Legend of the Kiowa - 102 Spades & Secrets

by RiderComin

Buck Cross hunts a killer known as the Judge, whose bloody playing cards mark his victims. In Anasazi Flats, he allies with Marshal Solana and his fierce daughter Meredith while seeking solace with schoolteacher Eleanor Hayes. As corruption spreads and betrayal looms, Buck must uncover the truth before the Judge's deadly game claims them all.

Legend of The Kiowa

Episode 101 – Badge & Blood

By: H Forbes

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Wild Bill Hickok. Billy the Kid. Jesse James.

Outlaws and lawmen alike—these notorious men captured the nation's imagination, their legends immortalized in ink. But there's one name whispered in hushed tones, his story shrouded in shadow and vengeance: The Kiowa.

In the untamed American West, where justice is a loaded gun and love a dangerous gamble, The Kiowa rides a fine line between hero and villain. A half-Kiowa war hero turned bounty hunter, his path is paved with blood, betrayal, and forbidden passion. Alongside a cast of resilient women, deadly adversaries, and unexpected allies, he blazes through a landscape of lawless towns, sweeping prairies, and broken dreams.

A sweeping saga of Frontier Noir romance, adventure, and revenge, The Kiowa explores the darker edges of morality, the ache of love, and the thirst for justice. It's no holds barred—and you've been warned. This series explores mature themes, graphic violence, and sizzling encounters sure to leave even a saloon girl blushing. Beloved canon characters like Cody and Hickok are reimagined with raw honesty, shedding their squeaky-clean image to reveal deeper, more complex, and sometimes unsettling truths. Delving into the shadowy depths of human depravity, these stories will challenge your perceptions and might just leave you breathless—or utterly unmoored.

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ADULTS ONLY:
This series explores mature themes, graphic violence, and sizzling encounters sure to leave even a saloon girl blushing. Beloved canon characters like Cody and Hickok are reimagined with raw honesty, shedding their squeaky-clean image to reveal deeper, more complex, and sometimes unsettling truths. Delving into the shadowy depths of human depravity, these stories will challenge your perceptions and might just leave you breathless—or utterly unmoored.
* This series will not have an Angel Version adaptation, as the subject matter and adult scenes are integral to the story, making it unsuitable for younger audiences.

Content Warnings

Violence: Frequent graphic violence including gunfights, physical confrontations, and detailed descriptions of injuries

Death: Multiple character deaths, descriptions of murder victims, discussions of past deaths

Sexual Content: Explicit intimate scenes between consenting adults

Criminal Activity: Human trafficking, kidnapping, extortion, corruption

Discrimination: Period-accurate depictions of racism and prejudice

Gore: Descriptions of wounds, blood, and aftermath of violence

Child Peril: Themes involving endangered children (no graphic harm to children depicted)

Grief/Loss: Characters dealing with death of loved ones

Alcohol Use: Period-accurate depiction of drinking and saloon culture

Language: Strong language appropriate to the period and setting

What you can expect

Justice vs Law

Personal honor vs duty

Cultural identity and belonging

Love vs vengeance

Trust and betrayal

Family (both blood and chosen)

Redemption

Survival in harsh environments

Tropes

Morally Grey Hero: Buck operates outside strict legal boundaries for justice

Revenge Plot: Multiple characters seeking vengeance for past wrongs

Friends to Lovers: Relationships that develop from alliance to romance

Strong Female Characters: Women who challenge period expectations

Found Family: Characters forming bonds beyond blood relations

Fish Out of Water: Characters navigating between different cultures

Slow Burn Romance: Gradually developing relationships

Secret Identity: Characters operating under hidden agendas

Western Justice: Frontier law vs personal moral codes

Star-Crossed Lovers: Relationships complicated by duty or circumstance

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Chapter 1

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Anasazi Flats simmered beneath the sun, the unrelenting heat pressing down on empty boardwalks and sun-bleached storefronts. Buck Cross felt sweat gathering between his shoulder blades as he guided his horse down the unnaturally quiet main street. He'd ridden through towns like this before, settlements that straddled the uncertain boundary between Indian Territory and frontier, where the shadow of Mexico fell long across the land.

The empty hitching posts caught his eye first, no saddle stock switching flies in the heat. Then the saloon's batwing doors, hanging motionless when they should have been swinging with the traffic of cowhands coming in for their afternoon whiskey. Each detail wrote its own story in a language Buck had learned to read too well.

The body lay behind Thompson's livery, sprawled in an undignified heap that suggested its owner had been taken by surprise. Buck dismounted carefully, mindful of the wound in his side that three days of hard riding hadn't helped heal. He recognized Tyler McKinnon's face from the wanted posters in Liberty Plains, though death had softened the hard lines around his mouth. Someone had pinned a playing card to his chest, the ace of its edges dark where blood had soaked into the paper.

"An interesting choice of decoration." The voice carried old Spain in its cadence, wrapped in the particular warmth that marked a certain class of Texas rancher. The man stepped from the livery's shadows, his coat showing signs of hard-wear at the cuffs though the silver-mounted Colt at his hip gleamed with recent attention.

"Found him just after dawn." The marshal studied the stranger before him, noting the quiet way he held himself, the weathered planes of his face that spoke of long years reading the land and its people. This was the Kiowa. The man he'd heard whispers about in Abilene, though those stories hadn't captured the stillness in those dark eyes. "Three days out from Liberty Plains," he added softly, "long chase for a dead man."

"Buck Cross," the man offered simply as he touched the brim of his hat. He didn't extend his hand, out here, a man's word carried more weight than empty gestures.

Solana nodded, the silver in his beard catching the light. "Marshal Esteban Solana. Though most folks here just call me Solana." He shifted his weight, boots scraping softly against packed earth. "Your reputation rides ahead of you, Señor Cross."

"Dead man's McKinnion," Buck said as he studied the marshal's stance. Solana carried himself like a man who'd learned diplomacy often worked better than bullets, but kept his hand near his holster in case words failed. He was the kind of lawman who'd offer coffee before drawing iron, though he was equally comfortable with both.

"Been tracking him these past weeks," Buck continued, feeling the tremors running through his mount's flanks. The horse's exhaustion mirrored his own. "Though I'll admit, didn't expect to find his trail ending here."

The scrape of leather on wood drew his attention to the jailhouse. A young woman moved from the well, her bucket full but steady. The way she held herself spoke of deliberate upbringing wrapped around harsher realities. Her free hand stayed close to her skirts, and Buck recognized the deliberate placement. He'd seen too many people carry hidden steel not to know the signs.

"My daughter, Meredith." Something shifted beneath the older man's words, pride tangled with old worry, maybe old grief.

Buck noticed the deputy's approach from the corner of his eye, something telling in how the young lawman stepped toward her. Even at this distance, Buck read the careful way they moved around one another as the deputy took the bucket, their hands meeting briefly at the handle. Proper space kept between them, but there was meaning in how they shifted their weight, in the slight pause before they drew apart. Small things, but Buck had learned long ago that such quiet exchanges often carried more weight than any words spoken in the open.

"Territory's changing." Solana adjusted his gun belt, the leather creaking with familiar wear. "Man who reads sign like you do, might find work here worth his while." He paused, measuring his next words. "Share our table tonight. Seems to me we've got things need discussing."

Buck's gaze drifted back to McKinnion's corpse. The kill shot told its own story, clean, precise… efficient. Someone had wanted to make a point. The question was what kind of conversation they were trying to start.

"Much obliged," he said finally, gathering his horse's reins. The animal's head drooped with weariness as they moved toward the stable. Behind drawn curtains, he felt the weight of watching eyes. Every town had its own way of holding its breath around strangers.

Evening crept through Anasazi Flats while Solana supervised the body's removal. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang softly, its sound carrying echoes through the small New Mexico town.

Buck took his time with his horse, each brush stroke measured and thorough. Someone had changed the rules of whatever game was being played. But those were questions for tomorrow. Tonight, there was only the settling quiet of the evening, and whatever truths waited at the marshal's supper table.

Buck's stomach tightened at the thought of a real meal. After weeks of trail food and coffee thick enough to stand a spoon in, the promise of fresh bread and proper cooking had him working quicker with stabling his horse than usual.

The last hot meal he'd had was at a line camp south of the Territory, bland beans and tough beef that had done more to remind him of hunger than satisfy it. Marshal's table would mean real plates instead of tin, conversations between bites instead of watching the horizon while choking down hardtack.

His mouth watered at the thought, though he kept his face neutral. Such simple comforts had their own way of binding men to civilization, if only for an evening.

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Chapter 2

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Eleanor Hayes stood in the doorway of her schoolhouse, the late afternoon sun warming the rough-hewn boards beneath her fingers. The building had begun its life as a meeting house before the territory had started paying for proper education, and its weathered frame still held echoes of hymns beneath the chalk dust and arithmetic. She watched the stranger pass, noting how his horse's weary gait matched its rider's careful movements.

"They say you're the one who settled matters in Liberty Plains." She kept her voice pitched low, though sound carried strange in the evening air. The words themselves were carefully chosen, not quite a question, but an opening for conversation should he choose to take it. "The Kiowa."

Buck's response was minimal, just a touch of his hat brim. "Ma'am."

"Eleanor Hayes." She shifted her weight, letting the moment stretch naturally. "I was about to walk over to the saloon for a drink."

Through the marshal's office window, movement caught her eye – Meredith Solana bent over her father's desk, dark hair falling forward as she sorted through papers. Eleanor had watched the girl grow from a quiet child into whatever she was becoming, something harder-edged than most realized. She recognized in those deliberate movements a familiar pattern - the careful way Meredith's fingers lingered over certain wanted posters.

"Another time, perhaps." Buck's words carried neither warmth nor coldness, just a simple statement of fact. But his eyes met hers directly, acknowledging the invitation for what it was. "When circumstances allow."

She let a slight smile spread across her lips. "I'll hold you to it." Her step closer was deliberate. "Some of us understand what it means to handle... trouble."

"That what you're looking for?"

"Among other things." She let her fingers brush his sleeve, brief contact that could be read as accidental. "My door stays unlocked. In case you find yourself wanting company later."

The horse's scream cut through their exchange. Buck was moving before the sound faded, hand dropping to his holster as he rounded the livery corner. Eleanor's footsteps followed behind him, her skirts rustling across the dried earth as she kept pace.

His horse fought against its lead rope, nostrils flared and eyes rolling white with fear. Buck's gaze tracked to what had spooked the animal. A knife driven deep into the wooden post beside it, pinning a playing card in place. The Jester, its edges stained dark with what could only be blood.

Eleanor drew in a careful breath. "Well." Her voice remained steady, though her fingers had whitened against the wood. "Seems you've brought some trouble with you."

Buck examined the card without touching it, noting the placement. Professional work, like the one on McKinnon.

Message received.

"Best head inside, Miss Hayes." Buck's tone carried quiet authority, though his eyes lingered on her.

She paused at her threshold, "Don't be a stranger," she said finally, the words carrying a weight that settled in the cooling evening air before she turned and walked out of the livery, looking back once before she shot him a small smirk.

Buck acknowledged her with a slight nod, then stepped out of the livery's dimness into the slanting afternoon light as he watched Eleanor make the short walk to her house. The sun had begun its descent behind the general store. He lifted his gaze to the marshal's office, and there was Meredith Solana, standing at the window.

Their eyes met across the distance, and what he saw there wasn't the fear you'd expect from a sheltered girl witnessing violence. Instead, he recognized something deeper, a darkness that spoke of old wounds.

Most folks passing by would see only the marshal's daughter attending to office duties, nothing to remark upon. But Buck recognized the particular kind of strength it took to wear normalcy so convincingly while keeping such careful watch. Whatever hell the Watson gang had brought to her door, she'd emerged from it with a composure that made her all the more intriguing for its subtlety.

He felt Eleanor's gaze from her window. The promise of company held its own appeal, but blood-marked cards brought obligations that wouldn't wait. Whatever lay behind this would keep, same as Miss Hayes, until he'd settled what manner of trouble had tracked him to Anasazi Flats. Still, he found his thoughts returning to that contained grace, to the particular mystery of someone who could weather violence without letting it crack their surface.

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Chapter 3

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck paused at the base of the steps, noting how the evening light caught the beveled glass of the front windows. His boots had barely touched the first wooden tread when the door eased open.

"Señor Cross?" The marshal's daughter stood framed in the doorway, one hand resting light against the frame. Her voice carried the measured courtesy he'd noticed earlier, though here it held notes of her father's Spanish warmth. "I'm Meredith Solana."

"Ma'am." Buck removed his hat, running fingers along its brim. "Buck Cross. Your hospitality is appreciated."

She nodded, stepping back with the fluid grace of long practice. "Welcome to our home." The lamp-lit hallway caught the gold cross at her throat. "Please, come in."

Her skirts whispered across polished floorboards as she led him toward what he assumed was the parlor. "Bernardino will be joining us shortly." The slight lift in her tone when she spoke the deputy's name carried weight beyond the words themselves. "I believe you met him earlier today."

Buck recognized the quiet statement of allegiance for what it was, the gentle marking of boundaries that needed no further explanation. "Yes, ma'am."

Esteban Solana emerged from his study, papers in hand. "Cross. Good." His gesture toward the settee carried the subtle authority of a man used to being obeyed. "Meredith, coffee for our guest."

"Of course, Papá."

Buck settled into the offered seat while keeping the door in view. Through the window, he watched Eleanor Hayes cross the path toward her cottage beyond the schoolhouse. Her pace was deliberately slow, hips swaying just a touch more than necessary. At her porch steps, she cast a glance back toward the Solana house before stepping inside. Moments later, lamplight warmed her curtains, a quiet signal Buck noted despite himself.

"Something catch your eye, Señor?" Meredith's voice carried a hint of amusement at Eleanor's obvious display.

"Just admiring the view," Buck replied with equal humor, though his mind was already cataloging the potential complications of the schoolteacher's interest.

Solana's fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup. "Word reaches far out here. I expect you've heard about the Watson bastardos taking my daughter."

Buck set his own cup down carefully. "Some talk. Nothing clear."

"Three months back." Solana's voice had gone quiet in a way that made the hair rise on Buck's neck. "They held her five days before we found their camp." His hand stilled on the cup. "Half the territory's lawmen rode with us. Would have burned that whole valley if we'd had to."

Meredith returned with the coffee pot, her movements precise until the pot wavered slightly above Solana's cup. Her father's hand caught hers, steadying both the pot and her fingers. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, weathered lips against skin that still carried scars from the rope.

"The Territory Rangers found us at dawn," Solana said quietly, his fingers lingering protectively over his daughter's. "Bernardino had tracked them through three counties." His other hand warm around his cup. "We were lucky. Two more hours..." He left the rest unsaid.

Something shifted in Meredith's expression, not fear exactly, but the kind of knowing that changed a person. She squeezed her father's hand once before continuing to pour.

Boot steps on the porch preceded a soft knock. Bernardino entered without waiting for a response, removing his hat. He acknowledged Buck with a slight nod before turning to Solana.

"Mi amor." His kiss to her cheek was gentle, though his hand never strayed far from his gun. "Señor Cross, we've heard much about Liberty Plains."

"Word travels." Buck accepted coffee. "Hear you're good with a rifle."

"I can hold my own." The younger man said plainly.

"Bernardino is being modest." Meredith settled beside her fiancé, close but not quite touching. "He's the best shot in three territories." Her smile turned playful. "After me, of course."

"Meredith." Her father's tone carried warning.

"Lo siento, Papá." Though her eyes held more calculation than contrition. "Lo olvidé, una dama no habla de esas cosas."

Solana's sigh carried equal measures of pride and exasperation. "Forgive my daughter. The burden of having a beautiful child is heavy enough, but when she's twice as clever as most men..." He gave Meredith a stern look that didn't quite mask his affection. "It becomes a special kind of challenge."

"Papá!" Meredith's protest held just the right note of indignation, though her eyes were a lite with amusement.

Buck smiled softly, watching the easy affection between father and daughter. It was rare to see such open warmth in this harsh land. After a moment, he shifted his weight, expression turning more serious. "The playing cards," he said quietly. "Tell me about them."

Solana exchanged glances with his deputy. "Started a few months ago. Always spades, always with bodies."

"Three so far," Bernardino added. "All former Watson riders."

Meredith's fingers instinctively reached her throat, a gesture of self-soothing. "The bodies are arranged." Her voice lost its playful edge. "Like messages."

"You recognized something about them?" Buck watched her reaction carefully.

She met his eyes steadily. "Perhaps." Then her smile warmed as she indicated the steaming platters María had brought. "But first, you must try the tamales. Mi tías have been cooking since dawn. Even Papá says they're the best in the territory."

Buck watched them over dinner, the way they moved around each other. Meredith kept the plates full and conversation flowing, but beneath her smile lay something harder. Five days with Watson's men had taught her other things, things that were getting people killed. Buck was certain there was something she was hiding.

Bernardino's questions probed at Buck's business while never quite touching it. Solana spoke of town matters, but his eyes returned to his daughter between words. Meredith poured coffee and passed bread, playing her part, though sometimes when the talk moved elsewhere, Buck caught a different woman in her eyes.

As night crept in, Meredith showed him to the door as her father and his deputy hunched over maps in the parlor, marking tomorrow's routes in whispers.

"Señor Cross." Her voice dropped low, meant for him alone. "Whatever game is being played... be careful how you move your pieces."

"I appreciate the hospitality, señorita." Buck touched the brim of his hat. "Fine meal."

Buck stepped into the cooling night air, the old wound in his leg pulled with each step. The marshal's house had grown quiet, lamplight still burning behind drawn curtains. Three weeks of hard riding left him feeling the weight of every mile.

The town had settled into its evening rhythms. His boots raised puffs of dust as he crossed the empty street. Eleanor Hayes' small house sat at the edge of town, past the darkened schoolhouse. She stood in her doorway, no longer in her teaching dress.

When she turned inside, leaving the door open, Buck climbed her steps. Tomorrow would bring its own troubles. McKinnion's death, Solana's careful offers, the weight of watching eyes. But that was tomorrow's concern.

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Chapter 4

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The door's latch landed with a soft click as Buck stepped inside. Lamplight caught the curves of Eleanor's figure through her cotton dress as she moved. She took her time lighting another lamp, her movements deliberate as she pretended not to watch him.

"Wasn't sure you'd come." Her voice carried a warmth that matched the amber glow of the lamp as she reached for two glasses, whiskey bottle already waiting. "Though I had my hopes."

Buck accepted the offered drink, aware of how her fingers brushed against his during the exchange. "That why you walked past the marshal's?"

"Twice, if you want the truth of it." Eleanor's smile held quiet confidence as she settled onto her settee. "Though I expect you've had your fill of mysteries for one day." She smoothed her skirts before patting the space beside her, the invitation was clear.

"That what you're offering?" He remained standing, noting how her breath quickened when his gaze met hers. "Mystery?"

"Among other things." Eleanor rose, crossing to him with unhurried grace. Her fingers found his shirt buttons, working them free. "Though right now, I'm more interested in unraveling a few mysteries of my own."

Buck caught her hands, bringing them to his lips. "That so?"

She leaned closer, her breath warm against his neck. "Mmm. Like whether all those stories about you hold any truth."

His laugh rumbled low as he lifted her chin. "Suppose you'll have to discover that yourself."

Eleanor's fingers wove through his hair as he guided her toward the settee, her soft sound of pleasure lost in their kiss.

"My," she breathed as his mouth traveled down her throat, "you do live up to your reputation."

Buck's touch was anything but gentle or subtle. He grabbed Eleanor, pulling her against his body. The glow of the lamp cast flickering light across the room as he heatedly stripped her of her clothes. The rustle and fabric hitting the floor were almost drowned out by their harsh breathing and desire between them.

Eleanor, eager and desperate, sank to her knees before him. Her hands trembled with need as she fumbled with his belt, freeing his aching hardness with a hungry moan.

Buck's back arched and his hands clenched as Eleanor teased him with soft kisses along his length. Her tongue tracing patterns over sensitive spots. He gripped her hair tighter, urging her to take him deeper as she moaned around him.

With a growl, Buck hoisted her up and placed her on top of the table. He devoured her mouth, his hands tracing down her body until they reached the smooth skin between her legs. She gasped and squirmed under his touch as he used his fingers and tongue to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.

Eleanor, desperate for more, begged him to stop teasing her and take her fully. Her eyes pleaded with him as she rubbed herself against his hand, desperate for release.

"Please," she panted.

With a swift motion, he aligned himself with her and plunged deep into her. Buck groaned, his hands gripping the table for stability as they both were consumed. She clenched around him, her nails digging into his skin as they moved together. The room was filled with the sounds of their breaths and slapping of their bodies.

Eleanor's moans became more urgent. Her hair whipped around as her face contorted with the intensity of her orgasm, her eyes rolling back into her head as she cried out. Her body writhed against his, her legs locking tight around his waist as she shook in climax.

Buck continued to thrust, lost in the sensation of Eleanor tightening around him. His muscles tensed as he felt his own release building, his rhythm increasing until he could hold back no longer. With one final thrust, he filled her completely with his warm release.

They collapsed onto the table, panting heavily and basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. Eleanor let out a satisfied sigh, tracing the curve of her fingers along Buck's sweat-soaked skin.

"That was... incredible," she panted.

"Night's still young," he murmured.

Buck lifted Eleanor into his arms, her body still trembling with passion. She pressed closer as he carried her down the hall.

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Chapter 5

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The fog hadn't lifted when Buck found the body. It clung low to the ground, turning the morning gray and hazy around the edges. Elijah Morton sat propped against the water tower's base, looking almost peaceful if you missed the dark stain spreading across his coat. Someone had taken their time with him – hat placed just so beside him, boots squared away. The Jack of Spades pinned to his vest was crisp despite the blood seeping into its edges.

Marshal Solana's footsteps came quiet through the mist. He stopped beside Buck, thumbs hooked in his belt. "Morton," he said simply. "Used to ride with Watson."

Buck studied the ground around the body, noting the absence of struggle more than anything else. No scuffed earth, no signs Morton had even tried to draw. Clean work, done close – powder burns on the coat told that much.

"Whoever did this," Buck said, "they wanted him found."

"Seems that way." Solana pulled his coat tighter against the morning chill. "Two of Watson's old amigos in as many days." His gaze drifted across the courtyard where Meredith directed the stream of wedding guests arriving with the dawn stage. "Getting crowded in town."

"Those other men you mentioned last night," Buck said quietly. "Before McKinnon. How many?"

Solana's expression turned inward. "Three. Before McKinnon. Now Morton here makes five."

"McKinnon had the ace." Buck studied the jack pinned to Morton's vest. "What about the others?"

"Five, seven, and ten." Solana's voice dropped lower. "All spades."

Buck felt something cold settle in his gut. "And the Jester in the livery."

"¿Cómo? " Solana's head came up sharp.

"Yesterday evening. Before dinner." Buck kept his voice even. "Someone left a message. The Jester card, stuck to the post near my horse. Knife through it."

His gaze drifted across the plaza where his daughter greeted arriving relatives. "Wedding's in three days," Solana said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of a father's concern. "With family gathering from as far as Santa Fe..." He let the thought hang unfinished, though Buck read the worry in the older man's bearing.

Buck's gaze followed Solana's, settling on Meredith as she arranged flowers on the marshal's house porch in the crisp morning light. Her dark hair fell forward while she watched the street through lowered lashes. Cousins and aunts filed past her into the house, but her hands never stopped their movements.

Eleanor Hayes stepped out of her schoolhouse, shawl drawn tight against the morning air. Her glance found Buck with ease, carrying the heat from the night before. But there was something else there too, a wariness that hadn't been present in darkness.

The sound of horses pulled their attention south. Three riders emerged from the thinning fog, trail dust thick on their coats and horses. Buck recognized Thomas Reed in the lead, another piece of Watson's scattered outfit.

Meredith's hands slowed on the flowers, though anyone watching would've just seen a bride-to-be at her morning tasks. Through the schoolhouse window, Eleanor's expression turned careful as she watched the riders.

As riders dismounted at the saloon, taking their time about it, they sized up Buck and Solana. Before disappearing through the batwing doors.

"Papá?" Meredith called from the porch. "La señora Reyes estará aquí pronto para tu traje."

"Sí, sí, mi hija." Solana touched his hat brim to Buck. "Pardon me, my daughter reminds me I have a fitting for my wedding suit. We'll talk more on this later."

Eleanor moved beside him as Solana headed for the house. Her fingers worried at her shawl while she watched Meredith adjust the flowers. "Look at her," she said, barely above a whisper. "Marshal's daughter, every hair just so. Greeting relatives like she's hosting Sunday dinner, not standing twenty feet from where a man bled out." A pause, then softer still: "Perfect composure. Makes you wonder what else she learned to hide, those five days with Watson's men."

"That what you see?" Buck kept his eyes on the saloon, though he felt her nearness plain enough.

"Five days changes a person." Eleanor's laugh held no humor. "She came back different, whatever tale they tell about rescue." Her fingers brushed his arm, brief but purposeful. "Sometimes I wonder what really happened out there."

Through the window, Meredith bent close to her father, lips barely moving as she passed on whatever she'd noted while working her flowers.

"Seeing things that ain't there," Buck said gently, though he filed her words away in his mind.

"Maybe, but you've got your own ghosts, haven't you?" She stepped closer, her scent familiar now. "Come by later... might be other things worth seeing."

Buck steadied her with a light touch, just long enough to acknowledge what lay between them. "Might do that."

She headed back to her schoolhouse, while Buck studied Morton's corpse one final time. Dead eyes stared at nothing, but that Jack of Spades watched everything. Someone was playing a careful game, and every soul in Anasazi Flats seemed to be holding cards close to their chest.

---

Chapter 6

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Meredith settled her skirts on the worn bench in the town square, arranging the fabric with practiced care while keeping her embroidery visible on her lap. The familiar weight of the needlework served its purpose, a shield against unwanted attention while allowing her to observe without seeming to watch. She'd claimed this spot often enough these past weeks that even the crows recognized her routine, gathering close as she reached for the morning's bread crumbs in her pocket.

The three men at the water trough hadn't bothered to lower their voices, their words carrying clearly across the square. Trail dust still clung to their coats, their horses switching flies nearby with weary patience.

"Judge ain't gonna stand for it much longer." The tallest of them spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dust. "Half-breed riding through decent towns like he owns 'em." His voice carried the particular ugliness of a man who enjoyed causing pain.

"Heard tell he's killed eighteen men." The second man's tone mixed fear with a kind of awe. "Maybe more."

"Won't matter soon enough." The first man's grin revealed tobacco-stained teeth. "Judge says his scalp's worth more than any bounty. Time to make an example, string that Indian up proper-like."

Meredith's needle never faltered in its steady motion, though she felt the familiar tightening between her shoulder blades as they approached. Her fingers maintained their rhythm even as their shadows fell across her lap.

"Well now, ain't you just the prettiest little flower." The leader's voice carried a meanness that set her teeth on edge.

She raised her eyes, expression carefully blank. "No hablo inglés, señores."

"Got ourselves a Mexican senorita, boys." He stepped closer, tobacco-soured breath washing over her as he leaned down. "Don't need no words for what I'm thinking, darlin'."

His hand shot out, fingers digging into her arm as he pulled her up from the bench. "Judge sends his regards," he muttered, close enough that she could smell the rot on his breath. "Says he wants his ledger back."

The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the morning air. She twisted free of his grip, maintaining her composure as she gathered her skirts. "Con permiso, señores."

"Gonna ride through every territory with that half-breed's head on a pike!" The leader's voice chased after her. "String up anyone fool enough to stand with him! Judge's law is the only law that matters out here!"

Buck materialized from beside the mercantile, his quiet presence freezing their laughter mid-throat. Without speaking, he offered Meredith his arm.

"Seems you've had an interesting morning." His voice carried just enough for her to catch.

"Perhaps." Her voice wavered slightly before steadying, the tremor in her hands betraying what her carefully arranged features tried to hide. Buck watched as she drew a careful breath, composure settling back over her like a familiar shawl. When she spoke again, her tone carried its usual measured grace. "Though such matters are best discussed with my father present, don't you think?"

A trace of approval touched Buck's eyes. "Lead on, ma'am."

They walked in companionable silence, Buck's stride matching her shorter steps while his gaze swept the street. Meredith's fingers rested light in the crook of his arm, but there was strength in her posture that spoke of a woman used to being watched, each gesture calculated to appear demure while missing nothing.

Church bells rang six times as they neared the marshal's office. Buck caught Meredith's slight pause at the steps, noting how her gaze tracked the street with the same careful attention he used.

"Three men arrived on the afternoon stage." Meredith settled into the chair her father held for her. A faint smile touched her lips. "Es increíble, what people say when they think no one can understand them."

"A common mistake." Solana's voice held pride. "Continúa, hija."

"They mentioned someone called the Judge." Her fingers traced the embroidery on her lap. "Said he's placed a bounty on Señor Cross. Not for capture. For his death."

Buck remained still by the window, though his jaw tightened slightly.

"There's more," Meredith continued. "They spoke of making examples, of how their law is the only law that matters in the territory. One carried a deck of cards." Her dark eyes met her father's. "Like the ones we found before."

Bernardino's hand dropped to his gun belt. "Hijo de puta... begging your pardon, señorita."

"My daughter has heard worse," Solana remarked dryly, though his expression hardened as he returned to the matter at hand. "These men, you could identify them?"

"The tall one, with the scar down his cheek," Meredith paused, picturing the scene again. "He'd stop to spit tobacco every few minutes. His friend had one of those cavalry marks on his hand, like the soldiers who came through last spring. And the quiet one..." She tilted her head slightly, recalling what had caught her eye. "He wore a preacher's coat, but his gun belt had seen too much use for a man of God."

Buck's slight nod acknowledged the precision of her observations.

"Bueno, mi hija." Solana's voice carried equal measures pride and concern. "Bernardino, perhaps you should escort Meredith home. Take the back streets."

"Si, Patrón." Bernardino offered Meredith his arm. "Con su permiso, señorita?"

Buck waited until their footsteps faded before speaking. "She notices a great deal, your daughter."

"Si." Solana lit a cigar, offering one to Buck. "Not the life her mother and I dreamed of when she was born." He paused, memory softening his features. "Isabella was a spirited woman. Meredith looks so much like her."

Buck accepted the cigar, noting the weight in Solana's voice. "Your wife passed when Meredith was young?"

"Just a child." Solana drew on his cigar, the ember briefly illuminating his face. "María, our housekeeper, she stepped in as best she could. Became family really. Though nothing truly replaces a mother's touch." He shook his head slightly. "Sometimes I think I spoiled Meredith too much, trying to fill that void. Other times, I wonder if I made her too wild, too ready to face the darker parts of this territory."

"Your deputy seems up to the task of handling her spirit," Buck observed.

A smile touched Solana's lips. "Si, Bernardino understands what he's getting into. He sees her strength as well as her beauty." He looked Buck for a moment. "Much like you do, I think."

They smoked in comfortable silence while evening gathered outside. Buck felt anchored by Solana's quiet presence, reminded of Teaspoon's steady wisdom, the way he could say more in silence than most men managed with a hundred words. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that kind of guidance until now.

Finally, Buck stubbed out his cigar. "Good evening, Marshal."

"Buenas noches, amigo."

Through the window, Buck noticed the Judge's men still at their card game in the saloon. They weren't going anywhere, not tonight at least. He touched his hat brim to Solana and headed down the street toward Eleanor Hayes' house, where a lamp burned in the window.

The schoolteacher's house stood quiet at the end of the street, lamplight warming her windows. Buck walked up the path, seeing how she'd arranged her curtains, just open enough that someone passing might catch a glimpse inside.

---

Chapter 7

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck knocked on the door, enough to announce his presence but not to disturb. When silence was the only response, he placed his hand against the wooden surface, and the door yielded easily to his touch, opening without a fight.

"Finished playing protector?" Jealousy laced her tone as she walked out of the bedroom, her robe loosely tied at the waist, the fabric parting to reveal more than modesty allowed.

"She's a child." Buck shut the door behind him.

"A child who marries at week's end." Eleanor pressed closer. "Though I suppose such innocence holds its own appeal."

Buck's jaw tightened slightly. "That kind of talk doesn't suit you."

"Then perhaps we should move somewhere more private. Where talk isn't necessary at all."

Eleanor's fingers found his shirt buttons as she drew him toward her bedroom, their movements filled with shared urgency. When Buck caught her wrists, she twisted away and shoved him hard against the wall, rattling the framed Scripture verse. There was something raw in how she claimed his mouth, teeth grazing his lip hard enough to draw blood, a hunger born of old hurts.

"Something you want to tell me?" He wiped the blood on his palm.

"Nothing worth saying." She tore at his shirt, buttons scattering across the floorboards. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving red trails in their wake. "Unless you'd rather discuss your charming afternoon companion?"

Buck's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "Thought we were done talking."

"Go ahead, lawman." With a soft laugh, Eleanor pressed herself against him, the tie of her robe slipping loose. "Try and silence me."

A dark, quiet laugh rolled out of Buck. "Ain't answered to 'lawman' in a while, woman." His hands found the curve of her waist, fingers spreading over heated skin as he pulled her firmly against him. "And you damn well know it."

The scripture verse toppled to the floor as Buck spun her with force, pressing her against the wall. Her legs tightened around his waist as he carried her toward the bed, their movements fierce and untamed. Her teeth sank into his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt, and his hands attacked the laces of her bodice, quick and unrestrained.

The two bodies crashed together with primal lust, limbs tangled and clothes shredded as their heated breaths mingled in the sweltering air. His hands moved quickly, discarding his gunbelt before moving on to his pants, revealing the thick, hard length of his cock. She eagerly grasped it in one hand, while using the other to pinch and twist her own nipple, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her swollen lips.

But he had other plans. With a growl, he pushed her away, sending her sprawling naked onto the bed. "Stay put, darlin'," he commanded gruffly, a glint in his eye as he finished undressing. He left his boots on and strode over to the bed, his thick cock bouncing with each step.

He stood her up, turning her around so that her perfect ass was positioned just so, right in front of him. She bent over, her back arching as she presented herself to him. He teased her relentlessly, rubbing the tip of his cock against her slick folds, slipping just the tip inside before pulling out again. She whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate to feel him inside her.

But he was in no rush. He took his time, enjoying the sight of her writhing and moaning beneath him. He dug his feet into his boots, using them for traction as he finally plunged into her, filling her completely with one rough thrust.

She came hard and fast, her body trembling with pleasure as she screamed out. But he wasn't done yet. With a grunt, he pulled out, stroking his cock furiously as he came all over her back. He took his handkerchief and wiped her off, tossing it carelessly onto the floor before joining her on the bed.

She curled up next to him, still trembling with pleasure, but he was far from finished. He took his time removing his boots, savoring the sight of her naked body stretched out before him. He knew she wanted more, and he was more than happy to oblige.

---

Chapter 8

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The aroma of chiles and slow-cooked meat drifted from the Solana kitchen as Buck paused at the bottom step. Through the window, lamplight caught the gleam of fine china and carefully preserved tradition. He'd barely lifted his hand to knock when María eased the door open.

"Por aquí, señor." She gestured him inside.

"Gracias, señora." Buck removed his hat, turning it in his hands as he followed her into the warmth of the house.

Music drifted from the parlor, something delicate and haunting that made him pause in the doorway. Meredith sat at the piano, her presence as carefully composed as the notes she drew from ivory keys. The melody felt out of place in a town where blood still stained the earth, yet it suited the young woman playing it. Her dark hair caught the lamplight as she swayed with the rhythm, each movement measured and precise.

Marshal Solana stood at his desk sorting papers while Bernardino lingered near the window, his watchful gaze never quite settling. The deputy's hand stayed close to his holster even here, in the safety of the marshal's home.

As the final notes faded into silence, Meredith turned from the piano with practiced grace. "Señor Cross." Her smile softened as she turned to Bernardino. He offered his arm, and for a moment his watchful posture eased, pride showing through in the gentle way he tucked her hand against his elbow.

"Come, amigo." Solana set aside his papers with deliberate care. "María has outdone herself tonight. The least we can do is enjoy it while it's hot."

Buck settled into the offered chair, positioning himself to keep both door and windows in view. "Three more riders came in this afternoon."

"Eight total now." Solana spread wanted posters across the polished wood of his desk. "All Watson's old crew, far as I can tell."

"Nine." Meredith's correction drew their attention. "The man by the livery this morning, he wasn't with the others. Kept to the shadows, watching."

Her father's gaze sharpened, but Meredith continued as if discussing church gossip. "The ladies were quite concerned today. Tía Carmen especially, she worries we won't have enough help preparing the wedding feast." Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup. "Though Señor Roberts seemed more interested in the bank's schedule."

Solana's pen stilled. "Roberts?"

"Mmm." Meredith sipped her coffee with perfect composure. "Tall man. Mentioned riding with Cole Watson during the war." Her eyes met Buck's briefly. "Had many questions about Liberty Plains."

María appeared with steaming bowls of pozole rojo, the rich scent of chilies and tender pork filling the room. Fresh corn tortillas sat in a cloth-covered basket, still warm. Each dish spoke of care and tradition, this was food meant for family, not mere guests.

"Perhaps," Bernardino said carefully as María served, "we might discuss more pleasant matters. The wedding preparations, for instance."

Something flickered behind Meredith's carefully maintained expression. "Actually, Papá... with everything happening... perhaps we should delay-"

"No." Solana's voice carried gentle authority. "Life brings its troubles in every season, mi hija. We cannot put off joy waiting for perfect peace."

"Your father's right," Bernardino reached for Meredith's hand. "Besides, I've waited long enough to make you my wife."

"Long enough?" Solana's eyes crinkled with genuine amusement as he glanced at Buck. "She's barely seventeen, what do you call long enough?" He shook his head, chuckling. "These young ones, no? They think three months is an eternity."

Meredith ducked her head while Bernardino smiled, though their joined hands never separated. The story of their courtship emerged over bowls of pozole, Bernardino first seeing Meredith at Sunday mass, months spent proving himself worthy of both Solana's trust and his daughter's affection.

"Señor Cross." Meredith's voice drew him from his thoughts. "You seem troubled. I hope our simple meal-"

"Been a while since I had food this good." The truth of it surprised him. Not just the dishes themselves, but the warmth they carried. The taste of home and tradition in every bite.

"Then you must try my Tía's chiles rellenos tomorrow," she said, her smile warming. "Though I should warn you, she'll try to marry you off to one of my cousins."

"Meredith." Her father's tone held more fondness than warning.

Buck smiled at their easy interaction while noting how Meredith maintained her composure. The Watson gang had held her five days. Long enough to leave scars deeper than skin. Yet here she sat, playing perfect hostess while killers gathered in her town.

"If you'll excuse me..." She rose with well-practiced grace. "Tomorrow brings many preparations."

"Of course, mi hija." Solana pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Descansa bien."

Buck caught her at the stairs, maintaining careful distance. "Señorita. About earlier, asking about the Watson gang... if I caused any distress-"

"You didn't." Her smile held something he couldn't quite read. "Some memories are simply... best left undisturbed." She glanced toward the parlor where her father and Bernardino discussed patrol schedules. "Buenos noches, Señor Cross."

Whiskey and cigars followed dinner, the men's quiet conversation drifting with the smoke. When Buck finally stepped into the night, the air carried the promise of rain. Eleanor's window was dark as he passed, just as well. He enjoyed their encounters, but tonight his mind needed clarity more than the comfort of her bed. Some mysteries required a clear head, and clarity was the last thing he found in Eleanor's arms.

His hotel room offered simple comfort. Buck eased himself onto the bed's edge, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. His fingers worked the knots in his thigh where the old wound still troubled him, aggravated by days of walking the streets of Anasazi Flats, piecing together a puzzle made of blood-stained playing cards and half-truths wrapped in careful Spanish. The cool night air raised goosebumps on his bare chest as he sat there in his long johns, trying to massage life back into his tired muscles.

The mirror caught his eye, a weathered face stared back, all hard angles and shadows. Sometimes he barely recognized the man he'd become. Beneath the rope-muscled shoulders and the scars that marked his years, he could still see traces of that scared kid who'd fled his home. Maybe he was still running…

He didn't finish the thought. Exhaustion hit him like a train as he lay back, and consciousness slipped away before his head even settled on the pillow. The weight of secrets and carefully constructed lies finally claimed their toll, pulling him down into dreamless sleep.

---

Chapter 9

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Sunlight poured through the schoolhouse windows as Buck approached. Eleanor Hayes stood at the blackboard, copper hair catching the fading rays as she erased the day's lessons. After a morning of following cold trails, the simple sight of her stirred something in him.

She turned at his footsteps, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Wondered when you'd come by." Setting the eraser aside, she brushed chalk dust from her hands. "Though I expected you sooner."

"Been looking into those riders," Buck said, keeping his distance until he pushed the door closed behind him. The latch caught with a soft click, and only then did he allow himself to step closer.

"Three more arrived while you were out," Eleanor moved toward him, her voice dropping low. "I saw them last night, carrying boxes from the church after you left the marshal's." Her fingers traced up his chest. "Have a nice dinner, did you?"

Buck pulled her against him, silencing her words with his mouth. But she drew back just enough to speak between kisses.

"María's cooking must be... quite something... to keep you there so long."

"If you're that interested in the Solana household, maybe you should pay them a visit yourself," Buck muttered against her neck, more focused on the taste of her skin than her probing questions.

"Just wondering," her fingers slid down his chest as she pressed closer, but her eyes drifted toward the church window. "About all those boxes being moved so late at night. Seems an awful lot of preparation for one small wedding." Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge beneath the playfulness. "Then again, I suppose the marshal's daughter deserves nothing but the best."

"I ain't here to talk about the Solana family." Buck's voice was gruff and low.

"No?" Eleanor's lips curved into a smile that was all innocence, but it quickly dissolved into deviousness. Her fingers toyed with a button on his shirt. "Then why are you here Mr. Cross?"

Without a word Buck lifted Eleanor onto the schoolroom desk. Her legs wrapped around his hips as their mouths met with desperation. The layer of propriety had shattered, leaving only raw need in its wake.

"Someone might see," she gasped, though her fingers worked at his buttons.

"You know this act of yours ain't fooling anyone," Buck replied, his hands finding bare skin above her stockings.

"And how would you know that?" She bit her lower lip and smiled.

Her incessant chatter was pushing at his already thin patience. Buck couldn't take it any longer and forcefully pressed his lips to hers, driven by both the urge to silence her and a need to taste her. Eleanor responded with a sigh, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

With one hand gripping her thigh and the other steadying them on the desk, Buck entered her. The desk creaked beneath their weight, each movement brought them closer to the edge until finally, with a sharp cry, she reached her climax. Buck kept up his pace until he finally found his own release.

They drew apart slowly, breath evening out in the quiet of the schoolroom. Buck straightened his shirt, then fastened his pants and belt while Eleanor smoothed her skirts back into place. The creak of wagon wheels outside made them both freeze for a moment, but the sound passed without pause, continuing down the dusty street.

"I do hope you'll save me a dance at tomorrow's celebration." She pressed a final kiss to his jaw.

Buck spotted them coming in from the east, three riders pushing through waves of heat rising off the ground. Their horses moved with the weary rhythm of a long day's travel, dust coating both riders and mounts. The way they spaced themselves spoke of men used to riding together, maintaining careful distance even as they approached the edge of town.

Eleanor touched his arm, her fingers pressing just enough to get his notice. "Just remember, when the music stops, make sure you're dancing with the right partner."

Buck studied her face, the fiery auburn curls, those mischievous blue eyes were striking enough, but it was the shadows she tried to hide behind that careful smirk that caught his attention. Like everyone else in Anasazi Flats, she wore a mask, played a part. The real question was what truth lay beneath all these careful performances.

---

Chapter 10

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Morning settled over the Solana house, where voices wove between kitchen and parlor in a mix of Spanish and English. Women hurried through final preparations while Buck stood near the doorway, watching Meredith navigate the controlled chaos with natural grace.

Buck's attention caught on three riders passing the house, recognizing them instantly, from the saloon the night before. They rode too deliberately, scanning rooflines and alleyways. Their horses moved at an easy walk, but their hands stayed close to holstered weapons as they guided their mounts around the south end of town, disappearing beyond the corner.

When the last echo of hoofbeats faded, Buck turned back to study the marshal's house through the window's warped glass. Meredith stood amidst a cluster of aunts and cousins, their hands busy with ribbons and lace while they chattered about wedding preparations. Though she nodded at the right moments and offered gentle suggestions about flower arrangements, her gaze drifted to where the riders had vanished from view.

Her gestures carried the deliberate polish of a woman who'd learned early to measure every action, to present precisely what others expected to see. Yet beneath that carefully maintained facade, he caught glimpses of harder-won knowledge in how she positioned herself, never quite turning her back to the street, always keeping the building's corners in view.

Everything about her spoke of careful calculation. As the last of the women disappeared into the house, their voices fading to a distant murmur, Meredith's eyes met his briefly through the glass. Something passed between them in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment.

The marshal had indeed taught his daughter well, perhaps better than he'd intended. Those five days with Watson's men had left marks deeper than rope burns, though she wore her scars with remarkable composure. In a town where everyone played their part with deliberate attention, Meredith Solana might just be the most accomplished performer of them all.

Buck found himself wondering what other lessons she'd learned during that time. What secrets lay beneath her carefully maintained poise. The playing cards left with each corpse seemed to speak their own language, one that perhaps the marshal's daughter understood better than she let on. Her father had raised her to observe, to read the subtle signs others missed. But Buck suspected she'd learned far more about human nature during those five days than any father would wish for his child.

The thought lingered as he watched the street. A soft creak of hinges made him turn. Meredith had emerged from the back door, her shawl drawn close as she walked along the porch boards toward him.

"Señor Cross." Her smile remained gentle as she moved beside him, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Three men. Leader carries a riffle under his coat. Second man favors his right leg."

Buck's slight nod acknowledged the intelligence. "You've seen them before?"

"No." Her dark eyes met his briefly. "But they look like men..." She caught herself, composure smoothing over whatever memories had surfaced.

Out of his peripheral Buck saw another rider appearing at the edge of the house, dust still thick on his coat. The man dismounted smoothly, his spurs jingling a slow rhythm against packed earth as he made his way up to the porch.

"Señorita?" False warmth tinged the stranger's words. "Hoped to offer congratulations to the bride-to-be."

"Qué amable," Meredith's smile remained gracious as she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders, but Buck noted the slight tremble in her fingers against the black lace. "Lo siento, amigo, but the church is filled with familia preparing for the feast. Though we appreciate your kind wishes."

The man stepped forward, and Buck rose from where he'd been leaning against the porch rail. Something dangerous shifted in the space between them, a tension that made the morning air go still.

"Won't take but a moment." The stranger's hand moved toward his coat. "Got a message from some old friends."

"The lady said no." Buck's words carried just enough weight to make the man pause.

The stranger's eyes hardened as he registered Buck's position. His fingers stilled on his coat, and the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew Buck's attention to the street. Two more riders appeared from around the corner, guiding their horses as they spread out.

"Well now." The man's smile turned cold. "Didn't expect to find you here Cross... though I suppose it saves us some trouble."

"Only trouble here is yours." Buck's voice remained calm, though his hand rested on his gun. "Unless you'd care to ride on."

"Oh, this message needs special handling." The stranger's smile widened. "See, the Judge wasn't too happy about Liberty Plains. Or Watson." His eyes shifted to Meredith with deliberate meaning. "Or about certain... documents that went missing."

"I believe you were just leaving." The sharp click of a rifle's lever cut through the morning air as Marshal Solana appeared on the upper balcony, rifle trained on the stranger's chest.

More rifles emerged, Bernardino at the side window, deputies flanking the garden. The stranger's smile faded as he realized how neatly they'd been trapped.

"Another time then." He touched his hat brim with mocking politeness. "Though the Judge sends special regards about those missing papers, señorita."

Buck watched the men withdraw, their horses' hooves kicking up dust as they moved toward town. Though they made a show of indifference, the promise of violence lingered.

Buck studied Meredith from the corner of his eye, noting the careful stillness in how she held herself. Her fingers worried the edge of her shawl, the only outward sign of distress.

As the others dispersed, Buck reached for her elbow. Meredith stiffened at the motion, her composure slipping for just a moment. It wasn't his touch that made her breath catch, but the memory of rougher hands.

"Inside. Now." His quiet words carried enough command to make her comply.

He followed her into the parlor, where lamplight cast soft shadows on the walls. The room, with its paintings and rosewood piano, held only silence as Meredith finally broke.

"I couldn't tell you." Her voice shook as she pressed herself into the corner. "Papá said... said it wasn't safe for anyone to know."

Buck eased back, giving her space. He'd seen that look before, in survivors, in people who'd learned the hard way that truth could be more dangerous than lies.

"Your father was protecting you," he said quietly. Understanding settled in his chest. "What did they do to you?" Buck's tone remained level, though his jaw tightened.

"Todo... todo lo que podías imaginar... cuando cierro mis ojos..." The words spilled out in a rush of Spanish, her voice barely above a whisper. She caught herself, remembering who she spoke to, and switched to English. "They beat me. Starved me. When I wouldn't tell them what they wanted, they burned me with cigars." Her fingers drifted to her side, touching memories branded into flesh. "I thought I would die there."

She drew a shuddering breath. "The man… he kept the others away. Said I was his alone. He promised that once my father was dead, he would..." Her voice caught. "He said he would show me-"

Buck stood motionless, the weight of her words settling between them. When she spoke of those days, her voice carried a hurt that time hadn't touched.

"When I heard the gunfire, I knew Papá had come. They left me alone, everyone running to fight." Her dark eyes met his. "There was a book on the table. Everything, their secrets, who paid them, what they had done. It was in code, pero I took it."

"You have this ledger?"

She nodded, wiping tears with shaking hands. "We've been trying to break their code for months. If the Judge learns we have it..."

Buck watched her, this girl who'd endured torture without breaking, who'd had the presence of mind to steal evidence even as gunfire erupted around her. No wonder she moved like someone twice her age, carried herself with such careful control.

"You should have told me." His voice was quiet.

"Yo sé." She straightened slightly, finding her strength again. "Papá said... said the fewer who knew, the safer."

Buck's slight nod conveyed understanding. Eleanor hadn't been wrong about the Solanas keeping secrets, they were tangled in this mess of blood and playing cards, just not how she'd pictured. Where Eleanor saw schemes, Buck recognized the careful dance of a father and daughter trying to make things right without getting killed in the process. They weren't plotting. They were surviving, working toward justice in the only way they knew how.

"Go on now." He touched her arm gently, a brotherly gesture that helped steady her. "Got a wedding needs attending to." His eyes took in the soft calico dress, the way the simple blue fabric spoke of quiet dignity rather than flash. "You'll make a beautiful bride, Señorita. Bernardino's a lucky man."

"Gracias señor." Her smile trembled but held true.

Buck stepped out, letting the door close quietly behind him. She would need time to gather herself, but there was strength beneath that gentle exterior. He'd seen it before in others who'd walked through fire and come out changed but unbroken.

Not victims, but survivors who carried their wounds with a particular kind of grace. She was Esteban Solana's daughter after all, and that strength ran as deep as blood.

---

Chapter 11

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Morning rolled through Anasazi Flats with a haunting stillness, the kind that made Buck's shoulders tighten as he walked the perimeter of the Solana house. The street held that muffled quiet he'd learned to distrust, broken only by the murmur of women's voices drifting through open windows. Inside, they were transforming the marshal's daughter into a bride, while outside Buck watched doorways and alleyways.

María's voice rose above the preparations, offering traditional blessings as she helped arrange the veil. "Dios te guarde, mi niña..." The words carried something deeper than ceremony, a mother's fierce protection. Buck recognized that tone from memories so old they felt like borrowed dreams: his own mother's voice, speaking Kiowa prayers he could no longer remember.

When Meredith emerged onto the porch, even Buck's wariness faltered for a moment. Her wedding dress caught morning light, deep red silk that spoke of old Spanish nobility, with white lace underskirts glimpsed with each step. Roses crowned her dark hair, matching the flush in her cheeks as she accepted her father's arm.

Marshal Solana stood beside her in formal black broadcloth, silver thread catching light at his collar and cuffs. The tight-fitting jacket and matching pants bore traditional silver buttons down each leg, while a hand-embroidered silk sash at his waist carried the weight of generations. Without his badge, he looked less the hard Territory lawman and more the Spanish gentleman his father had raised him to be.

The procession wound through town, young cousins darted between adults, their formal clothes already showing dust despite mothers' stern warnings. Buck counted six of the Judge's men watching from shadows, their casual passes through town carrying clear purpose. They weren't being subtle about their presence, which worried him more than if they'd tried to hide.

At the church steps, Bernardino waited with his own family clustered close. His mother fussed with his collar one last time, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his black coat while his father stood proud beside him. Buck caught the slight tremor in the young deputy's hands as he watched his bride approach, not fear, but the weight of the moment settling on him.

Stepping through the church doors felt like crossing some invisible boundary between territories. Here, the hard light of the New Mexico sun yielded to an older darkness. Candles burned in iron sconces, their flames steady in air that smelled of beeswax and incense. Light moved across the santos figures in their wooden niches, these stern-faced saints who'd traveled from Spain in somebody's grandfather's trunk.

The wooden floor had been worn smooth by decades of boots and Sunday shoes, its boards taking on the patina that came from years of use. Buck slipped in through the side door, choosing a spot in the back where he had good sightlines to both the ceremony and the colored glass windows.

Eleanor Hayes found a place near the back as well, her copper hair bright against dark wool dress. Her eyes met Buck's briefly as she picked up a worn hymnal, a subtle smile playing at her mouth before she turned her attention to the pages. Nothing overt, just the barest hint of recognition, a private acknowledgment between them that would go unnoticed by anyone else in the room.

The priest moved through the ceremony, the Latin rolling through vows that had bound couples together long before this territory had names or borders. When he draped the Lazo across their shoulders, that ornate rope of rosary beads arranged in a figure eight. Buck saw Meredith squeeze Bernardino's hand. The symbolism wasn't lost on him: two lives bound together, like the endless loop the lasso formed.

"Las arras," Marshal Solana murmured as Bernardino presented an intricately carved wooden box. Inside, thirteen gold coins caught the church's candlelight. "For Christ and his apostles. The groom's promise to provide, the bride's promise to trust in his care."

The wedding rings were simple bands, plain gold circles that caught the church's candlelight as Bernardino and Meredith made their exchange. Buck watched from his position near the back, noting how the deputy's usually steady hands showed just a touch of nervousness as he slipped the ring onto his bride's finger. Buck had heard enough about Bernardino's skills with a rifle to know he was a man to be reckoned with. But here, standing before God and family, that same sure-handed lawman looked almost boyish in his earnestness.

When the final prayers faded and the new couple turned to face their community, something shifted in the air, as if the very light changed around them. Marshal Solana stepped forward first, embracing his daughter with loving tenderness before clasping Bernardino's shoulder. "Mi hijo," he said simply, those two words carrying generations of meaning.

The celebration spilled from the church to the Solana courtyard, where María had transformed the space into something magical. Paper lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, casting pools of warm light across white linen tablecloths.

Dark mole sauce caught firelight, days of work transformed into something between food and ceremony. Clay pitchers dotted the tables, filled with drinks he was learning to appreciate. Horchata carrying cinnamon's warmth, others deep red or pale green, cutting through rich flavors. It wasn't the food he'd grown up with, but there was something honest about it.

Buck kept his post at the edge of the veranda, one shoulder resting against the post as he watched the gathering. The well-wishes came in waves, elderly uncles pressing coins into Bernardino's hand while offering advice that made him duck his head in embarrassment, cousins pulling Meredith into fierce embraces that threatened to crush the roses in her hair.

Eleanor drifted close, glass of wine half-empty in her hand. "Quite a gathering," she said softly.

"Town's been quiet today." Buck kept his voice low, meant for her ears alone.

"Too quiet." She sipped her wine. "Judge's men cleared out just after the ceremony started. All of them."

The Solana family filled the long tables with warmth and easy laughter, their voices a blend of Spanish and English that drifted through the evening air. Buck watched from his seat as María brought out another platter of tamales, steam rising while children darted between chairs and cousins passed dishes hand to hand.

Meredith sat between her new husband and father, the deep red of her wedding dress rich against the white tablecloth. When she laughed at something Bernardino whispered, it was the unguarded sound of simple happiness. Here, surrounded by family passing bowls and telling old stories, she was just a young bride on her wedding day.

The scene stirred something in Buck that he usually kept tucked away. His brother Red Bear was somewhere out on the plains, if he still lived. They were separated by more than just miles now. Buck had no traditions to pass down, no ceremonies that tied him to family through the years.

The thought settled quiet and heavy as he watched Solana press a gentle kiss to his daughter's temple, watched the natural way Bernardino's hand found Meredith's beneath the table. For a moment, Buck let himself remember what it was to belong somewhere.

---

Chapter 12

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

As evening wound into twilight, the sun finding its nightly rest, the courtyard was alive with celebration. Paper lanterns swayed in the cooling breeze, their glow catching the gold embroidery on Meredith's wedding dress. The red silk rustled softly as she moved between guests, while guitar notes drifted over voices.

María paused beside him, her weathered hands smoothing her apron as she watched the bride. "Like her mother," she said quietly, touching the silver cross at her throat. She glanced at Buck, searching for words. "The smile, la misma sonrisa." Her eyes followed Meredith's movements. "But this one, she has her papá's heart. Stubborn, sí?" The fondness in her tone took any sting from the words.

When the money dance began, bills decorating the newlyweds' clothes like ribbons, Buck found himself partnered with the bride. Meredith's smile carried genuine warmth as she took his hands.

"Señor Cross." Her eyes held a hint of mischief. "I didn't know you danced."

"Seems there's hope for me yet." He guided her through the steps.

"Papá would say there's always hope." She matched his rhythm. "Though between us, I think I inherited his nature more than my mother's faith." Her voice dropped to a whisper as they turned. "Those three men by the gate haven't moved in over an hour."

Buck's hand tightened briefly on her waist, acknowledgment rather than concern. "Your father's men are placed well enough."

"You know," she said as their dance drew to its close, "Thank you, for being here. Papá trusts you." Her dark eyes met his, serious despite her smile. "And so do I."

The simple honesty caught him unexpectedly, but before he could respond, another guest claimed her attention. Her red skirts swirled as she moved away, leaving Buck to consider her words.

Eleanor appeared beside him. "My turn?" Her smile held familiar heat as she leaned closer. "Unless you're saving all your dances for the bride?"

Buck's mouth curved slightly as he drew her into the circle of dancers. She fitted against him with ease, soft curves pressing close while the violins wove sweet notes through the evening air.

"Careful, lawman," she murmured, though her smile suggested she was anything but displeased. "People might talk."

"Well, they usually do." He chuckled as he turned her around the dance floor.

The night pulsed with music while guests danced and continued to eat and drink. Children darted between tables, stuffing cookies into pockets while their mothers pretended not to notice. Near midnight, the celebration shifted toward its final act as María gathered the younger women, lighting white candles until the courtyard glowed like a field of stars.

Tears brightened María's eyes as she pressed a candle into Meredith's hands, murmuring blessings. "Que Dios los bendiga," she whispered, making the sign of the cross over the couple. Other voices joined hers, a chorus of prayers rising into the night air.

Her aunt Carmen took charge then, her usual commanding presence gentled by emotion as she gathered the family close. "Circle them," she directed, "para la bendición."

The inner ring formed of immediate family, Marshal Solana with suspiciously bright eyes as he placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders, while Bernardino's parents completed the circle. Beyond them, the community gathered, each person holding their candle in support.

Buck watched from his position near the wall as Meredith bent her head, tears catching candlelight as they slipped down her cheeks. The crowd moved toward the waiting carriage, its wheels wound with ribbons in red and gold, paper flowers cascading from its roof. Young cousins happily created a loud racket with pots and pans, the noise meant to ward off evil spirits and bring luck to the new couple.

Marshal Solana helped Meredith into the carriage, his touch gentle as he arranged her skirts. "Mi pequeña," his voice caught as he pressed something into her hands. He couldn't see what it was, but Buck was certain of it's significance by the way tears rolled silently down Meredith's cheeks.

Meredith paused at the carriage step, scanning the crowd until she found Buck. Their eyes met briefly, gratitude and understanding passing between them. Then her smile brightened as she reached into her bouquet, tossing a single red rose in his direction. The gesture carried no romance, only the warm affection of a sister acknowledging someone who'd earned a place in her family's circle of trust.

"Vaya con Dios!"

The cry went up as the carriage began to move. The mounted escort fell into formation, their horses' hooves striking loudly against packed earth while candlelight and music spilled into their wake.

Marshal Solana materialized beside Buck, pride and worry warring in his expression as the procession disappeared into darkness. "They'll be safe at the hacienda," he said quietly. "My men rode out this morning to secure it."

Solana's hand settled warm on Buck's shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. "Come, amigo. The night is young, and there's still dancing to be done." His eyes crinkled with genuine warmth as he guided Buck toward the gathering.

Buck leaned against the veranda post as the guitar music shifted to something with more life in it. Solana stepped onto the solid earth, offering his hand to an elderly woman in a well-worn black dress. Her silver-streaked hair was arranged beneath a lace mantilla that had seen better days.

Through the mix of Spanish and English drifting around him, Buck pieced together that this was Doña Victoria. She'd been here since before the town had a proper name, back when this was still just a stopping place between somewhere and nowhere.

Her hands showed the marks of hard years, but when Solana led her into the first steps of the dance, Buck caught the flash of something younger in her eyes. Soon more couples joined them, aunts and uncles, cousins young and old, their boots raising small clouds of dust as they moved to the rhythm. Even Bernardino's grandfather emerged from his chair, his weathered face breaking into a smile as he led his wife of fifty years in a careful turn.

"Señor Cross." María appeared at his elbow, her dark eyes warm with maternal affection. "An old woman's feet still remember the steps, if you would honor me?"

Buck felt his usual reserve softening under her gentle insistence. "Be my honor, señora." He offered his arm with courtesy.

María proved to be a patient teacher, guiding him through the basic steps of what she called "un vals sencillo" a simple waltz. Her quiet counting helped him find the rhythm, and soon they were moving comfortably among the other dancers.

Guitar strings filled the courtyard while lantern light caught the swirl of skirts and flash of silver buttons. Buck moved carefully through the steps with María, who guided him with motherly patience through the traditional dance. Her warm smile and gentle corrections drew an answering grin from him, especially when she tsked at his missteps.

Ana one of Meredith's nieces he assumed, appeared as the song ended, tugging at his sleeve. Buck smiled and lifted her up, her small hands gripping his shoulders with complete trust. She couldn't have been more that five or six, all bright eyes and dark curls. Something in the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled, stirred emotions Buck usually kept buried.

He could have had a child this age by now. The thought came as Ana's giggles filled the air. A daughter with her mother's dark eyes perhaps, or a son who might have carried his father's quiet ways. Buck had never allowed himself to dwell on such possibilities before, the life he chose left little room for dreams.

But watching Ana's face light up as he set her down, seeing how she immediately turned to share her delight with her mother, Buck felt the weight of paths not taken. He'd chosen his road early, letting duty and survival guide his steps away from the chance at a normal life. Away from the possibility of teaching a child about both sides of their heritage, of passing on the stories his own mother had shared in quiet moments before the world turned hard.

As Buck moved to resume his watch position at the courtyard's edge, a young woman had gathered enough courage and approached from the crowd of dancers, her friends watching and whispering behind their fans. Her curtsy carried the endearing awkwardness of youth, cheeks flushing as she gestured hopefully toward the dancers, clearly inviting him to join.

She couldn't have been more than sixteen, all elbows and earnest concentration as she counted under her breath. Buck adjusted his stride to match her shorter steps, and soon she was beaming with pride as they managed a respectable turn around the courtyard. When the dance ended, she hurried back to her cluster of girlfriends, their heads bent close as they dissolved into barely-suppressed giggles and darting glances in his direction.

As the dancing began to wind down, Solana appeared with two glasses of fine whiskey and a box of cigars. "Come, amigo," he gestured toward the quiet corner of the veranda. "Time for more serious pursuits."

---

Chapter 13

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The air had cooled by the time Buck joined Solana on the porch. The marshal eased into one of the old chairs with a familiar creak, drawing two cigars from his vest pocket. He offered one to Buck with a slight nod.

Buck settled into the neighboring chair, accepting both the cigar and the quiet that came with it. Solana struck a match, cupping the flame first for his guest. The tobacco caught and held, its earthy scent mixing with desert sage on the evening breeze.

They sat without speaking, each man taking measure of the night. Smoke curled upward, carrying the day's weight with it. These were the moments that defined the West more than gunsmoke ever had, two men finding brief peace in the gathering dusk.

"Good tobacco," Buck finally commented, appreciating the smooth draw.

"From Cuba." Solana smiled, pleasure evident in his expression. "I save these for special occasions." He studied the ember of his cigar. "Though perhaps tonight calls for something extra." He reached into his coat and withdrew a small silver flask. "This was my father's, brought from Spain when he first came to the territory."

The brandy burned sweet and complex, warming Buck's chest as they passed the flask between them. Around them, the celebration had softened into that comfortable hour when older folks told stories while younger ones dozed in chairs or whispered among themselves.

"Strange thing," Solana mused, his voice carrying the particular thoughtfulness that good brandy often brings, "watching your child begin their own life." He drew on his cigar, the ember briefly illuminating his face. "Isabella would have loved this day."

Buck nodded, understanding the weight of memories that hadn't been spoken.

"To new beginnings," Solana raised his glass slightly.

"New beginnings," Buck echoed, the whiskey smooth on his tongue.

They smoked in companionable silence, watching María direct the younger cousins in clearing tables while aunts wrapped leftover food in cloth-covered baskets.

"You know," Solana said finally, "there's work here, for a man like you." He tapped ash carefully from his cigar. "You could find a good life here."

Buck considered the offer beneath the words, appreciating how Solana let it rest there without pressure. Around them, the celebration was winding to its natural close. Families gathering children, older folks accepting arms from younger ones as they made their way home through the quiet streets.

The last guitar notes faded into the night air, replaced by the gentle murmur of family saying their goodnights. Tomorrow would bring its own trouble. The Judge's men, the missing ledger, all the secrets that waited in this town. But for now, there was only this: The rich tobacco, the brandy, and that rare quiet that comes between men who've seen enough of life to know its true weight.

Neither felt the need to fill the silence with empty words. The night air carried just enough chill to make the brandy's warmth welcome, while overhead stars began to appear in the darkening sky.

---

Chapter 14

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The hacienda was still in the deepening night, each creak of the old wooden floors marking Bernardino's careful steps as he carried Meredith across the threshold. Her arms encircled his neck with trust, though he felt the slight tremor in her fingers against his collar.

When he set her down, her skirts settled around her and for a moment, neither moved. The space between them held all the weight of waiting, of proper courtship and careful distance now transformed into this sacred privacy.

"You're shaking," Bernardino said softly, his hand finding hers.

"So are you," Meredith answered, a smile touching her lips as their fingers intertwined. Her other hand came to rest against the embroidered silver on his jacket, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath.

His hand rested at the curve of her waist, steadying them both as her fingers traced silver embroidery of his jacket. For a heartbeat, they simply stood there, foreheads touching, sharing the same breath. All the nervous energy of the day, the weight of ceremony and watchful eyes, seemed to melt away in that quiet moment.

"Mírame," he whispered, and when she raised her eyes to his, the tenderness in his gaze made her heart catch. His thumb brushed her cheek with tenderness. When their lips met, it wasn't the careful kisses of their courtship, bound by propriety. This kiss held all the promise of tomorrow, deep and sweet and unhurried.

As they drew apart, Meredith felt the last of her nervousness fade. This was Bernardino, her partner, her protector, now her husband. The way he looked at her, like she was the only light in his world, chased away any lingering uncertainty.

"May I?" Bernardino gestured to the row of tiny pearl buttons trailing down her back. At her nod, he began the careful work of freeing each one, his hands steadier now with purpose. The lamplight caught each pearl as it slipped free.

Meredith helped him remove his formal jacket, laying it with care across the carved cedar chest against the foot of the bed. When she turned back, Bernardino stood in his white shirt, the crisp fabric softened by shadows. Her fingers found the first button at his throat, pausing there.

"I've imagined this moment," she whispered, her voice carrying traces of wonder and uncertainty. "Being here with you, as your wife."

"As have I," His hand covered hers where it rested against his chest. "Mi amor."

In the privacy of their marriage bed, they reveled in the freedom to express their love without restraint. Each caress was a testament to their devotion and love.

The desert night enveloped them in its quiet embrace as Meredith settled against Bernardino's chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heart. His touch remained gentle, reverent, the careful attention of a man who understood the gift of such trust. Through the open window, night sounds wove together into a familiar lullaby: the distant cry of a hunting owl, sage rustling in the evening breeze, and the soft nickering of horses settling in their stalls.

"Mi esposa," he murmured into her hair, the words carrying all the wonder of a prayer answered.

She smiled against his skin. "Mi esposo."

In the stillness, Bernardino's fingers traced the marks along her side where Watson's cigars had burned their marks into soft skin. Meredith's breath caught, not from pain but memory. He pressed his lips to her forehead, a quiet promise of protection, and felt her slowly release the tension she carried. Here in the darkness, they had found their own kind of peace. Whatever shadows tomorrow brought, they would weather them together.

---

Chapter 15

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck woke to unfamiliar sheets. His head throbbed with each pulse of morning light, mind struggling to piece together how he'd ended up here. The celebration at Solana's had dissolved into rounds of toasts, good tequila and better brandy. He remembered sharing cigars with the marshal on the veranda, after that, things grew hazy.

Eleanor stirred beside him, copper hair spilling across the pillow as she reached out. Her fingers found the welts she'd left on his shoulders, tracing them with something closer to satisfaction than remorse. "You were rather... determined last night."

"Seem to recall it wasn't all my doing." His voice felt rough as sandpaper, throat raw from cigars and too many toasts. The taste in his mouth suggested something had crawled in there and died.

"Mmm." Eleanor's hand drifted lower, but something in the morning's silence caught Buck's attention. The usual rhythms of Anasazi Flats were missing, no creak of wagon wheels, no morning chatter from the mercantile, no burros laden with goods for market. Just a raven's harsh call cutting through still air.

"Stay." Eleanor's invitation carried more than simple desire. Her fingers pressed against his skin with urgency. "The marshal can handle his own troubles for once."

But Buck was already moving, instincts cutting through the fog of drink as he reached the window.

"Something wrong?" Eleanor's voice held careful neutrality.

"Maybe." He reached for his gun belt, movements automatic despite his aching head.

Eleanor lay in the tangled sheets, watching Buck dress in the dim morning light. She drew the cotton up to cover herself, though her eyes never left his movements as he fastened his gunbelt.

As his hand touched the door latch, her voice drifted quiet. "Be careful out there. A man can't dodge fate forever."

The words made him pause, fingers still on the handle. Something in her tone drew him around, but Eleanor's face held only that familiar sweetness. Her smile revealed nothing of the thoughts behind those carefully chosen words.

Buck opened the door, hinges protesting as morning air seeped in. His eyes swept the empty street from habit, while Eleanor's words turned in his thoughts. He tried to shake off the unease. Getting suspicious of every shadow was a sure way to end up seeing ghosts where there weren't any.

This town wrapped its secrets in layers of propriety and careful manners. Even Eleanor Hayes, who welcomed him to her bed with such apparent warmth, played her own kind of game. The question was whether she moved the pieces herself, or if someone else guided her hand.

The throbbing in his head made such thoughts harder to untangle. Through narrowed eyes, he spotted Marshal Solana across the way, nursing his own morning's regret over coffee.

Buck made his way across the dusty street, each step a negotiation with his protesting head. The morning sun felt unnecessarily bright, and he found himself squinting against its glare as he approached the marshal's porch.

Solana's own eyes were pinched at the corners, his usual commanding presence somewhat diminished as he nursed his coffee. The empty cup spoke of at least one refill already.

"Rough morning?" Buck's voice carried just enough humor to acknowledge their shared discomfort.

"Time was," Solana muttered, "I could drink half the territory under the table and still make rounds at dawn." He gestured toward the coffee pot he had left warming.

Buck accepted the offered cup with a grateful nod. "Suppose we ain't as young as we used to be." Buck sipped his coffee, trying to ease the dull throb behind his eyes.

"I see you're making yourself quite at home," he said, nodding toward Eleanor Hayes' cottage. "The schoolteacher seems... hospitable."

Buck took another slow drink of coffee, buying time before responding. "Town's got its charms."

"Ah, those were the days." Solana's voice carried a touch of nostalgia. "When finding a willing woman in your bed meant it was going to be a good day." He winked at Buck over the rim of his cup. "Though something tells me you know that well enough."

"Sound like a man speaking from experience rather than memory." Buck said, a trace of amusement coloring his words.

The observation hung between them, weighted with understanding. Every man who'd lived this life knew the particular warmth that could chase away trail dust and loneliness, if only for a night. It wasn't something that needed explaining.

Solana's eyes crinkled at the corners, caught somewhere between wisdom and mischief. "Perhaps," then his expression softened. "Once you've known true amor, mi amigo... no other woman quite touches your heart the same way." His fingers absently traced the worn gold band he still wore. The quiet that followed held the weight of memory.

"You're a lucky man," Buck said finally, "to have known that kind of love."

"And you?" Solana's eyes crinkled with warmth as he stretched, working out the stiffness in his shoulders. "Your days aren't over."

Buck shook his head slightly. "Ain't the settling type."

"Neither was I." Solana set his empty cup down with a quiet finality. "Well, these rounds won't walk themselves." He adjusted his gun belt, the leather creaking with familiar wear. "Buenos días, amigo."

Buck watched the marshal head down the street, noting how the townspeople called out greetings, children waving as he passed. There was something to be said for putting down roots, having people know your name for more than just your reputation. He remembered Liberty Plains, the weight of the badge, the sense of purpose it had given him. Part of him missed that life, though he'd never admit it aloud.

The scrape of boots on wood drew his attention as Eleanor Hayes emerged from her cottage, adjusting her shawl against the morning chill. Her copper hair caught the sun as she walked toward the schoolhouse, and Buck found his gaze following her path.

Maybe there was something to be said for settling down, finding a place to call home, someone to share it with. As Eleanor disappeared into the schoolhouse, Buck couldn't help but consider the possibility. A life beyond the trail, beyond the constant movement. But that was a thought for another day.

Right now there was work to be done. The playing cards found on the dead men hinted at something more sinister than mere gangs and bandits. They whispered of hidden secrets and shadowed places. And Buck? He'd grown comfortable dwelling in those shadows.

---

Chapter 16

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

The morning fog burned off as it always did by this hour, and Buck stood at the marshal's office window, watching the town shake loose its unease. Three days since the Judge's men had ridden out, and life in Anasazi Flats was finally finding its natural pace again. Miller's wagon rattled past with produce fresh from the outlying farms, no longer taking the back streets to avoid unwanted attention.

The Widow Carson and Mrs. Turner had reclaimed their spot on the bench outside Masterson's store, their knitting needles clicking as they watched the street. They'd been absent these past few days, their usual perch empty while the Judge's men lingered in town. Now they were back, sharing quiet observations about who needed looking in on, which young folks might be sweet on each other. Even Masterson seemed to move easier as he arranged his window display, pausing now and then to exchange quiet words with his regular customers rather than just nodding them through.

The saloon's morning regulars had filtered back in for their first drinks of the day, their laughter drifting across the street now that they didn't have to share space with hard-eyed strangers. Ranch hands loaded supplies at the general store, their casual banter a welcome change from the tense silence of the past few weeks.

The rattle of wagon wheels drew Buck's attention first. Through the window, he watched the carriage approach, its decorated wheels now marked by the journey in dust. Bernardino guided the horses with practiced ease while Meredith sat beside him, her wedding dress exchanged for a practical riding habit. The past two days had softened something in her bearing, though her eyes still moved across the street with careful attention.

Marshal Solana emerged onto the boardwalk, his weathered face brightening at the sight of his daughter. Buck joined him, watching townspeople gather along the street to welcome the newlyweds home. These weren't just Marshal Solana's constituents greeting his daughter, they were neighbors who'd watched Meredith grow from a quiet child into the woman she'd become.

"¡Mi hija!" Solana's voice carried warmth as the carriage drew to a stop.

Meredith didn't wait for Bernardino's assistance, gathering her skirts and nearly stumbling in her haste to reach her father. Her composure fell away as she pressed her face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of tobacco and leather that had meant safety since childhood. Solana's arms embraced her with gentle strength, one hand cradling the back of her head as he had when she was small.

Bernardino jumped down from the carriage, boots striking the boardwalk with a solid thud. His eyes held quiet joy as he watched his wife and father-in-law, understanding how some bonds grew stronger for being tested. When he joined them, Solana reached out with his free arm.

"Qué bueno que estés en casa." The marshal's voice carried gruff tenderness as he clasped Bernardino's shoulder. "Hijo."

Buck offered a slight nod of acknowledgment, which Bernardino returned. The exchange needed no words, both men understood their positions in this dance of family and duty.

"Descansa un poco, cariño." Solana said gently. "The journey must have tired you."

Meredith's smile held a familiar stubborn edge. "I've had quite enough rest, Papá." Her gaze drifted to the papers visible through the office window. "Besides, there's work to be done."

She moved toward the jail's entrance with determination, effectively ending any discussion of rest. The corner of Bernardino's mouth lifted as he watched his wife and father-in-law. In the few short months he'd courted Meredith, he'd learned to recognize these gentle battles between a father's protective nature and his daughter's stubborn determination.

.Inside the office, Meredith settled into her usual chair. Her eyes already scanning the ledger pages spread across the desk

"Some progress," Solana said quietly, watching his daughter begin her methodical review. "Though perhaps fresh eyes..."

Meredith's fingers moved across the pages with quickly, sorting through the scattered papers her father and Buck had been puzzling over for hours. Her dark lashes lowered in concentration as she arranged the documents, creating some order only she could see. The morning light caught the gold of her wedding ring as her hands shifted papers with purpose, building connections between fragments that had seemed random just moments before.

"Here." Meredith's voice lifted. Her finger traced a sequence of numbers. "This pattern, it's not random. See how it repeats?" She reached for a clean sheet of paper, her hand steady as she began transcribing. "If we apply the same key to these entries..."

Buck leaned against the window frame, watching as she worked. There was something remarkable in how she'd walked in and immediately seen what he and Solana had missed despite hours of study. Her quill moved across the paper with intensity, ink barely dry before her hand rushed to the next line, yet each number formed with the same preciseness that marked everything she did

"The numbers shift," she continued. "But the pattern remains consistent. Almost like..." Her words faded as she worked, head bent over the cipher while her free hand unconsciously sought the gold cross at her throat.

Buck turned from his watch position by the window, drawn by the names emerging from the coded text. He crossed to the table where the documents lay spread out. Meredith's rushed but clear handwriting filled the margins beside the cramped, block letters of the cipher.

Calvin Whitaker's name caught his eye among the decoded names, the banker who'd grown fat on other men's fortunes.

"Dios mío." Solana's whisper carried realization. His eyes moved across paper. "Whitaker. All this time..." Understanding darkened his eyes.

"More than that." Meredith's voice stayed steady, though her fingers pressed against the page. " Mira aquí, shipping schedules, payment records." Her composure wavered slightly before returning.

The door opened quietly, letting in a gust of cool air as Eleanor Hayes appeared. "Marshal. I heard our newlyweds had returned. Thought I might pay my respects."

Buck noted how Meredith's shoulders straightened while her free hand dropped below the desk's edge, near where her derringer stayed pinned in her skirts. Whatever she saw in Eleanor's presence had raised her guard, though her smile was perfected politeness.

"Señorita Hayes." Solana moved papers across his desk. "Kind of you to call, though we're occupied with official business."

Eleanor adjusted her shawl with care. "Of course, Marshal. I wouldn't dream of interrupting." As she passed Buck heading out, her voice dropped low. "Later?"

Buck gave a slight nod, watching how she kept proper distance, played her part well. Through the window, they watched her make her way down the boardwalk.

Meredith's attention stayed on the ledger, but her fingers had gone still. She watched Eleanor's departure with the same care she gave to the ciphers before her. "Interesante," she murmured, the word carrying weight.

"The banker first," Solana said, reaching for his gun belt. "Before word spreads."

But the quiet beyond the windows said word had already moved through town. The only question was who would move first in whatever game was starting.

Meredith's hand found her father's arm as he reached for the door. " Por favor, tenga cuidado."

" No te preocupes, mi niña." Solana's smile was gentle as he kissed her forehead. "Your father didn't survive this long by being careless."

"Estoy con usted, patrón." Bernardino straightened, squaring his shoulders, ready to prove his worth.

"Bernardino." Solana's voice carried quiet authority as he checked his gun belt. "Quédate con mi hija..."

The younger man nodded, understanding all that wasn't said. His hand found Meredith's briefly before he took up position near the window, rifle within easy reach.

Buck fell into step beside the marshal as they headed for the bank. Through the glass behind them, Meredith's presence meant sharp eyes watching their backs, her husband's steadfast guard beside her. The morning air felt heavy, each step taking them closer to whatever waited behind the banker's careful front.

---

Chapter 17

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Meredith's fingers tightened on Bernardino's arm as her father and Buck emerged from the bank's side entrance, Calvin Whitaker struggling between them. They'd been watching the building for over an hour, the tension building with each passing minute until she could hardly breathe.

The banker's heels scraped across the boardwalk as they hauled him from his office, his tailored vest torn and blood seeping into the fine cotton of his shirt. Her father's grip on Whitaker's arm held that particular fury she'd seen only a handful of times before, when circumstance or cruelty pushed him past his usual restrained control.

Buck moved a step behind them, the fresh marks on his knuckles and the way he flexed his right hand suggesting how the banker's initial resistance had ended in the cramped back room of the bank.

"Bernardino." Her father's voice cut through the tension as they muscled Whitaker through the door. "Take Meredith home."

She started to speak, the familiar stubborn set coming to her jaw, but something in her father's eyes made the words die unspoken. The raw edge in his bearing reminded her too much of those days after Watson's men took her, when he'd worn that same look of contained violence.

"Sí, patrón." Bernardino's hand settled warm at her elbow.

Meredith allowed her husband to guide her toward the door, though her steps slowed as they passed Buck. His knuckles were split and reddening, evidence of whatever had transpired at the bank. She caught his eye briefly, seeing something dark in his expression.

Through the window, she watched Buck shove Whitaker into a chair with enough force to make the wood creak. The banker's jowls quivered as he dabbed at his bloodied lip with a once-fine handkerchief. Her father laid the coded ledger on the desk between them.

"The ledger, Señor Whitaker." Solana's backhand caught the banker hard enough to split his lip. "These numbers need explaining." His fingers dug into Whitaker's collar, the fine fabric going dark where blood dripped from the banker's mouth. "And I find my patience growing thin."

Whitaker's gaze darted between them. "I... that is... banking records are confidential. My customers—"

"Your customers," Buck's quiet words filled the space, "or the Judge's?"

The name seemed to strike Whitaker physically. His complexion shifted from ruddy to ash as he registered Buck's position, between him and any hope of escape.

"I don't..." Whitaker tugged at his collar. "That is, I'm not familiar with—"

"Five dead men carried playing cards." Buck's tone remained conversational, which somehow made it worse. "Cards that match transactions in your ledger. Interesting coincidence."

Marshal Solana spread the book open, pages covered in columns of numbers. "My daughter is quite clever with puzzles, Señor Whitaker. She noticed something... fascinating." His finger traced one row. "These numbers? They correspond to dates. Dates when certain men visited our town. Men who later turned up dead."

Whitaker's eyes widened. "No... you can't possibly..."

"Watson's gang." Buck pushed away from the wall, taking his time about it.

The banker's eyes kept finding Buck's gun belt, worn smooth from years of use, while Buck closed the space between them with a deliberately slow pace.

"I... that is..." Whitaker mopped his brow with shaking hands. "Surely you understand... a banker must maintain certain confidences..."

Buck's expression shifted then, something cold settling behind his eyes. "Marshal." His voice dropped lower. "Think you might want to step out."

Solana hesitated, years of lawman's instincts warring with understanding of what needed doing. Buck met his gaze steadily.

"Some things," Buck said quietly, "you don't need to witness. Not with your badge."

Solana's shoulders settled, the years of wearing that badge had taught him there were different kinds of justice, not all of them written in law books. After a few moments, he gave a simple nod of acceptance.

"Marshal, please... Esteban…" Whitaker's voice cracked, eyes darting between Solana and Buck. "You can't leave me here with him. He's a murderer!"

"Funny thing about murder." Buck's voice stayed quiet as the door closed behind Solana, the latch echoing in the still room. Whitaker sat still on chair, his fine suit already dark with sweat and blood. "That's exactly why you're here."

"No, I haven't- I've never hurt anyone!" The banker's words tumbled out quick and desperate. "I just handle the money, that's all!"

"That so?" Buck settled into the vacant chair. His voice carried no heat, just the same steady purpose. "Blood on the ledger's the same as blood on the gun. Every dollar you wrote down bought someone's death. Only difference is, you kept your hands clean while others did the killing."

The banker's eyes followed Buck's every move as he tested the blade's edge, morning light catching steel. Buck began cleaning his nails with the knife tip, letting silence do its work.

"Now then." Buck kept his voice even, almost gentle. "Let's talk about the Judge."

"I... that is..." Whitaker's breath came quick and shallow as he watched the knife.

Buck let the blade still. "How deep does it go?"

"You don't understand!" Sweat plastered Whitaker's collar to his neck. "He'll kill me! My family—"

"Way I see it," Buck interrupted, studying the knife's edge, "you got two choices. Tell me what I need to know now, living with whatever comes after. Or..." He tested the blade against his thumb. "We do this the hard way. Either way, I get my answers."

Whitaker's eyes went wide as Buck stood, the chair scraping back. The banker started talking then, fast and desperate. Each confession carried the stain of blood money, of families destroyed while he'd counted his profits. Buck listened, letting his blade do the asking when Whitaker's words slowed.

By the time Buck finished, his sleeve was dark with spatter, but he had his truth.

When the door creaked open, Solana paused at the threshold, taking in the scene before him. His weathered face tightened at the sight of blood darkening the banker's fine suit.

"Dios mío," he muttered, though his tone held more resignation than shock. His eyes met Buck's across the room. "Got what you needed?"

Buck wiped his hands on a kerchief, the white cloth coming away stained. "More than we bargained for." He nodded toward Whitaker, who sat slumped in the chair, trembling but alive. "He'll need protection. Judge's reach goes deeper than we thought."

"I'll take care of it." Solana's hand settled on his gun belt, years of lawman's instinct reading the weight in Buck's words. "Get yourself cleaned up." His gaze dropped to Buck's bloodied sleeve before returning to his face. "We'll talk tonight."

Buck gave a slight nod, understanding all that wasn't said. As he moved toward the door, Solana's voice stopped him.

"Compadre." When he turned, the marshal's expression had softened slightly. "Gracias."

They shared a look of quiet understanding, some stains couldn't be washed away, but they could be carried together. Buck touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment before stepping out into the morning light, leaving Solana to handle what remained of Calvin Whitaker's carefully constructed world.

---

Chapter 18

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

A week had passed since Buck drew truth from Calvin Whitaker's flesh. The town settled back into its rhythms, though something watchful lingered. Even the morning market bustled again, produce carts lining the streets while women haggled over fresh vegetables, their voices carrying across the square.

Buck stood at the marshal's window, coffee gone cold in his cup. The late morning sun burned hot. Through wavering heat, he caught the first sign, dogs slinking away from their usual spots, tails low. The change rippled through town. Women gathering wash from lines paused, their hands stilling on damp cloth as they registered the change.

The riders emerged from that distortion, taking shape through waves of heat rising off the earth. Buck counted them methodically, one, three, eight, twelve. Not an army, but enough. More than enough.

"Riders." His voice carried just enough for Solana to hear. "Coming in from the south."

The marshal was already moving, years of instinct driving him toward his rifle before conscious thought caught up.

"Meredith?" Solana's voice held careful control.

"Church." Buck had sent her running the moment he spotted the first signs. The building's adobe walls would give better protection than the wooden office if bullets started flying. "Bernardino's with her."

Glass exploded inward as the first shot punched through the window, sending them both diving for cover. More shots cracked from different directions, splitting the morning quiet with deadly intent. Not from the approaching riders, these came from the saloon, the mercantile, the abandoned smithy.

"Bastardos." Solana worked his rifle's lever with practiced efficiency. "They were already here."

Buck's pistol barked twice, dropping a man trying to slip behind the jail. From the church tower came the sharp sounds of a rifle, Meredith's marksmanship showing clear as another of the Judge's men fell from his saddle.

Through the drifting dust, Buck caught María's familiar shape moving across the street, her dark shawl pulled tight as she carried her morning's marketing. The basket rested heavy against her side as she walked as quickly as a woman of her age. Gray wisps had escaped her bun, catching the breeze as she made her way toward the church where her goddaughter waited.

Before Buck could shout warning, gunfire erupted from three directions. María's steps faltered mid-stride, the vegetables spilled free, scattering across the packed earth as she crumpled to the ground.

"¡Madrina!" Meredith's scream tore through the morning. "¡No, por favor Dios, no!"

"¡Quédate quieta!" Solana's command carried desperate authority as his daughter started to rise. "¡No te muevas!"

But she was already moving, her rifle forgotten as she ran toward María's fallen form. Buck cursed, breaking cover to go after her. Bullets sparked off adobe walls around them as he caught her around the waist, spinning them both behind a wagon.

"Let me go!" She fought his grip. "María, I have to-"

"She's gone." Buck kept his voice low, forcing truth through her struggles. "Nothing we can do for her now 'cept stay breathing ourselves."

Something shifted in her eyes then, not just grief or rage, it was different. Her body went still as she stared at María's crumpled form, at the bread scattered in blood-stained dust.

"How many?" Her voice was quiet, and eerily calm.

"Fifteen. Maybe twenty." Buck studied the careful stillness settling over her features, that familiar emptiness he'd seen in his own reflection. "Your father needs covering fire while-"

Her rifle's blast cut him off as she dropped one of the men trying to flank their position. Her next shot caught another in the chest, fine cloth suddenly dark with spreading stains.

"¡Meredith!" Solana's voice carried equal measures pride and fear. "¡Ve a la iglesia!"

"No, Papá." Her hands stayed steady as she worked the rifle's lever. "¡Mataron a María!" Each word found punctuation in another shot, every bullet claiming its mark. "They killed my madrina. I won't hide in the church like some frightened child!"

Buck left her to her vengeance, trusting her aim while he worked toward better position. Through drifting powder smoke, he caught glimpses of the larger battle, Bernardino leading deputies in a flanking movement, townspeople taking up arms to defend their home.

The firefight lasted perhaps twenty minutes, though time stretched slowly. When silence finally settled, fourteen of the Judge's men lay cooling in the dust. Three more had surrendered as deputies led them away.

Meredith hadn't moved from her position, rifle still trained on empty streets though no targets remained. Her face was streaked with tears and powder residue, but her hands stayed steady on the weapon.

Buck watched her with new understanding, seeing past the careful manners and gentle smiles. The truth settled hard in his gut, she was more like him than anyone had guessed. Behind that polished exterior lay the same capacity for calculated violence.

It wasn't a comfortable realization. He'd spent years learning to carry that weight, to balance the man he needed to be against the one society would accept. Seeing that same duality in someone so young, especially wrapped in such an innocent package, sent a chill through him.

"Mi hija." Solana's voice carried all the grief she couldn't yet show. "Venga. We must see to María."

Buck watched them kneel beside the old woman's body, their prayers mixing with quiet sobs. María had been more than servant or friend, she'd helped raise Meredith after her mother died, had been family in all the ways that mattered.

The sun continued west while they collected their dead. Church bells tolled as scheduled almost as if they were counting out the lost. Buck watched Meredith as she tended to María's body, noting how her grief had hardened into something sharp and purposeful. It showed in the set of her shoulders, in each deliberate motion of her hands.

The Judge's reach was long, but he'd made a mistake today. He'd taken someone Meredith loved, someone who'd helped shape her into the woman she was becoming. And now that woman had proven just how dangerous she could be when pushed too far.

Buck recognized the look in her eyes as she finally rose from beside María's body, it was the same one he'd worn after Ike had died. The same understanding that there was no going back, that some changes marked you forever. He watched her walk away, her steps carrying new purpose, and knew the Marshal's daughter had died today alongside her godmother. Whatever emerged from this blood-soaked morning would be something altogether different.

---

Chapter 19

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Morning settled heavy, the fog clinging to adobe walls. Buck watched townspeople file into the church, their boots scraping across wooden steps while the bells tolled. The sound carried differently in the dense air, duller somehow, as if the fog itself mourned.

Inside, the chapel air was thick with incense. María lay still in her simple pine coffin, work-roughened hands folded over the rosary she'd carried. Someone had arranged her black shawl to hide the violence of her passing, though nothing could erase the memory.

Buck kept to the back, hat held against his chest while Latin prayers washed through the small space. He'd attended enough funerals to recognize the cadence, if not the words themselves. Through gaps in the crowd, he watched Meredith kneel beside the coffin, her dark head bowed.

Tears slipped silent down her cheeks, dropping onto hands that couldn't seem to stay still. Every few moments her fingers would reach out, barely touching the coffin's edge before drawing back, as if some part of her still couldn't accept the finality.

Bernardino stood close, one hand resting on her shoulder. The young deputy's eyes held their own grief, though his touch remained steady. He'd earned his place in this family through more than marriage now. He'd proved it in blood. But this moment asked something different of him, measuring his worth not in courage but in the simple ability to share his wife's pain.

"Ave María, Madre de Dios..." The prayers rose and fell through the chapel.

Marshal Solana maintained his rigid posture beside his daughter, though something in his bearing suggested a man trying to hold himself together through sheer will.

When time came for the final blessing, Meredith pushed herself up on unsteady legs. Her barely maintained composure cracked as she stepped forward with the holy water, her hand shaking so badly that drops scattered across the wooden floor.

"Madrina..." The word escaped like something torn from her chest. Her knees started to buckle, but Bernardino was there, gathering her close while she pressed her face against the rough wool of his coat.

His own tears fell unashamed into her hair as he murmured, "Está con Dios ahora, mi amor. Está en paz."

Buck watched them, this young couple wrapped in grief, finding strength in each other's arms. There was something raw in their embrace that made him look away, feeling like an intruder on too private a moment.

The procession wound through streets María had walked countless times. Past the bakery where her bread had fed generations. Past the mercantile where she'd haggled prices with stubborn determination. Townspeople emerged from their shops, crossing themselves as the coffin passed. Many touched their fingers to their lips afterward, a gesture Buck had seen before.

At the graveside, while the priest offered final prayers, movement caught Buck's eye. Eleanor Hayes stood apart from the crowd, her copper hair covered with a black scarf. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, something unfamiliar crossing her face, not her usual calculated charm, but something more genuine. More human.

When the last Amen faded, mourners began drifting toward the Solana house where food and remembrance waited. But Meredith lingered, her fingers trailing over the wooden cross that would mark María's rest until a proper headstone could be carved.

The gesture carried something of the child she'd been, seeking comfort from the woman who'd bandaged scraped knees and chased away nightmares with cups of warm cocoa and whispered stories.

"Vamanos, mi hija." Solana's words carried gentle understanding even as he urged her toward home.

Buck watched them walk away, father and daughter supporting each other while Bernardino hovered close.

As the cemetery emptied, Eleanor materialized at Buck's elbow. "Walk me home?" Her voice carried neither flirtation nor challenge, just simple need for company in grief's aftermath.

Buck offered his arm without speaking. Sometimes words just got in the way. They walked in silence while evening gathered around them, each lost in private thoughts. The street felt different somehow, as if María's absence had changed the very shape of the town itself.

At her door, Eleanor paused. "Stay?" Her hand drifted to his jaw.

Buck caught her fingers, need rather than tenderness guiding his grip. The day's death had left them both raw, seeking something primal to drive away darker thoughts. Eleanor yanked his shirt free while Buck worked the buttons of her black dress, their movements were rushed with barely contained desperation.

The evening air carried the last echoes of church bells as they stumbled through her door, seeking solace in each other's arms. Sometimes comfort came in strange forms, in the press of skin against skin, in the temporary forgetting found between tangled sheets.

---

Chapter 20

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck woke with a start, his heart pounding. Not from any sound or movement, just that crawling sensation at the base of his skull. He kept his breathing deep and even, though his muscles tensed imperceptibly. The bed beside him was cold, Eleanor had been up for some time. Through barely-opened eyes, he saw her silhouette by the dresser, outlined in the dim light filtering through her curtains. Her fingers moved over his gunbelt, touching it like she had just touched him just hours before.

"Most men sleep deeper after a night like that," she said without turning around. Her voice had gone flat, empty of the warmth he'd grown used to. "But then, you're not most men, are you?"

Buck sat up slow, letting the sheet pool at his waist. His boots were by the door, too far. The knife was closer, just within reach, but drawing it would force whatever was coming. Better to let it play out first.

She pulled his revolver from the holster with familiarity. Not the awkward handling of someone unused to weapons. "It's almost funny," she said, "how a man so feared can fall for something so simple." The smile she gave him was nothing like the ones he'd known in darkness. "The great Kiowa, brought down by a willing woman and some sweet words in the dark."

"That what this is about?" He kept his voice neutral, watching her grip on the gun. Steady enough, but her trigger finger was too eager. She'd shoot fast, but maybe wild.

"The Judge sends his regards." Her voice carried none of the warmth it had held hours before.

The truth of it settled hard in his gut. He'd known she played her own game, but hadn't seen how deep it ran. All those casual questions between heated encounters, the way she seemed to know which visitors warranted attention, he'd let himself ignore the pattern, distracted his more basic appetites.

"You've been causing trouble in his territory," she continued, her fingers still moving over the worn leather of his gunbelt.

"Ain't his territory to claim." Buck's words came unhurried and quiet.

"No?" Something dark crept into her laugh. "Tell that to the men you killed in Liberty Plains. Or maybe we should ask Cole Watson?" Her voice caught on the name. "Though that might be difficult, seeing as you murdered him."

"Watson made his choice when he rode into my town."

She moved closer, the gun steady now. "Did you really think I could love someone like you? After what you did to Cole?" Raw hate twisted her features. "You gunned him down like a dog."

"You gonna shoot me or talk about it?" Buck's eyebrow lifted slightly. The bed creaked as he shifted, sheets rustling in the pre-dawn quiet.

"Oh, I want you to know exactly what's coming for your friends once you're dead." Eleanor's words carried a sing-song quality that didn't match the coldness in her bearing.

"Still breathing, ain't I?" A half-smile lifted Buck's mouth, more warning than humor.

"Not for long." Her eyes went hard. "The Judge knows about the ledger. I told Cole he should have killed the girl when he had the chance, but Silas had a soft spot for that spoiled..." She spat out the word 'puta' like something foreign and bitter in her mouth, wielding the Spanish curse with deliberate cruelty.

Buck studied her carefully, noting the way rage simmered just beneath her controlled surface. Years of reading people had taught him to spot the fracture points in any facade. Right now, Eleanor's mask was starting to slip.

"Seems Silas wasn't the only one," he said casually, watching for the tell he knew would come. "Way I heard it, Cole took an interest in the marshal's daughter himself."

He'd fired that shot blind, but Eleanor's reaction told him he'd struck deeper truth than he'd expected. The gun jerked violently in her hand, control shattering at the mere suggestion. Buck was already moving as her finger squeezed the trigger, rolling toward his knife as the shot cracked past him. He came up with steel in hand, facing her across the room.

"Now Eleanor," he said quietly. "Let's talk about this. You're better than this."

"Better?" Something broke in her laugh. "I loved him. While you..." She gestured with the gun. "You were just entertainment. Though I'll admit, you showed more skill than I expected."

"Last chance." He kept his voice level. "Put it down. Walk away."

"A knife against a gun?" Her smile turned mean. "I like those odds."

"Shouldn't." Buck shifted his weight, reading her stance. "This close, ask any man who's lived long enough to learn the difference."

Doubt flickered across her face. "Could you though?" Her voice went soft, intimate. "Kill a woman you've held? Known?"

As the second shot exploded through morning quiet, the knife flew from Buck's hand, muscle memory faster than thought. His knife took her high in the chest, the impact driving her back. She looked more surprised than hurt as her legs gave way, the gun falling forgotten from fingers and sliding across the floor.

"You..." Blood bubbled at her mouth as he caught her, easing her down. "...monster..."

"Maybe." Real regret tinged the words as he cradled her. "Didn't have to end this way."

Her laugh went wet. "Did though... didn't it?" More blood spilled past her lips. "The Judge... he'll find you... eventually..."

Then she was gone, leaving Buck to contemplate how quick death could come, even in a warm bed. The door burst open to Marshal Solana and Bernardino, guns drawn. They found Buck naked as creation, studying Eleanor's still form with unreadable eyes.

"¡Dios mío!" Meredith's shocked voice carried from the doorway before she spun away. "¡Avísame la próxima vez!"

"Found out tonight who she really was," Solana said while Buck dressed unhurried. "Cole Watson's woman. Came fast as we could, but..." His eyes fell to Eleanor's body. "See you handled it."

Buck buckled his gunbelt, then knelt to retrieve his knife. The blade came free with a sound he knew too well. "She made her choice."

Morning air bit at Buck's skin as he stepped onto Eleanor's porch. The first light of day slowly crept across the empty street while he let his mind work. Whitaker was one piece, but Eleanor? That changed everything, made him question each casual exchange, each seemingly chance encounter since riding into town.

The Judge's influence ran deeper than he thought. Someone had taken time placing people like Eleanor, setting them into position long before. That kind of patience spoke to something more calculating than simple revenge.

He'd made enemies, sure enough. Left graves from Kansas to New Mexico. But none who'd go to these lengths, planting spies, coding ledgers, leaving playing cards with corpses. Made him wonder what he'd stepped into without knowing it.

---

Chapter 21

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck found Solana at his desk, the lamplight catching silver threads in his dark hair. Pages from the decoded ledger lay scattered across the surface, each one covered in the marshal's handwriting. A half-empty glass of tequila sat forgotten among the papers, and the air hung heavy with cigar smoke.

"It's time," Buck said quietly.

Solana's pen stilled, "Si." He didn't turn, but his voice held understanding. "The ledger?"

"Best if I take it." Buck settled into the chair across from him, movements measured and calm. "Less risk to your family that way."

Now Solana did look up, his dark eyes sharp with intelligence. "They'll come again. The Judge won't stop until—"

"That's why I'm leaving." Buck's quiet words carried weight. "Draw their attention away from here. Give you time to strengthen your position."

"This Judge..." Solana rolled his cigar between weathered fingers. "Who is he, to command such loyalty? To have judges, bankers, lawmen all dancing to his tune?"

"Don't matter who he is." Buck's attention drifted to the window where Meredith and Bernardino walked among the roses. "When I find him, he'll die like any other man."

Solana moved to stand beside him, watching his daughter lean into her husband's arm as they paused to examine a bloom.

"She's grown so fast." Pride and sorrow mingled in Solana's voice. "Though sometimes I wish..." He shook his head, watching Bernardino press a gentle kiss to his daughter's temple. "But we cannot choose such things, eh? Life shapes us as it will."

"She's strong. Like her father."

Solana's smile held genuine warmth. "You've been good for her, amigo. For all of us. Showed us there are still men worth trusting." He began gathering the ledger's pages. "Though perhaps not all of them, eh?"

Buck's slight nod acknowledged the deeper meaning. They'd decoded enough names to know the rot went deep, judges, bankers, lawmen. All dancing to their hidden master's tune.

"I'll send word when I can," Buck said, accepting the leather folio Solana pressed into his hands.

"Mi casa siempre será tu casa," Solana's said warmly, his weathered hand extended. Not the quick motion of casual acquaintance but the thoughtful motion that acknowledged deeper bonds.

Buck clasped the offered hand, feeling the strength in the marshal's grip. No flowery words or dramatic farewells, just that quiet acknowledgment of respect earned and trust given.

"Vaya con Dios, amigo," Solana said simply.

Buck touched his hat brim in response, then stepped out of the office. Through the window, Solana watched Buck cross the street toward the livery. There was something in his walk that spoke of a man who'd learned to carry a heavy weight. Who understood that real strength wasn't in how many men you could kill, but in knowing which ones needed killing and which ones deserved mercy.

The Judge was still out there, and good people like María lay cold in the ground. But tonight? Tonight he'd sit on his porch with a good cigar, and think about the kind of man it took to wear power so quietly.

---

Chapter 22

Anasazi Flats, New Mexico Territory 1872

Buck had hoped to leave without ceremony, goodbyes had never sat well with him. But there was Meredith on the porch, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. The simple cotton of her dress couldn't quite hide how these past weeks had changed her.

"Were you really going to leave without a word?" Her voice carried neither accusation nor hurt, just quiet truth.

Buck's mouth curved slightly as he dismounted. "Ain't much good at farewells."

Meredith stepped forward then, pressing something into Buck's palm, cool metal warming quickly against his skin. A St. Christopher medallion.

"For protection," she said simply. "On your journey."

Buck studied the medallion, feeling its weight. Not his faith, but he understood what she offered, something deeper than religion. It spoke of family, of belonging. Of the particular trust that forms between people who have seen each other's darker truths and chosen to stand together anyway.

"Gracias." He tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket, the word carrying more than simple thanks.

Meredith stood on the porch, watching Buck's figure grow smaller against the horizon. The morning sun was already fierce, heat waves rising from the packed earth until rider and sky seemed to blur together. Her hand gripped the wooden post, steadying herself against its familiar surface.

The past several weeks settled in her mind as she watched him go. She thought of how she used to spend mornings in the garden, carefully tending the roses while María supervised from her chair in the shade. Such simple concerns seemed to belong to someone else now, some younger version of herself who hadn't yet learned how quickly the world could change.

Bernardino's quiet footsteps approached behind her, his presence as steady as the gun he wore. He didn't offer empty words of comfort or try to pull her from her thoughts. Instead, he simply stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth without needing to reach for it.

"He'll find the Judge," she said finally.

"Sí," Bernardino agreed quietly. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. "Though I wonder what price he'll pay for that victory."

"We all pay our prices," she said, remembering María's body in the dust, remember the weight of her rifle as she'd extracted her own justice from the Judge's men. "Some willingly, some less so."

Her free hand drifted to her side where Watson's marks lay hidden beneath. The small, round scars had healed white and smooth, María had tended them with herbs and quiet prayers. Her steady hands gentle as she'd applied salve and bandages. Even now, Meredith could sometimes feel the phantom burn of cigars against her skin, could hear Watson's voice asking questions she wouldn't answer.

But the scars had changed her more than just marking flesh, they'd taught her about different kinds of strength, about the price of keeping secrets.

Through the window, she watched her father emerge from his office. When he glanced up at the window, she saw his slight nod and smile. They'd both been shaped by loss, tempered by fire into something stronger than they'd been before.

"Your father worries," Bernardino said softly.

"He always will." She smiled and leaned into his warmth. "Though I suspect he sleeps better knowing you're beside me."

"As if you need my protection? I've seen you shoot." His voice carried quiet pride as he stepped closer, one hand settling at her waist. The morning light caught his wedding ring as he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Perhaps not." She looked into his eyes, studying the face she'd wake beside for all her remaining days. "Pero necesito tu corazón. Tu fuerza." Her hand settled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. "Some burdens are better carried together."

The morning carried the scent of poppies on the warm dessert air, of coffee brewing in the kitchen and roses blooming in the yard. Life would go on, as it always did.

In the end, Meredith reflected, that might be Buck Cross's real legacy in their town, not the whispered legends in saloons of the fearsome Kiowa. He was a man who understood violence intimately, who could draw blood from a banker one day and share her father's brandy the next with equal comfort in both roles.

That real power lay not in the dark reputation that rode ahead of a person, but in the quiet marks you left on those whose lives you touched along the way. She understood this now, leaning back against Bernardino, finding comfort in the steady beating of his heart. Some prices were worth paying, she thought, if they purchased the right kind of peace.

---

Author's Note

The story continues in the following pages with Spanish translations, cultural notes, and María's cherished recipes as written for Meredith.

For printable versions of María's recipes, visit the Trail Guide at ridercomin dot com

As María would say, some stories, like good recipes, are meant to be shared.

---

Spanish Translations

Ave María, Madre de Dios - Hail Mary, Mother of God

Avísame la próxima vez – Let me know next time

Buenas noches, amigo - Good night, friend

Compadre – See *Cultural explainations

Con permiso, señores – Excuse me gentlemen

Con su permiso - With your permission

Continúa - Continue

Descansa bien - rest well

Descansa un poco, cariño – Rest a little, sweetheart

Dios mío - My God

Dios te guarde, mi niña - God keep you, my child

Doña - title of respect used before a woman's first name, similar to "Mrs." or "Lady" in English. It is typically used for older or distinguished women, especially in formal or traditional contexts

Está con Dios ahora, mi amor - She is with God now, my love

Está en paz - She is at peace

Familia y amigos - family and friends

Hijo de puta - Son of a whore

I forgot, a lady doesn't discuss such things.

La misma sonrisa - the same smile

La señora Reyes estará aquí pronto para tu traje – Mrs. Reyes will be here for your suit.

Lo olvidé, una dama no habla de esas cosas.

Lo sient, amigo - I'm sorry friend

Madre de Dios – Mother of God

Madrina- God mother

Mírame – Look at me

Mi amor- my love

Mi casa siempre será tu casa – My home will always be your home

Mi hija/hijo – my daughter/son

Mi pequeña - my little one

Mira aquí – Look here

No hablo Inglés, señores. – I don't speak Spanish gentlemen.

No te muevas – Don't move

No te preocupes, mi niña – Don't worry, my girl

Para la bendición - For the blessing

Pandilla - gang

Patrón - Boss

Pero – but

Pero necesito tu corazón. Tu fuerza - But I need your heart. Your strength."

Por aquí - this way

Por favor, tenga cuidado – Please, be careful

Qué amable - How kind

Qué bueno que estés en casa – It's good you're home

Que Dios los bendiga - may God bless you

Quédate con mi hija – Stay with my daughter

Quédate quieta - stay still

Te amo, mi vida – I love you, my life

Tía/s – aunt/s

Todo lo que podías imaginar... cuando cierro mis ojos - Everything you could imagine… when I close my eyes.

Vamanos - Let's go

Vaya con Dios - Go with God

Ve a la iglesia - get to the church

Venga - Come

Yo sé – I know

---

Cultural explanation

Compadre is a Spanish term that literally means "co-father" or "co-parent," derived from its traditional use in Catholic contexts. It originally refers to the relationship between a child's godparent and their parent, highlighting a bond of mutual respect and familial connection.

In a more informal sense, compadre is used in many Spanish-speaking cultures as a term of close friendship or camaraderie, similar to saying "buddy," "pal," or "brother" in English. It's a warm, familiar way to address someone you trust or feel a close bond with, often implying a relationship akin to family.

A mantilla is a traditional Spanish veil, typically made of lace or fine fabric, worn by women over the head and shoulders as a symbol of modesty and reverence, especially in religious settings. It is often paired with a peina, a decorative comb, to hold it in place, and is most commonly seen during Catholic Mass, weddings, or festive occasions in Spain and Latin America. The mantilla drapes gracefully over the hair and shoulders, often extending to the back, and is a cherished part of Spanish and Latin American culture, particularly during holy observances like Easter or other solemn celebrations.

Pozole is a traditional Mexican soup or stew made from hominy simmered with meat, typically pork or chicken, and seasoned with a rich blend of spices and chiles. The dish is celebrated for its hearty, comforting flavor and vibrant toppings, which include shredded cabbage or lettuce, radishes, onions, lime wedges, and dried oregano. Rooted in pre-Hispanic traditions, pozole is often served during festive occasions and family gatherings, symbolizing unity and celebration.

Cochinita pibil is a traditional Mexican dish from the Yucatán Peninsula, featuring marinated pork slow-cooked until tender. The marinade is a blend of achiote paste, citrus juice, and spices, giving the dish its signature tangy, earthy, and slightly smoky flavor. Traditionally cooked in banana leaves over an underground pit, it's served with tortillas, pickled red onions, and spicy habanero salsa, embodying the vibrant and aromatic essence of Mayan culinary heritage.

Aguas frescas (literally "fresh waters") are a beloved category of traditional Mexican drinks made by blending water with fruits, seeds, grains, or flowers, often sweetened and served chilled. They are known for their vibrant flavors, natural ingredients, and refreshing qualities, making them a staple at meals, street vendors, and celebrations.

Agua de Jamaica Made from dried hibiscus flowers, tangy and tart with a bright red hue.

Agua de Horchata A creamy drink made from rice, cinnamon, and sometimes milk or vanilla.

Agua de Tamarindo Sweet and tangy, made from tamarind pods.

Agua de Limón con Chía Limeade with chia seeds for a refreshing and slightly textured drink.

Agua de Sandía/Melón Made from fresh watermelon or cantaloupe, lightly sweetened.

---

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.

Acknowledgement

Thank you to very reader! Thank you for letting these characters and stories into your life. I hope they bring you as much joy as they've brought me.