Holly '04: Bitter Sweets

A friendly hand slapping his shoulder brought him abruptly back into the moment. The music flooded in, bringing with it the cheerful faces, the scrape of shoes on the barn's wood floor as it creaked under the burden of several dancing couples, the decorations gently swaying in this evening spring breeze.

The day flooded back; his commitments to someone, his commitments to forget someone else.

"Chris - your glare will put a hole through somebody if you're not careful."

He managed a weak smile, a weaker laugh and a distracted nod. His attention was focused elsewhere, his determined gaze tracking the only two people he'd been aware of the entire day. He should have paid better attention to himself instead, managed his feelings better. Chris set his jaw; he hated having been caught, even if no one could have understood what they were seeing.

Emery Seacrest laughed heartily. "Don't you worry none - Wilmington is just a charming big-talker. He isn't a threat to you or Sarah's happiness."

Chris' jaw tightened and he continued to watch them dance. The two traveled across the floor with easy fluidity, Buck's lips moving as he kept up a continual murmur of what had to be lavish compliments, wishes for every future happiness and falsely cursing Chris' luck.

Sarah's dainty hand was engulfed in Buck's, the tan of the long fingers dusky against her soft porcelain. Her head tipped back and Chris could hear the ringing peal of her laugh from where he stood, threading the span of the barn to wrap around him. Buck's deeper rumble tickled over him in answer. His eyes slid shut for a second while he endured and savored the sound.

Emery leaned closer, hand tightening about his shoulder. Chris only opened his eyes, found them again and continued his vigil. He couldn't make himself agree with the statement but he knew it required a response. Finally he managed another vague grunt.

"Sarah knows what she's doing - she picked herself the right man of the whole bunch of us." Emery leaned closer, half-whispering as if Chris didn't already know, "Wilmington never has been and never will be tied down. Just a shameless, rutting beast in heat, that man."

Emery drew enough away so his laughter didn't rattle in Chris' ear.

Rage and regret coursed through Chris. Rage that Buck was indeed exactly that and didn't care who knew; rage that Seacrest dare impugn his friend so. His regret echoed hollowly, a cold, aching pain that settled in his gut from the truth of those words. Words he'd held secret in his own heart for so long now. Words that had led him into Sarah's arms and the willing carelessness that required he ask her to stay with him always.

She'd ecstatically, readily agreed. She'd agreed to what Chris knew Buck never would.

He watched as they turned and turned, shoulders dipping, hands clasped, both laughing as Buck spun them almost too fast, a breath ahead of the lively cadence of the square dance. The two swirled past, Buck managing to catch Chris' eye with a merry wink, blue eyes dancing with matching enthusiasm.

Sarah was blushed a beautiful rose, looking every inch the glowing bride. The frothing white lace of her long skirts whispered against Chris' leg; it was a caress that reminded him of a duty he'd be performing later this night. A consummation of what this day represented and what, from here forward, they alone would share. A consummation banishing the last dark thought of something different, something he'd long ago forced himself to abandon yearning after.

Chris bit down on his lip, chewing at it until it burned raw. He shook his head tightly. "I'm not worried about Buck," he made himself say, tone almost conversational. "He'll take every girl here around the dance floor - more than once - but he'd never dream of trying to take Sarah anywhere else." Chris narrowed his eyes, moving his glare to land on Emery. "I trust him."

It never occurred to Chris that he should trust Sarah as well, that there might even be the expectation it'd be foremost in his mind. Trusting Buck was essential to him; it was part of what he was.

Emery blanched momentarily but quickly recovered. "Of course it won't be Sarah," he grinned. "It'll be Katie or Laura or Agnes… or maybe even Mrs Lily Heffield." He waggled his brows suggestively, anticipatory grin just waiting for Chris to appreciate the lewd mirth.

Chris made himself laugh, the sound a dark, dry chuckle easily eclipsed by Emery's snorted guffaws.

He knew it. Knew it all too well.

Buck would indeed leave with a lovely - of any manner or design, long as she was soft and curvy, warm and willing. As long as she was that. A she.

He'd do it this night and the night after and the night after that - Buck would be chasing soft, curvy lovelies for the rest of his life.

A night would never end with the two of them suddenly out of words, caught within that timeless second before a first kiss, fraught with heat and want and need, certainly and uncertainty just waiting to be fulfilled.

Despite his want he'd never taken the opportunity, not once. He'd never pursued what might have been when they'd stood together in that last instant before parting for the day. Never pushed up to brush his lips to Buck's. Never even extended a finger to lift against a whiskered cheek, to experiment a gentle caress of invitation and intention - just to chance, just to see.

Instead he'd said his goodnights, bit his tongue against saying more. Had nodded as Buck effused about whomever the man was going to warmed by, not offering that his warmth might just be something for Buck to discover as all he'd ever need.

The days on the trail when they were alone were the hardest and the very best, a twisting convolution that made his head swim. He'd languish in being the sole focus of Buck's attentions; he'd grit his teeth at every tale of what Buck would prefer to be lying on instead of the rocky ground.

He'd never tried because he well knew better. Buck didn't want him that way, Buck never would. Beyond Emery was right - Buck would never be tied down. That was a feat not even the formidable Chris Larabee could accomplish; a feat that even Buck's fathomless generosity would fail.

The wheeling, abandoned steps carried Sarah and Buck past once more. Chris smiled back at them, hazel eyes distant and sad. The fiddler extended a note, holding the vibration until all the dancers slowed to a stop. Then came a quick reel, more notes than Chris could count in quick succession and the fiddler grinned - everyone turned and clapped, wide smiles tipping up to meet the band.

Emery thumped him on the shoulder a last time. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then," he chirped.

Chris ignored him, waited to move until he felt the man shift away and go.

He watched as they came for him, happy and unaware, Sarah's hand remaining in Buck's. Both were breathless from the dance, warmed and enlivened with the excited jollity of the day.

Buck bowed with chivalrous flourish, presenting Sarah's hand. "M'lady," he chuckled warmly. He winked again at Chris. "Take her away now before I get ideas." Blue eyes glittered and he grinned lopsidedly. "Lucky dog," he whispered, loud enough for Sarah to hear.

Chris' hand closed around Sarah's and she twinkled with a knowing laugh. She would never tire of the compliments or Buck's manner, would never huff that propriety demanded otherwise - she was also wonderfully savvy enough never to believe. Chris managed to work his hand between hers and Buck's, for an instant feeling his friend's heat ghost his skin. Then the shiver was gone, Sarah's fingers tightening to his, cradled in his hold.

Buck glanced around the room, eyes searching. "Now, I'm gonna go see about stealing that fine little Miss Agnes out from under Seacrest's hairy nose." He turned back, face split with a wide smile. "Just to get him back for bothering you while you were glowering at me for dancing with your girl."

Sarah giggled and nuzzled into Chris' arm. It lifted on instinct, coming to wrap around her in a secure hold. He couldn't not grin back, couldn't ruin Buck's fun or the mood of this day over foolishness he'd known from the moment they'd met he'd never be allowed.

In direct opposition to his words Buck stood fast, making no move to leave the small circle the three created.

"Go on then," Chris prompted, waving his hand from Sarah's shoulder. "Don't let us keep you."

Buck nodded a last time, whisking close to plant a hasty kiss against Sarah's cheek. Soft, thick curls brushed Chris' neck, tickling his skin and an errant fancy. Chris buried a stab of longing so sharp it nearly bent him in half. He watched Buck go, watched as Miss Agnes squealed with delight when Buck grabbed her tight and twirled her around.

Slow, slurry music crested, overshadowing conversation and the night insects chattering outside. Chris closed his eyes and turned away. When he opened them again Sarah was waiting for him.

He smiled softly, thinking at least she hadn't and never would be a mistake or a regret, even if he was to live saddled with so many others.

The violin lilted and swelled, invitation thrumming along its dulcet melody.

Chris pecked a kiss against the same spot Buck had graced. He pulled far enough away to meet Sarah's eyes, head tilting towards the open space at the center of the barn.

"Shall we dance?"

End