Thompkins had already begun his speech and race contestants were beginning to mill around their horses as the McKinstrys buggy pulled up to the livery stable. Excited, Abigail and Claire picked up their skirts and rushed headlong out of the back of the wagon, anxious to join the assembled crowd. Distantly, both heard their mother shout something about “behaving like ladies”; then they were gone.
“This way,” Abigail remarked over her shoulder, working her way slowly towards the podium. Claire grabbed her by the back of the skirt before she could get too far, ignoring the squirm of protest and indignant look from her sister.
“Um, I think I’m going to wander around for a bit,” she explained somewhat hesitantly.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever you want. I’m getting a good place right up front.”
Acknowledging the statement with a nod, Claire made her way along the edges of the crowd, trying to appear casual. Where WAS he? He had to be here… he’d mentioned the race specifically. The race! Of course. She almost laughed aloud at her stupidity. Buck was a rider after all; he was bound to be entered in the race. She spun towards the lines of entrants, noting Kid, Cody, and various other express riders mixed in with the other contestants. No Buck. Frowning, she picked up her pace at the edge of the crowd, getting a little jostled as other eager townspeople jockeyed for a good position. Claire unconsciously chewed at her lip as she walked, getting more and more upset. Where WAS he?
* * * * *
“Sure you’re not gonna change your mind, Buck?” Lou shuffled a little, adjusting her hat and gloves. “There’s still a few minutes before race time. You could probably still put your name in.”
Buck’s eyes flicked in her direction, then away, back to scanning the crowd. “I told you ‘No’, Lou.”
Lou sighed. “It’s been a whole year. You can’t let what happened with Kathleen—“
This time Buck turned to face her, mouth set in a grim line, eyes flashing. Lou gulped. What that name still did to him. “No,” he repeated firmly.
“All right, all right, no need to tell me twice. Or seven times,” she said jokingly, trying to relieve the tension that now hung in the air since she’d said the dreaded ‘K’ word. To her satisfaction, she saw that Buck’s mouth did turn upwards in a smile that he tried to hide, before he returned to scrutinizing the throng of townspeople. Lou couldn’t help but notice. And she couldn’t help but tease.
“Of course,” she said casually, “you’ll probably have more… interesting… things to do than race. Once Claire gets here, of course.”
Buck’s eyes flicked back to hers momentarily. “We’re just friends, Lou,” he insisted. “I told you that last night.”
“Uh huh,” Lou agreed, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s nice, Buck.” He was about to protest more when she added indifferently, “Oh by the way, your ‘friend’ is here,” and gestured over his shoulder, then laughed as Buck’s head snapped up and a smile lit his face.
Sheepishly scowling over his shoulder at Lou’s laugh, he raised his voice.
“Claire!”
She spun towards the sound, eyes sparkling and an instant smile replacing the worried frown of a moment before. Waving, she gathered her skirt and practically ran to his side, dodging amongst the gathered people with a grace she didn’t exhibit on the dance floor.
Arriving breathless, she was struck speechless again. What do you say to someone you just ran an obstacle course to be with? Stammering, she said lamely, “You… you wore your hair down.” She realized she was grinning foolishly, heart thumping wildly, and that she’d quite possibly just made the MOST idiotic statement she could make under the circumstances. What was happening to her? She was supremely confident with everyone else; could handle Abigail with ease; could banter with the best of men. So why did she turn into a basket case around this particular man? She had a fleeting wish that Warrior was nearby; if she couldn’t talk to the man, she’d already proven she could talk to the horse!
Buck lifted a long lock of hair and pretended to study it intently. “Yeah,” he agreed with a perplexed grin.
“Um… yeah,” she said. “I… I like it down. That’s all.” Correction, she thought dumbly, we have a new contender for ‘Most Idiotic Statement’. Looking around desperately, trying to find something to change the subject, she noticed Lou for the first time.
“Lou!” she greeted the girl warmly. “I didn’t see you there.” Claire missed the ‘I’m not surprised’ that Lou muttered under her breath. She glanced back over her shoulder to the riders. “You two aren’t entering the race?”
“Buck’s decided to sit it out this year,” Lou explained, the knowing glance she gave to Buck going unnoticed by Claire. “But I’ve gotta get going or I’ll miss the start.” Thompkins was already winding up his speech. She took a few steps away before turning back to the pair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Oh, and Buck,” she added, leaning forward and pitching her voice so that only he could hear. “You and Claire -- you’re ‘just friends’, right?” Laughing, she darted away before Buck could do more than smile and look flustered.
“What was that all about?”
Buck shrugged. “Nothin’,” he answered, leaning forward to grab hold of a lock of her long auburn hair. “You wore your hair down too,” he said, mischievous grin lighting up his features.
Claire blushed. If he only knew how long she’d fussed over her appearance that morning! She’d tried on and rejected three skirts and four blouses, finally settling on a pale yellow skirt with full-sleeved white blouse and matching yellow vest. Her hair hung long and straight almost to her waist, head topped with a summer bonnet trimmed with small daisies.
Buck noticed the blush and his grin became even more pronounced. “I like it down,” he repeated her own words back to her. “That’s all.”
Claire ducked her head, smile matching his. “I’m glad,” she said quietly. Meeting his eyes again, she reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a fifty-cent piece. “But if you’re not racing,” she continued, waggling it in front of him, “who am I going to place this on?”
Surprised, Buck asked, “You’re gambling?”
Claire shrugged. “Why not? After all, I’ve got an expert rider here to advise me. So… who’s going to win this thing?”
Buck studied the entrants, various local men and boys as well as the pony express riders, who listened to Thompkins speech with varying levels of boredom on their faces. He weighed their strengths and weaknesses, and came back with his answer almost immediately.
“Ike.”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“Yup,” Buck agreed. “The pony express riders have the most experience, so I’m eliminating all the townsmen. Cody and Jimmy are fast, but too impulsive. They’ll get knocked out early. Kid’s not competitive enough; there’s not much on the line, so he’ll hold back. Lou’s fast but she’s also small; it gets pretty physical out there. “ Belatedly, he realized he’d used the feminine pronoun to describe Lou. He glanced guiltily at Claire. Thankfully, she appeared not to have noticed. “So…” he continued, “it’s gotta be Ike.”
Claire looked impressed. “Ike it is,” she nodded, stepping towards the betting booth behind him. She took one glance at the posted odds before returning to Buck’s side, skeptical expression on her face. “You’re sure it’s Ike?” she repeated incredulously.
He shrugged. “I think he has the edge.” He frowned. “Why?”
“Because Waterman has him at 20 to 1!” Claire announced, pointing at the board. Buck shrugged again. “It’s your money,” he smirked. “And time’s running out,” he added, pointing to the podium, where Thompkins was holding up the shiny twenty-dollar gold piece that was to be the prize again this year, courtesy of Jack Devlin.
Claire yelped and made it to the betting booth in record time. Swallowing nervously, she put down fifty cents on Ike McSwain. It was the last of her personal funds saved from Boston. She sighed to herself, resigned to the fact that the money was now gone. Oh well, she mused. It’s not like I have anything to spend it on anyway. She refused to think of the new stock of ribbon that Thompkins had just got in. She had plenty of ribbon.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, 5 riders and a woman who was now ten dollars richer surrounded a joyful Ike McSwain, who held his loving cup aloft as a triumphant smile lit his features.
“I knew you could do it, buddy!” Buck was saying, clapping his friend enthusiastically on the shoulder. Jimmy smiled ruefully and added, “If it could’na been me, I’m glad it was you, Ike,” while Cody chimed in, “What’re ya gonna spend the money on?”
Claire stepped through the mass of boys to reach up and plant a kiss on Ike’s cheek, then smiled as he blushed and ducked his head. “Congratulations, Ike,” she whispered.
The sound of a self-conscious cough drew their attention away from Ike, however, as seven pairs of eyes refocused with varying levels of displeasure on a newcomer. Claire was acutely aware of the riders instinctively moving into a protective formation at her sides and back, and was absurdly gratified by it.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” Marcus Sewell said, managing to sound offended and insincere at the same time. He drew off his bowler, glancing disdainfully at the riders before directing his comments to Claire alone. “Your parents and sister have done my family the great honour of choosing to sup with us now that the revelries are over,” he said stiffly. “It would be to my utmost gratification to escort you to your place at our repast, if you would join us.”
Claire suppressed a groan while trying not to look at Buck. Why Marcus? Why NOW? She cast her mind desperately about, trying to figure out a graceful way to avoid the invitation that would neither insult the Sewells nor earn her father’s wrath. She vaguely heard Jimmy moan aloud.
“What’d he say?” Jimmy demanded, frowning. At the look on his face, Claire would have been almost tempted to laugh, if she wasn’t already about to cry. He looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
“He just asked Claire to have supper with him,” Buck explained blankly.
She wouldn’t look at his face. She wouldn’t.
“Well why didn’t he just SAY that?” Jimmy complained as Cody swept forward.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said to Jimmy, not taking his eyes from Sewell. “He’s too late.”
“Excuse me?” Sewell looked shocked.
Cody grinned jubilantly. “I said you’re too late, Marcus. Claire has already agreed to stay for our picnic. And a lady wouldn’t break her word. Isn’t that right, Claire?”
Claire managed to shake her head. She spared a quick glance at Buck, who was staring at Cody with a stunned expression that probably equaled her own.
Marcus looked from her face to each of the riders, who’d by now recovered enough to back Cody’s statement by look if not vocally. “I see,” he said finally, energetically slapping his hat back on his head. “I shall inform your parents that you choose to dine with a gang of ruffians instead of one of the leading agricultural families in this community,” he said curtly. “Good day!”
He had taken several long angry strides before he was halted by Claire’s clear voice.
“I’m not certain that Ms Dunne and Marshal Hunter would appreciate being called ruffians, Marcus,” she called out. “You may want to rethink your wording.” Marcus’ back stiffened slightly before he continued on his way. Claire spun to the riders, smiling with delight.
“Well, I guess you’re having supper with us tonight,” Cody announced.
“I guess I am,” Claire agreed, “as long as you’re sure Rachel and the Marshal won’t mind.”
“They won’t mind,” Buck put in with a confident smile. His look said that they’d better not mind. She shared the smile as her arm was locked in Cody’s and she was propelled forward to the picnic table, the other riders straggling behind, admiring the loving cup and talking animatedly to Ike. Claire squeezed Cody’s arm affectionately. “That’s twice in 24 hours you’ve rescued me from Marcus Sewell,” she said quietly. “Are you trying to set a record?”
Cody grinned back. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll be having much trouble from Marcus anymore,” he laughed. She had to agree. “Besides, I’m starting to think of myself as a matchmaker,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Claire found herself coloring. “Now Cody…” she chided.
“Now, if I’d left it to you two,” he rolled his eyes back at Buck, “I’d a never had the chance to ‘dance’ with you. You do call that thing you do ‘dancing’, right?”
Claire laughed and punched his arm, pulling away. “Maybe I’ll go eat with Marcus after all,” she retorted haughtily. Buck was at her side instantly, scowling at Cody. “What are you doing to her?” he said darkly.
Cody held up his hands in surrender and sketched a mock bow to the lady in question. “We’re just jokin’ around, Buck.”
“Yes, I’m just kidding,” Claire agreed, turning to Buck with a radiant smile. She watched as the tension slowly eased out of his body under her attentive gaze, the anxiety and anger fading from his eyes until only warmth and affection were left. She shivered, even as a corresponding warmth spread through her own body. She was dimly aware that Cody had moved away, but found herself unable to tear her gaze from the deep brown eyes that had captured her own. Buck’s hand came up absently to stroke a long lock of auburn hair.
“Besides,” she finally whispered, “I wouldn’t miss this evening for anything.”
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, Claire found herself wondering how she had ever lived her life without knowing these people.
Teaspoon Hunter and Rachel Dunne immediately made her feel at home, as did the riders, regaling her with tales of their exploits that they insisted were only slightly embellished. She didn’t remember laughing so much since she was a child.
Buck sat across from her, listening and watching intently. He laughed at the stories, and told a few tales of his own, but mostly he just sat and drank in the sound of her laughter. Invariably, her gaze would be drawn from the storyteller to meet his, their eyes telling their own story.
“—And by the time we found him, he was covered in yellow and black mud and the ‘coon had made off with half his clothes!” Cody finished, laughing uproariously and slapping his leg.
Jimmy squirmed in his chair. “Aw, it wasn’t funny,” he protested feebly.
“If you only could have seen you, Jimmy,” Kid snorted, as Ike gestured rapidly. “Ike says you looked like a giant bumblebee,” Buck interpreted, joining in the laughter.
“Thanks Ike,” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes at the description in a way that sent Claire and Lou into renewed fits of giggles. “Well, it wasn’t funny at the time,” he continued, until he was forced to chuckle at his own past misfortune.
“Comin’ through,” Teaspoon announced, leaning across the boys to position the dessert in the centre of the table.
Cody’s attention was immediately diverted. “Mmmm… pie,” he declared, eyeing the desserts with relish.
Rachel was astonished. “How can you even think about pie after today?” she asked incredulously.
Cody paused in cutting his slice to ponder the question. “Aw Rachel, that doesn’t count.”
“What happened today?” Claire questioned, confused.
“Before you got here, there was a pie eating contest,” Buck explained with a grin. “Cody was one of the entrants.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “How much pie did you eat, Billy?” she asked the blonde rider.
Cody shrugged, dropping an ample piece onto his plate. “Dunno, about ten or twelve, I reckon.”
“Slices?”
“Pies,” Cody clarified, as Claire’s eyes widened in horror. “I’m a growing boy,” he continued. “Woulda won too, if I hadn’t a had that sarsaparilla before the start.”
Claire decided not to ask any more questions.
Standing next to Buck, Rachel handed plates around the table before finally taking a place next to the Kiowa rider. She brushed absently at an errant blonde curl that had escaped the confines of its braid.
“You look tuckered out, Rachel,” Kid observed, coming to a decision. “When we get home tonight, you just go right to bed. Me and the boys’ll take care of the cleanup and such.” The statement was met with moans from Jimmy and Cody, quickly stifled at a glare from Kid.
“That’s a lot of work, Kid,” Rachel was protesting. “I can’t let you—“
“Of course you can,” Lou interrupted, as Buck and Ike added their agreement.
Finally, Rachel held up her hands in surrender, trying to quiet the tumult of voices around the table. “All right, all right… you’ve convinced me,” she laughed. “We do have all that sewing to get done tomorrow,” she added to Lou. “I could use a good nights sleep.”
Claire paused with a forkful of cherry pie halfway to her mouth. “Oh, what kind of sewing are you doing tomorrow?” she asked brightly. “I love to sew. Maybe the three of us could start a project, if you have the time. Abigail doesn’t have the slightest interest, and a big project really needs a couple of women.” She looked animatedly to Rachel, then to Lou, both of whom were staring at her like she’d grown a second head. Abruptly she realized that the entire table had gone completely silent, and that all eyes were gawking at her. All except Buck, who apparently found his own pie to be inordinately stimulating. She shifted in her chair, acutely uncomfortable, until finally she blurted, “Did I say something wrong?” She glanced desperately to Buck, who was now enduring the full extent of Lou’s furious glare.
“What did you tell her, Buck?” Lou gritted between clenched teeth, accentuating every syllable.
Buck looked up shamefacedly from his plate, throat convulsing rapidly. With a start, Claire realized that Buck was nervous. Very nervous. “Now don’t get all upset, Lou…” he began.
Lou stood slowly. “What did you TELL her?” she repeated ominously.
“It was during the race,” Buck said quickly. Best to get this over with as soon as possible. “I called you… a ‘she’. I didn’t think Claire caught it—“
“DAMNIT Buck!” Lou swore, jumping up from her place at the table. “I could LOSE my job! What were you thinking?”
“Lou, I’m sor—“
“It’s partially my fault, I shouldn’t have—“
“I’m sure we can trust Claire to—“
“C’mere Lou—“
“Oh wait, you weren’t thinking, were you? One look at Claire and your mind is in your—“
“LOU!!”
Rachel’s shocked outburst quieted the riders as suddenly as they started. Lou stared venom at Buck, who met the gaze helplessly. In the sudden silence, Claire asked meekly, “I still don’t know what the problem is…?”
All eyes turned to Lou, who stood silently with arms crossed. Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze from Buck’s, turning that fierce stare to the ground.
“Nobody can know that Lou is a girl,” Buck explained to Claire quietly. “The pony express only hires men. We all agreed to keep her secret,” he gestured to the others at the table, “and I accidentally let it out when we were talking.” He glanced at Lou apologetically. “I take full responsibility for that,” he continued. Lou’s expression softened slightly as he turned back to Claire, taking her hands in his own. “I ask that you please keep the secret with us,” he finished earnestly.
Claire was confused. “I’m not… sure I understand,” she began slowly. ”The problem is that no-one can know that Lou is a girl. But I KNOW that Lou is a girl—“
“Exactly!” Lou burst out. Then just as abruptly the remaining anger seemed to fade a little more, and she joined the pair.
“I’m sorry Lou,” Buck apologized again.
Lou again shook her head, still agitated. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. “I know it wasn’t intentional, Buck. I’m sorry, too,” Lou squeezed his arm quickly before turning to Claire, eyes desperate. “Please Claire, you can’t tell. I do my job just as good as the boys…”
“Sometimes better,” Jimmy chimed in.
“And I need this job. You don’t understand—“
Claire took Lou’s hand to quell the flood of words before they could completely begin. She smiled warmly. “No, YOU don’t understand Lou.” Her gaze took in all the riders. “None of you do. None of you understand how lucky it is this happened today!” At their blank looks, she had to laugh. “Don’t you see? I already KNEW Lou is a girl”
Lou’s eyes widened as the riders exchanged incredulous looks. “You knew?” Lou finally gulped out. “How?”
Claire shrugged, still laughing. “I’m not sure how. I just knew. But I didn’t know that it was supposed to be a secret!” She let go of Lou’s hand and grasped Buck’s tightly. “Buck did you a favour today, Lou! If this hadn’t come up, I might’ve been talking about you all over town! Don’t worry, your secret is safe.”
Lou squinted up at Buck. “I guess he did, then,” she agreed, before pulling back to punch the rider squarely in the upper arm. Buck drew back with a grimace, laughing even as he rubbed at the sore spot. “But he’s gotta learn to keep his big mouth shut around the pretty ladies,” she added ruefully.
Eyes sparkling, Buck smiled softly. “I just can’t help myself.”
Suddenly aware that not only did she still have a firm grip on Buck’s hand, but also that the other riders as well as Rachel and Teaspoon were looking at the pair with undisguised amusement, Claire blushed and bit at her lower lip slightly. She turned back to the table determined to change the subject.
“Sewing!” she announced. “What kind of sewing are you doing tomorrow?”
Amid chuckles from the riders, Rachel answered, “We’re redoing all the downstairs curtains in the house. It’ll be a big job.”
Helping to clear the dishes, Claire replied, “I’d love to come out and give you a hand.”
Rachel frowned. “Oh no, we couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask,” Claire pointed out. “Really, I do love sewing. And I have nothing planned for tomorrow.” Rachel looked to be weakening. “It would be my way of thanking you for letting me spend the day with you,” she continued cheerfully. “With all of you,” she added, glancing at Buck, who had moved to her side, packing dirty dishes into baskets for the trip home.
“Well… all right,” Rachel conceded happily. “Why don’t you come out to the way station tomorrow morning? We’ll get everything done during the day, and you can stay for supper. I’m sure one of the boys will be glad to see you back into town after dark,” she finished with a sly smile and a wink at Buck.
“Tha… that would be fine, Rachel,” Claire stammered.
“Speaking of getting back home,” Teaspoon drawled, “I think that pretty little thing is calling you ‘way from us.” Claire looked over her shoulder to see Abigail waiting impatiently at the next set of tables, arms folded across her chest and a pained expression on her face. Claire held up her hand, signaling her sister to wait a moment, before turning back to the riders.
“My sister Abigail,” she explained loudly, before pitching her voice for Buck’s ears only. “I guess that means I have to go,” she said wistfully.
“I wish you didn’t,” he answered soberly.
“Me too,” she replied, lower lip again the victim of her nervousness. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Buck grinned, reaching up to pull at her long hair. “Only if you wear your hair down,” he teased, wanting to see the blush make its way to her cheeks once again. He wasn’t disappointed, but he was surprised when Claire reached her own hand up to tug at his long dark hair.
“Long as you make the same promise,” she retorted, darting away with a mischievous grin before he could capture her hand. Shouting her farewells and thanks to the riders and their keepers, she turned toward to her sister, heart singing with the thought of spending an entire day at the way station. With Buck.
Her forward motion was halted abruptly at the sight of her parents at Abigail’s side. Claire swallowed nervously, smile fading immediately.
“We been waiting on you for twenty minutes, girl!” her father grumbled loudly, hitching his thumbs into his belt, all the better to display his ample stomach. Beside him, his tiny wife Marjorie, looking wan and haggard next to the big man, rung her hands uneasily.
Claire barely had the chance to murmur her apologies before Teaspoon had swept forward majestically, his battered hat in hand and a welcoming smile on his face.
“Mr. and Mrs. McKinstry,” he greeted warmly. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since you first came to Sweetwater. Always a pleasure.” Taking Marjorie’s hand, he raised it to his lips for an elaborate kiss, smirking enjoyably.
“Oh, Marshal Hunter!” Marjorie blushed, which only caused Teaspoon’s smirk to widen. Smiling and flushed, the resemblance between Marjorie and her youngest daughter was visibly apparent. Marjorie McKinstry, Teaspoon reflected, must have been a fine looking woman in her day.
Daniel McKinstry cleared his throat, but before he could do more than open his mouth, Teaspoon stepped forward again.
“I apologize if we’ve kept your Claire too long,” he drawled. “Me and the boys’ve jus’ been enjoyin’ her comp’ny.”
Marjorie’s ears perked up at the mention of ‘the boys’, eyes lighting immediately on the unsuspecting Cody. She rushed forward to grasp the arm of the polite young man from the dance – the one who would be just perfect for her Claire.
“Mr. Cody!” She turned back to her husband. “Look Daniel, it’s that nice Mr. Cody!”
The rider in question shifted uncomfortably, a pained smile on his face. Daniel ignored his wife completely, directing his comments to the Marshal. “I hope she ain’t been too much trouble.” He scowled at Claire, who stood silent and pale at his side.
Rachel frowned. She’d met parents who were protective of their daughters – even overprotective – but this man took the cake. Poor Claire looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wondered briefly what the sisters’ home life was like before stepping forward to join Teaspoon.
“She’s been an absolute pleasure,” Rachel assured the man, trying hard to keep the disapproval from her voice. “In fact, we’ve decided to get together tomorrow for a sewing project, if that’s all right.”
Marjorie squealed, startling Cody. “Sewing! Oh, my Claire is a wonderful seamstress.” She looked up at Cody shrewdly, eyes bright. “The beautiful clothes she makes!” Abruptly, she realized that she might be setting the wrong impression. “Not that we need to make clothes, you understand,” she backtracked slightly. “But Claire enjoys it so! And cook! She can make meals that would put some meat on your bones!”
Cody forced a smile. “I’m sure she would, ma’am.”
“My Abigail doesn’t enjoy it nearly so much,” Marjorie continued, paying him no mind. “Of course, Abby IS blessed with the good looks in the family.”
“I find other things to interest me,” Abigail put in with a pointed look at Kid. The rider squirmed uncomfortably under Abigail’s predatory gaze.
“So Abby doesn’t need to have skills in such things,” Marjorie went on, oblivious to the incredulous stares of the company. “But Claire – oh, I’ve made sure she can take care of a man. She can’t rely on her looks to get her by, like Abby can.” Marjorie paused for breath.
Claire trembled at her father’s side, mortified. She wanted to look up at Buck, but didn’t dare. What must he think of her now… of her family? She wished she’d never met the rider, wished she’d never moved to Sweetwater. She could feel her eyes filling up with tears that she was determined she would not shed. She struggled to keep her breathing controlled, prayed that her mother would just STOP TALKING so she could flee… The litany kept going through her mind… stop talking stop talking stop talking…
Buck fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, despite how appalled he was by what he was hearing. He trembled with suppressed rage, wanting nothing more than to wipe the disdainful scowl from McKinstry’s face and quiet his wife’s thoughtless tongue. With each moment that passed, Claire drew deeper into herself, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. Hiding away from the voices. Deeper into the darkness, hiding away her light.
When the Kiowa rider finally spoke, his voice was deep and emotional.
“I believe that a person’s true worth cannot be judged by the surface, where all is clouded by vanity and insecurity and self-doubt,” he announced quietly. “A person’s true worth is in her strength of spirit… the essence of character that transcends appearance. Claire is that rare person who was blessed by the gods with both inner and outer beauty.”
Claire’s head snapped up to meet Buck’s, eyes wide and grateful. Rachel noticed the riders exchanging appreciative glances, and felt her own chest puff up with pride in her boy. In ALL her boys, who shuffled inconspicuously forward to stand supportively with Buck.
“Ye--- Yes,” Marjorie stammered, confused.
Daniel glared at the impertinent Indian. He carefully let fly a wad of chewing tobacco before growling, “I don’t much care what no half-breed believes.”
Buck’s chin came up defiantly as Claire turned stricken eyes to her father. Before she could beg him to leave, Teaspoon stepped forward. “Ain’t no need for that kind of talk,” he said, the warning self-evident.
Suddenly, McKinstry seemed to realize that he was the focus of much barely restrained hostility – and that he was outnumbered. With a final scowl at the Kiowa rider, he quickly gathered his wife and children and hustled them away. Pulled along by her father, Claire waited until Daniel was busy berating his wife for some imagined slight before turning to steal a glance back at the riders. Most had turned back to the table, some shaking their heads in obvious disgust. Kid and Lou looked to be in some kind of deep discussion – about Abigail, no doubt. Buck still stood quietly at the fringe of the group, watching her. She hoped he could see the gratitude and admiration in her eyes.
Buck kept his position, a thoughtful expression on his face, until she was lost in the crowd milling around the now-open saloon. Unobserved behind him, Teaspoon and Rachel exchanged knowing glances.
“The boy is bit,” Teaspoon observed quietly.
Rachel nodded without taking her eyes from Buck’s back. Her thoughts turned unbidden to Kathleen Devlin. Though Rachel hadn’t been with the way station at the time, she’d heard enough of the story from the others. She sighed. “Let’s just hope the girl doesn’t bite back.”
Chapter Four
“That’s the fourth set done.”
Rachel put the hemmed curtains on the table and stretched, easing the kinks out of her back slowly. Beside her, Lou looked over her glasses and smiled. “Not so fast,” she admonished, “me an’ Claire are still working here.”
Rachel reached forward to finger the soft material still bundled in Lou’s lap. “These are going to look so beautiful in the spare room.”
“Yeah, if we ever get ‘em finished!” Lou agreed. She completed the final stitches with a flourish and put her half of the lacey curtains next to Rachel’s, then flexed her fingers to relax the muscles. “How you comin’ on the gingham, Claire?”
At her place opposite the two women, Claire’s fingers worked industriously, turning up a half-inch hem and adding the stitches flawlessly. She glanced at the work occasionally, but mostly her mind and her eyes were elsewhere. Her chair by the window afforded the most light for the invisible stitching she was working on. The sun was shining brightly, and she’d sat in this place for the better part of four hours, feeling the warmth on her face and enjoying the way the sunshine turned the flatlands into fields of gold.
“The gingham, Claire?” Lou asked again.
An hour before, an additional diversion had made its way to her line of vision. Ike had led Warrior out to the corral. A few minutes later, Buck had joined him. She’d spent most of that hour watching as the two men shod and groomed the majestic animal. When Buck laughed with Ike, she had smiled. When Buck frowned over a difficulty with Warrior’s hoof, a corresponding frown- line had creased her forehead. The casual chatter she’d kept up with Rachel and Lou had slowly diminished, then ceased altogether. While her hands kept up their busy-work, her mind was in that sun-drenched corral. And she didn’t even realize it.
Lou and Rachel rose quietly from the sofa, exchanging knowing glances.
“I’d say we’re about ready for a break, wouldn’t you?”
“Hmm?” Claire glanced up from the window with a start, to find the other women had already finished their work and were watching her with undisguised amusement. She forced her eyes back to her sewing, at a loss as to what Rachel had said. “Almost done,” she said brightly. Too brightly.
Rachel reached over and took the almost-finished curtains from her hands, smiling indulgently. “Lou and I were just saying that we should take a break,” she repeated.
“We’ve still got another pair to go,” Claire protested though her heart wasn’t in it.
“We’ve got all day to finish them up. We can afford a small break. Besides,” Rachel smiled, “I’ve got a fresh pitcher of lemonade here. And I think those two boys could use a nice cold drink, don’t you?”
Claire successfully fought the blush that threatened to surface once again. She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice. Taking the proffered glasses without a word, she pushed open the door and headed across the front yard to the stables.
* * * * *
Buck was bent over the horse’s saddle making a final adjustment to the straps he’d just modified when Ike tapped him lightly on the side. “Just a minute Ike,” he grunted. Ike tapped more insistently. “I said just a min—“ Buck stopped in mid-sentence as his eyes followed Ike’s outstretched hand to Claire, then back to the twinkling eyes of his best friend. Ike’s hands moved expressively.
“You’re right,” Buck agreed, “it is worth stopping for.”
“Rachel thought you might like a cold drink,” Claire said in greeting, holding out the glasses to the men who accepted them with thanks. Smiling shyly, she watched as the men downed their beverages quickly. The three stood for a moment in an awkward silence before Ike’s hands began their dance again.
“Ike wants to know how the sewing’s coming,” Buck translated.
Claire turned her smile on Ike. “Just wonderfully Ike!” she said cheerfully. “We’ve got four pairs down. Well, almost four pairs,” she corrected herself. “There’s a lovely set of lace ones for one of the bedrooms – I’m not sure which one – and the gingham are for the kitchen. We’ve still got one set to do, but they won’t take long. It’s all coming along nicely.”
Ike was giving her a strange smile, and Claire abruptly shut her mouth to stop the rambling. Again, she inwardly cursed her nervousness.
“That’s… nice,” Buck was saying doubtfully.
“Yeah,” she murmured, chewing at her lip and staring at the ground. Taking a deep breath, she determined to salvage the conversation in the already-proven-to-work fashion – Warrior. “I saw that you were changing his shoe,” she said, rubbing her hand along the horse’s flank affectionately.
Buck nodded. “I was just about to take him out, make sure he’s walking okay,” the Kiowa said, ignoring Ike’s incredulous look which clearly said that he’d not been planning any such thing. In fact, Buck’s next order of business had been cleaning out the horse stalls – his and Ike’s chore for the day, which would now fall to Ike alone. “You can come along, if you like,” he added hopefully.
Claire glanced back at the house, where Lou and Rachel had taken up residence on the porch swing, chatting animatedly to Teaspoon. She hesitated. “Oh… I don’t know… I’m supposed to finish up the curtains…” Beside her, Ike was gesturing.
“Ike says he’ll tell Rachel you’re just taking a walk with me,” Buck interpreted. “We won’t be gone long,” he added himself.
Claire smiled. “All right. Thanks Ike.”
Ike ducked his head shyly, waiting until Claire had turned away before giving Buck an impish smirk. Buck grinned back. “See you later Ike,” he called as the other rider headed for the house, ignoring the final message that Ike had signed: You owe me for this one!
* * * * *
They had strolled for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Claire finally broke the silence.
“I want to apologize,” she said haltingly.
Buck looked at the girl next to him, who walked along with her head down and her eyes on the grass. “Why?” he asked quizzically.
“For my dad… and my mom,” Claire responded. “My parents. The things my father said. My mother.” Now that the apology was begun, the words began to tumble from her. “My father, he’s always been like that. I don’t know… I’m sorry. I’m sorry he hurt you. I’d never want that, Buck, never! And my mother! She means well, she really does. She’s so proud of Abigail… Abby’s so pretty after all, and she wants me to be happy… she really does, she means well, and it’s not her fault that Abby got all the good looks in the fam—“
The torrent of words was stopped abruptly as Buck grabbed her by the arms, forcing them both to a halt. Carefully, he put his finger to her chin and drew her face upward to meet his own.
“NEVER say that,” he said forcefully. “Never. You are the prettiest woman I have ever known.”
Claire flushed, automatically shaking her head and casting her eyes back to the ground. “No. Abby—” Resolutely, Buck again turned her face to his.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “And you are no more responsible for your parents words then I am for Ike’s. Or Rachel’s. Or Teaspoon’s.”
“I still feel bad.”
“Don’t. You can’t pick your parents,” he answered calmly, shrugging and picking up Warrior’s reins again. He resumed the pace slowly. “I can even understand your parents, a little bit.”
“WHAT?!”
“Come on Claire,” he scoffed. “You’re young, white, pretty, and rich. They—“
“RICH?” Despite her concern over the direction that this conversation was taking, Claire couldn’t help but laugh. “You think I’m rich?”
He looked her over slowly and deliberately, moving his eyes from the tips of her soft black leather boots to the full blue skirt and matching blouse, finishing at the silver comb that pulled her hair back from her eyes. Despite her resolve, Claire blushed and squirmed under the scrutiny. When Buck’s eyes met hers again, he repeatedly cockily, “You’re rich.”
Claire’s eyebrow rose. “This outfit belonged to Abigail. When she outgrew it, I inherited it. I took up the skirt, put darts in the blouse. Would you like me to show you?” She took a step forward, shifting as if to remove the blouse.
Buck took a hasty step backward, holding up his hands. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Does my father look like a rich man? Act like one?” Claire continued, frustrated. “Oh, we had money at one time, when I was young. Mother’s money. My father went through that pretty fast. Since then he’s gone through more jobs than… he’s worked on the docks, he was a barkeep for a while – that was a bad idea – when we left Boston he was…” She let the words fall away. “No, Buck, I’m not rich. What does it matter, anyway?”
Buck shrugged, unable to put into words what he couldn’t quite figure out himself. What did it matter? Money or not, she was still white, and he was still Kiowa. They didn’t – they couldn’t – mix. And if he was ever tempted to forget that, the townspeople of Sweetwater were always there to remind him.
“We can’t pick our parents,” Claire was saying. Her mind flashed back to the night they’d left Boston; the night that her mother had rushed into the room she shared with Abigail and told her to pack her clothes, they were leaving in an hour. They might prosecute, she’d said. Daniel was already waiting for them at the border, she’d said. They’ll hang him, she’d said. “No, we can’t pick our parents,” she repeated softly.
“Claire?” Buck put a hand on her arm gently, drawing her back to the present. She shook her head to ward off the memories and managed a smile. “You already know mine are hardly paragons of respectability,” she said to lighten the mood. “How about yours?”
“You don’t want to hear about that.” He resumed walking again, drawing Warrior away from an enticing piece of shrub-brush.
“Of course I do!” Claire said enthusiastically, unable to see the frown that crossed Buck’s forehead. When he didn’t respond, she added jokingly, “They can hardly be worse than mine!”
Buck reluctantly looked towards her as they walked, determined to tell her only that he had left the Kiowa for reasons he didn’t want to discuss. Her face was lit in an encouraging smile… a smile meant for him alone. Gone was the haunted look that had come into her eyes a moment ago, replaced by a curious wonder. Unconsciously, he found himself meeting the smile with one of his own.
“I am Kiowa,” he began, surprising himself with how quickly his determination to say nothing had evaporated under Claire’s expectant gaze. “My mother did the best for me that she could, under the circumstances. She taught me the ways of my people. She loved me as much as she knew how. But life was… difficult.”
Claire frowned. “How?”
“I was an outcast, Claire. My people looked at me and saw only white skin, white blood. I could never be full Kiowa so I could never be one of them. My mother suffered because she cared for me. My half-brother refused to see it – eating alone after everyone else, being threatened or abused or ignored…” His voice broke despite his resolve not to let that ancient hurt resurface. Being ignored had always been the worst. The utter indifference whether he ate or not, washed or not, achieved or not… He’d tried to make up for it by doing more than his fair share, but the apathy toward him had never gone away. “I had to leave. Find my place in the white man’s world.”
“Oh Buck,” Claire breathed. Her hand on his arm stopped their forward motion, forcing him to
meet her eyes, fearing what he would see. But there was no pity there. Only concern, warmth and respect.
“Your parents didn’t come with you?” asked Claire unknowingly. “After all, you did find your place. You found friends that you love as family. Surely the same would have happened for them? And they had each other.”
Buck’s face tensed in a single instant. She didn’t know. Of course she didn’t know. A dozen memories came back to him in a moment – the other children in the camp teasing that Red Flower had given herself to the white man, the braves openly discussing his mothers shame, the council elders proclaiming that the half-breed child was punishment from the spirits…. And the rare occasion that he would glance up from his work to find his own mother looking upon him with something akin to hatred, quickly masked. She did the best she could… but often it wasn’t enough.
“My… father,” he choked out. “You don’t understand. My mother… There was a raid on the camp, trappers drunk on whiskey and adrenaline… My mother…” he groped for words, trying to find a way to explain that would be suitable for a lady.
“They took advantage of her,” Claire whispered.
His eyes were wide as he met hers. “Yes.”
“Oh Buck,” she repeated, blinking back the tears that had immediately formed. “Your mother. I can’t even imagine…” The silence stretched out between them.
“Red Flower was a strong and noble woman,” Buck finally said. “She bore her shame well.”
“Not SHAME,” Claire answered hotly. “A violent horrible terrible act that no woman should have to endure, but never SHAME. If nothing else, that one traumatic moment brought something precious – a strong and noble man.”
He swallowed, unable to speak. Thankfully, Warrior saved the day by choosing that moment to whinny fretfully, tossing his head anxiously from side to side. Buck tightened his hold on the reins and mentally thanked the horse for relieving the tension.
“He’s hungry again?” asked Claire with a nervous grin, adding her own thanks to the horse without knowing the Buck had done the same. She reached out to rub the animal’s nose. “Any more apples in those saddlebags?”
“He’s antsy,” Buck explained. “He’s saddled and we’re not going anywhere. He figures we should be riding.”
“I see,” she said absently, her mind no longer on the conversation. Buck had taken another step toward her. She could feel him at her shoulder, a palpable presence, and she was acutely aware that she would only need to turn slightly to find herself in his arms. She turned.
It was like everything in the day stopped – Buck could no longer hear the birds in the trees, the gentle whisper of the autumn wind, or the subtle breath of Warrior at his side. And while sounds stopped, images exploded. The woman in his arms seemed to stand out in vibrant colour and light, putting even the dazzling countryside to shame. He could see every strand of auburn hair, glinting in the sunlight like burnt embers. Her wide blue eyes sparkled like the crystal waters of the clearest stream. It was more intense that any visit to the spirit plain. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“I wish I could ride,” Claire breathed.
I could teach you. The words were there, and he opened his mouth to speak them. And then the image ruptured, the radiant beauty in his arms replaced by memories he wished never to recall. Never to relive. Being dragged by the horse, the tar and feathers. But mostly, the memory of an ornate silver cross that meant everything to him – and nothing to the one who gave it.
Sound came back with a start, seeming to deafen him with its intensity, so forceful he was pushed back as if by an invisible hand. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Vaguely, he could hear Claire calling his name.
No. He would not do this again. He could not do this again.
“Buck!! What’s wrong??” Claire asked for the third time, worry beginning to creep into her tone. She’d seen someone like this once, in Boston. A woman shopping in the marketplace who had suddenly clutched her head and fallen to the walkway, mouth open in a silent scream, legs kicking and arms flailing. Her face before she had fallen had looked just like Buck’s did now. “Should I get Rachel? The doctor?” she asked frantically, already turning to head back to the house.
“No,” Buck said shakily, then stronger, “No.” He grabbed the saddlehorn and mounted Warrior gracefully. “I have to go.”
“Buck…” she began haltingly.
“We can’t do this,” he said harshly, meeting her questioning gaze with a cold stare. “I have to go.” Kicking the horse into a gallop, he was away before Claire could do more than open her mouth to speak.
* * * * *
She made her way back to the house, somehow coming in away from the corral instead of across from it as she should have. She’d wandered in a circle somehow. She didn’t know how.
Her mind was reeling as she replayed those last moments over and over again. Warrior had fussed, and then she’d found herself in Buck’s arms. Everything was so clear, so bright. His hat had fallen down his back, and his long hair stirred gently in the soft breeze. She had wanted to run her hands through that hair, feel it glide through her fingers in a cascading rush of silk. His eyes had smoldered with an intensity she knew was matched by her own. Her heartbeat had sounded strongly in her ears.
He was going to kiss her.
And then he was gone. She had come on too strongly – or not strongly enough. She had talked too much – or not enough. She had misunderstood everything he said and did – he wanted a friend only. She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He was gone. The fire that had burned in his eyes had been replaced by something cold and dark. And she was left only with the knowledge that she was falling in love – had fallen in love – with someone who didn’t love her back.
One of the way station dogs scampered at her feet, eager for attention. His name was Biscuit, she recalled hazily. She’d petted and played with him when she arrived, a little black bundle of curly fur. Now she walked slowly past, not even hearing his hopeful barks. On the porch, Teaspoon lifted his frame from the straight-backed chair and scratched his head. She saw the movement, wondered nothing, felt nothing.
He was gone.
“Back so soon?” Lou called out cheerfully from the steps. “Where’s Buck?”
Claire burst into tears.
