Chapter 11

From his lofty perch, Buck scanned the horizon for signs of approaching danger. He had set himself on the roof of the barn, using the shadows cast by the trees to hide. He cradled in his arm a shotgun, a weapon he hoped wouldn't be used anytime soon. Directly below him stood another ranch hand, a gun also in his hand. Several others took places around the main house and the bunkhouse. Others guarded the stables.

A noise from behind sent Buck spinning around, his gun cocked. But it turned out to be Garrett, who came to relieve him of his watch duty. The man carried with him a steaming cup of coffee, weapon against an equally dangerous enemy -- sleepiness. Wordlessly, the men exchanged places and Buck climbed down the ladder. He thought briefly about going back to his cabin for a nap, and promptly dismissed the idea. He wouldn't be much help if he was that far from the main house.

He went inside the barn to an empty stall where the ranch hands had hung a mirror. There was a basin and a pail of clean water for washing up. He poured water into the basin and started splashing his face but his shirt was getting wet. After looking around to make sure he was alone, Buck took off his vest and his shirt. He tied his hair back with a piece of rawhide so it wouldn't get in the way. Intent on scrubbing the sleepiness off his face, he was startled when he heard a loud gasp from behind followed by the sound of a tin cup hitting the hard ground.

"Oh Lord, no!"

Buck spun around, his hand unconsciously reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh. He came face to face with an ashen-faced Louisa. "What?" he demanded. He noticed white fingers covered her mouth in horror. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

"Your back, you're hurt," she blurted out.

Buck remembered his state of undress belatedly. Careful not to turn his back to Louisa, he snatched the shirt he had tossed on top of a bale of hay and shrugged into it. "It's nothing, Louisa. It was a long time ago," he dismissed, keeping his tone light. He hoped Louisa would just leave. Another part of him wanted her to stay. 

The initial shock at seeing those ugly, crisscrossing scars had worn off. In its place was deep pain for what the man in front of her had gone through. "Those scars are still fresh, Buck. What happened didn't happen a long time ago," Louisa said in a steadier tone. She was surprised by her own audacity at asking questions. But decorum be damned, she thought, when a friend had suffered much. "How long ago, Buck?" she asked softly, taking slow steps toward him. 

Buck watched her approach warily, his mind screaming at him to get out and forget Louisa's discovery. He had lived without anybody at the ranch knowing what he went through and he didn't want to change that. 

He wouldn't be pitied.

"Two years," he found himself answering. He couldn't ignore the questions in her eyes. Suddenly, he felt the need to tell her everything, to share the secret he had kept for so long. Angered by the sudden rush of emotions, he snapped, "Dammit, leave me alone. This has nothing to do with you."

He stalked towards the door, in retreat, she thought. Back into the strong, brave shell he had been living in. 

Her quiet words stopped buck in his tracks. "I don't pity you." 

He whirled back and stabbed a finger in her direction. "Damn right, you don't. I survived. I'm alive."

"Then be proud of that," Louisa countered. "Your wounds could have killed you, but they didn't. Your torturer could have won, but he didn't."

Buck stared at Louisa, wondering how this woman could understand. "They remind me of my foolishness," he whispered, defeated.

"Tell me," she invited softly, holding her hand out to him.

She took her hand and let her lead him to a clean stall. She sat on a bale of hay, her hands on her lap, her eyes on him.

He chose to lean on the wall, his own eyes focused on an object above her head. He spoke slowly -- about leaving the ranch to help out his brother, Red Bear, negotiate a truce with the army. The way he talked about Red Bear told Louisa how much Buck loved his brother. He spoke of being taken to a reservation and of Red Bear's death in an army attack. He told her about his friend, White Feather, and how they helped the surviving Kiowa women and children escape. He discovered it wasn't so difficult to speak of it after all. 

"Do Kid and Lou know about this?" she asked.

Buck nodded, "Kid does. Jimmy, too. I'm sure Kid has told Lou. But nobody else, not even Teaspoon. they don't know about the whipping, though."

"That didn't happen in the reservation?"

Buck shook his head. "I knew something was terribly wrong when I woke up and Laura wasn't with me. We had been hiding--"

"Wait," she interrupted. "Who is Laura?"

"My wife."

Her eyes went huge. "Oh! No one mentioned you were married."

"No one knew. I married her a month after leaving the ranch, after meeting her in St. Jo. I've never had luck with women, you know. My relationships have been ... disastrous. But I kept hoping that one day I'd find a woman who'd love me. I thought I found one in Laura," he added.

"But I didn't. I guess she didn't like life on the run. She disappeared in the middle of the night. I searched for her as long as I could without putting my people in danger. White Feather and I took our tribe to friends who took them in. A week later, the army found us. With Laura's help. My foolishness led to my friend's death and my own torture."

"How did you escape?"

For the first time since they started talking, Buck's face brightened. He looked at Louisa. "With the help of a resourceful young soldier who had no stomach for blood," he said with a smile.

"And the man who did this to you?"

Buck looked away again and Louisa wished she could take the question back after seeing the remembered pain that flashed in his eyes. 

"Dead, I hope. I don't know," he shrugged.

"Well, he can't hurt you again," Louisa said firmly. 

Buck straightened away from the all, his lips curling into a slight, confused smile. "Why did I tell you my secrets?" he said almost inaudibly, clearly puzzled. "What is it about you that makes me want to talk about the pain in my life?" He took a step towards her and pulled her to her feet. His hand slid around her nape and he began drawing her to him.

Louisa drew a deep breath, suddenly aware of the silence inside the barn, of the intimate feel of the conversation. Of him. Of the urgency in his voice. Of the intensity of his gaze. She wanted to look away but she couldn't. She dropped her gaze to his lips, wondering how they would feel beneath hers.

"Buck, this is wrong," she managed to whisper.

"Does it matter?" he asked huskily before lowering his head for a kiss. 

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