Sight Unseen
By: H Forbes
YA Romance
Sexual tension and intimacy - Love scenes are not detailed, and more of a summary – but not closed door.
Themes & Tropes
Law & Crime, Ingénue, Lawfully Good, Marriage before Intimacy, Forced Proximity
Content Warnings
Violence/Gore/Blood, Murder, Kidnapping/Abduction/ Substance Abuse, Non-Consent/SA (Touched on, not on page)
10/2024 - Edited for typos, New formatting
Chapter 1
Oak Creek, Nebraska
June 1870
The stage coach came to an abrupt stop causing most of the occupants to grab whatever was closest to keep from sliding off the seats. Liam O'Shea opened the coach door and disembarked. Only a few more stops like this until they made it to Omaha. There they would take the train to Philadelphia, and what a welcome relief that would be from the bumpy coach rides they had endured thus far from Wyoming. He held his hand out for his niece and helped her find the first step.
An accident near ten years before almost took the life of his dear niece, instead it robbed her of her vision. Miraculously a few months later the child began seeing shadows and light. But no matter how many specialists they took her too Brenna hadn't regained much more of her vision. Liam felt a twinge of pride in his heart as he watched Brenna defy the obstacles thrust upon her at such a tender age. She had spent the majority of her young life relearning the world in darkness.
Though all the doctor's and specialists agreed her sight had been permanently damaged, it wasn't good enough for her father. Ferguson O'Shea had spent years taking Brenna to different hospitals, even once as far as England to restore her sight, all in vain. After much correspondence and a few visits himself he pleaded with Brenna to try one more doctor.
Brenna had become accustomed to her world of shadows and had long become tiered of all the poking and prodding by doctors. But she couldn't deny her father one last try. He had been so excited about this correspondence with a doctor in Philadelphia.
"Two steps up." Liam instructed his niece. Brenna held tightly to his arm and stepped up to the wooden boardwalk. She was exhausted and she wanted to get to the hotel and sleep. She knew that would make her uncle happy as well. He could use some time to himself. She knew it wasn't easy for him to take care of her.
"We'll get a couple of rooms then have dinner. How does that sound?" Liam pulled her out of the way from two drunk men lumbering their way.
"Would you mind Uncle, if I took dinner in my room? I'm tiered and I'd just rather just rest." Brenna asked.
"Of course not." Liam exchanged a few coins with the man behind the hotel desk, securing their lodgings for the night, before accepting the keys with a grateful nod. Guiding Brenna up the creaking stairs and down the dimly lit hallway, he reached her room and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, Liam gently led Brenna around the unfamiliar space, his voice steady as he pointed out the key features of the room.
"Here's the bed," he said, guiding her hand to the edge of the mattress, "and here's the table where we'll put your things." He carefully traced her fingers along the surface, ensuring she could familiarize herself with the layout. "The washbasin is over here," he continued, leading her to the corner of the room, "and the window is just beside it."
As Brenna lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, a small sigh of relief escaped her lips. The weariness of the journey set into her bones, and the softness of the mattress provided a welcome respite. She leaned back slightly, letting the tension melt away as she savored the momentary stillness.
"I'll have some dinner sent up. Then have a drink or two at the saloon." He kissed her cheek. "I'll check in on you before I turn in alright?"
"Thank you uncle." She smiled. "I'll be fine."
Brenna lay down on the bed, finding immediate relief in its soft embrace. Moments later, a gentle knock at the door interrupted her rest, stirring her appetite. She navigated to the door with ease, accepting the plate of food with gratitude. The aroma of steak teased her senses, awakening a hunger she hadn't fully realized.
Returning to the bed, Brenna indulged in the meal, her fingers navigating the plate with a sense of familiarity and ease. She chuckled softly at the thought of her mother's reaction to her less-than-refined dining manners, finding amusement in the contrast between her current circumstances and the expectations of her upbringing.
Though she couldn't discern every ingredient, the unmistakable taste of steak and potatoes brought a smile to her lips. With each bite, Brenna savored the flavors, feeling of contentment wash over her. Once the last morsel had disappeared, she set the empty plate aside, her hunger satiated and her spirits lifted.
As she made her way to the wash basin, Brenna realized she had forgotten to ask Liam to retrieve her nightdress. With a sigh, she improvised with what was available, grateful for the simple comforts of the room and the unwavering care of her uncle.
Startled by the sudden eruption of gunfire echoing through the streets below, Brenna instinctively ducked, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the chaos to subside. As the voices began to fade, a loud, urgent knock at her door shattered the uneasy calm. Brenna hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over the handle, her mind racing. She knew she couldn't ignore the summons, but the fear of what lay beyond the door held her back, tethering her to the safety of her room.
"Miss O'Shea!" The urgent voice jolted Brenna from her shock. "Your uncle has been shot."
Her heart seized in her chest at the news, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the door, desperation lending her movements a frantic urgency.
"They've taken him to the doctor." the voice continued, already retreating down the hallway.
"Wait, please wait," Brenna pleaded, her voice quivering with fear and uncertainty. "Sir, I can't see. Please, will you take me to him?"
The man paused, his steps faltering as he turned back to her. Without hesitation, he extended his arm. "Of course."
Brenna clung tightly to the stranger's arm, her senses overwhelmed her as the man navigated her through darkness. The man's steady voice provided a faint anchor amidst the noise, explaining in hushed tones the unfortunate sequence of events that had led to her uncle's injury.
As they entered the cramped confines of the doctor's office, the oppressive stench of alcohol, sweat, and blood assaulted Brenna's senses, threatening to engulf her in a wave of nausea and despair. She tightened her grip on the man's arm, seeking solace and reassurance in his presence. But as he gently withdrew from her grasp, a sinking realization washed over her that things were grim.
In the dimly lit room, Brenna's eyes darted wildly, struggling to discern the shapes that surrounded her. She could barely make out the outlines of the furniture—a table, perhaps the looming silhouette of the doctor's examination table.
With trembling fingers, she reached out, her hand guided by a desperate instinct to touch the familiar form lying before her. As her fingertips grazed the lifeless body of her uncle, the reality of his absence crashing over her.
"Hello?" Brenna stood still for a moment then reached out for a wall or something to get her bearings. "Hello?"
"Yes Ma'am. I'm Doc. Peters." When the doctor realized that she had absolutely no reaction to the scene before her, nor did her eyes follow his movements. He waved his hand in front of her and watched as she stared blankly ahead of her.
"Doctor, my uncle —."
"I'm terribly sorry child." The doctor wiped his bloody hands at the wash basin and took her by the arm. "There was nothin' I could do for him."
Brenna's knees gave way, weakened by the flood of emotions crashing over her. She sank to the floor, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, saturating her skirt. Time seemed to blur as she remained huddled on the cold ground. She couldn't gauge how much time had passed, lost in her grief, nor could she recall when the doctor had gently assisted her back to the hotel. The walk back to her room was a blur, her mind consumed by the weight of her loss, her heart heavy with sorrow.
Chapter 2
Oak Creek, Nebraska
June 1870
Three days had slipped by since her uncle's passing, marked by a silence that weighed heavily upon Brenna's heart. She had sent a telegram to her parents in Philadelphia, but the absence of a response left her feeling adrift, her need for closure overshadowed by the urgency to lay her uncle to rest.
Confined to the solitude of her hotel room, Brenna found solace in her grief, her appetite waning as the days stretched on. The doctor's occasional visits provided a fleeting sense of comfort, his wife's gestures of kindness a reminder of the compassion that still existed in the world.
Now, as she sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to don her funeral attire, Brenna felt a sense of determination stir within her. With trembling hands, she fastened her undergarments and smoothed the fabric of her dress. Brenna pinned her hair as neatly as she could manage, her movements slow and deliberate.
Sitting by the window, she noticed the unusual quietness that had settled over the town, a stark departure from the usual hustle and bustle. She reflected on how a funeral had the power to bring such stillness to a place, recognizing the somber impact it had on the community.
Brenna heard the soft knock at the door and welcomed the doctor's wife into the room. She sat quietly on the bed as the older woman gently brushed out her hair and expertly braided it. Normally, Brenna didn't care for others fussing over her, but in that moment, she found solace in the woman's comforting presence.
Once her hair was neatly pinned, the woman handed Brenna a shawl, a small gesture of warmth and support. Brenna gratefully accepted it, wrapping the dark fabric around her body.
The two women made their way through the quiet streets towards the cemetery, Brenna clung tightly to the woman's arm. It felt surreal to lay her uncle to rest in a place so unfamiliar, but with no other options available, she resigned herself to the necessity of the moment. The service was brief and solemn, the words of farewell echoing in the stillness of the cemetery. Brenna remained stoic. All her emotions spent in the days leading up to this final farewell.
Chapter 3
Oak Creek, Nebraska
June 1870
Two men lingered in the shadows near the hotel, their figures obscured by the darkness of the night. With cautious glances, they cast their eyes upwards towards the illuminated windows.
"It's the fourth one over Rafe." "You sure that's her?"
"I saw her go in the hotel myself. I know that's the room."
"Well, you stay here with the horses. I'll be right back with the girl."
Rafe scaled the back of the hotel, his movements swift and silent as he ascended to the second-story roof. With practiced ease, he positioned himself at the edge, his form blending seamlessly into the darkness of the night.
Carefully, he lowered himself through the open window, the dim light from a lamp casting a soft glow across the room. His eyes quickly adjusted to the shadows and he moved with calculated precision towards the figure lying asleep in the bed. With a swift and determined motion, he pressed his hand firmly over her mouth, his touch both commanding and urgent as he sought to stifle any outcry.
"Make a sound and I'll shoot you in the head." He mumbled gruffly. "Nod your head if you understand me."
Groggily, Brenna nodded her head, her mind clouded with confusion as she struggled to make sense of the darkened figure looming above her. Her eyes blinked wildly, trying to focus on the intruder's form as he moved with swift determination.
Before she could fully comprehend the situation, Brenna felt her hands being roughly bound, the coarse texture of the ropes biting into her skin. Panic surged within her as a strip of cloth was pressed firmly over her mouth, stifling any attempt to scream for help. Desperately, she strained against the tight restraints, but they held fast, leaving her feeling helpless.
With alarming strength, the man hoisted Brenna over his shoulder, her body limp and defenseless against his grasp. Fear coursed through her veins as she was carried away into the darkness, her heart pounding with a sense of dread at the unknown fate that awaited her.
Chapter 4
Eagle Valley, Nebraska
July 1870
Buck's footsteps quickened as he traversed the familiar wooden boardwalk. Even from fifty yards away, the echo of loud voices reverberated through the stillness of the morning, unsettling in its intensity.
It was an unusual disturbance for this early hour, sparking a sense of curiosity and concern in his mind. With each step, Buck's pace increased, his senses alert to any signs of trouble that awaited him at the jailhouse. "It's been three weeks!"
"Ma'am." Buck could hear his deputy tried to calm the woman down.
"What's going on here?" Buck took off his hat and hung it on the wall as he walked into the small room.
"Mr. and Mrs. O'Shea, this is Sheriff Cross."
"An Indian? Oh, for heaven's sake!" Colleen O'Shea's mouth dropped open in shock and her hand fluttered to her chest.
"Sir." Ferguson shook the sheriff's hand heartily. "Ferguson O'Shea."
"Buck Cross. How can I help you?" Buck's voice held a note of authority as he regarded the stranger and his wife with a keen and critical eye.
"My brother and daughter were traveling to Philadelphia and should have arrived a couple weeks ago. We received this telegram from my daughter." He showed the lawman the wrinkled slip of paper. "My brother had died."
"Well, Oak Creek is about fifty miles west of us, sir." Buck informed the man as he read over the telegram in its entirety.
"We went straight there," Ferguson pleaded. "The sheriff informed us that my brother had been shot and killed accidentally in a saloon gunfight."
Colleen, overcome with tears, leaned against her husband as he continued to plead their case with the sheriff.
"Hastings? Wasn't it a few months ago we got wind of some trouble over there?" Buck questioned his deputy.
The young deputy searched his memory for a moment, nodding in recollection as the details of Oak Creek fell into place. "Think it was some gang."
"Well." Buck frowned and looked out at the quiet town. "I suppose I can ride out and look into it." Buck conceded.
The older man shuffled a few bills and extended them towards the sheriff.
"It's my job." Buck stated, shaking his head in refusal.
"Take it, make sure my daughter is taken care of." the older man insisted, a note of urgency in his voice as he pressed the bills into Buck's hand and continued his voice barely above a whisper. "She's near blind."
Buck's face twisted in concern, the gravity of the situation hitting him harder as urgency weighed heavily on his mind.
"Hastings, you're in charge. I'm going to ride out." Buck instructed, his tone decisive as he delegated authority to his deputy before embarking on his journey. "I'll be back within the week."
"Thank you, Sheriff." Ferguson shook his hand again.
"Describe your daughter." Buck requested, his gaze unwavering as he prepared to leave, the payment tucked securely into his vest.
"Here." Ferguson produced a small photograph, taken the previous year. "Her name is Brenna. Her hair's grown a little, and she has bright blue eyes. There's a small scar just above her eyebrow."
Buck accepted the photograph, his eyes drawn to the image for a moment longer than necessary.
"Please find my daughter." Ferguson looked desperately into the other man's eyes.
"I'll do everything I can." Buck replied, his voice steady despite the weight of the task. With a determined nod, he mounted his horse and disappeared into the horizon, the image of Brenna tucked safely within his pocket.
Chapter 5
Acorn Springs, Colorado
July 1870
Brenna rubbed her wrists tenderly, feeling the lingering ache of the ropes that had left welts on her skin. Since her captors discovered her blindness, they had ceased tying her up, relegating her instead to the task of tending to their fire and stirring their pot of food. But Brenna was not alone in her captivity.
Several other young women had been taken as well, their presence a grim reminder of the dire situation they all found themselves in. As she worked, Brenna overheard snippets of conversation among the men, a chill crept over her as she uncovered their wicked intentions.
With a heavy heart, Brenna added another piece of wood to the fire, the crackling flames offering little comfort. She heard the soft sobbing of one of the girls nearby, her heart going out to her in silent sympathy. Rafe, the leader of their captors, had made it clear that certain girls were to remain untouched, reserved for a potentially higher price. In a twisted twist of fate, Brenna found herself grateful for this small semblance of protection, though the indignity of their situation weighed heavily on her soul.
Exhausted and weary, Brenna leaned back against a roll of dirty blankets, her eyelids heavy with fatigue as she sought solace in the darkness behind closed eyes. In that fleeting moment of respite, she yearned for the comforting embrace of family and the safety of familiar surroundings. The memory of her uncle weighed heavily on her heart.
With a pang of sorrow, she wondered if her parents were even aware of what had transpired, their distant presence adding to her sense of isolation in this grim reality.
Chapter 6
Oak Creek, Nebraska
July 1870
Upon his arrival in Oak Creek, Buck couldn't help but notice the unease that rippled through the town at his presence. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he made his way to the jailhouse.
Inside the small office, Buck introduced himself to the sheriff and wasted no time in asking about the man who had been shot. The sheriff's reluctance was palpable as he revealed that since the man was shot, there had been no sign of the woman since the funeral. While most assumed she had left town, rumors swirled about her potential whereabouts, with some suggesting she had found employment in the brothel at the edge of town.
Buck pressed the sheriff for more information, questioning why he had not shared this news with the O'Shea family who had recently been in town. The sheriff's admission painted a grim picture of the town's troubles, revealing that a gang of men had been terrorizing Oak Creek, forcing him to prioritize the safety of the town above all else. Buck expressed his gratitude to the sheriff and exited the jailhouse, his footsteps echoing softly against the wooden boardwalk as he made his way across the street. He offered a nod of acknowledgment to the women standing along the walkway and in the windows of the brothel as he made his way inside. The dimly lit interior greeted him, the air heavy with the scent of perfume and smoke.
Finding a table, he settled in, his gaze sweeping over the room in search of any sign of Brenna O'Shea. Before long, a leggy brunette made her way over to Buck's table, her demeanor inviting as she draped her arm across his shoulder. Despite her efforts to entice him, Buck remained focused on his task at hand.
"You look like you've been ridin' hard and could use some company." She purred in his ear.
"No thanks Ma'am." He chuckled. "I'm looking for a young blonde —"
"Well you're a picky half breed ain't ya?" She retorted, her voice laced with irritation and indignation.
"Not like that. I'm looking for the girl whose uncle was shot a few weeks ago." Buck clarified firmly, reaching out to grab her arm before the woman could yank it away.
"Keep your filthy Indian hands off me!" She shrieked, pulling her arm away before storming off in a huff.
Buck glanced around the room, uncertainty clouding his features as he scanned the faces of the women present. None of them bore any resemblance to Brenna, leaving him at a loss. As he pondered his next move, a petite blonde woman slid into the seat beside him, catching his attention.
"Is that the one yer looking for?" She inquired, her voice soft and inviting.
Buck regarded her with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. "Do you know where she is?" he asked, a note of urgency creeping into his tone.
The woman flashed him a smile and reached for his hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Put that away and follow me." She whispered, her eyes alight with mischief. "I'll tell you what you need to know."
With a sense of trepidation, Buck allowed himself to be led upstairs by the woman. At the top of the stairs, she paused, drawing him close for a kiss as she deftly unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. Without a word, she guided him into a nearby room, shutting the door behind them and enveloping them both in darkness.
"How do you know her?" she asked, closing the distance between them with a playful smile.
"Her parents are looking for her," Buck replied, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice as he buttoned his shirt back up.
"Relax..." she laughed, her tone light and teasing. "Keeping up appearances. You know." She winked at him, clearly enjoying his unease.
Buck's annoyance began to mount. "Do you know where she is?" He pressed his lips together tightly, his patience wearing thin.
"There's a gang, they sometimes pass through towns, taking girls like her."
"What do you mean like her?"
"Pretty, with no family." She explained, her voice tinged with a hint of bitterness as she sat at the vanity, brushing her long blonde hair.
"What are they doing with them?" Buck asked, his voice tinged with a shudder of dread as he broached the unsettling question, knowing deep down that the answer couldn't be anything less than sinister.
"They take them west. Most are sold to brothels along the way. The really pretty ones that can fetch a good price are sold overseas to foreigners."
Buck's brow furrowed in concern. "How do you know all this?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.
"I had a business arrangement with one of the men involved." She admitted, her scowl betraying her lingering resentment. "It didn't end well."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"That girl, she's really pretty." She remarked, raising an eyebrow. "They will take her all the way to California." She rested her hand on the doorknob, slowly creaking it open as if to end the conversation.
"Thank you," Buck said, reaching into his pocket and offering her several bills.
"I ain't takin' your money." She paused, closing the door slightly. Then, looking up at him with a seductive smile, she added, "Unless I can earn it."
"Please, take it," he insisted, returning her smile. "Perhaps I'll see you again on my way back through."
She chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as the attractive stranger disappeared down the hallway. Though she knew their paths wouldn't cross again, a wistful smile played on her lips as her imagination took flight.
Chapter 7
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
July 1870
Kid shook his head as Buck made his fourth attempt to calm Mrs. O'Shea down. He had already explained to her that he had received a lead on her daughter and needed to gather a company of men to go after the gang responsible. Going alone would mean being outnumbered, and Brenna's chances would diminish even further.
Buck issued orders for the men to mount up and prepare to move out. He felt grateful that Kid had agreed to assist him in the search. Kid had served as the sheriff of Blue River for the last three years, and Buck had reciprocated the help over the years, as Blue River was just a little over fifty miles southwest of Eagle Canyon.
"Sheriff McCloud!" Colleen O'Shea interjected, her grip tightening on his arm.
"Please protect my daughter."
Buck was not oblivious to Mrs. O'Shea's glare or her harsh words. He knew the woman would like nothing more than to skin him alive. Despite the tension, he smirked and rode on ahead with the company. He could hear Kid assuring Mrs. O'Shea that her daughter was in safe hands.
"If her daughter is anything like her, I almost feel bad for the kidnappers." Kid remarked as he caught up to Buck.
"She's a handful alright." Buck replied with a chuckle.
"Just make sure you don't scalp her daughter now, Buck." Kid joked.
"I'll try to control myself." Buck retorted, rolling his eyes.
Chapter 8
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
The aroma of stew permeated the air, intermingling with the persistent dampness that clung to Brenna's skin. Seated at the edge of the fire, she stirred the pot with deliberate slowness. The oppressive heat from both the blazing flames and the unforgiving sun beat down upon her, intensifying her thirst until it felt like a physical ache. Days, maybe even weeks, had melded together since her capture. Time seemed to lose its shape, becoming as much a prisoner as Brenna herself.
Her moment of respite was shattered when strong hands encircled her waist, pulling her abruptly against his body. Panic set into her heart, Rafe must not have been in camp—a rare occurrence that left her feeling vulnerable. Brenna found a twisted sense of safety in Rafe's presence—he was the one who had taken her, but he also served as her temporary protector. She hated his absence, more than she despised his presence.
Before she could react, she was forced to the ground, pinned beneath the weight of the unknown man.
"Rafe!" She called out desperately.
"He ain't here to protect you sweet pea." He licked her cheek from jaw to ear. "Mmm you taste as sweet as you look."
"Please don't—" A wave of revulsion washed over her.
"I bet a sweet little thing like you ain't never been with a man before." He grinned wickedly.
Brenna trembled and thrashed around reaching for anything she could use as a weapon. She could hear him unbuckling his belt and the bile rose in her throat.
Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the tense silence, ringing loudly in Brenna's ears. The weight of the man atop her suddenly lifted, his body slumping motionless to the ground. Startled into consciousness, Brenna's gaze darted upward, meeting Rafe's intimidating form as he closed in.
Rafe wasted no time in rolling the lifeless man off Brenna and seizing her by the arm, hauling her up to her feet. With a grip like iron, he held her up for all his men to see, his gaze cold and calculating as he showcased his prize.
"None of you should be lookin' at her, or any of them like they are women. Because they ain't. They are your pay. Next man that touches one of the girls here that ain't going to die as quick and painless as Joe here."
Rafe dragged Brenna over to where the other women slept, his grip unyielding as he tossed her roughly onto the ground amidst the huddled forms of her fellow captives. The impact sent shockwaves of pain through her body, but she bit back any cries, refusing to show any weakness in front of her captors.
A frustrated huff escaped Brenna's lips as she smoothed out her rumpled skirt, struggling to contain her emotions. As quickly as the chaos erupted, it subsided, Rafe barking orders for the removal of the body, restoring a semblance of order to the unsettling camp.
Moments later, she felt the weight of a bowl thrust into her hands, the action rough and abrupt. As her fingers wrapped around its edges, she couldn't escape the overpowering aroma of strong coffee and liquor emanating from Rafe's breath. To her it was the scent that embodied Rafe.
"Your price better be worth the trouble." With a cold, muttered remark, he thrust a stale hunk of bread into her hand.
As her stomach growled, Brenna lifted the bowl to her lips and took a long sip of the broth, savoring its warmth and the meager nourishment it offered. Just then, a timid voice broke through the crackling of the fire.
"Puedo comer algo?"
"I don't understand." Brenna looked up at the shadowed figure next to her.
"Food?"
"Of course." Brenna reached out for the girl's arm and invited her to sit next to her on the ground. Because she was charged with much of the cooking, she had access to food which many of the girl's in the camp did not.
Brenna leaned closer trying to make out the girl's features but in diminished light all she could discern was the girl's dark hair and her diminutive size.
"I'm Brenna." She gently rested her hand the girl's shoulder softly.
"Araceli." The girl whispered in return.
"How long have you been here?" Brenna whispered.
"Dos." The girl said between gobbling the bites of stew.
"Two days?" Brenna felt her two fingers.
"No days, semanas..." Araceli tried to think of the words. "More."
"Weeks?"
"Si."
"I think it's been almost two months now." Brenna replied, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch her eyes. "I'm blind."
Brenna couldn't help but let out a soft laugh when she noticed the rapid movement of shadows in front of her. She knew instinctively that Araceli had waved her hand quickly, almost as if to test the accuracy of Brenna's statement. It was a playful gesture, but it also hinted at Araceli's curiosity.
"Where are your parents?"
Taking Brenna's hand gently, Araceli lifted her arm and pointed upwards towards the sky, her gesture carrying a weight of meaning that transcended language.
Chapter 9
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Gingerly, Brenna made her way over to where Araceli lay, whimpering softly in pain. It had been several days, and her fever was only getting worse. Brenna knew two things for certain: first, if the men found out that Ara was sick, they would either kill her or leave her to die, and second, if Ara didn't get to a doctor soon, she would succumb to her illness. Brenna knelt beside Araceli and gently rubbed her back, offering what comfort she could to the suffering girl.
"Brenna," Araceli moaned.
"Shhh..." Brenna wiped the sweat from her brow.
"We must leave now."
"I don't know..."
Her voice trailed off as she squinted into the stilled shadows, as the fire crackled and died out. She wasn't sure what the desert held in store for them, but whatever horrors lurked in the vast unknown, they paled in comparison to the cruelty that awaited them if they didn't escape.
"Brenna, por favor."
The pair had been secretly planning their escape for several days. Brenna, with her freedom to move about the camp, had committed to memory the layout and key locations, including the path to where the horses were penned.
Under the cover of darkness, Brenna crept back to the fire pit, her heart pounding. She searched frantically for a knife, her senses on high alert to the snores of the sleeping men nearby. Finally, her fingers closed around a small knife. She quickly made her way back to Araceli and carefully cut her binds.
Taking the younger girl's hand, Brenna motioned towards the horses, silently conveying their plan. Araceli saddled one of the horses and swiftly gathered supplies, packing them into a bag and securing it to the horse's saddle.
With Brenna hoisted into the saddle, Araceli mounted behind her, and they set off into the night, their hearts racing with both fear and desperation. For miles they rode in tense silence, each moment fraught with the fear of discovery. It wasn't until the first light of dawn began to paint the horizon that they dared to believe they had truly escaped the clutches of their captors.
As the first rays of sunlight pierced the darkness, Araceli spotted a cave ahead and guided the horse towards the shelter, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. Together, they laid out a blanket and curled up for a few precious hours of rest, their bodies weary and the sun was merciless.
Chapter 10
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Buck, Kid, and the company of men who rode with them had been relentless in their pursuit, tracking the elusive gang accused of kidnapping and selling women across the rugged terrain. They followed the faint traces left behind by the criminals, their determination only grew stronger with each mile, as they closed the gap between them.
The tension mounted and the adrenaline coursed through their veins when Buck and Kid executed the daring ambush on the gang's camp, catching the criminals off guard. Yet, despite their efforts, there was no sign of the O'Shea girl among the captives.
"She ain't here, damn it!" With a clenched jaw and a steely resolve, Buck refused to let their setback deter him. "Spread out," he ordered his men, his voice edged with determination.
Kid motioned for a few men to follow him. The other's fanned out, their eyes peeled for any trace of the missing girl.
"Too damn late half-breed." Buck's jaw clenched tightly as he locked eyes with Rafe, his blood boiling at the man's hateful words. Ignoring the spit that landed at his feet, Buck refused to let Rafe's taunts get the better of him. Instead, he stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he confronted the pitiful man before him.
"Where is she?" Buck pulled Rafe up by his shirt.
"Sold her to some Apache." Rafe taunted, his words dripping with malice. "Yeah, you know exactly what those monsters do to pretty young girls like her don't you."
Buck knew the man was goading him into a fight and he wasn't going to take the bait. Buck's jaw clenched, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he maintained his composure, his eyes hardening with determination.
"Hell I figure it's a blessing she couldn't see what was comin'."
His thinly veiled control exploded as Buck's fist made contact with the man's jaw. By the third or fourth hit Kid grabbed Buck, pulling him off the bloodied man.
Buck reflected quietly on his loss of control, a rarity in his life. Only a handful of occasions stood out in his memory, one of them being after Ike's death. The weight of Teaspoon's words echoed in his mind.
"Remember what I said about crossing that line?" The older man's sigh carried a heavy resignation. "Well, that's what you've done. Now you're gonna have to live with it." Teaspoon had been right about crossing the line. His admonition still lingered in Buck's memories.
Taking a steadying breath, Buck braced himself and began to scour the area, his eyes scanning every inch of the site for any clues that could lead them to missing girl. As he squinted against the harsh glare of the sun, Buck's keen observation skills kicked in.
Two sets of small footprints near the horses caught his attention. It was clear that two of the girls had managed to escape, and one of them had to be Brenna.
"Kid." Buck called out loudly. "What is it?" "These tracks." Buck pointed. "Looks like a couple girls may have escaped."
"I'll take care of this." Kid motioned to the camp. "I'll meet you in Eagle Canyon if I don't catch up with you before." Kid nodded. "Ride safe."
Chapter 11
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Brenna and Araceli traveled for days, following the riverbank for guidance. They rode at dusk and into the night to escape the scorching heat.
"Paseo por el río." Araceli sighed weakly as her body sagged against the older girl that sat behind her on the horse.
"The river?" Brenna asked.
"Follow river."
"So we don't get lost." Brenna smiled. "I understand."
A grunt of pain escaped Araceli's lips, tightening Brenna's heart with concern. She immediately slowed the horse, dismounting carefully.
"We'll rest," Brenna said gently, her voice filled with empathy. She helped Araceli dismount with care, ensuring her comfort before attending to the horse.
Brenna settled Araceli by the river, placing her under the scant shade of dry brush to shield her from the harsh sun. Araceli clung tightly to Brenna's arm, her body weakened by the illness she fought.
"Cuantos años tienes?" Araceli rasped, her voice weak.
"I don't understand," Brenna looked blankly ahead, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Ara squeezed Brenna's hand, tracing numbers on her palm. She then tapped her chest once, indicating herself.
"Fourteen?" Brenna asked, seeking confirmation. She felt Ara's slight nod in response. "Nineteen," Brenna replied, holding up all her fingers and folding down her thumb.
With gentle hands, Brenna tore a strip of fabric from her skirt, dipped it in the cool water, and placed it on Ara's forehead for relief from the sun's heat. Brenna then retrieved an apple from her bag and offered it to her companion.
As she rummaged further, her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. Curiosity piqued, she pulled out a gun. Her breath hitched as she stared at the weapon in her hand, a wave of fear and uncertainty washing over her. After a moment's pause, she took a deep breath and carefully returned the gun to the bag. "Brenna?" Araceli cried out in pain. "I'm here." Brenna assured her.
Chapter 12
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Buck pressed on, fueled by the urgency of his pursuit. The tracks left by the two girls were fresh, indicating they weren't too far ahead. The desert was unforgiving, with scorching temperatures the sun was merciless, and the dangers of dehydration and exhaustion were eminent. But the desert also held other dangers, from venomous creatures lurking in the shadows to sudden sandstorms that could engulf them without warning.
As soon as the sun dipped further into the horizon, Buck was up and, on their trail, once again, his senses heightened as he scanned the skyline for any sign of the girls. Urging his horse onward, Buck followed the tracks eastward, keeping close to the winding path of the river.
The fading light cast an eerie glow over the rugged terrain, but Buck pressed on undeterred, his determination unwavering despite the encroaching darkness.
Chapter 13
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Brenna knelt by her friend's side, her heart heavy with concern as she rocked her back and forth gently. But despite her efforts, there was no response from Araceli.
"Ara don't you give up!" Brenna pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "There's a town not far from here."
Her heart sank as she realized that Araceli's breathing had ceased, her chest still and silent. Panic and grief surged within Brenna as she pressed her trembling fingers against the girl's skin, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing.
No breath, no heartbeat.
Tears streamed down Brenna's cheeks, mingling with the dust of the desert as they fell onto the lifeless body of her friend. In that moment, the weight of their harrowing journey bore down upon her with crushing force, leaving her feeling utterly alone.
Realizing the need to find shelter she gently kissed Araceli's hand before laying it reverently across her chest. With a heavy heart, Brenna took hold of the reins and began to lead the horse along the path of the river.
Though every muscle in her yearned to ride, she wasn't certain she could see well enough to follow the river as easily from horseback. So, with a cautious determination, she opted to walk alongside the riverbank, her steps measured and deliberate, to avoid getting lost in the vast expanse of the desert.
"Ouch! Damn it." Brenna felt her leg brush against another cactus bush.
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her as she trudged alongside the horse, her weary steps faltering with each passing moment. The sun rise higher in the sky, she tied the small blanket to a brush and curled up in the shadow it provided. Brenna reached into the bag and grasped the comforting weight of the gun, its presence offering a faint sense of security amidst the desolation.
Reality pressed in around her, the harsh truth of her situation looming large in her mind. Her rations were dwindling, and the prospect of dying alone in the vast expanse of the desert filled her with a paralyzing fear. Brenna closed her eyes, her thoughts consumed by the uncertainty of her fate. For a fleeting moment, she dozed fitfully, her troubled mind seeking refuge in the brief respite of sleep before finally succumbing to her exhaustion.
Chapter 14
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Buck felt a pang of sadness as he knelt beside the lifeless form of the young girl. Her peaceful expression belied the harsh reality of her fate. He gently closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer for her soul before rising to his feet. Turning away from the scene, Buck mounted his horse and set off once more, following the tracks left by Brenna's solitary journey.
Each hoofbeat echoed the urgency of his mission, driving him forward with a singular purpose: to find Brenna O'Shea and bring her to safety. He urged his horse forward, his heart pounding with anticipation as he closed in on the figure ahead. With each stride, his determination grew stronger.
Chapter 15
Somewhere in the desert, Arizona
August 1870
Exhausted and weary, Brenna urged the horse along the riverbank, the sun rising ominously overhead. She was painfully aware the horse at her side was weakening by the minute. Already feeling the sting of sun on her skin, she sought refuge in the shadow cast by her equine companion, desperate to avoid further exposure to the scorching desert sun.
As the sound of approaching hooves reached her ears, panic gripped Brenna's heart. Could it be Rafe? Had he finally tracked her down? Frantically, she reached for the pistol, her hands trembling with fear and adrenaline. But even as she brandished the weapon, she knew her chances of hitting her target were slim, especially if there were more riders behind him.
"Don't come any closer!" She called out. Brenna prayed that the rider approaching her was not one of her captors, but rather someone who could offer help.
"Brenna!" Buck's voice rang out across the desert, carrying the weight of urgency and truth. "Brenna O'Shea. Your parents asked me to find you."
"Who are you?" Brenna questioned, her grip on the gun loosening slightly but not releasing.
"Buck Cross." He answered, dismounting his horse and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. "I'm a sheriff of a town in Nebraska, near to where you were taken from."
Brenna's mind raced with questions and doubts, but she couldn't ignore the glimmer of hope stirring within her.
"Here." He removed his badge and held it out for her to touch.
In the brightness of the midday sun, Brenna squinted at the figure cloaked in shadows. His outstretched arm held something, and as her free hand met cool metal, recognition flared through her. It was a star-shaped charm. Relief washed over her in a tidal wave as she understood: she was safe.
"How did you find me?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We tracked the group that took you." Buck explained gently, reaching out to take the gun from her trembling hand. "I saw your friend, back there. I'm sorry."
With her eyes brimming with tears, Brenna felt a sense of vulnerability unlike any she had ever known. Without hesitation, Brenna threw herself into Buck's arms, seeking solace and security in his embrace. Her tears flowed freely, leaving a trail of salty anguish on her cheeks, but in that moment, she felt a glimmer of warmth and reassurance in the arms of this stranger who had appeared like a beacon of hope in her darkest hour.
Buck held her close, offering silent comfort and strength. Sensing the horse's distress, Buck steered them towards the welcome shade of a nearby hillock. He dismounted and gave the animal a thorough examination. The horse appeared unwell, but with proper care, Buck was confident she could recover.
Buck took Brenna's hand gently, guiding her back to the riverbank. Sensing her trust, he helped her settle onto a large, flat rock by the water's edge. He knelt beside her and began to remove her shoes and stockings. His movements deliberate and gentle to avoid causing her any more discomfort.
"What are you doing?" She asked nervously.
Buck observed Brenna's injuries with concern. "You must have cut yourself on every cactus out here."
He tore the ruffle off the bottom of her petticoat and carefully tended to her wounds before fashioning a makeshift bandage.
"Thank you." Brenna said gratefully.
"You're welcome." Buck replied, leading her back to the horses. "We'll head into the closest town. You can rest up."
Buck led her to his horse and helped her into the saddle. With practiced ease, Buck swung himself onto his own horse. He then secured her mount's reins to his saddle horn, transforming them into a single unit. Checking the map briefly turned their path towards the nearest town.
They both needed rest and supplies before embarking on the journey back. He was also going to have to replace her horse. The horse, while salvageable, wouldn't be strong enough for the arduous journey ahead. Buck knew they needed a fresh mount to reach Eagle Canyon safely.
Chapter 16
Black Rock, Colorado
August 1870
As they rode out of town, Brenna adjusted her hat, feeling the coarse fabric shield her face from the relentless sun. With practiced hands, she tied the handkerchief around her neck, grateful for its slight protection against the blazing heat. Two weeks on horseback had left her skin scorched and tender, every exposed inch bearing the mark of the unforgiving sun.
"Thanks again for the hat, Mr. Cross." Brenna said, her voice muffled by the cloth.
"I've told you, it's Buck," he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Well, you are a sheriff..." Brenna explained. "And you are my elder. It's a sign of respect." Brenna countered with a playful smile.
"I'm not that much your elder." Buck chuckled.
"How old are you?" Brenna inquired, her curiosity piqued.
"Thirty." He replied. "Hmmm," Brenna laughed.
"The sheriff in my town is at least sixty and has a pot belly."
"I haven't had much time to work on my pot belly yet." Buck quipped, sharing in her laughter.
"So what is Eagle Canyon like?" Brenna asked, steering the conversation toward their destination.
"Your average town I suppose." Buck replied, his tone casual.
"This is going to be a very long ride if that's all the talking you are going to do, Buck." Brenna remarked, injecting a playful challenge.
"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Buck chuckled to himself as noted the stark difference a day of rest and a good meal had on his traveling companion.
"I was born in Illinois." Brenna began. "I'm an only child and my parent's fuss over me too much." A soft chuckle escaped her lips, the memory bringing a tinge of amusement and perhaps a hint of exasperation.
She explained how when her father started investing in the railroads, he moved the family to Wyoming when she was a few years old. "My mother hates living in the land of the 'Godless heathens' as she calls it." Brenna rolled her eyes dramatically as she impersonated her mother. "She's always fretting that the Indians are going to make off with her scalp."
"What do you think?" Buck's question hung in the air, carrying the weight of his unspoken thoughts. A hint of seriousness, a subtle shift in his usual tone.
"I'm pretty sure my mama's scalp is safe," Brenna quipped.
"I meant living in the land of the Godless Heathens." Buck repeated her words, his tone serious.
"I've seen few of the Lakota at Ft Laramie when I was traveling with my father one summer. I know it's not ladylike to speak of politics, but since you asked. It seems to me that we have broken more treaties than the Indians have." Brenna observed, noting Buck's contemplative silence. "Sorry, just a woman's silly view of politics." She laughed nervously.
"You should never think your ideas are silly because you are a woman Brenna." Buck reassured her, his tone earnest.
"Well thank you." Brenna smiled, appreciating his encouragement. "Have you always wanted to be a sheriff?" she asked, shifting the focus back to him.
"No," Buck admitted, his gaze squinting against the harsh sun.
"After the war I just kind of fell into it I guess."
"Did you fight in the war?" Brenna inquired.
"Yeah" Buck revealed with a heavy sigh. "It's something I don't like to talk about."
"I'm sorry." Brenna offered softly.
"It's alright," Buck reassured her, his gaze turning toward the horizon.
"Do you have a family in Eagle Canyon?" Brenna asked, attempting to keep the conversation light.
"No," Buck replied simply, his tone was unreadable.
"I imagine your line of work it's hard to settle down." Brenna considered. "Family life isn't for everyone."
Buck maintained his silence, reluctant to delve into personal matters with someone he hardly knew. It wasn't the fear of commitment or a lack of desire for a family, but rather in the struggle to find the right companion. Despite his longing for connection and a desire for a family of his own, he couldn't shake the memories of past heartaches. Luck had not been on his side in matters of the heart.
Chapter 17
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
Colleen and Ferguson O'Shea rushed to the street at the first sign of the returning search party. Hope surged within them, fueled by the good news and the distant sounds of approaching hooves. Yet, as they strained their eyes to catch sight of their beloved Brenna among the riders, confusion clouded their expressions. She wasn't there. Anxiety gnawed at their hearts as they exchanged worried glances, wondering why their daughter wasn't with them.
"Where is our daughter?" Ferguson's voice quavered with a mix of fear and urgency as he stepped forward to meet Kid, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
"Mr. O'Shea, your daughter escaped before we got there with another girl." Kid explained as he dismounted, his expression grave.
"So where is she?" Colleen's voice rose, sharp and piercing.
"Sheriff Crossis tracking her, and I took the other captives as well as the men so they can await trial." Kid replied.
"My daughter is alone in the wilderness with that savage?" Colleen's scream echoed with a mix of fear and fury, her hands trembling with worry.
"I assure you she is in safe hands." Kid interjected, trying to calm her frantic demeanor.
Chapter 18
Eastern Colorado
September 1870
Brenna could feel the cool water soothing her tired muscles as she waded deeper into the river, the gentle current washing away the dust and weariness of their journey. The sun beat down relentlessly, but the refreshing embrace of the water provided a welcome respite.
Dust swirled around the Buck's boots as he reined in the horses at the bend in the river. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows from the gnarled cottonwood trees that dotted the bank. He needed a break as much as the mounts did. With a sigh, he loosened the reins, allowing the horses to drink from the cool, inviting water.
A splash broke his reverie. He snapped his head back towards the girl, a jolt of surprise shooting through him. Expecting her to be sitting in the saddle next to him, it was empty and she was gone. Then he saw her, standing knee-deep in the river, the current tugging playfully at the hem of her muddied skirt, which she held aloft with one hand.
The setting sun cast her face in a warm glow, highlighting the untamed glint in her eyes and the smile that played on her lips. She was a wild thing, as untamed as the river itself, and for a reason he couldn't explain, a thrill shot through him.
"Brenna!" Buck's voice cut through the tranquility, pulling her back to reality. "What are you doing?"
"I'm just wading in the river." she replied, her tone pleading for a moment of reprieve.
"Come on, we have to keep going." Buck insisted, his sense of duty overriding his desire for rest.
"Please, just for a little while?"
Brenna's plea was met with a hesitant pause from Buck, who weighed the exhaustion in his own bones against the urgency of their mission. After a moment of contemplation, Buck relented. He knew they both needed a break, and a short rest wouldn't significantly delay their progress. Leading both horses to a shady spot under a tree, he tied them securely to a low hanging branch before joining Brenna by the water's edge.
Unbuttoning his shirt, Buck tossed it over the saddle and glanced back at Brenna, who had already shed her black dress and petticoats, standing halfway in the water in her chemise. Buck felt a rush of warmth spread through him as he watched Brenna wade deeper into the water, her ethereal presence captivating him despite his best efforts to remain focused on their task.
He scolded himself for the stirring of emotions within him, reminding himself sternly of the purpose of their journey. How could he not stare? Buck wondered silently as he observed Brenna splashing in the cool water, her beauty was undeniable. Her golden hair danced in the breeze, framing her delicate features, and her clear blue eyes held a depth that seemed to draw him in.
"Buck!" Brenna's voice broke through his daydream, pulling him back to reality. "Are you coming?"
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Buck waded into the water, his mind still swirling with conflicting emotions.
"Don't go too far into the currents, Brenna." He cautioned.
"I'm not." Brenna reassured him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, splashing him playfully as he approached.
"You better cut it out." Buck warned with a half-hearted scowl, though the corners of his lips twitched with amusement.
Brenna teased, splashing him once more before attempting to swim away. With a playful grin, Buck dove into the water, swiftly catching up to her and surfacing behind her. He reached out, gently pushing her head under the water, eliciting sputters and protests from Brenna as she resurfaced, her laughter filling the air.
As she reached out to retaliate, Buck swiftly grabbed her ankle, his playful antics turning into a spirited water fight. Despite her best efforts to escape, Brenna found herself at his mercy. Eventually, breathless and laughing, Brenna conceded defeat.
"I give up," she declared, clinging to Buck as they both caught their breath, the rush of cool water surrounding them.
He gently tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch tender yet tinged with longing. Unable to resist any longer, he pulled her close, his lips meeting hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Buck's world narrowed to the sensation of Brenna's lips, her quiet sigh of surrender fueling his mounting desire.
Brenna's breath caught in her throat as she melted into his embrace, the warmth of his touch sending waves of desire coursing through her. Closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to the moment, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with equal fervor.
In the quiet moments of the last few days, Brenna had found herself grappling with newfound feelings for him. As they journeyed together over the weeks, they had grown closer, sharing stories, laughter, and hardships. Yet, until that moment, she had been uncertain whether he harbored similar emotions. As Brenna wound her fingers through the hair at his neck and held him tightly. He felt a surge of desire pulse through him, intensifying the passion of their kiss.
Slowly, he carried her to the edge of the river, the cool breeze mingling with the warmth of their bodies as he cradled her head and laid her back down on the soft grass. With a tender touch, Buck's tongue coaxed Brenna's lips apart, his kiss deepening as their connection grew more intense.
Lost in the moment, he let himself be carried away in this lust fueled haze, savoring every moment. However, as his hand trailed down Brenna's side, he suddenly felt a pang of hesitation. His touch lingered at her hip, the realization of their situation crashing over him like a wave.
Pulling back slightly, he looked into Brenna's eyes, his expression a mix of desire and uncertainty. Shame pulsed through him. He wasn't going to take advantage of the situation. The poor woman was in mourning, she had been traumatized.
He rose, muscles protesting in a low groan. Ignoring the ache in his core, he walked towards his horse, a steadying hand on the animal's flank.
"We have to get going." His voice was gruff and firm. He offered Brenna her dress. "We can make a few miles before nightfall forces us to camp."
Chapter 19
Western Nebraska
September 1870
The rhythmic lilt of Buck's voice lulled Brenna into a comfortable silence. His words weren't mere descriptions. Each rustle of the wind through the tall grass, each fleeting shadow cast by a passing cloud, came alive in her mind as he spoke. Days had blurred together; each one he described their everchanging landscape. Yet, an unspoken tension hung heavy between them.
The memory of a stolen kiss by the river, a moment vivid yet unacknowledged, lingered between them. The silence wasn't unpleasant, but it carried the weight of a question neither of them seemed ready to answer.
"Brenna?"
"I'm sorry were you saying something?" "I asked you what your plans were when you got to Philadelphia."
"Well I hope the doctor there can help me regain my sight."
"How much can you see?"
"Shadows mostly." She looked across the horizon. "I would like to be able to read again though. I want to read my children bedtime stories. Like my mother use to read to me."
"Sounds like good memories." Buck smiled at her.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"If you weren't the sheriff in your town and you could do anything, what would you do?"
"I would like a family." Buck answered honestly. "A little piece of land for horses. A few kids, and a house with a garden."
"And an orchard of fruit trees." She added.
"Of course, fruit trees," he interjected playfully as she helped construct his make-believe home.
"Maybe a creek nearby."
"With blackberries." "Are you hungry Brenna?" Buck laughed.
"Perhaps a little."
"Why don't we stop ahead? I see a little spot that looks like a good place to bunk down for the night."
"I won't complain."
When they arrived at the clearing, he started a fire and left Brenna to tend to it while he tended to the horses and getting the food.
As they lingered over dinner, conversation flowed like a warm summer breeze. Stories of childhood escapades and future aspirations tumbled out effortlessly. Buck felt an undeniable connection to her, a bridge forged not from similarities, but from a shared echo of melancholy and a yearning for something more.
Though their lives had taken vastly different paths, they were drawn together by an invisible thread, a silent understanding of the unspoken desires and quiet longings The clatter of rinsed dishes faded as Buck returned to the firelight, his gaze drawn to Brenna's peaceful slumber. Her blonde hair, unbound and free, cascaded over a bare shoulder, casting captivating shadows against the flickering flames.
"Buck?" A startled cry ripped through the night, shattering the serenity. Brenna sat bolt upright. Her eyes wide with panic as they scanned the darkness.
"I'm here." Buck's voice was a steady anchor, his hand reaching out instinctively. She grasped it, the familiar touch grounding her racing heart.
"I thought I heard something." She mumbled, scooting closer and offering a shared space on the thin blanket.
Buck settled beside her, removing his boots before lying down. Sharing the warmth of the blanket had been a natural comfort in the beginning, a necessity against the encroaching chill. Now, however, it felt like an inferno, every fiber of his being straining against the dam of restraint. The need to feel her, to press his skin against hers, was a constant, gnawing hunger. It consumed him, a primal urge threatening to break through the fragile barrier of his self-control.
He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the rising tide of desire, desperately seeking solace in the quiet rhythm of her breathing. The faint sound of Brenna's contented sigh, threading through the crackling flames, sent a wave of warmth cascading through Buck's body.
"It's cold." She whispered against her chattering teeth.
"I'll add some more wood to the fire." Buck offered, his own voice barely a rasp. The heat that emanated from her even through the thin barrier of the blanket felt like a brand against his skin.
"Just put your arm around me." She murmured, turning towards him and pressing her back against his chest.
The simple gesture ignited a wildfire within him, the warmth of her body spreading like molten lava through his veins.
"Brenna." Buck choked out, his voice thick with desire.
"I don't understand, Buck." She rolled onto her back and lookedup in his direction with confusion. "I thought you liked me."
He turned to face her, his gaze locking onto the soft yearning in her eyes. "Oh, Bren—" he sighed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I do. But this feels wrong. Like I'm taking advantage."
Brenna's voice, laced with a hint of anger, cut through the intensity of the moment. "Because I'm blind?" she questioned, her brows arched in defiance as her fiery gaze met his.
Buck faltered, his heart sinking at the sight of the hurt flickering in her eyes. "Brenna, please, that's not what I meant." he stammered, desperation lacing his voice. "It's the situation. You've been through an ordeal, almost losing your life. This…" he gestured between them, searching for the right words, "this feels, like I'm taking advantage of your vulnerability."
She reached out and touched his face softly, her fingertips grazing over his features as if to commit him to memory. Every touch a spark igniting the inferno within him. Leaving him acutely aware of the raw desire simmering beneath the surface. His hands, calloused from years of hard work, trembled as he captured hers, each gentle kiss on her fingertips a desperate attempt to hold back the tide.
"Bren…" he whispered, holding fast to the thin veil of restraint. "We both need some sleep."
Every button yielded under her touch, a silent surrender of his rational thoughts. Each feather-light caress, from his collarbone down to the taut muscles of his stomach, was like a match igniting a fire on his skin. His breath hitched in his throat as she tugged the last button free, exposing his bare chest to the cool night air and the searing heat of her touch. Her fingers, exploring the landscape of his torso, encountered the faint, jagged scar across his chest - a testament to a past he'd carefully guarded.
"Your body feels so beautiful." Brenna murmured, her voice soft and filled with awe.
Buck chuckled, a sound both surprised and touched. "I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before, Brenna."
She bit her lip, a playful smile flickering across her face. "I just mean, I can't actually see you, but..."
"I know what you mean." he murmured, the sincerity in his voice evident.
He leaned forward, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, the warmth of her body radiating through the thin fabric of her chemise. Brenna melted into him, a wave of ecstasy washing over her as his kisses danced down her neck and shoulder.
His hand drifted down her hip, tracing a path down her bare thigh. The touch sent shivers of desire cascading through her, igniting a yearning deep within. As he pulled her leg around his waist, his hand rested possessively on her hip, his touch holding her firmly against him.
"I love the way you kiss me." She murmured, her voice barely a whisper. He chuckled lightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.
"You do, huh?"
"Are you laughing at me?" she asked, her voice playful as she nibbled on his earlobe.
"You say exactly what's on your mind."
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
"No." he reassured her, gently stroking her hair. "It's refreshing." He silenced her further questions with a kiss, deeper and more demanding than before. His hand slipped up the back of her chemise, resting gently on her lower back.
Brenna instinctively arched her back, pressing her body closer to his. The moment hung heavy in the air, charged with raw desire between the, but just as their passion threatened to reach a boiling point, Buck pulled away abruptly.
"Bren—" he whispered. "We need to stop this."
Brenna let out a soft sigh, her body yearning for his touch. "I know." She murmured; her voice slightly breathless.
He silenced her again, with a chaste kiss on the forehead, his arm wrapping protectively around her. Brenna lay still for several minutes, a quiet introspection settling over her.
Her own behavior surprised her; this was uncharted territory. Yet, with Buck, it felt natural, uninhibited.
"Buck?" she whispered tentatively, breaking the silence. "Are you asleep?"
"No, Brenna." He replied softly.
"Tell me what you look like." She requested softly. He let out a soft chuckle.
"You're asking about my looks now, after everything that just happened?"
"Come on." She giggled, playfully swatting at his arm.
He chuckled softly. "You mean besides my hunched back?" He teased, leaning in for another quick kiss.
She ran her fingertips along his jawline, lingering at his lips. "I know you have long dark hair, but what color are your eyes?"
"Brown." He replied simply.
A soft smile played on her lips as her fingertips traced his lips. "I like the way your mouth turns up at the corners when you smile." she observed.
"Brenna." Buck knew it was now or never. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you and it just never was the right time. Being you are asking, I feel it ain't right if I don't tell you."
"What is it?" Brenna turned her head towards him, her clear blue eyes fixed on where she knew his face to be.
Buck took a deep breath. He'd never had to tell anyone he was an Indian before they just knew. It wasn't something he was ashamed of. It was what others tried to shame him for. He didn't want to see that in her eyes.
"Brenna, I'm half Indian." Buck looked into her clear blue eyes and waited for her response. The playful smile that had graced her lips only moments ago faded, replaced by a quiet seriousness. He held his breath, bracing himself for a reaction, for the judgment he'd spent his life fearing. But instead of the disgust or fear he anticipated; Brenna's silence held a different emotion - curiosity.
"Oh?" Her eyebrows drew up in thought and she reached up and touched his face once again. Brenna's mind raced. While constructing images of Buck in her mind's eye, the thought of his heritage had never crossed her world. In her world, men were tall or short, handsome or rugged, but never defined by color as she saw the world only in shadows. It was a revelation in itself, a stark reminder of the innocence with which she'd navigated the world before her sight was taken.
A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a warm path down his cheek. He couldn't read her face or what she was thinking. However, the absence of a horrified reaction, or recoiling in fear, offered a glimmer of hope. She hadn't flinched, hadn't uttered a word of judgment. Instead, a profound silence filled the space.
"What tribe?" She finally spoke.
"Kiowa."
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Brenna asked, her voice gentle.
"It hadn't crossed my mind that it mattered." Buck confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "Until—"
A beat of silence stretched, filled only with the crackling fire. Then, a whisper drifted through the darkness, soft and sleep-tinged, yet imbued with a profound clarity.
"I see you, Buck." Brenna murmured. "Better than you see yourself."
The words struck him like a bolt of lightning, shattering the dam of his worries. He saw, or rather, felt, a shift within her – an understanding that went beyond the physical. He reached out, finding her hand, his touch solid and safe. He squeezed her hand, his voice thick with emotion.
"Good night, Brenna," he whispered.
Chapter 20
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
The shrill voice of Colleen O'Shea echoed through the sheriff's office, bouncing off the wooden walls and grating on the nerves of its occupants. Her pacing footsteps were a metronome to her tirade, each beat emphasizing her mounting frustration.
The notion of her daughter, Brenna, being under the care of "that Indian Sheriff" was simply unacceptable, and she wasn't shy about voicing her disapproval. A flicker of hope, however, warmed Colleen's heart as Luke, the young man who had courted Brenna for a while, entered the office.
His arrival, seemingly prompted by her request, soothed some of her anxieties. Though Brenna had politely declined his marriage proposal a few months back, Colleen clung to the possibility that her circumstances might now sway her daughter's decision.
"Such a comfort to have you here, Luke, in our hour of need." Colleen declared, her voice dripping with forced cheer. "Brenna will be so happy to see you, I'm sure. She'll be in dire need of some solace, after all."
Luke offered a polite smile. "I'm sure she will, ma'am."
The office door creaked open, and Kid McCloud entered, his sunburnt face etched with a hint of weariness. Colleen spun on her heel; her ire reignited.
"Sheriff McCloud!" Colleen bellowed, her voice laced with barely concealed fury. "I demand you assemble a search party and retrieve my daughter at once!"
"I've already explained, ma'am. Sheriff Cross sent a telegram saying they were on their way and that your daughter was safe."
"Then where is she?" Colleen demanded, her voice rising in pitch.
"There could be several reasons, they are delayed ma'am." McCloud replied patiently. "One being that your daughter is blind, which undoubtedly slows their progress."
Colleen's eyes narrowed. "If they aren't here within the week, I'm writing the captain at Ft. Laramie. He's a personal friend of our family and —"
"Darling." Ferguson O'Shea interrupted gently, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "Let's take lunch at the restaurant next to the hotel."
Colleen huffed loudly, her displeasure was evident. With a final glare in sheriff McCloud's direction, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the office, her husband trailing meekly behind. Kid shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. He sincerely hoped Buck managed to return with Brenna within the week, or he might have to deal with the formidable Mrs. O'Shea himself.
Chapter 21
Wood River, Nebraska
September 1870
The sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the vast plains in hues of orange and gold. Brenna squinted, her unfocused gaze skimming across the rolling hills dotted with the occasional silhouette of a tree.
"Just a few more days' ride to Eagle Canyon." Buck announced, pulling his horse alongside hers. Brenna's lips curved into a smile.
"Or we could just keep riding." She said playfully, extending her hand towards him.
Buck chuckled, his heart swelling with a warmth that rivaled the setting sun. He grasped her hand, the gentle touch sending a spark through him. "I'm pretty sure your folks would send out a search party large enough to rival an army if we did that."
"It would be nice though." She mused, her smile turning wistful. "Don't you think?"
Buck squeezed her hand, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles. Her simple presence was an intoxicating blend of innocence and desire, a combination that left him utterly captivated.
He couldn't help but marvel at how easily he had fallen for her. How had this extraordinary woman, with her boundless spirit and unwavering trust, infiltrated his heart so effortlessly?
"Once we get back to town, we probably won't get much time alone." He stated, a hint of regret lacing his voice.
"Knowing my mother, you're probably right." Brenna agreed, her smile fading slightly. "She'd lock me away in a tower if she could."
Buck chuckled. "Bren—" he began, concern creasing his brow.
"I think we should tell my father first." she interjected, her voice regaining its resolute tone. "He's much more reasonable. Once he's on our side, we can work on winning my mother over."
"You want to tell your parents?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "You are intending on courting me properly, aren't you?" She looked his direction, her head tilting inquisitively.
A blush crept up Buck's neck. "Ah, well," he stammered, momentarily flustered. "Yes, of course I will I just thought —"
"You don't think I behave like this with other men, did you?" She asked, a hint of vulnerability peeking through her usually confident demeanor. The sight of her, etched with a concern that mirrored his own insecurities, shattered any doubts that lingered in his heart.
"Brenna, I never..." he began, his voice thick with emotion.
"I've never even kissed anyone. Not like that." She confessed softly, a tear tracing a silent path down her cheek. She quickly turned her head away, but not before Buck saw the glistening evidence rush down her cheek.
He steered his horse closer to her, reaching out he cupped her face in his hand, he gently wiped away the tear with his thumb. "Bren, you misunderstand me completely." He said earnestly. "The other night, when I told you about being Kiowa, your silence... I didn't know how you felt about it. I wasn't sure if you were angry, or—"
"I wasn't angry." She interjected, her voice barely a whisper. "I was surprised, I guess. It just never crossed my mind."
"I love you, Brenna," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. "And of course, I will pursue you properly," he added, his words sincere and heartfelt.
Chapter 22
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
The collective sigh of relief that rippled through the town was almost audible as news of Brenna's safe return quickly spread. The moment the deputy confirmed her presence at the sheriff's station, Colleen O'Shea materialized with the speed of a gunslinger, Ferguson and Luke hot on her heels. The reunion between mother and daughter was a whirlwind of tearful embraces and frantic chatter. Colleen, overcome with relief, showered Brenna with affection.
"Thank you, sir." boomed Ferguson, his voice thick with emotion as he grasped Buck's hand in a bone-crushing handshake. "I am forever in your debt."
Meanwhile, Colleen, oblivious to the undercurrents simmering beneath the surface, seized the opportunity to play matchmaker. Grabbing Luke's hand, she beamed at Brenna.
"Look who came all the way from Wyoming to see you, dear? He was simply beside himself, worried sick you'd been abducted by savages or something!" Her pointed glare in Buck's direction left no doubt about the "savages" she was referring to. Brenna, the recipient of this unwelcome attention, stammered incoherently.
"Uh..."
"Can't you see you're flustering the poor girl?" Colleen continued her tirade, oblivious to her daughter's discomfort. She grasped Luke's hands dramatically and planted a kiss on each, then leaned in and kissed Brenna's cheek. "I missed you, my dear."
Colleen's mission accomplished. She wasted no time ushering Brenna towards the door. "Come now, you need a bath and a change out of those filthy clothes!" She declared, practically dragging her daughter out of the office.
Ferguson tipped his hat in gratitude. "Thank you again, sheriff."
"Well, it's high time I headed back home or Lou will think I've abandoned her." Kid muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Surprised she didn't pack up the kids and come looking for you herself." Buck remarked with a sly grin.
Kid chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past her." Suddenly, the realization dawned on him.
"Who was that man with the O'Sheas?" Buck asked, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Name's Luke Prescott." Kid replied nonchalantly. "He's the daughter's fiancé."
"Her fiancé?" Buck's nonchalance did little to mask the flicker of surprise that crossed his features.
Kid, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow. A sardonic snort escaped Kid's lips. He shook his head, disbelief etched on his face.
"You and the O'Shea girl...?" he drawled, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
"Nothing like that!" Buck interjected defensively, his cheeks flushing a telltale red.
Kid raised an eyebrow, unconvinced as he let out a long sigh. Buck might be a formidable lawman, but when it came to love, he didn't make the best choices.
"Take it easy." Kid said with a friendly pat on the back. "I'm heading home."
Buck nodded curtly, his gaze fixed on the empty space where Brenna had disappeared. A swirl of emotions battled within him – relief over her safety, frustration at Colleen's meddling, and a longing he couldn't fully explain. As the town settled back into its routine, Buck grappled with the unexpected announcement of Luke Prescott.
Chapter 23
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
The tepid water offered little warmth, but Brenna barely noticed. She'd been submerged in the bathtub for so long, the water had lost its initial warmth and her finger tips had long since shriveled up like little prunes. It was a welcome respite, washing away not just the grime of the journey but also the layers of unspoken emotions that raged within her.
The only thing missing was a chance to be alone with her thoughts. Unfortunately, her mother, ever the persistent hen, clucked around the room, her incessant chatter a constant intrusion. Brenna had almost tuned her out entirely when a single word jolted her back to attention.
"What did you say, Mother?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Brenna, dear, aren't you listening at all?" Colleen huffed exasperatedly. "I said, we can order your gown from Boston, or even Paris if you prefer. It'll be the most beautiful wedding dress."
"Mother, what are you talking about?" Brenna demanded, reaching out for a towel.
Colleen, oblivious to her daughter's rising frustration, beamed. "Why, about you and Luke, of course." She handed Brenna the towel and helped her out of the tub. "It's simply wonderful that he still wants to marry you, even after you had declined him so cruelly."
"Mother, I've told you before." Brenna interjected, her voice firm. "I'm not marrying Mr. Prescott."
Colleen's smile faltered, replaced by a frown. "But dear, you need to think about your future. Your father and I can't take care of you forever. You'll need a suitable husband, someone who can afford to provide for your needs, especially if your sight doesn't return."
"I refuse to marry someone simply because they have money." Brenna declared, her scowl deepening. "I don't love him, Mother."
"Love, darling, is overrated." Colleen stated dismissively. "You are lucky you are so attractive Brenna. It makes your blindness a trivial issue."
"I'm not an invalid, mother," Brenna continued defiantly, her words tumbling out more quickly than she intended. "And I'm perfectly capable of finding my own husband."
Suddenly, Colleen's grip tightened as she grabbed Brenna's face, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Brenna—" she said, her voice low and serious. "What have you done?"
Brenna took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation. "I think I'm in love." She confessed, her voice trembling slightly.
Colleen's eyes narrowed. "And who is this man you're so infatuated with?" She demanded.
"I'd rather not say right now." Brenna hedged, unsure of how her mother would react.
"Is that so?" Colleen said, her voice dripping with disdain. She finished helping Brenna dress, then turned sharply when a knock sounded at the door.
"It's just me, dear." Ferguson's voice called out from the other side.
"Ferguson! Come in here right away!" Colleen bellowed.
Brenna sank onto the bed, burying her head in her hands. This was not how she envisioned this conversation unfolding. In fact, it was unfolding disastrously. As Ferguson entered the room, Colleen wasted no time blurting out.
"Your daughter has just informed me she has no intention of marrying Mr. Prescott."
"Is that right, Brenna?" Ferguson asked, his gaze gentle and kind.
"I told him as much when he proposed." Brenna sighed.
"And not only that..." Colleen added, her voice rising with each word, "She has some secret beau that we know nothing about!"
"Mother, you make it sound like I've been carrying on some clandestine affair." Brenna interjected, exasperation creeping into her voice.
"Well, you have been sneaking around, or else we would have known about this mystery suitor!" Colleen exclaimed, her voice growing shrill.
"Put your mother out of her torment and just tell us who we should be expecting to be calling on your Brenna."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Then, the explosion came.
"Sheriff Cross." Brenna took a deep breath and waited.
"Are you out of your mind?" Colleen screamed. "Brenna he's an Indian, a savage!"
"Colleen—" Ferguson tried to reason with his wife.
"Did you give yourself to that dirty heathen?"
"Mother!" Brenna shouted. "Buck saved my life! He didn't compromise me in anyway. He's an honorable man."
"I forbid you to see that man Brenna." Her mother shouted. "Do you hear me? I forbid it!"
Chapter 24
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
Two days had crawled by since Buck's return to Eagle Canyon, each one filled with the monotonous tasks of taming the town's usual rabble. He hadn't had a single moment alone with Brenna, her mother had been glued to her side. He'd barely seen her fiancé either, the man seemingly content to lurk in the background.
The revelation of Brenna's engagement still burned like a fresh brand, fueled by the sting of her deception. Why hadn't she told him? His gaze snagged on Brenna's figure as she expertly navigated the boardwalk, her steps sure despite her blindness. A flicker of admiration sparked within him.
Despite her limitations, she moved with a grace and confidence that he found deeply impressive. He watched as she hugged the wall, her movements purposeful, and then, to his surprise, she slipped into the stable. Curiosity piqued, Buck melted into the shadows of the barn, his boots silent on the packed earth floor. He spotted her through the slats of a stall, her back to him.
He ached to talk to her, to unravel the tangled mess of emotions swirling within him. But the closer he got, the words seemed to vanish, replaced by a suffocating silence. He was angry, undeniably so, at the way she'd played him. Yet, the embers of love still flickered stubbornly, refusing to be extinguished. It was a maddening combination, leaving him feeling utterly powerless and utterly lost.
"Brenna?" Ferguson O'Shea's voice echoed softly throughout the small barn.
Buck retreated further into the shadows, his breath catching in his throat as Ferguson entered the stables. He couldn't hear the full conversation, but the snippets that drifted through the air sent a jolt through him.
"Brenna, what are you doing in here?" Ferguson asked, his voice laced with concern. "Your mother was worried about you."
"She's driving me crazy!" Brenna replied, her voice muffled. Buck's heart ached for her, picturing the frustration etched on her face.
"She tends to do that." Ferguson chuckled. "But that's just her way, and she loves you. And Brenna you can't be serious about the Indian."
Buck's blood ran cold. Ferguson's disapproval, while he had expected it hearing it hit him like a physical blow. The weight of his heritage, the ever-present barrier between him and Brenna, pressed down on him with renewed intensity.
He should leave, he knew, slink back into the shadows and avoid the inevitable heartache. But his feet remained rooted to the spot, an invisible force drawing him closer to the source of the conversation.
"Brenna, you know if it were up to me, I would do anything to make you happy, my darling." Ferguson said, his voice softening. Yet, there was a sadness in his tone, as if burdened by the weight of reality. "But this world is cruel, Brenna. Think of your future. People would shun you. They'd..."
His voice faltered, then continued grimly. "They'd call you an Indian whore."
Buck felt a surge of rage course through him. But even his fury couldn't silence the insidious voices his own mind conjured. He knew Ferguson spoke the truth. He knew the cruel insults people were capable of, the depths to which prejudice and hatred could sink.
"Father!" The cry escaped Brenna's lips, laced with shock. In all her years, she had never heard such harsh words from her usually kind and understanding father. His words struck her heart, leaving her breathless.
"Excuse my language, Brenna." Ferguson said, his voice gruff with remorse. "But you will be called names you've never even imagined, my dear. So would your children." He paused, the weight of his next words heavy in the air. "They would bear a mark, and in this world, that mark is often seen as a stain." His words were a stark reminder of the harsh reality that awaited them.
Brenna felt the sting of unshed tears pricking at her eyes. "Even you, Father?" She whispered, her voice barely audible.
Ferguson's face contorted in pain. "This isn't about me, Brenna. It's about protecting you and any future children you might have. Their lives would be filled with hardship and prejudice. They would be ostracized, mocked, and hated. Could you bear to see them suffer like that?"
Brenna's heart ached with a despair so profound it threatened to consume her. "It's not fair." She choked out, the words raw with emotion.
"I know, my love." Ferguson sighed, his voice was thick with empathy. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms offering a fragile comfort in the face of their seemingly insurmountable situation. As he held her close, he whispered, "I know it's not fair, Brenna. But sometimes, the world is a cruel and unforgiving place."
A knot began to form in his stomach. Ferguson's words, though laced with love for his daughter, were a brutal reminder of the harsh reality that awaited Brenna and any potential children they might have dreamt of.
Buck knew the man had only pure intentions for his only child but his words stung nonetheless. He knew all too well the prejudices of the word. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop, driven solely by a yearning to see Brenna. Yet, the conversation had unfolded like a cruel twist of fate, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Shame pricked at him, a simmering anger that burned within.
Unable to bear the weight of the moment any longer, Buck slipped out of the barn, his movements silent. He mounted his horse, the rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth drowning out his thoughts.
He needed to be alone. The future he'd dared to dream of, a future filled with stolen glances, whispered promises, and a life built together, seemed to fade with every hoofbeat, leaving behind a vast expanse of emptiness.
Chapter 25
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
September 1870
Brenna's voice, thick with tears, echoed through the stable. "I love him!" She cried simply.
Ferguson's face etched with pain, he squeezed her hands gently. "Brenna, there's something else you need to consider." He paused, his voice heavy with concern. "You may not regain your sight. We all hope and pray for a miracle, but the reality is, it might not happen. And if it doesn't, you have to understand the burden that places on a man like that."
"Father, please..." Brenna pleaded, her voice trembling.
"Listen, my dear." Ferguson continued, his voice firm but kind. "That kind man needs a partner who can be self-sufficient. He can't be the sheriff, raise a family, and be your sole caregiver. It would put not only his career but his life in danger as well."
Brenna's sobs subsided into a choked silence. Tears streamed down her face as she leaned into her father's embrace, his words sinking in like lead weights. She hadn't considered this facet of their situation, the practicalities overshadowed by the overwhelming power of her love for Buck.
"Let's go back to the hotel, Father." Brenna wiped her tears with the back of her hand. With a newfound resolve in her voice.
As they walked out of the stable, the weight of her father's words hung heavy in the air. How could she explain to her children why people hated them? It would break her heart. She was certain that her father was right about Buck not being able to care for her. He needed an independent woman. If she stood any chance of any future with him, she needed to go to Philadelphia and see the specialist.
Chapter 26
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
March 1871
The air in Philadelphia was thick and foreign, a suffocating contrast to the crisp prairie air of Eagle Canyon. Time stretched into an agonizing monotonous days blurring into weeks, weeks into months. Each passing moment felt like an eternity punctuated by litany of tests, treatments, and rigorous exercises.
Her entire body ached and threatened to break under the relentless pressure. Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of hope emerged. Within the first month, a subtle shift in her vision occurred. Colors bloomed with a newfound vibrancy, and the world around her sharpened ever so slightly. This glimmer of improvement, however, proved short-lived. The doctor, his words laced with sympathy, confirmed the likely permanence of her partial blindness.
Brenna sat at the desk in her sterile room, the echo of a pen tapping against her finger a lonely counterpoint to the silence. Squinting, she used a looking glass to carefully etch letters onto the paper, each stroke a testament to her determination.
The act of writing to Buck, however, felt increasingly futile. Six months had passed since her departure from Nebraska, a self-imposed exile fueled by the harsh realities voiced by her father. Not a single word had reached her from him, not a letter, not a telegram, nothing. The deafening silence was a constant reminder of the uncertain future that awaited her.
Perhaps, a part of her conceded, Buck had been right. Maybe their connection was a product of circumstance. But even as that thought surfaced, another, stronger one rose to challenge it. The yearning for his embrace, the memory of his touch, the echo of his kiss on her lips – these remained, vibrant and undeniable. They were more than just a fleeting bond.
March 5, 1871
Dearest Buck,
I pray this letter finds you in good spirits and health. I've finished the last of my tests and the doctor is releasing me! It is very exciting. I can't wait to leave the city. Though I can't say I haven't enjoyed some things here.
The restaurants are wonderful! I'm certain to gain all the weight I've lost plus at least ten more pounds. As always, I have missed you terribly. I hope you have thought about me. I haven't received any correspondence from you. I hope it's because you are terribly busy and not because you found a sweetheart and have forgotten me.
We are leaving for home tomorrow. And though my parents are not aware of this, I hope to convince them to travel through Eagle Canyon. So, by the time this letter reaches you, I expect to see you within a few days. My sincerest hope is that you'll welcome me back with open arms!
All my love, Brenna
Brenna folded the letter carefully, tucking her hopes between the crisp folds. Sealing the envelope, she whispered a silent prayer that Buck would be overjoyed to see her return. Her mother's harsh words echoed in her mind, the sting of her doubt lingering.
"Men like him…" her mother had scoffed, "Prey on naive girls like you."
"Brenna? Are you all packed, dear?" Her father's voice called from downstairs.
"Yes, Father!" she chirped, a forced cheerfulness lacing her tone. Skipping down the stairs, she grabbed the addressed letter. "I'm just going to drop this in the mail, and I'll be right back."
"Where's your mother?" Ferguson inquired, his gaze lingering on the letter in her hand.
"At the dressmaker's." Brenna replied, a hint of mischief creeping into her voice. "She felt a sudden need for new attire before venturing back into the uncivilized world." She mimicked her mother's voice in a playful drawl, eliciting a smile from her father.
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Just as Brenna reached for the doorknob, her father's voice halted her.
"While your mother's out, dear, I wanted to talk to you about something serious." His hand reached out, gently taking hers and leading her towards the plush armchair in the parlor. "I know you've been writing to that man."
Brenna's heart raced within her chest. While she hadn't deliberately hidden her feelings, she hadn't openly discussed them either. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the coming conversation, her hand tightening around her fathers in a silent plea for his acceptance.
"Father —"
"You haven't received any response back Brenna." He soke kindly, not wanting to see his daughter's heart break.
"There's lots of reasons, he could be busy, they could have gotten lost." She realized as she continued how ridiculous and desperate, she sounded.
"Sweetheart, he's much older than you. He may have moved on." He tried to tell her delicately that perhaps he didn't feel the same as she did.
Brenna mumbled a hesitant. "I guess so." In response to her father's statement. A frown creased her brow as she contemplated his words.
"Brenna, you're young and vibrant." Her father continued, his voice gentle yet firm. "You could have your pick of suitors, yet you choose to turn them all down." He raised an eyebrow, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. Brenna's grip tightened on the envelope. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she confessed her intentions.
"Please take me to Eagle Canyon!" "Brenna your mother would—"
"Please father." She looked into his eyes begging him to take pity on her. "If he's not the man I believe him to be, I'll return to Wyoming. I promise I'll consider any suitors you recommend."
A flicker of relief washed over her father's face. He smiled warmly and squeezed her hand. "Brenna, all I want is your happiness. You deserve love and happiness." He winked conspiratorially. "And don't worry about your mother. I'll break the news about our detour when the time is right."
Brenna's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you!" She whispered, a genuine smile gracing her lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Her father held the door open for her, a silent gesture of support and encouragement. With a newfound determination in her step, Brenna headed out to mail her letter, the weight of her secret now shared, replaced by a glimmer of hope for the future.
Chapter 27
Eagle Canyon, Nebraska
March 1871
The stagecoach rattled to a stop, jolting Brenna back to reality. She nervously scanned the dusty main street of Eagle Canyon, her eyes searching for the familiar silhouette of the sheriff's office. A comforting hand squeezed her knee, and she looked up to meet her father's gaze.
"I love you too, Father." She replied, returning his affection with a quick kiss. She then leaned forward and gave her mother a brief hug.
"Just go!" Her mother muttered, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Brenna knew her mother disapproved of this detour her displeasure amplified by the fact her husband had participated in this deception. Her mother had voiced her disapproval loudly. It was rare to see her usually mild-mannered father raising his voice, but he had firmly shut down her tirade, demanding she respect their Brenna's decision.
With a deep breath, Brenna stepped off the stagecoach and approached the sheriff's office. Hesitantly, she peeked through the dust-coated window. Two men stood near the jail cell, their backs to her. Neither resembled her mental image of Buck. One had sandy blonde hair, while the other sported a short brown hair cut and bright blue eyes.
"Can I help you Ma'am?" Brenna's gaze dropped, drawn to a glint of silver on the chest of the man before her. It was a sheriff's badge, but this was not Buck.
"Sorry, I'm looking for sheriff Cross." Her brows furrowed. "Buck Cross?"
"He quit, oh about four, no five months ago."
"Is he still in town?" She asked.
"No, he moved out towards Blue River Valley." He pointed west. "He's good friends with the sheriff over there. McCloud, yeah that's him."
A strained smile played on Brenna's lips as she murmured, "Well, thank you."
The man continued, his gaze sharpening. "Wait a minute, are you by any chance Brenna O'Shea?" He looked her over curiously. Taken aback, Brenna nodded timidly. "Hold on." The man said, his voice gruff yet strangely kind. He moved towards the well-worn desk, rummaging through a drawer.
A moment later, he emerged, holding a small, tied bundle of letters. "Since Cross moved, he stopped coming in to collect his mail. I figured he might come back for them someday, so I held onto them."
Brenna's heart pounded in her chest as she accepted the packet, her eyes falling upon the familiar handwriting on the envelopes – her handwriting. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, a crushing sense of disappointment settling in. He never wrote back because he never read them.
"Thank you." Brenna mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. The walk back to the stagecoach felt heavier than the journey to the sheriff's office. The truth, though not spoken aloud, hung in the air.
Why hadn't he read her letters?
A sense of unease settled in Brenna, a lingering bitterness that wouldn't fade. Climbing back onto the stagecoach, she announced in a subdued tone that Buck had relocated to a nearby town, and their destination remained Blue River.
"This is simply absurd!" Her mother's voice echoed through the small carriage. "You're gallivanting across the county for a man whose breeding is no better than a stray dog! I will not tolerate this any longer, Brenna. This ends now!"
Brenna met her mother's fierce gaze, her own eyes pleading. "Mother, please—" she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. "I promise you, if we go to Blue River and he's either not there, or if what you say about him is true, then I will return home without a word. I'll attend every party, every dance you desire. I'll even marry whomever you and Father deem suitable."
A tense silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of Brenna's desperation and her mother's disapproval. Finally, her mother's lips pursed into a thin line, a reluctant concession etched on her face.
"Very well." She conceded, her voice clipped. "But you will be held to your word, young lady."
Brenna's heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of relief and growing anxiety. A seed of doubt, planted by her mother's words, began to take root in her mind. Did she truly know Buck as well as she thought she did? Was their connection as real and profound as she believed, or was it merely a fleeting spark.
Chapter 28
Blue River, Nebraska
March 1871
The first rays of dawn barely peeked over the horizon when Brenna stirred. She rose quickly, a nervous energy thrumming through her veins. With practiced ease, she brushed through her long, blonde waves, her mind already racing ahead. Grabbing a pen and paper, she scribbled a quick note to her parents.
Gone in to town, I'll be back before dark. No need to worry. Love, Brenna.
Leaving the note on the breakfast table, she slipped out of the room, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Five months. Five long months of clinging to memories, of replaying moments in her mind until they were polished and perfect – a stark contrast to the harsh reality that awaited her. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard, battling the surge of self-doubt.
"Brenna, stop it." she muttered to herself, her voice echoing softly in the hallway. "Get a hold of yourself." Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, snapping her out of her internal monologue.
"Brenna O'Shea?"
Brenna spun around, her gaze landing on a figure standing near the sheriff's office. He was tall and lean, his brown hair dusted with a hint of cinnamon. His eyes, a warm blue, crinkled at the corners as he offered a friendly smile. But the smile did nothing to ignite recognition. Instead, a chilling sensation of unease washed over her. This man, handsome as he may be, was a complete stranger.
"Sir?" she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
"Apologies." Kid softened his tone immediately, noticing the flicker of fear that crossed her face. He extended a hand in a reassuring gesture. "We actually met a while back. I was with the search party that found you, six months ago. Kid McCloud's." He offered a friendly smile, hoping to ease any apprehension.
A wave of realization washed over Brenna. "Oh, you're the sheriff here." She stammered, the truth finally clicking into place. His badge, which she'd barely registered before.
"Are you just passing through Blue River?"
"I was actually hoping to see Buck." She admitted, biting her lower lip nervously.
"I can take you out to his place." The man offered kindly. He extended his arm towards her. "If you wouldn't mind taking my arm, I'll guide you across the street, and we can find a couple of horses."
Hesitantly, Brenna slipped her arm into his. It was a familiar gesture, a reflex from her past, but it felt oddly out of place now. "Thank you."
"I heard you went to a doctor in Philadelphia for your sight?" Kid pried slightly.
"I did." She smiled softly. "While my vision is still very blurry, it's definitely improved."
Kid's eyes softened with genuine warmth. "That's wonderful news."
As they walked side by side, a heavy silence overcame her. The weight of the unknown and the dawning realization she might have made a grave mistake. Yet, a sliver of hope, fragile as it was, still flickered within her. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was an explanation for Buck's absence, and the future she'd envisioned for them wasn't entirely lost.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever awaited her at Buck's place, determined to face the truth, no matter how difficult it might be. As Kid saddled the horses and led Brenna out of town, their conversation remained stilted, filled with forced pleasantries about the weather and the scenery.
The minutes stretched into an eternity, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic clinking of horseshoes and the distant chirping of birds. Finally, Brenna reached a breaking point.
"Why did Buck leave Eagle Canyon?" She blurted out, her voice tight with repressed emotions.
"Something changed him." Kid shrugged, clearly uncomfortable discussing the topic further.
He knew Buck's time in the desert with Brenna had a profound impact on him, though Buck never explicitly spoke of it. The choices he made afterward reflected a clear shift in his perspective. Brenna's heart hammered in her chest.
"And what is he doing now?"
"He started a small herd of cattle. Bought a place just down the road here." Kid replied, his gaze flickering towards her suspiciously.
"So, is your… husband with you in town?"
"Pardon me?" Brenna echoed, her confusion deepening. A frown creased her brow as she shook her head.
"Yeah, I remember him," Kid said, observing her genuinely confused expression. "Pleasant fellow, a little quiet."
"You're mistaken, I'm not married."
"Your mother introduced himself as your fiancé. We assumed you two were —" He trailed off, unsure of how to complete his sentence.
Brenna's breath hitched in her throat. "Buck thought I got married?" She repeated, her voice barely a whisper. The revelation struck her, the weight of the misunderstanding sucking the breath from her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the already hazy landscape. "Is he… is he married?" She managed to ask, her voice trembling slightly.
Kid shook his head. "No, he's not."
With a shaky hand, Brenna wiped away a stray tear that escaped down her cheek. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions and the growing realization that their past was marred with rumors she vowed to make right. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the present.
"How much further?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Kid pointed towards a cluster of buildings nestled amidst rolling hills in the distance. "That's it, right there." he said.
Brenna's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anticipation and fear swirling within her. This was it. The moment she'd been dreading and longing for in equal measure.
Before he could say another word, he watched her spur the horse into a gallop, racing towards the ranch house, leaving Kid staring after her, a mix of concern written in the lines on his face.
Chapter 29
Blue River, Nebraska
March 1871
He heard the thunderous pounding of hooves in the distance gaining speed. Glancing towards the road, he squinted against the afternoon sun. A single rider, a figure cloaked in dust and distance, was racing towards his home. A knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach. Who could it be, arriving in such a frantic manner?
Buck grabbed his discarded shirt hanging over the fencepost, quickly tucking it into his waistband as he strode towards the barn door. Leaning against the weathered wood, he squinted again. As the rider drew closer, a gasp escaped his lips. His heart lurched, threatening to burst from his chest.
Long strands of golden hair, familiar as the sunrise, tumbled down the rider's back, rippling like a golden ribbon in the wind. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he feared he was hallucinating, his mind conjuring a long-lost dream. But as the figure came within focus, the doubt melted away, replaced by a potent mixture of disbelief and anger.
Brenna dismounted with an ungainly stumble, her skirts billowing around her legs as she fought to regain her balance. The hands that had moments ago held the reins with practiced ease now trembled like leaves in a windstorm. Tears welled up in her eyes, their stinging warmth blurring the already hazy figure of the man standing before her.
He stood tall, bathed in the warm afternoon sun, his familiar form etched into her memories. She took a couple steps closer to bring his features into her focus. Her eyes unapologetically raked over him, absorbing every detail as if committing him to memory.
The slight furrow of his brow, a stark hood over his eyes. She wasn't prepared for the way his eyes cut straight through to her core. His mouth, once so quick to offer a reassuring smile, was now set in a firm line, hinting at the inner turmoil roiling beneath the surface.
His long dark hair hung down his back and fluttered across his bare chest, and a gasp escaped her lips. His torso, a masterpiece sculpted by hard labor, rippled with lean muscle and bore faint traces of old scars. The strength radiating from him was both familiar and unsettling.
This wasn't merely Buck - this was a man who had walked through fire for her. A strange mix of longing and trepidation washed over her. This was the man she'd carried in her heart for months, the man whose ghost had sustained her through the darkest of nights.
Yet, he was also a stranger to her. Time blurred as she stood frozen, her own insecurities threatening to drown out the undeniable pull she felt towards him. This meeting was no longer the sweet reunion she'd imagined during lonely sleepless nights.
Brenna felt a strange disconnect, a sense of dissonance between the man she remembered and the one who stood before her now. Yet, amidst the confusion, a flicker of recognition ignited within her, a spark that sent a jolt through her body.
This was Buck.
As the silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of the past, Brenna finally found her voice, a mere whisper trembling on her lips.
"Buck?" It was more of a statement, but she needed confirmation. She needed to hear his voice.
"Brenna." His voice was a rough murmur, as if dragged from the depths of his soul. He took a shallow breath, the movement tightening the muscles in his chest, and raised an eyebrow in a gesture that seemed both questioning and guarded. It was clear he was battling conflicting emotions, yet the desire to devour her with his gaze was something he couldn't quite quash.
She haunted many sleepless nights, but now she stood before him and she even more breathtaking than he'd remembered. The frenzy of emotions he felt was smothered by a wave of anger, a bitter echo of the hurt and confusion he'd carried for months.
"How did you get here?" His voice was clipped, the warmth replaced by a chilling coldness that sent shivers down Brenna's spine.
It wasn't the greeting she'd envisioned, and her heart stopped. She hadn't anticipated the icy edge in his tone, the way it cut through the air like a sharp knife. It was a stark contrast to the man she remembered, the gentle man who had held her hand and whispered reassurances during her terror filed nights.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she fumbled for words, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I wrote to you." She stammered, clutching the bundle of letters in her hand like a lifeline.
Her voice broke on the last word, the vulnerability evident in her eyes. She raised the packet, a silent accusation hanging in the air. The weight of her unspoken question – why didn't you read them? – hung heavy between them.
The anger in Buck's voice was a physical blow, the words landing heavy on Brenna's already fragile heart.
"What was the point?" He spat, his eyes blazing with a fire she didn't recognize.
Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She thrust the bundle of letters at him, the rejection evident in his earlier gesture fueling her own fiery outburst. Thoughts of the promises she made her parents ached in her heart.
Buck simply shoved the letters into his pocket, his anger morphing into a bitter resignation. "You lied to me." He stated coldly, his voice devoid of warmth.
"No, I never lied to you!" Her voice cracked with desperation. Her body, usually composed and graceful, tensed into a defensive posture, betraying the tremor in her voice. "Please, let me explain." she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes, threatening to cascade down.
He met her gaze, his eyes narrowing. Disbelief flickered momentarily across his face, a flicker quickly replaced by a cold, cynical glint.
"Why did you come here?" The weight of his accusations, fueled by her own ego and the gnawing uncertainty, crushed her. She crumpled to her knees, tears streaming down her face in a torrent, sobs wracking her entire body.
"Buck, please—" she choked out between breaths, her voice barely audible.
But Buck seemed consumed by his own rage, oblivious to the emotional earthquake he was unleashing. He paced before her, his voice rising with each step.
"Did you come her to gloat?" His words laced with a venomous contempt that tore at her soul. He grabbed her roughly, pulling her to her feet. His hands held her tightly as he searched her eyes. "Tell me, Bren," he hissed, his breath hot against her cheek. "Where's your husband?"
Brenna's heart pounded in her chest, a suffocating blend of fear and hurt threatening to consume her. The Buck she knew, the man she'd fallen in love with, was gone, replaced by a stranger consumed by his own demons.
"I never..." she started, her voice barely a whisper choked with tears.
The raw vulnerability in Brenna's voice cracked through Buck's facade, a tremor in the dam holding back months of pent-up emotions. But before she could finish, a memory surfaced in Buck's mind, sharp and vivid like a fresh wound. He recalled the conversation, the one that had poisoned his heart and fueled his anger for so long.
"I overheard you and your father talking." The words hung heavy in the air, a plea for a shred of closure. Realizing his grip on her arm was tighter than he intended, he slowly released it, shame flickering in his eyes. "You wouldn't want to be tied down to Indian children. Isn't that right, Brenna?"
The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but they needed to be said, the truth, however ugly, laid bare. Brenna's eyes widened, a flicker of despair mirroring his own turmoil.
"It's not true." She choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears and the weight of her trust betrayed. She didn't recognize this man, not his face nor his countenance. As she grabbed the horse's reins, her resolve hardening with each tear that escaped, Buck felt a primal urge to reach out, to stop her from leaving. But the words wouldn't come.
The apology that yearned to form on his lips remained trapped, choked by the weight of his own insecurities and the bitter sting of regret. He watched her ride away, a part of him leaving with her. He felt a hollowness settle within him, a void that echoed the deafening silence that had descended upon the land.
He turned and walked back towards the barn, the silence pressing down on him. He went about his chores in a mechanical fashion, the rhythmic clanging of the hayfork a stark distraction from the thoughts that twisted in his mind. He tried, desperately, to push her and her damn letters out of his mind, but the weight of them, both literal and metaphorical, burned a hole in his pocket.
Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the worn edges of the envelope. With a deep breath, he tore it open, his heart pounding against his ribs as he unfolded the first page, his eyes scanned the words, certain that they would confirm his worst fears.
Chapter 30
Blue River, Nebraska
March 1871
December 15, 1870
Dearest Buck,
Forgive the delay in writing – this is the first time my vision has improved enough to manage a letter. I'm thrilled to share that the doctor I'm seeing in Philadelphia says I show great promise!
However, before I delve into the good news, I must offer my sincerest apologies for leaving without a proper goodbye. Upon our return, I intended to stay in town, as we discussed.
Yet, after a conversation with my father, I came to understand his perspective, even though I often resist parental wisdom. He pointed out that, in my current state, I would be a burden. I simply couldn't ask you to carry that weight, nor could I bear the thought of holding you back.
Therefore, I embarked on this journey to Philadelphia, seeking the specialist my parents found for me. The treatments are undeniably difficult. They involve intense light therapy and, unfortunately, frequent needles (the worst part!).
But the most important news – I see more and more each day! My eyes are growing weary, so I must limit this first letter. Please know that reaching you with news, however brief, was my priority. I implore you, be patient and wait for me. My thoughts are constantly with you, and I wish I could be there for Christmas.
With all my love, Brenna
The crinkling sound of paper filled the silence of the barn as Buck carefully refolded the letter, tucking it back into its aged envelope. His fingers lingered on the worn paper, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill creeping into his heart. A humorless scoff escaped him, echoing hollowly in the cavernous space.
Shame burned in his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. How quickly his anger had solidified into accusations, how easily he'd let his pride blind him to the truth.
He reached for the next letter, his hand trembling slightly. The weight of his actions, the enormity of his misunderstanding, pressed down on him with each passing moment. Each breath felt heavy, laden with the consequences of his hasty judgment that had laid created the fiery anger in his soul.
With a deep breath, he unfolded the letter, bracing himself for the words within. He knew they would paint a vivid picture of the pain he'd caused, the love he'd so carelessly pushed away. But now, armed with the truth, he was determined to face the wreckage of his own making.
January 23, 1871
Dearest Buck,
I hope Christmas and New Year's brought you joy and well wishes. I held onto my New Year's kiss, saving it for the moment we reunite. The doctor is optimistic about my release soon! The world is a marvel to behold again. I've nearly forgotten how vibrant sunsets can be, and I dream of gazing at the stars with you by my side. The city lights here drown out the stars, leaving the sky disappointingly bare.
I haven't received any letters from you. I understand you're incredibly busy, and writing might not be a priority, but even a brief note confirming your wellbeing would bring immense comfort. Now that I can see a little better, the anticipation of seeing you in person is agonizingly wonderful. Memories of our desert nights keep me company through the loneliness, especially the warmth of your touch and the tenderness of your kisses.
With all my love, Brenna
The urge to lash out, to slam his fist against the rough wood of the barn wall, surged through his body. Buck clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly, forcing himself to channel his frustration into something less destructive. With trembling fingers, he reached for the next letter, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. Each page he turned was another layer peeled back, revealing the depth of his own failings.
February 14, 1871
Dearest Buck,
Happy Valentine's Day! Although miles apart, you're constantly in my thoughts. Sending you all my love and hoping you're well. I have wonderful news! My doctor will keep me for a few more weeks for additional tests, but he's confident this is the best my vision will recover.
While it's not perfect, and I still need a magnifying glass for reading and writing, I'm thrilled I'll be largely independent in my daily life. However, a heavy weight has burdened my heart and mind for months. Something my father said keeps replaying: that our potential children would face hatred. I know it might sound selfish, but I long for children.
With all my love, Brenna
A silent curse escaped his lips. Each letter was a hammer blow, shattering the carefully constructed image of Brenna's innocence and revealing the truth of his own failings.
Jerking his shirt on, he fumbled with the buttons, his mind racing. He'd misjudged her, jumped to conclusions based on hearsay and suspicion, and in his self-righteous fury, thrown away their love.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching hooves snapped him out of his reverie. He squinted towards the horizon, his jaw clenching as he recognized Kid.
"Where's Brenna?" Kid asked, dismounting his horse.
Buck didn't answer. He simply grabbed the reins of Kid's horse, a single, urgent purpose driving him forward. He didn't wait for questions, didn't bother with explanations. He vaulted onto the saddle, leaving Kid speechless in his wake.
He didn't need to search long. He spotted her tracks, clear imprints in the mud and flattened blades of tall grass, leading towards the creek. He dismounted, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and followed the trail, his boots sinking into the damp earth with each hurried step.
He found her sitting on a large rock that jutted out of the creek bed, her back to him, the gentle murmur of the water the only sound that broke the silence. He approached her slowly, the weight of his actions a heavy burden on his shoulders. He had to face her, to beg for forgiveness, even if it meant facing her rejection.
Chapter 31
Blue River, Nebraska
March 1871
Brenna heard the soft rustle of grass and the snap of a branch under his boot as he approached. She could discern from the rhythm of his steps that his earlier anger had dissipated. It was in the way he walked, a subtle shift in demeanor that spoke volumes without a word being uttered.
"I read your letters." His voice was rough with remorse.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the gurgling of the creek. Brenna didn't turn, her body a statue of stillness. He had expected anger, a storm he could weather, but this hollowness, this absence of reaction, was a far more devastating blow.
"What was the point?" She parroted his words back to him, not moving a muscle she gazed in the rushing water.
His heart sank as he stole a glance at her face, the sight of her red-rimmed eyes, the telltale signs of unshed tears, tore at his soul. The weight of his actions settled upon him like in realization of the pain he had caused. He was the sole architect of her anguish, and that knowledge was like a knife cutting through his core.
"Brenna—" he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. He knelt at her feet, his calloused hands reaching for hers, a silent plea for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry."
Brenna closed her eyes, the familiar sting of tears welling up once more. She fought the urge to turn away, to drown him out with her silence. She knew she shouldn't let her pride stand in the way, shouldn't let the memory of his hurtful accusations hold her back. With a trembling breath, she rose to her feet, her back still turned, her voice barely audible as she whispered.
"I just don't understand."
"Bren," He turned her around and wiped a tear away with his thumb as he stroked her cheek with his palm. "Things were so different when it was just the two of us. When we got to town, that man said he was your fiancé. I overheard your father warning you about being tied down to a man like me. When you left, I let things in my past cloud my judgment and I just assumed the worst."
"I was never engaged to Luke." She said simply.
"I know that now." He rested his hands on her waist.
"There were things my father said that brought me pause." Brenna admitted. "But it was just a pause, I wanted a family with you."
"Wanted?" he echoed, his voice hollow.
The single word hung heavy in the air, a question mark shattering the fragile promise of their future. His gaze met hers, searching for a flicker of hope.
"You were so angry." Her brow furrowed as she held his gaze.
"Brenna," he closed his eyes and softly kissed her forehead. "I... I was angry." He confessed. "But deep down, a part of me never stopped loving you."
The dam within Brenna broke. In a surge of overwhelming emotion, she flung her arms around Buck's neck. Her lips met his in a desperate kiss, a silent plea for understanding. She needed to feel the press of his body against hers, the familiar warmth of his touch, the confirmation that he was real.
Buck, caught off guard by the sudden shift, responded instinctively. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his hold both fierce and tender. As their lips moved in passionate embrace, a kaleidoscope of emotions washed over him – regret, relief, and a love so fierce it threatened to consume him.
This wasn't the same Brenna he remembered. The vulnerability remained, but it was now layered with a newfound strength. As their kiss deepened, the world around them faded away. There was only the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against his, and the fervent hope that somehow, they could mend the broken pieces of their love and build something stronger, something that could withstand the storms that life inevitably threw their way.
"Does this mean you'll forgive me?" He asked breathlessly as he pulled her closer.
"Of course I do." She nodded.
Shame etched lines onto Buck's face as he tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks. These were his tears, his actions the sole cause of her pain. He swore a silent vow, a sacred promise etched into the very core of his being. Never again would he be the one to cloud her eyes with the sting of sorrow. He nuzzled her neck and sighed a breath of relief.
"And it's... it's nice to finally be able to see your face." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Even if you'll always just be a fuzzy haze." There was a hint of amusement in her voice, a playful jab that broke the tension that had held them captive for so long.
Buck chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He stepped back slightly, his gaze taking in her face, memorizing every detail – the strength etched in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips, the faint dusting of freckles across her nose.
"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," his voice a husky murmur. "If I'd known you were coming. I would have cleaned up a little." He smiled and took her hand. "I hope I'm not a disappointment."
"Not at all." She ran hire fingertips along the stubble at his jawline. "My mother however, will be quite disappointed."
"Your mother's disappointment has been evident in every time we have met." Buck raised his eyebrows.
"If you had a change of heart, I promised her, I would attend every social event. Dance with every eligible bachelor she pointed out, and even marry the man of her choosing."
Buck's jaw dropped. "You made that bargain with her?"
"I would have promised her anything." She confessed.
Buck's laughter resonated, a low rumble that made her pulse quicken, which quickly faded as his gaze grew intense.
"So, your folks planning on setting up camp here while I woo you? Or are we doomed to months of penned confessions?"
"Oh, I hadn't thought about that." He met her gaze, his eyes holding a glint of determination.
"I think you should just marry me, Brenna."
A moment of stunned silence followed, then a slow smile spread across Brenna's face, transforming her frown into disbelief.
"I hardly know you." She looked up at him. "We barely know each other.
"I'm not losing you again." Buck confirmed, walking towards her and taking her hands gently in his. "We know each other better than many couples do by the time they walk down the aisle. And frankly, we've already weathered the worst storm we could ever face. So, what do you say?"
In light of their reunion, Brenna realized a more cautious approach was necessary. They need time to rebuild their connection and get to know one another before considering a deeper commitment.
Buck nodded in understanding, respecting Brenna's desire for caution. As they walked back to the house, he offered a silent gesture of support, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
Together, they discussed their options with Kid, weighing the possibilities carefully. Eventually, it was decided that Brenna would be welcomed to stay at the McCloud home, sharing a room with Kid and Lou's two daughters. This arrangement would allow them to get to know each other better in a comfortable and familiar environment.
Chapter 32
Blue River, Nebraska June 1871
Sunlight streamed through the gingham curtains of the small bedroom at the McCloud house, painting the space with a warm glow. Brenna sat before the mirror, a nervous flutter in her stomach. It had been only a few months since Buck had finally received an answer to his proposal.
Now, on the precipice of their wedding day, a whirlwind of emotions swirled within her: excitement, anticipation, and a touch of apprehension. She gently traced the delicate lace of her borrowed wedding gown, once her mother's and now hers, albeit with some reluctance on her mother's part.
Though Coleen had finally agreed to attend the wedding, her presence cast a shadow over the joyous occasion. Brenna couldn't ignore the distant look in her mother's eyes upon arrival, her tense jaw a stark contrast to the joyful smiles of everyone else.
Louise bustled into the room with a smile on her face, arms laden with a bouquet of wildflowers.
"Let me help you with those buttons," she chirped.
"Lou?" Brenna took a shaky breath and looked at her reflection.
"I know." As Lou carefully secured the gown, she squeezed Brenna's hand, offering a warm, understanding smile.
She knew Brenna's nerves; she had felt them herself on her wedding day. The mix of excitement and nervousness filled the air, a tangible blend of anticipation and uncertainty that was both familiar and exhilarating.
"He's waitin' for ya."
With a deep breath, Brenna squared her shoulders, ready to embrace her future. The walk down the aisle was a blur of familiar and unfamiliar faces. On her arm rested her father, his eyes welling up with a mix of pride and sorrow. Though he had supported her decision to stay in Nebraska, a part of him clearly yearned for her to be closer.
As Brenna reached the end of the aisle, she took a couple steps closer, until she met Buck's gaze. The familiar warmth in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. There, standing before her, was the man who had shown her the true meaning of love, patience, and forgiveness.
The vows they exchanged were heartfelt and honest, promises whispered with trembling voices but unwavering conviction. When it came time for the kiss, Buck cupped Brenna's face in his, his touch both tender and strong. As their lips met, a wave of relief and joy washed over them both.
Their kiss, a simple act filled with profound meaning, marked the beginning of a new chapter, a chapter they would write together, hand in hand.
Chapter 33
Blue River, Nebraska
August 1875
Brenna nestled deeper into the rocking chair, the rhythmic creaking a soothing counterpoint to the excited squeals erupting from her son as she watched Buck and a few ranch hands breaking in a new stallion. In the distance, a plume of dust rose above the horizon, heralding the arrival of her parents.
A knot of anticipation tightened in her stomach, a blend of excitement and apprehension. It had been years since she'd last seen her parents, the silence following their strained wedding day stretching into a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
While her mother had initially voiced her disapproval of the union, she had eventually yielded, retreating into a stony silence. The birth of their first child, Lily, had ignited a flicker of hope within Brenna. Perhaps, she had naively thought, the miracle of new life would bridge the gap that had grown between them.
However, a letter arrived from her father, filled with an apology veiled in excuses. Her mother, he claimed, was ill and unable to travel. Brenna couldn't help but wonder if the illness was genuine or simply a convenient shield for her mother's continued disapproval.
Then came Liam, their son, a bundle of joy who had brought a renewed exuberance into their lives a few months ago. This time, her father's letter held a definitive promise: they would be visiting. Now, the day had arrived, and Brenna couldn't shake the knot of worry that had settled in her gut.
As if sensing her unease, Buck appeared beside her, his presence a familiar source of comfort. He knelt down, his playful tickles eliciting a fit of giggles from Lily, who sat on the porch floor, engrossed in her world of dolls and make-believe. Brenna watched the scene unfold, a loving smile gracing her lips.
"Up!" Lily begged her father tugging at his pants leg. "Up!"
Buck obliged and picked the three-year-old up. He could tell Brenna had been anxious about her parents visiting, though she hadn't mentioned it to him. Lilly's soft brown hair had been meticulously pulled back into two pony tails tied with lavender ribbons. She was wearing a calico print dress, which was unusually spotless, as Lilly loved to play with the goats and other animals in the barn.
Ferguson O'Shea almost jumped out of the carriage when it stopped. He turned to help his wife out then made a beeline to Brenna.
"Darling!"
"Father!" Brenna hugged him warmly.
Buck rose from his position near Brenna, his hand outstretched in greeting. "Mr. O'Shea." he said, his voice warm and welcoming.
Ferguson grasped Buck's hand with surprising vigor, his earlier formality dissolving into a genuine smile. "None of that 'Mr. O'Shea' nonsense, son. We're family now, aren't we?" He pulled Buck into a quick, bear hug, his booming voice echoing across the porch. "Now, let me see these little ones."
Buck chuckled, his gaze meeting Brenna's for a brief moment, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them.
"This is our daughter, Lily." Buck announced, gently placing her in her grandfather's arms.
Ferguson's smile softened as he cradled Lily, his calloused fingers brushing against her cheek with a tenderness that surprised Brenna.
"Hello, little one." He murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I'm your grandpa."
Across the porch, Brenna watched the scene unfold, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions. She turned to her mother, who had approached during the exchange.
"Hello, mother." she said, her voice a touch hesitant.
Colleen returned the embrace, her touch surprisingly gentle. "You look well, Brenna." She remarked, her voice devoid of its usual criticism, but lacking any warmth of genuine affection.
The initial greetings were over, and Brenna knew the real test was just beginning. Whether this visit would mend the fractured relationship with her parents, or simply widen the chasm, remained to be seen. But for now, she held onto a flicker of hope, a silent prayer that time and the love of her family could bridge the gap that had separated them for so long.
"Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable." Brenna said, ushering her parents into the cool interior of the house. Stepping past Buck, she addressed her mother, "Mother, would you like to hold your grandson, Liam Isaac?"
Before her mother could respond, Brenna's gaze drifted to her father. A flicker of something akin to honor crossed his face as he heard the child's name. It was a fleeting moment, but it sent a wave of warmth through Brenna.
Colleen hesitated. Her lips pursed in a familiar way that sent a pang of apprehension through Brenna. "Um, well..." she began, her voice laced with uncertainty.
Sensing her mother's discomfort, Brenna offered a gentle nudge. "I have to check on dinner, and it would really be a help."
Despite the outward hesitation, Brenna could discern a flicker of longing in her mother's eyes, a silent plea to hold her grandchild. As if sensing the unspoken cue, Liam nestled comfortably in Brenna's arms, began to fuss.
Seizing the opportunity, Brenna continued, "Here, why don't you take him for a few minutes?"
Colleen's eyes darted between Brenna and the fussy baby. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, she extended her hands. "Give him here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Brenna carefully transferred Liam his tiny fingers clutching at her blouse momentarily before finding purchase on his grandmother's soft shawl.
As Colleen settled into the rocking chair, her movements initially stiff and awkward, a gradual softening occurred. Liam sensing the change, quieted, his gaze fixated on the gentle sway of the chair.
"Goodness Brenna, you have him wrapped so tightly you are going to cut off his circulation."
From across the room, Buck watched the scene unfold, a smile gracing his lips. He met Brenna's gaze, and a knowing look passed between them. In that quiet moment, amidst the ordinary chaos of family life, a seed of hope was planted, a silent promise of a future where old wounds might heal.
Chapter 34
Blue River, Nebraska
August 1875
Buck sat in the fading warmth of the fireplace, the dying embers casting flickering shadows across the room. A gentle smile played on his lips as he saw Brenna return from Lily's room, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor. Relief softened the worry lines around her eyes, the telltale signs of a night spent comforting their restless one.
"Did she have you check under the bed for monsters?" He asked softly, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. He watched Brenna return, her features softened with the relief of having soothed their daughter's fears.
"Of course," she replied, a twinkle in her eye as she padded barefoot on the cool wooden floor boards. Reaching Buck, she settled comfortably onto his lap, the familiar warmth of his embrace enveloping her.
"Dinner went well, wouldn't you say?" Buck said happily, setting his book down on the end table with a soft thud. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze filled with serenity and love.
"Mhmm." Brenna nipped at his earlobe, then trailed kisses down his neck.
"Your father seemed at home." Buck trailed his fingertips across her arm and pulled her into a soft kiss.
"I have a feeling my mother was surprised we weren't living in a teepee."
"Why would she think that?" He released his hold on her and looked at her curiously.
"I think she envisioned some scenario where we live in a teepee, me in a buckskin dress, and a bunch of grubby, half-naked kids running around. She probably even imagines you scalping people in the night." Brenna shook her head, a hint of amusement in her voice. "My mother has quite the imagination."
He chuckled softly at his wife's dramatics. "She's not the only one." He teased, his voice warm and affectionate. "She probably imagines me running around in a breechcloth." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Brenna's jaw dropped, then erupted into laughter. "Buck!" she exclaimed.
"What?" he chuckled. "Don't tell me you haven't imagined it." Brenna shook her head, still giggling. "What's gotten into you tonight?"
Buck's tone was playful as he addressed Brenna. "Come, woman." Buck announced with a playful wink.
Before Brenna could protest, he scooped her up, earning a surprised laugh from her as he carried her towards their bedroom. Tenderly he laid her on the bed and closed the bedroom door. Moonlight bathed the room in a cool silver glow, her blue eyes meeting his expectantly. A silent understanding passed between them. Buck cupped her face gently, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.
"You're incredible." He whispered, his voice husky with emotion.
The kiss was a slow burn, igniting a warmth that spread through their bodies. As their lips met, she welcomed him closer, a soft gasp escaped her lips, followed by a sigh that spoke volumes in the silence. His lips traveled down her neck, a slow exploration that sent shivers cascading across her skin. His hands grazed her abdomen, his touch deliberate yet gentle. He pressed his fingers lightly against her hips, to slow her pace, enjoying the desire between them. He wasn't in a rush. The night was theirs, and he intended to savor every moment.
The cool night air provided a welcomed reprieve as their bodies melted together in a rush of heated passion. As Buck struggled to steady his breathing, he gazed across the bed where her form blurred in the hazy aftermath of their shared bliss. Silence settled between them. It was the quiet space of a happy home, filled with the unspoken language of love and contentment. Buck pulled her close and leaned over, his lips brushing against her temple.
"Thank you." He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.
"For what?" Brenna asked groggily.
"For making me a father." He replied, his words echoing the silent gratitude that filled her heart.
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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.
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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