Setting back in her seat, Darcy tried to calm her heart. It wasn't as though she had never been on a train, there had been that time around a year ago when she had gone to visit her cousin Prudence, but that trip had only lasted a day. This was the first time she would be traveling west, passed civilized peoples and into the wild, or so Aunt Millie said. Then again Aunt Millie thought that any woman that didn't own at least twenty hats was a savage. Maybe that was why Darcy was headed for Colorado, Millie had never thought much of her.

Mildred Lewis, nee Stanhope, was the type of woman that even the church ladies avoided. She was around forty years of age, or thereabouts. No one really knew as Aunt Millie had celebrated her fortieth birthday close to eight or more years. She was short, a little bit rounder than she claimed to be, and had a head full of graying blonde hair. She had married Darcy's uncle Samuel Lewis twenty years ago, almost as soon as she had gotten off the boat from England, and then widowed ten years later.

Darcy had never been one of Aunt Millie's favorites, the woman thought her to be completely unsuited to a lady's life. Growing up Aunt Millie took every chance to make snide little comments to her mother about how Darcy was too short, too wide, had to large a mouth, the wrong colored eyes, the wrong tone of voice, and all manner of things not right about her person. When she had turned thirteen she had overheard Aunt Millie remarking to Mrs. Cartwright next door that Darcy's figure was better suited to the whorehouse than the tea parlor. She had cried for days after that, the tears only stopping after a talk with her mother. She had claimed that the only reason Aunt Millie picked on her so much was because her own daughter, Rosaline May, looked like the south end of a north bound heifer.

The fact was, it really didn't matter the reason why Aunt Millie disliked her. What did was that instead of taking her niece in after her parents' death, she had shipped Darcy off like some unwanted garment of clothing.

The fire that took the lives of her parents, and led to her current position, had happened only four months before. No one was sure of the cause, only that it had burned like the fires of hell as it completely consumed Darcy's childhood home. If not for her restlessness, she would've been inside when the fire started. Instead Darcy had watched helplessly, her screams echoing through the streets, as the men failed to extinguish the flames.

Darcy had gone to stay with Aunt Millie after that, stuffed in one of the servant's rooms until she could figure out what to do with her. It was only a week later that an opportunity presented itself; an aunt and uncle living in Colorado.

Laura Wilcox was the younger sister of Darcy's mother. Not that Darcy had ever heard of her. According to Aunt Millie, Grandma and Grandpa had disowned her after she had an affair with some older married man. She had been sent away after her pregnancy had been discovered and had eventually married Mason Wilcox, some rancher in Colorado.

Aunt Millie had sent word to Mason Wilcox about Darcy's situation, an answer coming swiftly with an offer for Darcy to come and live with them.

Darcy clutched that letter in her hands now, the paper crinkled against the navy velvet of her traveling suit, a hand me down from Rosaline May. She resented Aunt Millie for tossing her aside; she didn't know this Laura Wilcox. But Darcy also couldn't imagine living with Aunt Millie any longer. If she had to stay there much longer she figured she would do something drastic to get away, like marry Percy Elsberry, the older banker who had been after her hand for the past two years.

Darcy waited until she felt the train jerk forward to smooth out the letter across her lap. Her eyes flicked across the words carefully scrawled there in the neat penmanship of her Uncle Mason. She might not have known her aunt and uncle in Colorado, but at least they wanted her unlike Aunt Millie.

Bucky leaned over the horn of his saddle, the brim of his old hat shielding his eyes from the harsh mid-day sun. The train wasn't due to pass through for a couple of more days, but one thing he had learned early on was that it was best to get the lay of the land.

"Hey Buck, you sure this is a good idea?" Steve looked over at his friend, his half burned cigar clenched tightly between his teeth. He rarely smoked the thing, not really having the money to replace it once it was gone, but it like the feel of the thing in the corner of his mouth.

"Money's good, might actually be able to get somethin' to eat that isn't tinned beans. I'm gettin' a little tired of smellin' ya'll, Clint is startin' to smell like somethin' died up in there." Bucky adjusted the hat on his head, more for something to do than anything. He had the same misgivings as Steve, but he knew that they really couldn't afford to pass up that kind of money. Mostly now that Tony was having to lay low.

"I'm just… this isn't 'rustling' a few cattle back to their proper owner, or redistributing wealth. This is…"

"I know what it is, but it isn't like we're goin' to do any harm to the miss. We're just goin' to make sure she doesn't make it to Colorado." Leaning over, Bucky ran a single hand down his horse's neck. Old Winter had been with him for a few years now, and was easily able to tell when something was bothering him.

"It just doesn't sit right with me, nothin' about this does." Steve pulled his neckerchief from under his collar and used it to wipe up the sweat beading along his brow.

"No, it doesn't, but like I said, it's good money."

Ok, so this is more like a preview of this story. I will expand on this later, not sure when, but I can't wait to. I really do love stuff like this.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.