Sleep. The thought of his warm cozy cot back at the bunkhouse pulled at Buck as he walked slowly away from the Sentinel offices. Deep dreamless sleep. Well, maybe not dreamless. He wouldn’t mind if someone else made an appearance in his dreams. Even if she was ink-stained.
No. Food. Real food. After handing Warrior off to Ike, he’d dashed in to the bunkhouse for fresh clothes and he’d detected the unmistakable scent of pot roast. No stew tonight; Rachel was making an actual pot roast. Probably potatoes and fresh peas to go with it. Maybe even gravy. His mouth began to water at the very thought.
Food and a warm bunk. A full belly and restful nights sleep in preparation for his day with Claire. Yes.
No. Half-regretfully, Buck pulled himself onto his borrowed pony and set off at a gallop away from the town. He only hoped his information was accurate.
Two hours later, he’d almost begun to give up hope. Then in the distance, a form he’d at first taken for part of the natural landscape coalesced into the recognizable figure of White Owl. With a sigh of relief, Buck quickly stripped off his shirt and hat before replacing his vest. Tying his horse securely to the branch of a nearby tree, he continued to the Kiowa camp on foot.
The eyes of the braves and their women flicked to him briefly as he walked confidently through the camp. Buck didn’t let their cool appraisal and indifferent dismissal affect him. In his heart and to his people, he’d already proved that his spirit – his blood – was Kiowa. His eyes did their own searching, noting there was less meat curing than in former years, less hides tanning on the poles… less braves. The past year had been hard on his people. He thought of the pot roast he would have consumed this night; the career that, though not without its dangers, he treasured; the warm bed in a safe place, where he lived surrounded by people who loved him. Returning to the Kiowa always brought with it two things: pride in his accomplishments and shame that he hadn’t stayed to help his people.
“My brother! Have you finally decided to leave the white man?”
Red Bear’s voice rang out loudly from behind him. Buck spun, letting a wide unguarded smile overtake his handsome features. Red Bear stood next to a large cooking pot, his arms open to embrace his brother. Buck wasted no time in covering the ground between them, stepping happily into his brother’s bear hug.
“Again you have grown!” exclaimed Red Bear, pulling away to study Buck with a grin. “NOW you are a man.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you find our camp?”
Buck smirked. “White Owl’s vigilance may have improved, but his rock impersonation could still use some work.”
Red Bear nodded. “I will speak to him.” The look did not bode well for White Owl’s future. He shook his head, putting aside thoughts on the negligence of his sentry for the moment. There would be time to deal with White Owl later. For now, he would focus on Buck. “What do you wish of me, my brother?”
“Perhaps I merely want to see you, my brother,” Buck replied with a grin. “Break bread with you. Enjoy some of Shining Water’s fine cooking.” His brother’s wife looked up quickly from the stewpot, smiling gratefully.
“Perhaps,” Red Bear stated flatly, pulling his brother down to join him in front of the tipi. “But it is not so. Why are you here, Running Buck?”
Buck studied the ground. What had seemed like a wonderful plan when he’d thought of it on the long ride back from Dempster’s Creek now seemed rather presumptuous. It was easy to conceive big plans when your body ached for food and sleep and the kiss of the one you loved. Now that the moment had arrived, he realized that he’d never actually figured out just how he was going to accomplish what he wanted. Damn, his body still ached for food and sleep.
As Buck studied the ground, Red Bear studied his brother, sensing the indecisiveness in him. Whatever problem Running Buck had, it clearly weighed heavily upon his heart. Deliberately he rested his hand on Buck’s arm, rousing him from contemplation, and leaned forward to meet the others eyes. “What do you want of me, my brother?” he repeated calmly.
Buck gulped nervously. “A horse.”
Red Bear sat back abruptly, a laugh pulled from him involuntarily despite the tension in his brother’s eyes and bearing. “Is that all?” he finally asked. “What happened to your stallion?”
“Warrior’s fine,” Buck explained. “The horse isn’t for me. It’s for… a woman.”
Red Bear’s eyebrow arched. “A woman. Your woman?”
Again, Buck’s throat convulsed. His woman? He hadn’t thought that far along. Could he claim Claire as his woman? No. No. Did he want her as his woman? So many things to consider – her father, her family, the town. Life with a half-breed. He still didn’t know if he could condemn her to that. He knew she wanted him. At least, he hoped she wanted him. No, he knew she wanted him, just as he wanted her. The passion he felt when he kissed her was most definitely returned. But what he was feeling – was it real? Or was it just a desire to end the sometimes overpowering loneliness he felt? His head ached suddenly, and Red Bear still watched him, waiting patiently for an answer. He shrugged away the uncertainty and the pain. It was a simple question after all.
“Not yet,” he answered softly.
“And you need the horse for the woman?” Red Bear questioned. Buck nodded.
Red Bear sighed. “Running Buck, the taking of a wife is one of the most important decisions you will ever make. I have been blessed. Shining Water has been dutiful and attentive, and soon she will bear me a fine son. She is worth more to me than a dozen horses.” He gazed lovingly at his woman before drawing his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “I think you have come for counsel as well, and I freely give it. You must reconsider this decision, my brother. A woman who is worth only ONE pony is surely not the woman for a warrior such as yourself.”
“Wha…?” Buck shook his head, confused by the turn the conversation had taken, then held his side as his body suddenly convulsed in laughter. Even when his brother’s face changed from tentative smile to scowl, he could not stop the chuckles that racked his frame.
“No Red Bear,” he finally choked out, “the horse is not to BUY the woman. It’s a gift.”
“And she is worthy of such a priceless gift?” asked Red Bear seriously.
Buck smiled. He was sure of the answer to this question. “Absolutely.”
Red Bear rose fluidly from the pallet, pulling Buck with him. “Then come. We have many fine ponies to choose from.”
“I can’t pay you,” Buck explained on the walk to the corral. “I have money…” He broke off, thinking of the pouch he kept under his mattress in the bunkhouse. It contained almost every cent he’d made since joining the pony express over a year ago. He had little use for material goods; he could add up the purchases he’d made in the past year – a couple of shirts and some boots – on one hand. He had enough there to buy dozens of horses, but he knew that meant nothing to the Kiowa.
“What use would I have for the white man’s paper?” Red Bear scoffed, confirming his thoughts.
Buck nodded. “I’ll replace the horse with another. Sometime before the next new moon. I’ll catch you a stallion that will put this horse to shame,” he promised as they reached the corral. “I need something… spirited, but docile.”
Red Bear raised an eyebrow.
“She’s just learning to ride,” Buck explained, ignoring his brother’s incredulous expression. “Do you have something—“
“Bring the new filly,” Red Bear instructed the brave at the corral, who wasted no time in returning with the horse. “She was just taken a few weeks ago. She’s broke, but still has a lot of life in her.”
Buck admired the animal, inspecting her thoroughly before turning back to this brother. The filly was a little smaller than Warrior, chestnut brown with no markings. She had stood submissively while Buck checked her over, neither whinnying nor stamping her feet, yet she had none of the passivity of the wagon horses back at the way station. He knew better than to get Claire a horse like Sunflower. “She’s perfect.”
“Yes,” Red Bear smiled knowingly. “So perfect that replacing her will take THREE ponies. Won’t it, my brother?”
* * * * * * * *
It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Buck finally made it back to the Sweetwater station. The lights in the bunkhouse were out, the riders having turned in long ago. Sleep still pulled at him and his stomach rumbled. He absently considered checking the table for leftovers – at this point, he reflected, a cold lump of potato would taste like a king’s repast – but first the horses needed to be brushed down and stabled. If he was lucky, he might get 6 hours sleep before rising for chores. Pulling himself down from his horse with a grunt, he was halfway to the barn before he realized that Ike was sitting on the bunkhouse step, watching him.
“Didn’t expect anybody to be up.”
Ike merely regarded his friend silently, a look of casual indifference on his face. Buck took a few steps toward him, frowning. “Everything all right?”
Yes.
Buck studied his friend for a moment. Ike might have ‘said’ “Yes” but all of his body language screamed “No”. Something must have happened. “You wanna talk about something?” Silence. Stillness. “If you wanna talk, I’ll always be here to listen.”
Ike’s lip upturned, transforming his apathetic expression into a sneer. No.
The Kiowa raised his hands in surrender. He didn’t feel like playing games. “You don’t wanna talk, fine. I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.” Shaking his head, Buck retook the reins of the horses and had half-turned back towards the stables before he saw Ike’s hands move in response.
Don’t know how you could be tired.
Buck stopped, turning back to his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ike’s hands jerked once, quickly, and Buck frowned in response. “Don’t tell me ‘nothing’. You got something to say, say it.” When it became obvious the bald rider wasn’t about to answer, he threw up his hands again. “Fine. Whatever your problem is, I don’t wanna—“
It’s not MY problem, Ike’s hands moved fluently.
“So whose problem is it then?”
Yours.
“I’m not gonna stand here and play 20 Questions Ike,” Buck said wearily.
Ike rose from the step, moving to stand in front of his friend. His hands moved choppily, the anger flowing from his body. You spend half your days in town. I’m doing all your chores and I’m sick of it.
Buck sighed. “Ike, I’ve said I’m sorry. I know I’ve been puttin’ a lot on you lately. I promise things’re gonna change.” Ike’s expression plainly showed that he didn’t believe him. “Once things get more settled with Claire—“
Ike turned away, clearly disgusted.
“You got a problem with Claire?” asked Buck ominously. Ike’s shoulders moved minutely, barely noticeable. Buck took a deep breath; anger would accomplish nothing. He stepped forward and tied the horses to the hitching post. So much for 6 hours sleep. If he was lucky, maybe he could still get 5 and a half. “All right,” he said quietly, “let’s talk about Claire.”
You and Claire can go howl at the moon every night for all I care, so long as you start pulling your weight around here!
“I will,” Buck promised solemnly, taking a seat on the step and watching his friend closely. “I had no idea this was gratin’ on you so much, Ike. It’s just… it’s like…” He let the thought fade. Ike didn’t need to hear this. His friend was furious at him; nothing he said would make much difference right now. Ike was right; he had been shirking his duties at the way station. And it wasn’t Ike’s responsibility to pick up the slack.
Ike sighed. He had started this, after all; he could at least do Buck the courtesy of listening to him. He joined his best friend on the step.
It’s what? he signed.
“Nothin’.”
Don’t tell me ‘nothing’, Ike repeated Buck’s own words back to him. Buck glanced up quickly, relieved to find that Ike was wearing a smirk. You got something to say, say it.
Buck was silent for so long that Ike thought he wasn’t going to answer. He’d just raised his hands to speak again when Buck’s voice broke the silence.
“I ain’t ever felt like this before Ike,” he said softly. “It’s like… she’s all I think about. I keep wondering what she’s doing, who she’s with. Wonderin’ if she’s happy. Wishing that she’s smiling. Hoping that she’s thinking about me too.” He glanced sidelong at his friend, amazed that he was actually admitting these things out loud. “Stupid, huh?”
Ike gave him a lopsided smile, placing his hand on Buck’s shoulder comfortingly.
“I start thinkin’ about other things too,” the rider continued. “Things I never thought of before. Things I never thought I could have.” Abruptly he pulled himself from the step, staring out into the night. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “Things like… having a family. Children.”
You’re in love, Ike signed. It wasn’t a question.
Buck shrugged. Love? Maybe. Lying in his bunk at night, he could believe it was love. In the hour before dawn, listening to the snores of the other riders as he lay restless waiting for the day to begin, he could let his mind turn to all the possibilities that life with Claire had to offer. In those moments, he could see them living happily, surrounded by a herd of children, growing old together. In the harsh light of day, the reality of their situation – of who he was – made such thoughts difficult to admit to. Even to his best friend.
He ran a hand through his hair, the bone-weariness of the day dragging at him, and mentally shook the thoughts aside. “I just hope that you find it someday Ike, whatever it is. ‘Cause whatever it is, it’s more intoxicating than Sweetwater’s finest whiskey!” He turned back to Ike soberly. “And I promise things’ll change as of now,” he repeated his earlier vow. “I won’t lay any more of my chores on you.” Buck regarded his friend quizzically. “Are we okay?”
We’re okay, Ike signed back quickly.
“Good. I’ve gotta get those horses bedded down.” He laughed at Ike’s puzzled expression. “You didn’t even notice the second horse, did you? I went to see Red Bear today. The filly’s a present. For Claire.”
For Claire. Ike rolled his eyes, but his expression was amused.
Buck grinned. “Yeah, and it’s been a long day. The quicker I get them stabled, the quicker I can get to bed. G’night Ike.” Taking up the reins again, Buck was almost at the barn door when he felt Ike’s hand on his arm.
You go to bed, Ike signed. I’ll take care of the horses.
Buck’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ike—“
Go on. You need to be rested. He wiggled his eyebrows provocatively. For Claire.
Buck’s effusive thanks still ringing in his ears, Ike led the two tired horses into the stables. Whether his friend would admit it or not, he reflected, Buck was in love. And love didn’t just come around every day. And that look in Buck’s eyes when he talked about her…. Ike smiled. Well, he guessed he could take on a little extra work around the way station. For Buck.
Chapter Nine
Cody mumbled in his sleep, twisting enough to dislodge his covers. In the next bunk, Jimmy’s eyes fluttered open. Closed again. Opened. He stretched lazily, considered turning over and going back to sleep. But the first rays of the sun were creeping through the window, striping his blanket with light and darkness. Morning. Reluctantly he pulled himself from the warmth and comfort of his cot, rising with a yawn and tripping over one of Ike’s boots in the process. His grunt of pain and muttered cursing drew his bunk-mates from their slumber; still yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes, the riders began their regular morning routine. Lou massaged vigorously at her face to wake herself while absently reaching for a clean shirt. Simultaneously, Jimmy and Kid stumbled to the porch to give her some privacy, dragging the still-mostly-asleep-yet-protesting Cody with them.
Ike grinned, not surprised to find that Buck still hadn’t risen. Stretching, he crossed the room silently and extended a hand forward to nudge his friend to wakefulness. In sleep, Buck had twisted the blankets into a huge ball. Ike pushed at the covers tentatively… then flattened them. Buck was gone. Ike’s head twisted around, searching all four corners of the small bunkhouse, not that there was anywhere that Buck could be hiding. His startled eyes flicked past Lou, to the table, under the table, then abruptly back to Lou, who was watching him with a bemused expression, her shirt still held in her hand. Blushing deeply, he ran for the door.
Jimmy and Kid stood on the porch, shivering in the early morning air, hands tucked under their armpits for warmth, while Cody dozed against the post. The morning was crisp, but the sun was already burning away some of the cold. It looked to be a beautiful day. Ike had just raised his hands to speak – Buck was missing; didn’t they understand that? – when the figure of his friend rounded the curve of the bunkhouse, whistling happily. Ike’s mouth dropped open in amazement.
“You tryin’ to make us look bad, Buck?” Jimmy grumbled good-naturedly.
Buck shifted the saddle he carried to his left shoulder before smiling back at the rider. “Nope. Just had a lot to do today, that’s all.”
Ike shook his head in surprise. I would have done that.
“I know.” Buck shrugged. “Didn’t feel right.” The door opened behind them and he smiled a ‘good morning’ at a now-clothed Lou, while the other riders pushed past her to return to the relative warmth of the bunkhouse.
“Ike,” he called out before his friend could join the stampede. Dropping the saddle to the ground, he joined Ike at the steps. “Stable’s are cleaned and the new straw is down. All the feed’s out too.” As he spoke, he listed off the duo’s chores for the day on his fingers. The riders regularly paired up for their obligations around the way station, finding the duties seemed to go by quicker with a companion to chat with as they worked. The pairings had come naturally: Buck and Ike, Jimmy and Cody, Kid and Lou.
“I’ll repair the harness after breakfast and I’ll have plenty of time to shoe Destiny before I leave. But… uhhh… well, Ike, you see…” Buck studied the ground. “I didn’t touch the… uhhh… the manure.” He looked up tentatively to judge Ike’s reaction.
Ike may have often regretted his lack of speech. Those who loved him yearned for him to someday find the strength to regain it. At that moment, however, Ike needed no voice to convey everything he was feeling. He signed one word.
Buck gulped.
“Now Ike, I know I said things would be different,” Buck said rapidly. “And they are. Didn’t I do all the rest of our chores for the day? It’s just… Ike,” he wrinkled his nose, grimacing. “It’s MANURE.”
I know.
“I did everything else for the day. Once you get that done you’ll have the whole day to yourself! And I’ll do it myself the next time. I swear.”
Nothing.
“All right, all right. I’ll shovel it. You shoe Destiny and I’ll shovel manure. Right before my date. I’m sure Claire won’t mind if I’m a little pungent.” He sighed elaborately as he bent to the saddle, peeking up through a curtain of hair to see if any of this was working.
Hands folded across his chest, Ike regarded him impassively. Buck dropped the saddle. “Aww Ike, it’s MANURE!”
Ike’s face abruptly split in a wide grin.
“Why you little—“
I wouldn’t want you and Claire to break up ‘cause she can’t stand the smell of ya.
Laughing now, Buck chased Ike into the bunkhouse.
* * * * * * *
Claire sat happily in the buckboard, half-listening as Abigail chattered about her latest paramour. Her sister had already claimed the buckboard for the day, insisting that she had shopping to do in town and that there was simply no way she could carry her purchases home. It had taken much cajoling, a threat, and finally a bribe to convince Abigail to take her to the creek to meet Buck. And even then, Abigail had begun the journey with a treatise on “the hazards of being courted by an Indian”. It was only after Claire threatened to get out and walk that Abby had agreed to cease and desist. She couldn’t, after all, let her sister trek through the “wild and untamed wilderness” alone.
“What time do you need me to come back for you?” Abigail asked as Claire climbed down from the wagon.
“We’ll probably go back to the way station.”
“Probably? Claire, you could be trapped out in the middle of nowhere; he could attack you and—“
“Abigail,” Claire warned.
“Well, you could fall from that stupid horse that you insist on riding and hurt yourself and what would I tell mother? ‘Oh, she’s probably at the way station’.”
Claire sighed. “All right. I’ll definitely be going back to the way station, and either Buck or Billy will see me home.”
Abigail sniffed and shook her long dark curls. “Fine. I’ll see you at supper.”
* * * * * * * *
Claire had only been sitting on the upturned log for fifteen minutes before she heard the muffled sounds of someone approaching from the surrounding woods. She found herself tensing involuntarily. Oh, it had to be Buck. Of course it was Buck.
Or it could be someone else. Someone who lived in this ‘untamed wilderness’, subsisting on wild berries and sap and maybe, perhaps, the occasional city-girl who foolishly sat on a log in the middle of nowhere waiting idiotically for a man who wasn’t going to show up and… Claire shook her head violently. Yes, that’s it, she mentally chastised herself. We’ll call him The Monster of Forked Creek. Maybe he could even carry the heads of the other city-girls he’s encountered on his belt. My goodness, she was beginning to sound as absurd as Abigail. With my luck, she thought, it’s some kind of family trait that only matures when the female child reaches seventeen. She grinned at the thought.
Still… there were other things that lived in the wild. Animals. Hadn’t Billy mentioned a bear? And, there WERE other Indians. Indians that didn’t take kindly to the things that the white man was doing to their land, their customs, their people. She drew her arms across her chest, wishing that she had a gun. Not that she knew how to use a gun, she reflected soberly, but at least it would look good. It would look threatening. Her eyes searched the forest frantically, just as the thicket behind her parted with an audible rasp.
“Been waitin’ long?”
“BUCK!” Jumping up she flew to his arms, nearly knocking him over with the force of her embrace.
“Hey,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her gently. “You’re shivering. You all right?”
Claire pulled back to gaze into his deep brown eyes. “I am now,” she whispered. Buck gave her one of his lopsided smiles, and she smiled back. With anyone else, she would have been ashamed at her earlier foolishness. Right now, she just felt wanted and protected in his arms.
“Good. Come see what I’ve got for you.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to the clearing.
“Oh Buck, he’s beautiful!” Dropping her suitor’s hand, Claire scampered happily over to the horses, a radiant smile lighting her features. She patted Warrior’s nose affectionately before studying the chestnut brown animal at his side. “And he’s a real horse,” she teased.
“’She’,” Buck corrected.
Claire grinned. “What’s her name?”
The rider crossed his arms over his chest. “Well now, that’s up to you to decide. She’s yours.” He laughed at the look of confusion on Claire’s face. “She’s yours,” he repeated. “I got her for you.”
“You got her for… Buck, what are you talking about?” Claire turned a puzzled expression to the man she loved. She knew very well the price of horseflesh, and she also knew very well that one did not just ‘get’ a horse, especially not one like this. Just from being around the riders and their mounts, she could tell that this horse was of the best stock.
“I went to visit Red Bear. He gave me a good deal,” Buck was explaining, still plainly amused at her shocked and confused expression. Mentally, he thanked the spirits that he was able to haggle his brother down to TWO ponies to replace this one. With no one else to help on the hunt, it was going to be hard enough to capture one wild horse, never mind two… and all before the next new moon.
Claire’s eyes widened. “Oh Buck. No one’s ever… I mean, this is just the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me, and… Oh thank you Buck, she’s beautiful!” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears of happiness; her smile was the most luminous he had ever seen it. She turned back to the horse, caressed its flank and murmured to it soothingly, reaching up to scratch the filly’s ears and all the while stealing glances over her shoulder at Buck, her eyes and her smile radiating warmth and love. Watching her, he knew he’d willingly replace this horse with TEN ponies if Red Bear wanted them. She was worth it.
* * * * * * *
“How’s this?” asked Claire for the umpteenth time.
“Real good,” Buck reassured her. They’d been riding for thirty minutes and Claire was proving to be an excellent student. Though tentative at first, she now sat the horse comfortably and looked, if not relaxed, at least not ready to bolt at every toss of the horse’s head. Her need for approval on her riding technique could have been taxing to some; a quirk of neediness that demanded constant reassurance. Buck found it oddly endearing. It only proved to him that she was trying to excel and, he knew, to please him in the process. He smiled. He’d come up with a dozen variations of ‘real good’ in the last half-hour.
“Come up with a name yet?”
“Still thinkin’ on it.” Claire leaned down to rub her as-yet-unnamed-horse’s neck affectionately and Buck smile widened, proud of her newfound confidence in the saddle. “It has to be perfect.” Claire sighed happily, straightening and flicking her long hair out of her face. Perfect. Things couldn’t BE more perfect.
“You sure this is okay?” she asked tentatively.
Buck, scanning the trail ahead, looked back at her with a tolerant grin. “You’re doing fine.”
Claire shrugged, trying to return the smile but suddenly finding it difficult to summon. “Okay,” she said slowly. She paused, waiting until Buck turned back to the trail before she let a frown overtake her features. She was being silly, she rationalized. Buck said she was doing fine. That meant she had nothing to worry about. Fine. She should just enjoy the rest of the day. She was riding – riding her own horse! She was with a wonderful man who cared about her deeply. Hadn’t she just been thinking that the day was perfect? Yes, she had. So she will ride along on her horse and delight in the company of the man she loved. She would most definitely not discuss anything that was not ‘fine’.
“It’s just that,” Claire said nervously, surprising even herself by speaking, “I feel… clumsy.”
Buck sighed. “Claire, you’re doing fine,” he repeated firmly. “Don’t worry.” He waited until she gave him a tentative smile before turning back to his perusal of the trail. Despite his reassurances, he was concerned as well. Clumsy, she called it. He felt the same way. Like his hands were too big for the reins. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising. He felt fidgety, anxious. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory was trying to surface. A remembrance of another time, another place. He bent his head over the reins, allowing his mind to drift back to his childhood with the Kiowa. He’d felt this way before. Now if he could only remember where…
“It’s so quiet,” Claire whispered.
Buck’s head whipped up, eyes wide. Abruptly he reined Warrior, happy that Claire’s horse followed suit, and listened to the sounds from the woods surrounding them. Lack of sound would be more accurate. Not a bird chirped, not an animal scrounged in the undergrowth. He should have sensed it before, he inwardly chastised himself. Too busy chatting with Claire; too caught up in the moment. Red Bear would be ashamed.
“Too quiet,” he whispered back, just as the sky darkened as though an unseen hand covered the sun and the first torrent of rain hit them.
“Storm!” Claire announced unnecessarily.
“No,” Buck countered, twisting in the saddle, trying to see all directions at once. It was no use, there was too much cover. It could be upon them before they even knew it. They needed to get to shelter, and fast. He turned back to Claire, who stared at him with wide and trusting eyes. She raised one shaking hand to wipe the water from her face, flinching when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the forest around them. Even in this situation, Buck felt another surge of pride in her. She was obviously frightened yet she waited patiently on her mount, confident that he would take care of her. He gulped, knowing that what he had to say would only terrify her more.
“No,” he repeated, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain. “Not just a storm. I think… I think it’s a twister.”
