Her eyes grew wide in surprise. "What?"

Buck felt a surge of frustration. Here he was, offering her a way out, a chance to build a new life, and she looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Marry me." He blurted out, his voice rougher than he intended. "I'll give you a good life. A safe life. Away from all this."

"I barely know you, Buck." She said honestly, shaking her head.

"Maybe not." He conceded, taking a step closer. "But I know you well enough to know I want to spend my life with you."

"You don't have to tell me you love me." He murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escaped down her cheek. "I can see it in your eyes."

Buck's heart hammered against his ribs. As her eyes fluttered closed, a vulnerability unfolded on her face that stole his breath. It was a silent invitation, a surrender.

He didn't hesitate. Cupping her face in his hand, his thumb brushed a gentle path across her soft cheek. The contact sent a jolt through him, a potent mix of protectiveness and desire. He leaned in slowly, savoring the anticipation that shimmered in the air between them.

The first brush of their lips was hesitant. Savannah melted into the kiss. Her lips, surprisingly soft against his, were warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled around them.

The kiss deepened. It wasn't a fiery explosion, but a steady burn, a promise whispered on the current of their breath. He tasted a hint of salt, a silent echo of the tears she'd held back.

Savannah pulled away, her eyes meeting his gaze as she tried to mull through the thoughts in her mind. He watched as a flicker of something he couldn't quite decipher crossed her face. Was it fear? Uncertainty? But then, just as quickly, the walls came back up.

"I don't—" she whispered, pulling away from his touch. "I just don't know."

Disappointment washed over Buck, heavy and cold. He'd taken a chance, laid his heart bare, and all he got was hesitation. "Alright then." He said, his voice flat, trying to mask the roiling emotions inside him. "Good night, Savannah." He placed his hat back on his head and walked out the door, leaving the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air.

Buck trudged back to his horse, his steps heavy. Why was she so stubborn? Did she not see the life they could have together? A life built on respect, honesty, and maybe, just maybe, something more? He kicked at a rock on the path, frustration welling up again.

He knew Savannah was hurting, but her pain was stop her from grasping at a chance for happiness. Or maybe, he thought with a pang of concern, she just didn't see him in that way. Maybe he was just another face in the crowd, another reminder of a love that wasn't meant to be.

---

Chapter 21

Savannah, Georgia – March 1867

"I saw the people moving into the Oak Grove place last week," Hope said, her mouth full of peach pie.

Savannah looked up from her book, a pang of guilt twisting in her stomach. She hadn't visited Buck since his unexpected proposal. His declaration had left her speechless, a whirlwind of emotions battling within her. Part of her yearned for a fresh start, a chance to build a new life with Buck. But the ache in her heart, fresh from hearing of her brother's death was too near, or perhaps it was the fear of the unknown.

"I thought I saw some commotion over there," Savannah finally replied, forcing a smile.

"Are you and Mr. Cross arguing?" Hope's innocent question brought a blush to Savannah's cheeks.

"No." She replied then looked at her sister curiously. "Why would you ask that?"

Hope shrugged. "He hasn't been by in a long time. I thought maybe you made him mad."

"He's probably busy helping his friends move into their new home," Savannah said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "Why don't we take them one of the pies we made today as a housewarming present?"

"Tonight?" Hope's eyes widened.

"No, we'll go tomorrow." Savannah smiled, grateful for the distraction. "Finish your pie and get ready for bed, young lady. I'll be right up."

Savannah cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, her mind a tangled mess of emotions. She couldn't deny the feelings she had for Buck any longer. The tenderness of his kiss replayed in her mind, a spark of warmth amidst the loneliness that had settled around her.

She trudged up the winding staircase, each wooden step groaning softly beneath her weight. The air in the hallway was stagnant and cold. As she neared her room, a sliver of moonlight peeked through a gap in the curtains, casting an eerie glow across the dusty floorboards. She knew, without a doubt, that her little sister would be curled up in her blankets with a guilty grin plastered on her innocent face.

"Hope, you're going to need to start sleeping in your own bed again." Savannah opened the door and looked down expectantly at Hope.

"Because you're getting married?" Hope asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Savannah's breath hitched. "Because you're getting too big to be sleeping in my bed!" She tickled her sister playfully. "Why would you think I'm getting married?"

"I saw Mr. Cross kiss you the other night." Hope confessed.

"Oh, you did?" Savannah raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement playing on her lips. "Young ladies don't eavesdrop. It's not polite."

"Sorry." Hope mumbled, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Savannah pulled back the covers and settled into bed beside her sister. "It's alright." she sighed, brushing a stray curl off Hope's forehead.

"Savannah?" Hope whispered after a moment of silence.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Why did you say no to Mr. Cross? Don't you like him?"

Savannah hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Usually, there's a courtship," she explained, choosing her words carefully. "A gentleman might bring flowers or take a lady on a carriage ride, then ask her father for permission to marry her. It all happened very quickly, and I..." She trailed off, unsure how to explain the whirlwind of emotions that had left her speechless.

"I like him." Hope declared.

"Alright, Hope." She said gently as she crawled into the bed next to her and blew out the candle. "Go to sleep."

"Savannah?" Hope's voice drifted up from the darkness a few minutes later.

"Yes, Hope?"

"I've never seen people kiss like that."

Savannah's cheeks burned hot. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She exclaimed, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "Go to sleep!"

Savannah smiled and closed her eyes. Her sister was so curious and asked exactly what was on her was very much like Savannah was as a child.

---

Chapter 22

Savannah, Georgia – March 1867

Savannah brushed her sister's long strawberry-blonde hair and braided it neatly, tying it with one of the fancy ribbons Garret had given her. She took extra care that morning in pinning her own hair, a nervous flutter in her stomach as she envisioned their meeting. It had been three agonizing weeks since she'd seen Buck, and her heart ached with loneliness. More than just missing him, a deep yearning burned within her. She couldn't bear the thought of another day passing without expressing her true feelings.

The walk to the Harrison Plantation was a welcome distraction. Hope skipped excitedly through the field, while Savannah carried the peach pie, a silent offering of friendship and perhaps something more. As they crossed the fence, the sight of children playing on the porch brought a smile to Savannah's lips. A pang of longing shot through her – a vision of her own life filled with laughter and the warmth of family.

"Hello!" Savannah greeted a petite woman who appeared in the doorway. "I'm Savannah Quinn, this is Hope. We live just over the field there."

"Buck told us about you!" The woman replied with a warm smile, adjusting a baby on her hip. "I'm Louise."

"I hope you like peach pie." Savannah smiled.

"Please come in," Louise said, ushering them inside. "Boys, you want some pie?"

The children swarmed the table, their enthusiasm mirroring Savannah's nervous energy. As Louise began slicing the pie, Savannah couldn't help but steal glances at the baby, cradled peacefully in Louise's arms. The sight of a happy family life intensified the turmoil within her. Was this what Buck had envisioned for them? Did he yearn for a home filled with children's laughter, just as she did?

"Well, they didn't need to be asked twice!" Savannah chuckled, momentarily distracted by the boys' eagerness.

"I should serve them pie in the bath." Louise giggled. "I might have an easier time getting them clean."

"How old is the baby?" Savannah asked.

"She's six months." Louise held her out to Savannah. "Would you like to hold her?"

"May I?" Savannah sat down at the table cradled the infant close to her chest and touched her chubby cheek with her fingertip. "She's an angel."

"Thank you, her name is Julia." Louise looked up as the backdoor opened. "This is my husband Kid."

"Nice to meet you, Sir. I'm Hope." Hope shook his hand. "That's my sister Savannah."

"Well, it's nice to meet you Hope."

"Savannah and Hope brought us some peach pie." Louise sliced the pie and quickly plated several slices. "This is Henry, our eldest."

Louise handed the boy a fork and sat him at the table. His brothers sat at the table in turn.

"How old are you, Henry?" Savannah asked.

"Five Ma'am." He shoveled a piece of pie in his mouth.

"These are the twins, Jacob and Marcus." Louise handed them each a plate with pie.

"This is the best peach pie I've ever had." Kid smiled widely.

"Well thank you."

"You're lucky I've never made you a peach pie." Louise raised her eyebrow, receiving laughs from Kid and Savannah.

"Buck tells me you are from Virginia?"

"Yes, Ma'am I am." Kid smiled.

"The neighbor to the south is from Baltimore." Savannah pursed her lips.

"Garret Morgan, right?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Buck informed us about him also."

"Where is Buck?" Savannah was keenly aware of his absence.

"He went back home," Lou mumbled with her mouth full of pie.

"He did?" Savannah bit the inside of her lower lip.

"I have some work to do on the barn door. So I regret I have to leave you, lovely ladies." Kid smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Thanks again for the pie!"

"We should go too." Savannah smiled softly.

"Wait just a moment." Louise left the room and came back with a small envelope. "Buck left this for you."

"For me?" Savannah took the envelope and looked down at her name handwritten handsomely on the front.

"He said if you came by and asked about him to give this to you."

"Thank you." Savannah kissed the baby before handing her back to her mother. "She's so precious."

"Thank you. It was nice to meet you both." Louise smiled. "You're welcome anytime!"

---

Chapter 23

Savannah, Georgia – March 1867

The entire way home the letter was burning a hole in her pocket. She wanted to rip it open and read it immediately but more than that, she wanted privacy. Her mind raced with the possibilities of what he had written. Was he angry at her refusal and chastised her or was he simply saying goodbye? Sadness built up in her heart. He should have said goodbye in person., or did he say goodbye the last night they saw each other?

"Hope you can go play out back. Just don't go too far."

Savannah sat on the porch and stared at the front of the envelope for several minutes before she carefully opened it. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the paper and read the brief note.

Dearest Savannah,

By the time you read this, I'll be miles away, at home in Nebraska. It feels wrong to leave without saying goodbye properly, but the truth is, saying goodbye would have been the harder thing to do.

Leaving you was the hardest decision I've ever made. Your hesitation, I understand. It's a big leap, and you have a lot to consider. But I couldn't bear the thought of pressuring you. I want you to know, Savannah, that my feelings for you are real.

This isn't goodbye, think of it as a pause, a chance for both of us to sort through our thoughts. If Georgia still feels like home after all this time, then perhaps it's not meant to be. But if a part of you wants something more, for a new beginning, then know that the door is always open.

Yours always,

Buck

Hot tears of shame and regret fell from her eyes and slid off her cheeks. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her dress and tucked the letter into her pocket. She was determined that this was not going to be the end. She didn't know how exactly, but she was going to find him.

---

Chapter 24

Savannah, Georgia – April 1867

Leaving their small, rural home was something neither Savannah nor Hope had done in several years. As they made their way through the bustling city of Savannah, she felt a tremor of anxiousness creep over her. The once familiar quiet streets were replaced by a cacophony of sounds – carriages clattered over cobblestones, vendors hawked their wares in booming voices, and laughter spilled out from open doorways.

Shop windows displayed a dazzling array of goods, a far cry from the simple necessities they were accustomed to. Even the air seemed charged with a different energy, a frenetic pace that both excited and overwhelmed Savannah and Hope. For the first time in their lives, they were truly in a city, and Nebraska, a vast expanse of open land, seemed a world away.

"Are we really going to the Nebraska?" Hope skipped along the boardwalk with her sister.

Savannah squeezed her sister's hand tightly. "Yes," she confirmed, her voice a touch strained.

Selling the family home had been a heart-wrenching decision, a tangible severing of ties with the life they knew. The weight of memories hung heavy in the air – childhood laughter echoing in the dusty attic, her parents' whispered conversations on the porch swing, and the comforting creak of the floorboards under her feet. Yet, the future beckoned, and Nebraska, with its whispered promises of wide-open spaces and fresh starts, felt like a chance to finally breathe again.

"How far away is Nebraska?"

"A very long way, sweetheart," Savannah replied, offering a reassuring smile. "But the train will take us there, and we'll get to see the whole country from the window."

"We aren't riding Floyd?" Hope's brow furrowed, a shadow of worry crossing her bright eyes.

"No, Floyd will be living with the McCloud's." Savannah walked into a jewelry store.

"Awe I will miss him." Hope frowned.

"I will as well." She smiled. "But the McCloud's are very nice and they will spoil him and Lady Penelope rotten."

"Can I help you Ma'am?" The store clerk looked at her frayed clothes dismissively.

"I want to sell these." Savannah held out the small box.

The clerk, expecting a modest trinket like a gold locket or wedding ring, fumbled as he opened the box. His eyes widened in surprise when they landed on the large amethyst and pearl earrings nestled in gold. He excused himself to fetch the store owner, and after a lengthy negotiation, they finally agreed on a hefty price – nearly five hundred dollars.

Savannah clutched her satchel tightly as they exited the jewelry store. Five hundred dollars. A figure that had once seemed like an impossible dream was now a reality. Savannah glanced down at Hope, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes.

"Tell you what." She declared, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "With all this... newfound wealth, how about we get ourselves a couple of new dresses for the trip?"

"Store dresses?" Hope's eyes widened.

"Store dresses." Savannah took her sister's hand and walked towards the dress shop.

A bittersweet nostalgia washed over Savannah as she watched Hope twirl in a store-bought dress, a stark contrast to the lovingly, but poorly stitched garments Hope usually wore. Memories of shopping trips with their mother flooded back, a world away from the harsh realities that had brought them here.

Despite the temptation of the luxurious fabrics, Savannah reminded Hope of their destination. "Nebraska, not New York, sweetheart," she said gently. "We wouldn't want you to ruin a beautiful dress on the prairie." With a compromise, Savannah allowed one fancy dress for church, the rest practical cotton prints fit for a new life on the plains.

With train tickets to Omaha secured and the house emptied, saying goodbye was the final hurdle. Taking their chickens, Lady Penelope and Floyd to the McCloud's, was particularly difficult. Floyd wasn't just a horse. He had been a silent confidant, a source of strength through her darkest moments. A lump formed in her throat as she whispered a final farewell, clinging to the knowledge that the McCloud's would shower him with love.

---

Chapter 25

Eagle Canyon, Nebraska – June 1867

The gruff voice of the stagecoach driver shattered the peaceful lull. "Eagle Canyon!" He boomed, his voice echoing off the dusty buildings lining the main street. "Fifteen-minute stop for those continuing to Rock Creek!" He threw open the door, revealing a sleepy town bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

Hope scrambled out, her worn boots kicking up a puff of dust. "Are we here?" She asked.

Savannah emerged, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. "We sure are, honey," she replied, forcing a smile. She scanned the street, her gaze flickering across the weathered storefronts and the lone, hitching post where a few horses drowsed in the heat. "Those two bags please," she instructed the driver.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," the driver rumbled, tossing their meager belongings onto the wooden boardwalk.

Hope's stomach rumbled, a sound as clear as the clanging of the saloon doors across the street. "I'm hungry," she declared, her eyes wide and hopeful.

"I know, honey, so am I." She hefted the suitcases, the worn leather protesting under the strain. Reaching the boardwalk, she set them down with a sigh, her eyes darting around, searching for a sign that might point them toward a hotel. "We should find a place to stay," she murmured, more to herself than to Hope.

Suddenly, Hope let out a gasp and pointed a finger across the street. "There he is! Mr. Cross!"

Savannah's breath hitched. "Hope, it's not polite to point." She chided gently, reaching out to grasp her sister's hand.

A blush crept up Savannah's cheeks as a figure detached itself from the shade of the saloon and strode purposefully across the street. It was Buck. His tall frame easily navigated the uneven ground. A wide grin across his face as he reached them.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice laced with surprise, unconvinced that she was standing in front of him. His gaze flickered between Savannah and Hope.

"We needed a new start," Savannah began, her voice barely above a whisper, "and I had an invitation to come here a while back." Her cheeks flushed a light pink as she met Buck's gaze. "I... well, I was hoping it might still be open."

A grin tugged at the corner of Buck's mouth. "Always," he replied, his voice warm. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The simple gesture sent a jolt through Savannah, a welcome distraction from the knot of worry that had settled in her stomach.

"We were just headed to find the hotel." she explained, feeling a flicker of relief wash over her.

Buck chuckled. "No need for that. There's plenty of room for you both at the ranch." With surprising ease, he hoisted their bags onto his shoulder and strode across the dusty street.

Hope's eyes sparkled with excitement. "You work at a ranch?" She squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Are there horses and cows?"

"There are horses, cows, and a couple of mischievous goats," Buck replied with a wink. Reaching the buckboard hitched beside the store, he tossed their luggage. He then turned to Hope, his smile widening.

"I'll help you up." He reached down and gently sat her on the bench before turning to Savannah and offering his hand.

Savannah hesitated for a moment. "We wouldn't want to impose on your employer."

Buck waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that. Besides," he added with a playful glint in his eyes, "who else is going to help me wrangle those goats?"

Savannah couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, you win," she conceded, reaching out to take his hand.

As Buck helped her climb onto the buckboard, she felt the familiar surge of heat rising in her chest. The sensation lingered even after he settled beside her and took the reins.

"Did you sell your house in Georgia?" Buck asked, his voice laced with concern.

Savannah shook her head, gripping the side of the buckboard as they rattled over a particularly rough patch of road. "Not yet," she admitted.

"Are there baby horses at the ranch?" Hope chirped, her voice filled with wide-eyed wonder.

"There are a few that were just born," Buck replied, his gaze softening, "and a couple of mares due any day now."

"We had to leave Floyd and Pennelope with your friends." Hope shrugged sadly.

"Don't you worry, honey," Buck reassured her, reaching out to ruffle her hair gently. "Kid and Lou will take good care of them."

He flicked his reins, urging the horse forward. In the distance, a sprawling ranch house came into view, nestled amidst a verdant valley. Smoke curled from the chimney, promising warmth and a sense of belonging.

Savannah's breath hitched. "It's beautiful," she whispered, captivated by the scene before her.

"There's a creek that runs on the east side," Buck continued, pointing towards a shimmering ribbon of water, "just past the orchard."

As they pulled up behind the house, Buck hopped down from the buckboard and offered Savannah a hand. Once they were both on the ground, he turned to Hope.

"Why don't you take Hope over to that barn there and show her the new foals?" He suggested. "I need to take care of a few things, but I'll be right with you."

Taking Hope's hand, Savannah walked towards the barn, her heart pounding a happy rhythm. The fresh air, the scent of hay, and the promise of a new beginning filled her with a sense of hope she hadn't felt in a long time.

She heard her sister's gasp as they rounded a pen. Nestled against its mother, a newborn foal wobbled on spindly legs, its coat a glistening chestnut brown. Hope's eyes widened with wonder. She crept closer, her movements slow and deliberate, afraid to spook the delicate creature. The foal, in turn, seemed drawn to her, its velvety nose twitching inquisitively.

As soon as they entered the barn, Hope sank onto the hay, a gentle smile gracing her lips. With quiet patience, she waited, and slowly, the foal took a tentative step towards her, its soft whicker a sound of pure innocence.

Savannah watched the scene unfold with a tenderness that warmed her heart. Meanwhile, Buck finished his conversation with the ranch hands. He shouldered a bag of supplies and disappeared into the house, emerging a few moments later. With a bucket in each hand, he strode towards the stalls, stopping to greet each of the horses with a friendly pat and a crisp apple. Their appreciative snorts and nuzzles spoke volumes of their bond.

Finally, Buck made his way towards the barn, his boots crunching softly on the hay-strewn floor. He spotted Hope, completely captivated by the foal, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Hope would you like to see the rabbits?" He asked gently.

Hope's head snapped up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh yes!" She exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the foal's presence.

Buck chuckled, his amusement genuine. He extended a hand towards her. "Come with me then," he offered.

Taking his hand, Hope allowed him to lead her through the maze of stalls and tack towards a section partitioned off with wire mesh. Inside, a bustling colony of rabbits hopped, their fluffy tails twitching with curiosity. Hope's eyes widened further, a squeal of delight escaping her lips.

"Oh they are so cute!" Hope squealed.

Buck unlocked the gate and let her in so she could pet them.

"Just make sure not to unlock the gate and let them all out." He laughed.

"I won't." She promised.

"Savannah and I are just going to talk in private for a minute, alright? We'll be right over there, by the edge of the barn."

Hope's gaze darted between them, her lips twitching with a mischievous grin. "Are you going to do more kissing?" She blurted out as she giggled.

Savannah's blush deepened to a fiery crimson. "Hope!" She exclaimed, mortified.

Buck chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from his chest. He winked at Hope, the gesture both playful and reassuring. "Maybe a little." He admitted with a grin.

Savannah couldn't help but smile, a genuine one this time. She cast a nervous glance at Buck, who was already walking towards the designated spot by the barn. Taking a deep breath, she followed, her heart pounding so fiercely she thought it would burst.

---

Chapter 26

Eagle Canyon, Nebraska – June 1867

Hidden away from prying eyes, Buck leaned against the weathered wood of the barn wall, stealing a moment to gaze upon Savannah. He hadn't dared to imagine he'd lay eyes on her sweet face again, yet fate had brought her back to him.

"It's good to see you." He murmured.

"You also." She took a shaky breath, unsure of where to start or how he would react.

"What are—"

"I love you, Buck," she interjected. "I was afraid of how I felt."

"And now?" Buck's hands found her waist, drawing her closer.

"The only fear I have is losing you." She confessed, leaning in for a tender kiss.

"You don't need to worry about that." He assured her, returning her kiss with equal fervor.

"I should have told you sooner." She confessed, cupping his face in her hands. "How much I love you."

"I love you too."

"About that other offer..." Savannah trailed off, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

Buck feigned contemplation, looking up as if deep in thought. "What offer?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." She teased, a pout forming on her lips.

"Will you marry me, Savannah?" Buck's smile widened into a grin.

"Yes!" Savannah exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and sealing their pact with a kiss.

"That's the response I'd hoped for!" Buck chuckled, savoring the moment. "Well worth the wait."

"And when the house sells in Georgia, we will have enough money to start our ranch," Savannah suggested eagerly, taking his hand and envisioning their future together. "With cattle, horses, and a home. Our home."

"It's already ours, Savannah." Buck corrected her gently, a warmth in his eyes. "I promised you a good life here, didn't I?"

"I'll have a good life wherever you are," Savannah replied, kissing him softly.

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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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