“Wait!”
The voice of Abigail McKinstry called out loudly in the tiny foyer of the town hall. Mrs. McKinstry turned to her eldest daughter with an indulgent smile.
Abigail had stopped just inside the entrance, a look of horror on her face, gloved hand groping at her neck. “My necklace! Oh mother, how could you let me forget my beautiful pearl necklace!”
“This is hardly an earth-shattering catastrophe,” Claire put in dryly, earning a pained look from her mother and a scowl from her father. She shrugged, moving off to try to peak around the double doors into the room beyond. The Founders Day dance was already in full swing, by the sounds of it. Behind Claire, her mother fussed and clucked, fluffing Abigail’s dark curls and smoothing her skirt, keeping up a steady patter of nonsense chatter. Claire moved a little closer to the door, tuning them out, as she absently smoothed her own pale blue skirt, trying to restrain herself from hopping up and down each time the door opened. She tried to ignore the nervousness that was building inside her, getting worse for each moment that her sister fussed and dawdled.
He might be there.
She’d first noticed him two months ago, just a week after the McKinstrys moved to Sweetwater. The sisters had been returning from a visit with their Uncle Matthew at the Sentinel, when suddenly Abigail had grabbed Claire’s arm, barely suppressing a squeal. Motioning wildly, Abigail pointed excitedly in the direction of the general store.
“Look! It’s those Pony Express riders!”
Claire glanced down the street briefly before pulling at her sister’s arm, hoping that no-one had noticed her rudeness. “Hush, Abigail!” she admonished in a hissing whisper.
“Oh, they’re so exciting!” Abigail continued, paying her no mind. She gazed across the street in rapt adoration, one hand raising to unconsciously pat her hair. “Look at that one,” Abigail raised her arm to point again, but this time Claire caught it smoothly. “He’s so handsome!”
Frowning at her sister, Claire nonetheless followed her gaze to the young man at the store, busy loading a wagon with supplies. Abigail had pointed to the one called ‘Kid’, a rather commonplace looking fellow in a dark jacket. He was attractive, she supposed, if rather bland-looking… nothing to get all worked up about. She was about to hustle her sister along, reminding her that there were chores that needed doing at home, when the door to Thompkins store swung open again.
Claire knew she would never forget that first look at Buck Cross.
He was toting a heavy bag of grain, his shirt pressed against his muscled chest, hat hanging down his back, long dark hair streaming back in the light breeze. She had never seen anyone so strikingly attractive, and was surprised to discover herself staring. Abruptly, she noticed that her sister’s chatter had ceased, and with an effort, Claire pulled her attention away from the riders. Abigail had noticed her scrutiny and was staring at her shrewdly.
“I know,” Abigail sniffed, although Claire hadn’t spoken. “I can’t believe they hired an Indian.” The way she said it, the word sounded indecent.
“He’s not—“ Claire began to protest, but Abigail cut her off.
“Of course he’s not,” Abigail interrupted. “Even worse. He’s a half-breed.”
Claire turned troubled eyes to her sister before glancing back at the riders. The supplies were loaded now; the young men mounted their horses with practiced grace. She spared one last look at Buck before linking arms with her sister and starting towards home.
Abigail’s presence at her side at the town hall entranceway nudged Claire back to the present. Impatiently brushing aside her mother’s last-minute attempts to primp and fluff her, Claire took a deep breath and, filled with anticipatory eagerness, entered the town hall.
* * * * * *
An hour later, Claire wondered what she’d been so anxious about.
She stood at the edge of the dance floor, smiling politely and trying to pay attention to whatever it was that Marcus Sewell was blathering on about. Marcus considered himself a suitor, a fact that pleased Claire’s father no end. Claire realized with a start that the background noise she identified as Marcus’ voice had stopped, and drew her attention back to him with an effort. What had he been talking about? She searched her mind frantically. Something about his father’s bean crop. Or was it corn?
She renewed her smile and settled on a non-committal “Hmmm.” It was apparently enough for Marcus to launch into a renewed treatise on the features and benefits of the farm. Claire murmured in the right spots, fought to stop her eyes from glazing over, and let her gaze wander back to the riders.
The pony express riders were clustered at the other end of the long hall. Mindful that her father would be upset if he noticed her ignoring Marcus (and mindful too, that she really didn’t want to hurt Marcus’ feelings), Claire tried to pay attention to the dandified boy. But her eyes kept being drawn back to Buck Cross. His hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, only highlighting his high cheekbones and dark, exotic features. And Marcus Sewell, light grey suit hanging off his thin frame and short hair slicked back, looked like a child in his father’s clothes, trying to be a man. Claire shook her head slightly as soon as the thought crossed her mind. It wasn’t like her to be so cruel, even in thought. It was just that… well… it seemed that no one could compare to Buck.
Claire let her eyes drift back to the riders, and suppressed a sigh.
Across the room, Cody nudged Jimmy in the ribs, nearly knocking the cream cake out of his hands. Ignoring Hickok’s glare, Cody grinned. “She’s watching us again.”
Several pairs of eyes flicked towards Claire, just as she turned her own attention back to Marcus.
“Yup. She is.” Jimmy squared his shoulders and smiled in the general direction of the pretty redhead.
Cody straightened his string tie and ran fingers through his hair. “I guess no woman can resist my dazzling good looks for long,” he said smugly.
Jimmy scowled. “You’re crazy, Cody. It’s obvious she’s lookin’ at me.”
“What woman would want you when I’m available, Hickok?”
Lou stepped in to the breach before the argument could escalate. “I hate to disappoint you boys,“ she put in pointedly, “but she’s lookin’ at Buck.”
Buck’s head snapped up in surprise, involuntarily drawn to the girl across the room. He’d noticed her in town several times, but he’d tried NOT to think about her. Just like he’d tried not to think of any woman. Not since Jennifer. Not since Kathleen.
Still, she was pretty.
Frowning, he scowled at Lou. “Yeah, she looking at me,” he said sarcastically. “Very funny, Lou.” He glanced back at the pretty girl, who was now apparently engrossed in a story being told by her escort.
“Well, why not?” Lou asked with a smile. “You shouldn’t sell yourself so short, Buck. There’s no reason why Claire McKinstry shouldn’t—“
“Come on, Lou,” Cody interrupted. “I’m right here. Big, blonde, and beautiful,” he puffed out his chest in an exaggerated pose, “and ready to please. Why would she want Buck?”
Buck’s face had gone blanker and blanker as Cody spoke, until finally his lips were drawn together in a thin line. His breath was heavy as he spoke. “That’s right, Cody,” he spat out, angry, and even angrier that the anger was showing. “What would she want with a dark-skinned half-breed like me?” Pushing past Cody with a deliberate shove, Buck strode furiously out of the hall.
Cody looked after him incredulously, then yelped as Lou smacked him in the head with her hat. “What’d I do?”
“You can’t leave well enough alone, can you Cody?”
Cody rubbed at his head elaborately, frowning. “Aw, I didn’t mean anything, Lou. I was just funnin’ him.”
“You know how sensitive Buck is about that stuff, Billy,” Lou scolded. Besides,” she added, “Claire really WAS looking at Buck.” Lou motioned with her chin to the woman in question, whose eyes were even now searching the room for the Kiowa.
“Yep,” Cody said softly, then deliberately brushed back his hair and re-straightened his tie. He’d taken two steps towards the lovely young Claire before he was pulled back abruptly by Ike, who was gesturing wildly. Cody tried to follow the motions for a moment before giving up in exasperation.
“Don’t worry, Ike,” he said, placing a hand on Ike’s chest to stop the frantic motion of his hands. He adjusted an imaginary hat. “I’m just gonna fix it.”
Exuding confidence, Cody made his way across the crowded dance floor, while behind him, Lou and Ike exchanged dubious looks.
* * * * *
Claire found herself wishing that the dance was over. She’d been trapped with the loquacious Marcus Sewell for over an hour; even when she tried to escape by fetching a glass of punch, he’d followed at her feet like a puppy dog. Her exaggeratedly-mimed pleas for help to Abigail were ignored as her older sister lapped up the attentions of a variety of suitors. Her father, when he’d stopped glad-handing, had only slapped Marcus on the shoulder with a “Nice party, eh son?”, a designation that made Marcus puff up with self-importance. Claire was determined that she’d put up with this for another 30 minutes… then she’d suddenly get a raging headache.
“Excuse me, Miss…”
Claire pushed the thoughts aside and turned to find a handsome young man at her elbow, smiling eagerly. She recognized him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. He saved her the trouble.
“William F. Cody, at your service,” he introduced himself, adding a courtly bow for effect. Claire smiled cautiously and managed an awkward half-curtsy. “Claire McKinstry.”
“So I’ve heard,” Cody said with another smile. “I was wondering if you would do me the utmost honour of sharing this dance.”
Claire glanced at Marcus, then back to Cody. “I’d be most delighted, Mr. Cody,” she said pleasantly, trying to match his tone. Handing her glass to Marcus, she nodded politely and joined Cody on the dance floor.
They had gone once around the floor before Cody re-opened the conversation.
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything between you and your escort,” he said politely.
Claire glanced back at Marcus, whose eyes were following their every move. “I assure you, Mr. Cody,” she said, returning her attention to her dance partner, “Mr. Sewell is NOT my escort. I’m very pleased to dance with you.”
“Call me Billy, if you like,” Cody grinned. “And I’m happy to hear that. Because I couldn’t help but notice that your attention was rather drawn to myself and my companions.”
Claire blushed, looking down at the dance floor. “I assure you, Billy—“ she began.
“Now, of course, bein’ the best looking rider, I had to assume that you just couldn’t resist my charms,” Cody continued.
Claire felt her cheeks flushing again. Had she been that transparent? Now she had to convince this poor man that she wasn’t staring at him, but couldn’t admit WHO she was staring at. She couldn’t admit she was staring at all. It wasn’t ladylike. Was it?
She took a deep breath, made eye contact with Cody, and tried again. “Billy, I really think you got the wrong impression. You see—“
“Now I was real pleased with the attention, don’t get me wrong,” Cody continued relentlessly. “That is,” he grinned, “until it was pointed out that it wasn’t me you was lookin’ at.”
Claire’s feet were still moving in time to the music, but she couldn’t feel them. “What?” she squeaked out.
“Seems it was a certain dark-haired rider that caught your eye,” Cody said with a knowing smile. “Am I right?”
Claire’s head bobbed unconsciously, looking at Cody in a new light. “Was I that obvious?” she asked softly, still flushed with embarrassment.
“Wellll,” Cody drawled, “maybe only to somebody who knew where to look. Anyway, this rider might have been interested right back… but I sorta messed things up. He got a little upset. Decided to take a breather.” He paused. “Outside,” he said suggestively.
“Outside,” Claire repeated as the music ended. Instinctively, she applauded the musicians as she tried to figure out what she should do. She glanced at Cody, taking in his expectant look. He’d come over to talk to her in order to help his friend, or to help her, she couldn’t figure out which. But she figured if he was in this deep, she might as well jump right in as well.
“I was just thinking about getting some air myself,” she said quietly, “but I’m afraid that Marcus might miss me.” Cody glanced over his shoulder to see the infamous Marcus Sewell pushing his way through the crowd of dancers to their side. He turned back to Claire with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about ol’ Marcus.”
Claire found herself matching his grin. Reaching up hastily, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Billy,” she whispered, before ducking away for the nearest exit.
Cody rubbed at his cheek absently. “Oh, it was worth it,” he said softly to himself. Then, he turned with exuberant glee towards the unsuspecting Marcus Sewell.
Chapter Two
The air outside was just cool enough to be refreshing, especially after the stuffiness inside the hall. Claire stopped just outside the side doorway, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness after the bright lights of the lamps inside. She drew her arms across her chest, probing the shadows surrounding the building, but could find no sign of the young rider she sought.
Feeling oddly spotlighted in the doorway, Claire moved away, strolling slowly along the side to the back of the building. Again, she searched for movement, but found no-one. She was about to return and thank Cody for his trouble, when she noticed the horses. One in particular looked familiar… yes, the paint horse that Kid rode was tied to the farthest post. Moving closer, she saw the expected reddish-brown stallion. Buck’s horse. He was beautiful, his dark cinnamon coat broken only by the thin stripe of white on his long nose and the patches at his feet.
Cautiously, Claire stepped closer to the large animal and carefully laid a hand on his nose. The horse snorted, causing her to jump back in alarm. She waited a moment for him to calm down, then tried again, this time murmuring soothingly.
“There… that’s a good boy… you’re a pretty boy… that’s right…” Claire kept up a soothing patter of sound, encouraging by the horse’s now-calm demeanor. Buck kept his place in the shadows, watching her. She was relaxed and patient with the horse, despite her obvious inexperience. He was impressed. Finally, he stepped forward.
“You always talk to horses?”
Claire jumped back, letting out an involuntarily squeal that caused the horse to whinny in alarm. Buck stepped ahead quickly, laying a comforting hand on the horse’s mane. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he added apologetically. Maybe he’d been impressed too soon, he thought wryly.
“No… I’m sorry… you just startled me, that’s all,” Claire said a bit breathlessly. Her hand had fluttered to her breast, and she seemed to look at it for a moment before letting it rest at her side. Now that she had found Buck – or he had found her, as the case may be – she found she hadn’t a clue what to say to him. Instead, she found herself just staring into his eyes. Deep brown eyes, dark as the night. Abruptly, she noticed that his lips were starting to curl into a smile, and she pulled her eyes away quickly.
The horse! “I was just admiring your horse,” she said, forcing herself to sound nonchalant. “He’s beautiful.”
“How did you know he was mine?” Buck asked, still half-grinning at her.
She focused on the horse. “I’ve seen you riding him through town, that’s all.” She pointed to the paint on the end. “That one belongs to Kid. And that one,” another gesture to the gorgeous palomino, “is Mr. Hickok’s. They’re all beautiful animals. I have to say, though,” Claire glanced at the ground, then met Buck’s eyes briefly, “I’m a little partial to yours.”
Buck relaxed a little. “Me too,” he agreed with a grin. “He’s a good horse. Strong.”
“What’s his name?” Claire asked, regaining confidence quickly. This was going okay. They were talking. It was friendly. She wasn’t making a fool of herself. She reached up and petted the horse’s nose affectionately.
“Warrior.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Warrior?”
“Yeah,” Buck grinned crookedly again, rubbing the animals flank fondly. “Something wrong with that?”
“No, I suppose not,” Claire shrugged, returning her attentions to the horse. “He just seems so gentle, though. Warrior sounds so savage.” Abruptly, she realized what she’d said, and dropped her gaze to the ground, feeling a flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
“I mean… oh gosh… well, I just meant that he seems so sweet and mild, and ‘Warrior’ sounds… well... mean… and… oh I’m sorry.” She stammered at the ground, then cautiously raised her eyes to meet his, biting her lower lip. So much for not making a fool of herself.
Buck took a breath. The girl’s comment was unintentional, had nothing to do with him. He knew that. He spoke slowly. “A noble warrior only uses his savagery if he has to, as a last resort.”
Stepping forward, he held out his hand. “I’m Buck Cross.”
“I know,” Claire said involuntarily, feeling another blush cross her cheeks at Buck’s smile at the comment. “Umm… everybody seems to know the pony express riders,” she finished lamely. Taking his hand, she introduced herself. “I’m Claire McKinstry.”
Buck grin widened, the smile lighting his eyes. “I know.”
Claire’s eyebrow raised. He knew? He knew of her? She felt her heart leap in her chest.
“I saw you inside. One of the other riders pointed you out,” Buck was saying in explanation. Pointed out that you were staring at me, he added mentally. He studied the girl for a moment, taking in the expensive cut of her dress, the stylish way her hair was done, the pallor of her skin. Lou was wrong, he decided. This meeting is just a coincidence. She WAS staring at Cody. Or Jimmy. Not him. There’s no way she’d want anything to do with him.
Beside them, Warrior nickered impatiently. Claire drew her hand back in surprise as Buck laughed. “It’s okay,” he explained, “he just figures if he’s getting all this attention, he should get a treat too.”
“A treat?” Claire repeated, turning to the horse with a smile. “I’m sorry, Warrior,” she said gently, “but I don’t generally carry horse treats with me to dances.” She patted his nose affectionately.
“Wait a minute,” Buck said, digging in the saddlebag, and finally coming up with a rather bruised looking apple. “Here you go. You can give him this.”
Claire took the apple rather dubiously. Her glance went from apple, to horse, to Buck. Finally she said, “What do I do with it?”
Buck laughed again, crinkling his face into the crooked smile that Claire was beginning to realize indicated mirth mixed with surprise, and that she was also beginning to find hopelessly endearing. “Feed it to him.”
“Like this?” Claire frowned, glancing again at the apple, which filled her whole palm. “Won’t he choke?”
Shaking his head in amazement, Buck moved forward, taking her hand in his. “Just put your palm flat, like this,” he instructed, placing his own palm under hers, and trying to ignore the softness of her skin against his own. “Now,” he guided their hands together towards Warrior’s mouth, “just keep your palm still, and he’ll take it from you.”
Claire realized she was holding her breath, and let it out slowly. Buck’s body was pressed against her own, leaning against her to reach the horse’s head. Carefully, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying, and not the feel of his breath on her cheek. Moving with him, she lifted her palm towards Warrior, who sniffed slightly before opening his mouth and devouring the tidbit.
“He took it!” Claire’s laugh was infectious and Buck found himself laughing with her. She spun towards the rider, eyes sparkling. “I could feel his lips! They’re all soft and silky.” She felt Warrior nuzzling against her as he chewed, and rubbed his nose with a grin. “Do you have any more?” she asked, without looking at Buck.
“No,” he answered, then turned to her quizzically. “How is it you’ve never been around horses before?”
Claire turned back to the rider, leaning against the post. “I just moved here. From Boston,” she explained.
“What made you move to Sweetwater?”
My father flew into a rage and killed a man. No. She couldn’t say that. “My father lost his job,” she said quietly. There. That wasn’t a lie. “My father’s brother runs the Sentinel,” she continued. “Matthew McKinstry?”
Buck nodded his head in recognition of the name. “I know your Uncle,” he said. He’d been called in to talk with McKinstry about Indian troubles in the past. He held the man in high regard. “He’s a good man. He always listens to both sides of a story before he prints it.”
“I haven’t seen him in so long, since I was little,” she answered. “And my mother only has distant relatives – third cousins twice removed or something like that – so we decided to come here.”
Buck nodded. “Must be a lot different than Boston,” he offered. “What’s it like there?”
Claire shrugged. “Oh, it’s big,” she said casually. “Roundabouts 180,000 people at our last census.” Buck’s eyes widened in surprise. “There’s lot of things to do, and see. But after being here, none of it seems all that real.”
Buck ducked under the fence post, joining her as she leaned against the railing. “Still, you must miss it.”
She smiled. “Oh, I miss the shops. Beautiful gowns from Paris, and shoes, and little matching hats…” She caught Buck’s doubtful expression and the smile turned into a laugh. “I know,” she grinned, “girl stuff.” She put up a hand to ward off his rebuttal. “But like I said, Boston almost doesn’t seem real. It’s like, this is what real life is like. Should be like. You know? And besides,” Claire let her eyes drop to the ground, shocked at what she was about to say, “Sweetwater has a lot to offer, too.”
Buck swallowed. Maybe he was wrong about that stare. “More and more all the time,” he agreed softly.
Claire raised her eyes to meet his, blushing again. Beside them, Warrior neighed demandingly, but this time the horse was ignored. Buck leaned forward, reaching out a hand to wrap around her waist… and the door behind them suddenly crashed upon, disgorging a giggling girl and her suitor, off to places unknown. Buck pulled back hurriedly, while Claire instantly found that her sleeves needed adjusting.
When their eyes met again, both were grinning a little foolishly.
“Uh… I guess I’d better get you back inside. Your folks are probably wondering where you got off to.”
“I doubt that,” Claire muttered to herself, low enough that Buck couldn’t hear her. “I suppose so,” she said aloud, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening talking with him.
“After you,” he said gallantly, sweeping his arm before her. With a smile and a curtsy, much better than the one she’d offered Cody earlier that evening, Claire swept ahead of him. She had made it to the lamp on the stairs when the echoing footsteps behind her stopped, and she turned, a quizzical expression on her face.
Buck stood a few feet away, mouth open, staring at her with a look of astonishment on his face. Claire frowned. “Aren’t you coming?” No response. “Buck?” She took a step forward out of the light, just as Buck shook his head, as though just awakening. Moving closer, she put a hand on his arm lightly. “Buck, are you all right?” she said urgently.
Buck nodded his head slowly, his hand coming up to touch her long auburn hair, now pinned in elaborate curls. His voice trembled slightly. “A plains sunset, on the days before summer feasting,” he said softly. He shook his head again, trying to rid the vision from his mind. Her vision, her beauty, caught under the lamplight. She tried to dim that light, but it was there. Later, he would pray to the sunset, to try to figure out what it meant. For now, it simply overwhelmed him.
Claire flushed for the umpteenth time that evening, as Buck took her arm and led her back inside to the dance.
* * * * *
“Ow!”
Claire raised her hand to her mouth to hide her giggle, as Buck stepped back lightly from the latest incursion that her feet had made onto his.
“I’m sorry,” she said for the sixth or seventh time to him that evening, the giggle escaping even as she apologized. “I told you, I just can’t dance.”
Buck grimaced elaborately before grinning back. “That’s all right,” he said amiably, “I don’t think I need those toes anyhow.”
Claire let the giggle become a full-fledged laugh as Buck twirled her again around the dance floor. It was her fifth dance with this particular rider. She’d also danced several times with Cody, twice with Ike, and once with Jimmy. One dance was all Jimmy could handle. If she recalled correctly, she’d stepped on his toes six times. Of course, Buck had been watching her intently the whole time, breaking her concentration.
This dance, her fifth with Buck, was also the last dance of the evening. Far from her earlier thoughts, when she’d just wanted to escape from it, now…
“I don’t want this evening to end,” she murmured, then gulped. She riveted her attention on Buck’s throat as she stiffened slightly in his arms. Had she said that out loud? She couldn’t believe herself this evening! Buck felt the slight tension and smiled down at her.
“I’m glad you’re having a nice time,” he answered. “I am too.” Feeling the tension ease off slightly, he cleared his throat and continued. “There’s a big Founders Day picnic tomorrow. Races, and games, stuff like that.”
“Yes?” Claire raised her eyes to his expectantly.
Buck cleared his throat again. “I… uh… I was wondering if you were gonna be there. You and your family, of course,” he added hastily.
She smiled shyly. “Yes. We’ll be there. Mother has an entry for the Best Pie contest.”
“Great!” Buck enthused. Then his face contorted. “I mean, great that you’ll all be there, not great that she made a pie. Though I’m sure the pie is… great.” He screwed up his face comically, and Claire laughed.
“Maybe I’ll see you there?” Buck added with a curious look, making it a question.
Claire rested her head against his shoulder briefly before looking up at him, eyes shining. “I’d like that.”
Across the room, Lou nudged Cody. “I guess you fixed it,” she said approvingly.
Cody puffed out his chest. “Did you have any doubts?” He wisely ignored the look that passed between Lou, Ike, and Jimmy.
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, in the back of the wagon, Abigail was regaling her parents with the list of accomplishments of her many dance partners, while Claire sat with her eyes closed, easily able to tune her sister out after years of practice. She wanted to replay this evening over in her mind, to remember every nuance. Every motion of Buck’s head, every expression, every movement, flitted through her mind endlessly. Every word he’d said and the way he’d said them filled her senses. She clutched her arms against her knees, head bent, and pretended tiredness, letting a joyous smile spread across the features that no one could see.
“You seemed to be spending a lot o’ time with them express riders,” she heard her father say unexpectedly.
Claire’s head snapped up. “Yes, I danced with some of them,” she replied non-commitally, while Abigail pouted at being interrupted. “They’re nice boys, daddy.”
“There’s a lot of other boys that you should’ve been paying attention to,” her father answered gruffly. “That Marcus Sewell, for one—“
“I’m not interested in Marcus Sewell,” Claire interrupted.
“You mind your manners, missy,” her father warned, turning to glare at her for the interruption. In the pause, Claire turned her face back to her lap. It didn’t matter what her father said, she vowed mentally. She was NOT going to encourage Marcus Sewell. Not anymore. Not now.
“That one young man was certainly very polite,” Marjorie McKinstry put in meekly to fill the silence. “You remember him, Daniel?” she asked her husband, who merely grunted. Marjorie took the sound as assent, and continued. “He came over and introduced himself. He had the nicest manners. Said his name was William F. Cody.” She turned in the seat to face her youngest daughter. “Is he the one you’re sweetest on, Claire?”
Claire groaned, running possible answers through her head quickly. Daniel McKinstry’s prejudices were as honed as Abigail’s, and she knew that if she told them the truth now – that she couldn’t get Buck Cross out of her mind – any potential relationship they could have would be over before it could begin. Her father would see to that.
Could there be any harm in letting them think that she favoured Billy? Maybe not, but she couldn’t do it. Not because of her parents, but because of Buck. Would he think she was ashamed of him? Would he think she shared her parents’ bigotry?
Finally she shrugged, and settled on a white lie. “I like them all the same, Mama.” She forced herself to smile brightly. “But I saw a real handsome young man that was spending a lot of time with Abigail.” Turning to her sister she continued, “You know the one, Abby? He was wearing a proper blue jacket with gold buttons.”
“Oh, that was Carl Jamieson,” her sister enthused. “His family owns a horse ranch close to Rock Creek, and his uncle is chairman of…”
Claire tuned the rest of the story out, as Abigail happily re-took the floor. Resting her head again on her knees, she closed her eyes, and dreamed of Buck.
