Excerpt: Buck and Chris's Excellent Adventures

Buck leaned back in the saddle twisting around far enough that he could see the dusty track winding behind them in the distance. His spine twinged and popped, and he sighed a little at the release, then twisted as far again the other direction. His horse plodded along without any direction from him, trailing alongside Chris’s bay like a harnessed pair. Heck, they got along like they’d been raised up together, for all he and Chris had only been riding together a few weeks. Sometimes he felt the same, like he’d known Chris is whole life. Then the bastard would haul off and do something so damn crazy that Buck figured he’d never know him at all. But around Chris Larabee things weren’t never dull. Well, except for days like this where they rode for hours upon hours in a straight line, without any more sign of another human being than a handful of branded cattle they’d detoured around. ’Course that had been back when the sun was barely half-high in the sky. It was headed down now, gilding the tall prairie grass gold and red.
Buck settled back down, facing forward, and let out a low whistle at the pure beauty of the scene. He looked across at Chris for some reaction, something. He didn’t get any. As near as he could tell, Chris Larabee was asleep in the saddle, letting his horse pick it’s own way across the range, and damn the consequences. Buck was a little jealous, he hadn’t ever managed to sleep and ride at the same time, but he did wonder sometimes if Chris were faking. He hadn’t caught him out yet, but he was watching closely for clues. Chris would wake in an instant if Buck spoke urgently, or if his horse’s stride faltered even a little, but he seemed able to doze through Buck’s humming, whistling, and the low-voiced dialogue that Buck kept up with himself, his horse, and the world around.
It wasn’t that Buck was nuts, or even that he lived to hear his own voice. He knew that there were plenty of men who didn’t find the kind of beauty and wonder in the world around him that he did. But Buck Wilmington had been raised by a woman who’d been determined to find the sliver lining of any cloud she’d ever seen, no matter how dark. And really, it hadn’t been too bad a way to look at the world, he figured. If there was one legacy of hers that he’d be happy to carry on, he figured she’d be looking down from Heaven right about now, right proud of him.