It warmed up quickly for a late summer day and by mid-morning Buck and Jimmy had stripped off their shirts as they continued to work on the fallen oak. They chopped the branches off, then used a saw to start working on the trunk itself.
Amy busied herself taking care of the farm animals. She also brought out pitchers of lemonade or water at frequent intervals for Buck and Jimmy. And for lunch she brought out fried chicken and lots of trimmings and they had a picnic down by the creek that ran behind the house.
After lunch, she hitched a horse to the large flat wagon sitting behind the barn and brought it around to the front. As Buck and Jimmy continued to work on chopping up the tree, she started to load the wood that was already cut onto the wagon bed. By mid-afternoon the tree had been reduced to logs and kindling and the three of them stacked the wood carefully behind the house.
They washed up at the pump near the back door, cleaning off layers of sweat and dirt. Then Amy led them inside and showed them to the parlour room. Leaving them there, she went to the kitchen with the promise of fresh coffee to come.
This was a room they hadn't seen the day before, so Buck and Jimmy took the opportunity to look around while they waited. It was a large room, and although there wasn't an over-abundance of furnishings or decorations, it was tastefully appointed and had a comfortable feel. There were several comfortable, stuffed chairs and a divan, bookcases lined one full wall, and a large roll-top desk sat next to the window on the west side of the house. A stand next to the desk held several plants that were soaking up the afternoon sun.
Another room opened off of the southern end of the parlour and Jimmy wandered that way. The sliding door was shut most of the way, but there was enough of an opening for him to look in. To his surprise, the room appeared empty. He looked around quickly but Amy hadn't returned, and Buck was busy studying the books on the shelves, so he pushed the door open just a little bit farther and stuck his head inside. A quick look confirmed that the room was, in fact, empty.
Puzzled, Jimmy made his way over to the bookcases. Leaning in close to Buck he said softly, "See that room over there? It's empty. Now why would someone build a nice house like this but leave a whole room empty?"
Buck shook his head. "I don't know, but I found something interesting too." He put the book back on the shelf and led Jimmy over to the fireplace. He pointed to some framed photographs sitting on the mantle. The first was readily recognizable as Amos Dandridge. The second was of a woman about the same age as Amos - but she looked so much like an older version of Amy that they had little doubt it was her mother. The third frame was lying facedown on the mantle. "That's how I found it," Buck said, reaching out to pick the frame up. He turned it upright, revealing the photo.
From within the boundaries of the frame, Amy's face smiled back at them. But in truth, her smile was so radiant it almost seemed bigger than the frame. She almost appeared to be laughing at something, her arms outstretched. The photo cut off just below her waist, but it showed her in a beautiful gown, with delicate embroidery at the bodice and wide, flowing sleeves that were captured by her pose.
"Damn, that's beautiful," Jimmy said, to which Buck could only nod in agreement.
"Papa and I argued about that photo."
Amy's voice came from the doorway, startling the two men. She walked into the room and set down the tray with a pot of coffee and cups.
"This is a beautiful photo of you," Buck said, feeling a little guilty that they'd been snooping.
"But the woman in that photo doesn't exist any longer," Amy answered sadly, her hand again going toward her cheek, running her finger over the scar. "I wanted to get rid of that photo, but papa wouldn't hear of it. Our compromise was to leave it face down, so I wouldn't have to see it."
Buck looked down at the photo, then back at Amy. "I don't know," he said gently. "Maybe she's still in there, and just needs a little more time to come back out."
Amy didn't say anything, so Jimmy finally stepped into the silence. "Amy, what about that room down there? Seems strange that it's all empty." He pointed to the south wall.
Amy's eyes followed his finger, the haunted look Buck had seen the day before returning. "That was mama's music room," she finally whispered. "That's where . . . it happened . . .." Her voice broke, choking off any additional words.
Jimmy bit his lip. Well, he'd walked right into that one. "I'm sorry," he said.
Amy swallowed hard. "You didn't know," she said. "It's empty because papa said there was so much blood all over everything. So he took everything out of the room and burned it." She stopped talking and looked away, then reached out to pour the coffee. But her hands were shaking so much that she couldn't even hit the cup.
Buck put the photo back on the mantle, face-down, and went over to her, taking the coffee pot. With his other hand he gently led her backward a few steps to a chair, and she sank into it. He took the cup from her hand and filled it with coffee, then handed it back. "Amy, we didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," she answered, wrapping her hands around the cup and staring intently at the dark liquid inside. "It's just, everything here reminds me of mama, or papa, and now they're both gone . . ."
"Maybe you should come back to the station with us," Jimmy suggested. "Like Teaspoon offered yesterday. Rachel would be happy to have you."
"Just for a couple of days," Buck added. "It might do you good. And I could stop out and take care of the stock," he added, remembering her argument from the previous day.
There was a long moment of silence before she answered, and then the words were so softly spoken that both men had to strain to hear them. "I'm afraid," she said. "I'm afraid that if I leave, I won't have the strength to come back."
Jimmy laid down feed for all the animals and filled the water bins, then saddled his horse. Leading the animal out of the barn he stopped to close the door, then continued up to the house where Buck was waiting on the porch. "They're all fed and set for the night," he said as soon as he was close enough.
Buck nodded. "She's still asleep," he said. Amy had finally cried herself to sleep in his arms, and they had settled her in her room.
"I could come back, after I tell Teaspoon what's happening," Jimmy offered.
"No need," Buck answered. "I just don't think she should be alone tonight."
"I agree."
"Tell Teaspoon I'll be back in time for my run tomorrow afternoon."
"Well, if you're back, you're back," Jimmy answered as he mounted the horse. "But if you need to stay here, we'll cover the run."
"Thanks, Jimmy."
Jimmy shook his head. "Damn, I just wish there was something else we could do."
"Me too. But until she tells us what that might be, I don't know what it is."
Jimmy just nodded. "You take care, Buck."
"I will. Good night, Jimmy." Buck stepped off the porch and swatted the horse's rump, raising his hand to return Jimmy's wave as the other rider headed out. Finally, as Jimmy rode out of sight, he turned back toward the house.
He just hoped that when Amy woke up she'd find his surprise presence a comfort, and not something to cause even more fear.
Amy opened her eyes, momentarily confused until she recognized the familiar surroundings of her room. She started to relax - until she realized she had no memory of going to bed. She looked around quickly, but the moonlight filtering through the windows revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
Except that she was lying on top of the bed covers, still fully clothed.
She sat up, searching her memory. The day played itself back in her mind, and she remembered talking with Buck and Jimmy in the parlour. She also recalled the stress and sorrow welling up inside her, finally bursting through into uncontrollable sobs. She could almost feel Buck's arms now, just as he had held her last night.
She must have finally fallen asleep and they had brought her up here.
Amy threw her legs over the side of the bed and got up. She wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now until she had checked to make sure the doors were locked tight. That never used to bother her, but now checking, and re-checking, the locks was part of her nightly routine. It had been since . . . Well, just since.
She opened the bedroom door, stepped into the hall - and stopped.
He was sleeping in a chair at the head of the stairs. Long legs dangled over and around the arm on one side, his torso and neck scrunched into a knot that looked distinctly uncomfortable. She suddenly felt safe and warm, realizing that he had, at least symbolically, positioned himself between her and any trouble that might have appeared. And she realized, with some surprise, that she was very glad he had been the one to stay.
Amy tiptoed forward and knelt by the chair, reaching out to touch his arm gently. "Buck?"
He came awake suddenly, wincing and reaching for his neck as his twisted sleeping position took its toll. "Hi," he managed to say.
"I'm sorry I've been so much trouble," she said, wincing with him at his obvious pain.
"No, you haven't," he objected.
"Your neck is saying otherwise."
He winced again, despite trying not to. "It'll be all right," he assured her.
She stood up, held out her hand, and helped him disentangle himself from the chair. Then she led the way to the room across from hers and opened the door. "Guestroom," she said, gesturing inside. "It's apt to be a bit more comfortable than that chair."
He looked inside, noting the deep mattress on the bed. It looked a lot more comfortable than his bunk at the Express station too. "Are you all right?"
She considered for a moment before answering. "Not fully, not yet. But I'm much better." She leaned up, kissing his cheek. "Thank you for staying."
"You're welcome."
She stepped back. "I'll see you in the morning," she said as she went back to her room.
"Good night, Amy." He stood in the doorway until she disappeared into her room and closed the door, then he went into the guestroom and closed that door, leaning heavily against it.
He hoped his racing heart hadn't been as obvious to her as it was to him.
He woke the next morning after dreaming he was being held by a cloud. Even after he was sure he was awake that feeling remained for a few moments until he recognized the guestroom at Amy's home. That bed really was softer than anything he'd ever been used to. With some surprise he noted the time on the clock next to the bed - it was after 8:00. He never slept that late!
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee reached him, which had to mean that Amy was already up. With some reluctance he pushed himself out of the cloud and got up.
She was standing with her back to him when he got to the kitchen door, and he stood there for a moment just watching her. Her hair was still damp from being washed, and it hung straight down her back, not braided as he had seen it before. Wrapped in a long white robe, she was mixing something in a big bowl.
"Good morning."
She jumped at the sound of his voice - lost in thought, mostly about him, she hadn't heard him come downstairs. Blushing, she turned around and answered. "Good morning to you."
"Did you get back to sleep?"
She nodded. "Yes, very quickly in fact." A pause. "I hadn't slept well the last couple of nights. I think I really needed that last night. And knowing you were here made me feel . . . safe."
He smiled at the words, wondering if she could really understand how much they meant to him. Most white women he'd met wouldn't have felt that way about spending the night alone with him. "I'm glad you slept well. You do look much better this morning." He worried that those words might have come out wrong, and he watched her closely for any negative reaction.
"I'm feeling better," she said, then held out a handful of wet hair. "And I'm feeling clean again after all the mud and sweat of the last couple of days. A good night's sleep and a bath can make a big difference."
"That's true," he said, aware that he could use a bath himself. The tree chopping had, indeed, been sweaty, dirty work.
She poured a cup of coffee and brought it to him. "Was the bed more comfortable?"
Their fingers brushed as the cup passed from hand to hand, and Buck could feel his stomach fluttering. Telling himself he was just hungry he answered, "I think that's the softest bed I've ever been in. Definitely better than the chair." He grinned, realizing that the pain in his neck had totally disappeared.
"Good."
"My clothes weren't exactly clean though," he admitted. "I can wash the sheets for you." Anything to stay and be close to her, he realized.
She was studying him carefully, and for a moment he worried something was wrong. But then she said, "When Bill left, rather in a hurry, he left some clothes behind. They should fit you well enough so I can get your clothes washed after breakfast."
It sounded like a good excuse to spend more time with her. "That would be nice. I can go down to the creek and wash up."
She smiled - not a large smile, but the first real one he thought he'd seen from her. "There's a perfectly good tub in the back room," she pointed out. "It can even come with heated water instead of that icy stuff in the creek."
He smiled back, not sure of what to say. A real bath was pretty much a rare luxury in his world. He was far more used to a couple of minutes under the cold water of their makeshift shower back at the station, or to using the swimming hole to wash off layers of dust.
Buck listened carefully for a moment, straining for any sound that indicated Amy had come back inside. But the house was quiet so he finally stood up in the tub, twisting the water out of his hair. As long as she doesn't walk in right now, he mused as he reached for the towel she had provided. He knew she had already gone outside to start on the day's chores, and there was a thin curtain between the kitchen and the bathing room - but standing there naked had him feeling a little vulnerable.
He toweled off then picked up the neat stack of clothing Amy had found. The fabric was well worn, but he could still feel the high quality under his fingers. You didn't buy work clothes like this in Rock Creek.
Bill had obviously been a little shorter than Buck, and a little stockier too. He belted the pants tight around his waist and tucked the too-short pant legs into his boots. The shirt hung loosely on his frame, and the sleeves stopped a good two inches above his wrists. He probably presented quite a sight right now he decided, grinning. But it would do for now. He gathered up his dirty clothing and headed outside.
He found her out behind the house, just filling the wash tub with heated water. She looked up just then, sized him up in the ill-fitting clothing, and immediately put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. She really didn't want to embarrass him - but the baggy pants and the sleeves that couldn't be buttoned really did lend him a humorous look.
"That bad?" He held his arms out,
modeling the look. "I thought this would be the height of
"Maybe not quite," she answered, shaking her head. She stepped over and took his own clothing from his hands. "Perhaps I'll just wash this first so it can start drying right away."
"I think I should find a mirror," he muttered. "From your reaction, this must look pretty bad."
Amy hesitated, the smile disappearing from her face. "There's a tack room behind the barn," she finally said. "You can find a mirror in there. I made papa take them all out of the house . . ." Her voice trailed off as her hand went protectively to her face, hiding the scar.
Buck wondered if it would really do any good to kick himself - because that's what he felt like doing right then. He'd even had her smiling, and then ruined it with a stupid touch of vanity. Amy had gone back to the wash tub and dumped his clothes in, not looking up. He decided it might be good to give her a few minutes alone. "I'm going to go take a quick look," he said. "Then I'll come back and help."
The only response he got was a nod of her head.
Buck wandered around the side of the barn, kicking at every rock or stick unfortunate enough to be in his path. He tried to convince himself he couldn't have known that his innocent remark would hurt her. But the fact remained, it had hurt.
He rounded the corner of the barn and looked around, still trying to decide what to do. He hadn't actually been around on this part of the property before, and now he noticed the bunkhouse set back amid a grove of trees, and next to it a small cabin. Probably for the foreman Amy would be hiring, he guessed. Beyond that lay the open fields of grass and clover that would be perfect for the dairy herd she was expecting.
He turned back toward the barn and located the tack room Amy had mentioned. As long as he was here he was going to see how ridiculous he looked in Bill's clothing. Then he'd figure out what to say to Amy.
She heard him come up behind her. Without looking up she asked, "So what did you think?"
"I think I look a little ridiculous in these clothes," he answered. "And a little stupid for upsetting you like that."
Amy dropped the sheet into the wash tub and turned to look at Buck. "I don't think you look stupid," she said firmly. "Buck, you've known me for two days. You haven't lived with the pain, the memories . . . the fear for months like I have." She shook her head. "Papa had learned most of the things not to mention around me."
Buck saw the haunted look returning to her eyes and it about broke his heart. He held open his arms and she let herself be wrapped in a warm, safe embrace. "I'll learn too, Amy," he promised. "I never want to hurt you." But he did want to be around her for a long time - and where was that coming from?
Amy leaned back, looking into his eyes. "I know you won't hurt me," she replied. How she knew that, she wasn't sure. She'd been so wary of strangers since . . . the incident. Yet somehow he had calmed her fears, and in his arms she felt a warmth she hadn't even felt in the best days with Bill. It was both frightening and exciting all at once. And a little overwhelming right now too. She pushed back a step, plucked at the baggy fabric of the pants around his hips, and said, "You do look ridiculous in those clothes though."
He feigned a look of great indignation, but he was really concentrating on the smile that had found its way back to her face. Oh, it was a small smile, to be sure, but he considered it a victory nonetheless. He was working on a retort when he spotted the rider heading toward the house.
Amy watched Buck's mood change, and she turned to find what he was looking at. The lone rider, still too far away to identify, caused her to tense up too.
Buck weighed his options. He'd left his gun and knife in the house after his bath. The rider was approaching slowly, and he probably had time to go in and arm himself, but he didn't want to leave Amy alone out in the yard. But insisting that she come inside with him could very well alarm her for no good reason. After all, it was just one rider.
One rider that they could see.
Trying to be very inconspicuous about it, he looked around in the other directions, seeking anything out of place. But everything seemed quiet and serene, so he turned back to the approaching rider. The distance was narrowing and they'd be able to identify him soon.
Without really thinking about it, Amy backed toward Buck, who put his arm protectively around her shoulder. With that simple gesture came a feeling of safety that let her breathe normally again.
Shielding his eyes against the morning sun, Buck squinted at the approaching rider - and then smiled. "It's Teaspoon," he announced. He waved a hand over his head, receiving the same gesture back from the rider.
Teaspoon headed his horse toward the yard behind the house. His eyes didn't miss taking in the protective way Buck held Amy's shoulders, or the way she seemed to definitely not mind the embrace. He rode up close and dismounted.
"Good morning, Marshal Hunter," Amy said, stepping forward to greet him.
"Well, good morning to you too, Amy," Teaspoon answered. He took off his hat and bowed. "It's good to see you looking so fine this morning."
"I am feeling much better than when we met the other day."
"And I am delighted to hear that," Teaspoon answered with a flourish. Then he turned and really got a good look at Buck for the first time. Raising a skeptical eyebrow he asked, "Boy, what in the world are you wearing?"
Buck sighed - he'd be hearing about this in the bunkhouse for a good long time, he could tell. "Amy loaned me some of Bill's clothes that got left here. Mine were pretty dirty from chopping that tree yesterday."
Teaspoon chuckled. "Well, I guess I can believe that. I heard Rachel complaining about the state of Hickok's attire when he got back last night."
"I figured for all the help Buck's been, the least I could do was get him clean clothes," Amy said.
Teaspoon studied the two of them. It was pretty obvious that Buck had been good for Amy - her whole demeanor was so much more relaxed. And, of course, he also had heard Jimmy's observations. It was also possible that Amy was very good for Buck who, Teaspoon knew, was still grieving over Ike. Buck had also just gone through quite an ordeal with Camille, who at one point was going to be his wife. So, two people needing something - and wouldn't it be wonderful if they found it in each other. Still, he had to hope that Amy's recent pain and Buck's history of being unlucky in love wouldn't get in the way.
Removing a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, Teaspoon handed it to Amy. "I asked around a bit, like I promised," he said. "Turns out your father had made arrangements with the newspaper office to print up some of these flyers advertising for help. Riley said to see if you wanted to change anything from the sample, then he can print them up."
Amy just nodded, reading. Everything was set out clearly - the type of work, the location, the rate of pay. Then she read the very bottom line and swallowed hard. "It looks fine," she said softly. "Though I imagine the last line should be changed to my name instead of my father's."
Buck had been reading over her shoulder and now he put a comforting hand on her arm, gently taking the flyer. "Teaspoon, maybe we could deliver some of these to the neighboring towns," he suggested.
"I was thinking that too, Buck," Teaspoon agreed. "That is, if you're still planning to go through with running the place, Amy."
"I'm sure going to try, Marshal," she answered.
"Well then, I'll ask Riley to change the name and then print some up."
"Did he mention how much it will cost?"
"Three dollars for what your father requested."
"And what about the delivery fees?"
Teaspoon shook his head. "No charge," he said. "Call it kind of a new customer special."
"Well, thank you." She looked down, her hand unconsciously going to hide the scar again. If she'd ever really thought about it, she would have realized she did the same thing every time she even thought about going to town. "Would you mind delivering the money for the printing?"
"That would be no trouble, Miss Amy. In fact, it would be my pleasure."
"I'll get the money then," she said. "Can I get you some coffee or lemonade while I'm in the house?"
"No, thank you, I'm fine."
"Well, I'll be right back then."
The two men watched Amy disappear into the house, then Teaspoon turned back to Buck. "How's she really doing?"
"Better, I think," Buck answered, still staring at the door where Amy had disappeared. "Last night was rough, but this morning she's even smiled a few times."
Teaspoon arched an eyebrow, looking at Buck. "That get-up you're wearing, don't rightly see how anyone could not smile."
Buck just rolled his eyes - he was really going to be in for some teasing in the bunkhouse once Teaspoon told this story. "It's not really that bad," he protested weakly. But the look on the other man's face told him otherwise.
"You just make sure you're not moving too fast here, Buck. Wouldn't be good for either of your sakes."
"I haven't touched her, Teaspoon! I wouldn't . . ."
"Now, Buck, that ain't what I meant," Teaspoon interrupted. "I ain't worried about her honor, or yours either." He sat down on a bench by the back door and motioned for Buck to join him. "She's hurting bad, son - I know I don't have to tell you that. But I think you're still hurting too, what with losing Ike, and all that with Camille. I'm just saying, go slow, until you both really know what you want."
Buck nodded, a worried look on his face. "I think I know what you mean. I keep expecting her to look at me one of these times, finally see what I am, and want nothing more to do with me."
Teaspoon knew all too well that those weren't idle words. He'd seen Buck hurt too many times by people who refused to look past his Kiowa heritage. He put his arm around the younger man's shoulder and said softly, "Well, son, maybe she's already looked and really seen what you are, and that's why she wants you around."
Before Buck could answer, the door opened and Amy came back out of the house. She looked closely at both men, sensing she'd interrupted something, but neither of them said anything so she finally handed an envelope to Teaspoon. "Here's the printing money."
"Well, I will see that Riley gets it," Teaspoon said, stuffing it into his pocket. He stood up and stretched. "And now I'd best be getting back to town. I had to leave Cody to watch things, and no telling what kind of trouble has found him."
Buck had to laugh at that, picturing the way trouble did seem to follow the blond rider around now and then. He untied Teaspoon's horse from the corral fence and led the animal over, waiting while the other man mounted. "Lou's still due in this afternoon, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Teaspoon answered. "I was supposed to tell you Jimmy said he'll take your run today if you take his tomorrow."
Buck looked over to Amy and smiled. "That's great. I can help get some things done here today then."
Teaspoon nodded. "Yup, you can at that." Then, with a grin and an evil twinkle in his eye he added, "Besides, wouldn't want you representing the Pony Express dressed like that!"
Before Buck could quit laughing to answer, Teaspoon had spurred his horse off on the journey back to Rock Creek.
They worked together the whole day, side by side. They did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, fixed a creaky door on the barn, swept the dust and cobwebs out of the previously unused bunkhouse, and numerous other small tasks. In the afternoon they left the chores behind, saddled two horses, and rode out into the prairie.
And they talked.
At first, Buck did most of the talking. He told her about growing up in a Kiowa village, the trials and the triumphs. He talked about Red Bear, the brother he loved, and about his mother, the pain he had felt at her death, and his decision to leave the only life he had known. He talked about the mission school, meeting his best friend Ike, the adventures they had (and the repercussions from some of those adventures when the sisters at the school found out). He talked about the good things in his life, his Pony Express family, the adventures he'd had while helping Sam Cain or Teaspoon. And he talked about the bad things too, the pain of Ike's death, the sorrow and hurt he felt when people rejected him solely because of his Indian blood. In fact, he felt so comfortable with Amy that he shared details with her that he had never shared with anyone else. To his relief, and somewhat to his surprise, she listened and cared.
Then,
as they rode along the bank of a stream that gurgled and bubbled quietly in
the late afternoon sun, she started to talk. Although born in
They carefully avoided talking about the attack that had so changed Amy's life, an unspoken understanding between them that she wasn't ready for that.
Finally, as the sun began to sink and the night's chill approached, they headed back. They took care of the animals, had dinner, then Buck built a roaring fire in the hearth in the parlour and they sat together for a while in silence, watching the flames dance and shimmer.
"I had a really nice day today, Amy," he finally said.
"I did too."
"I should probably get going though, it's late. Will you be all right alone?" Even as he asked the question he wasn't sure which answer he wanted to hear. On the one hand, it was nice that she had needed him, and felt safe with him there the previous night. On the other hand, it would be good to know that she could handle being alone. After all, he couldn't be there every night. His work schedule wouldn't allow it, and it wouldn't be proper in any case.
Amy struggled to swallow the knot of fear in her throat. She nodded, managing to say, "I'll be fine." She just hoped she sounded a lot more confident than she was. What she really wanted was to beg him to stay, to feel the safety of his arms around her for another night. But then she'd just want that the next night, and the next, and . . . No, it was better to just find out how she'd do on her own.
Buck studied her face carefully, not at all convinced she'd be fine. "If you're not sure, I can stay," he offered. After all, he could still be back in plenty of time to cover Jimmy's run, and that bed was very comfortable.
Amy shook her head, working to put determination in her voice. "Buck, I appreciate it, but I need to prove to myself that I can do it."
"All right," he answered, thinking she at least sounded a little more sure. He stood up and started to collect his gear. "I'll be gone for a couple of days on a run. But I can come check on you when I get back. If you want me to, that is."
IF she wanted? Amy could feel the panic starting to build up again just at the thought of not seeing him for a couple of days. Somehow this man had become very important to her very quickly. She struggled to keep the panic in check. "I'd like it very much if you’d come by," she said, hoping she sounded calm and sincere.
He smiled, thinking about Teaspoon's words. Maybe Amy really had seen him for what he was, and liked him anyway. "I'll stop by then," he promised.
Outside, he mounted up, then looked back down at her. "Remember what Teaspoon said. If you need any help, you go to him."
"I'll remember," she replied. "And I'll be fine." But in all honesty, as she watched him ride off, she figured she had about another minute before the panic overcame her.
She checked the locks on the doors, finding them securely done up - just as they had been the other times she'd checked. And the windows were closed tight everywhere except in her own room; she'd checked them several times too. Still, every shadow seemed to hide an enemy, every creak or groan foretold an invader.
Hugging the rifle close to her, Amy went to the parlour and sat on the divan, pulling her knees up to her chest. She stared at the dying embers of the fire, sleep a million miles away. Reaching to rearrange the pillows she pulled out the one closest to where he had been sitting. His scent still lingered reassuringly in the fabric and she hugged the pillow tightly, searching for the strength to make it through the darkness until morning.
Buck was up with the dawn, even though his mail run had gotten him back to the station well after midnight. He knew he had a list of chores to finish, and the sooner they were done, the sooner he was free to check on Amy.
Teaspoon had left a note that she hadn't come to ask for help. Unfortunately, Buck didn't know if that meant she was really all right, or if she had just refused to go to town and ask. He wouldn't feel comfortable until he knew for sure.
She heard the rider approaching and for a moment the panic returned and she considered hiding - with the rifle handy. Finally though she went to the front of the house and peeked around the curtain, trying to be careful not to disturb the fabric or give any sign of her presence. It was one rider, and something about the horse was familiar . . .
He saw her come out of the house, and he urged his horse to more speed, closing the distance quickly. When they met, he slid off the horse, then was almost thrown backward as she ran into his arms.
He held her for a moment, feeling her relax under his hands, then he pushed back a little, studying her face. The red eyes and the dark circles under those eyes told him what he needed to know.
Holding her tight, he said softly, "Amy, why didn't you ask Teaspoon for help?"
"I couldn't," she admitted, looking down. She wiped at a stray tear and continued, "I tried to go once, I really did, but I just couldn't." She stepped away, shaking her head. "Oh, you must think I'm a real fool."
"No," he answered quickly. "You're not a fool, Amy. You've just been through too much for you to handle alone." He put his hands on her trembling shoulders, leaning close to her ear to whisper, "I'm so sorry I left you."
"You had to do your job, Buck," she answered, turning to look at him again. "I thought I could handle it, I really did."
He hugged her again, then pushed her gently toward the house. "You go back inside," he said. "I'm going to unsaddle my horse, then I'll be right in."
He found some fresh eggs in the chicken coop on his way in from the barn and he cooked those up, then made sure she ate something. Afterward he brewed some coffee, lit a fire in the parlour hearth, and led her into the room. She curled up on the divan, her fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee, her head resting on his shoulder. They sat there, mostly in silence, watching the fire, until she finally fell asleep. And rather than risk waking her he just sat still, holding her, hoping his presence would reassure her of her safety.
After a few hours of sleep, Amy stirred, smiled up groggily at Buck, then winced as the kinks in her own neck complained. He rubbed gently at the junction of her neck and shoulder, then whispered, "Let's go upstairs. You should be in your own bed."
He led her up the stairs, as she still seemed half-asleep. When she was settled and snuggled in under the warm covers he leaned over and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "I'll be right across the hall, Amy, so you're safe. You can sleep."
"I know," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open. "Thank you, Buck." She lost the battle then and her eyes closed.
He backed quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him. He went into the guestroom, leaving that door ajar, the better to hear if there was trouble. Then he pulled off his boots and climbed into the bed, waiting for the cloud to embrace him in sleep.