Aurora's Embrace
by Deirdre

Setting: Old West

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.

Author's Note: This story was written for Julie's birthday. Happy Birthday Julie!

Page 8

His face remained stoic, even though Dawn unfurled a new dress for him, shyly peeking over the horizon. He tightened the last cinch on his horse and glanced across his land. The cold morn left his breath in small, white puffs. The inner fire that burned would keep him warm while he was gone. He was fueled by a growing hunger, which would be sated when Dale Upshaw's neck was in his hands.

For three days he took care of his best friend, alone. He tended to his every need and fought through every nightmare. Conversation was short; Vin slept most of the time. Nate said to expect that, the injured body needed to heal. The bruises were fading to pale blues and the swelling on his face was nearly gone. The back and leg were still a problem, the pain refusing to let him stand upright. Stamina hadn't returned yet, the smallest of actions totally wore him out. But he'd turned the corner and it was time to leave.

The trail was already cold and if not for J.D.'s quick thinking, they'd have no leads. The youthful sheriff sent wires to most of the towns in the direction that Upshaw took. They had two positive sightings and a confirmation from a prostitute in Reading, a small town near the border. Just shy of New Mexico territory, the mining town's leading lady of the night confirmed the blond braggert gave her his name. That was yesterday and it prompted him to move. He discussed the trip with Vin, who was none to happy. Larabee knew just how he felt and sympathized. It wasn't easy letting someone else watch your back. He knew Vin wanted in on the hunt, but if they waited, Dale would disappear altogether. He pulled the collar of his long duster up and eased his lean frame back onto the porch. He ducked back inside his home and the combination of fresh coffee and hotcakes greeted him.

"He's up..." Josiah Sanchez answered the wind-reddened Larabee face. He drizzled syrup on both stacks of hotcakes and speared a section of ham. Neatly cutting it in half, he gave both platters to the gunslinger, who nodded and strode past. As he entered his bedroom, he saw Vin was sitting on the side of the bed. He placed both plates on the table and turned just as the injured man attempted to stand.

"Vin, you shouldn't...." he winced as the stubborn tracker wavered and flopped sideways, back onto the bed. "...do that," he concluded, shaking his head. He pulled a chair close to the bed and left briefly, returning with two cups of coffee. He pushed the blue-speckled mug towards the wheezing body on the bed. "Where were you headed?" he asked, stabbing a piece of ham and running it through the syrup.

"...had t'go..." Vin grumbled, waiting for the fire in his back and the intense throbbing in his leg to subside. The room finally stopped spinning and he blinked, trying to decide which of the two blond's was really Chris Larabee.

"So go," the other grunted, nodding to the chamber pot next to the bed. He saw the eyebrows draw in, as the scowl was born. A short huff and the good fist pounding the bed created a sigh of exasperation. "No," he answered the flashing blue eyes. "You can't even stand. That outhouse might as well be in Kansas." He noted of the privvy on the edge of his property. "Besides, it's freezing out there. Time your slow ass got there and back, in that pretty nightshirt, Kojay and his clan would be calling you Little Numb Nuts." He heard a snicker and saw the tracker fighting not to laugh.

"Little?" Vin challenged, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head. He saw a flash of white teeth, before a hefty fork of apple cinnamon hotcakes drenched in syrup disappeared.

"Only passing on what I heard."

"Hah!" Vin choked, eyeing his own plate. "Well?" he snarled, causing the blond head to rise.

"What?" Chris answered, slowly licking excess syrup from his fork.

"Helluva nurse yer turnin' out t'be..." he frowned, leaving his fork in the center of the stack. "How my supposed t'eat this?" He winced, cradling his broken arm.

"Christ, there's no pleasing you!" Chris shot back, deftly cutting the breakfast meal with strong, sure strokes. "Yesterday you had a fit when I cut them first. Hollerin' some shit about not being a baby..."

"That was yesterday," Vin settled back happily, taking a huge forkful and letting the syrup land wherever it dropped.

"And?" Chris returned, watching the rich, sweet concoction running off the injured man's chin.

"...and what?" Vin asked, swiping his chin with his sleeve. "Damn, these is good. 'siah sure knows his way around the griddle."

"I give up," the leader decided, knowing Tanner logic wasn't something easily conquered. "We got a good lead, should be back in a week if things work out."

Vin's hand wavered and he set the fork down. He thought on the days ahead for Chris and Buck. He hoped the tall, mustached man would be enough to quell the beast. He'd seen Chris in action when he was angry and knew how dangerous he could be. What if he got carried away? What if he gunned down Upshaw? What if he got arrested or worse? What if...

"Vin?" Chris's brows drew together in concern, when the room was overcome by the pensive tracker's silence. The shadows on the younger man's face and the dark circles under his eyes, coupled with his poor color, displayed a body far from healed. But it was what lurked behind the ailing flesh and bones, that bothered him. "Spit it out, before you choke on it..."

Vin's eyes met the other's and then he picked up his fork and resumed his meal. He felt the green orbs burning into him and dropped the fork, scowling.

"Quit shoutin' at me!" he protested, his throbbing head only adding to the fear he felt. He saw the single sandy eyebrow arch, as if challenged. "Ya know what I mean..." he accused of the glaring gaze. "Ya do it by the book," he finally released, putting his good hand forward. "I want yer word."

"I can't do that Vin," Chris denied, "He's gotta pay and if the law won't help..."

"I want yer word!" Vin repeated, more determined.

"Dammit!" Chris jumped up and strode around the small room, "He's a animal, Vin. He beat you, broke your bones, whipped you, hung you, fuckin' buried you alive."

"It ain't bad enough I'm relivin' that everytime I close my eyes," Vin seethed, rising unsteadily and holding onto the bedpost for dear life. "Ya gotta remind me?"

"Then why?" Chris raged, "How can you ask me to look the other way?"

"...because what he done," Vin clenched taking a few frantic steps and losing his breath. A pain shot through his leg and up his back, causing him to stumble. The image of his best friend being hung for murder created a whole new beast inside. "...can't compare t'ya gettin' strung up..."

Chris caught him as he fell, cursing under his breath and settling him back on the bed. The brief stint took all the energy the recovering man had stored up, leaving him breathless and sweating. He felt the shivering and held on a moment, knowing it was from more than cold. He sighed long and hard, wondering how God saw fit to trust him with this soul.

"...m'alright..." Vin mumbled, his head swimming and throbbing. He felt a cup nudged against his lips and drank the cool water. He laid back and felt the blanket pulled up. It took several minutes before he had his breath back. Finally, he opened his eyes and saw a calm green sea where once a storm raged.

Chris exhaled and studied the worried blue eyes. His mind flashed back on the night when he found Vin on the porch...then the fear when he thought he was dying. It struck him then and the irony of it made him chuckle. Both had the same thought- placing such high value on the other's life. "Alright Vin, I'll try to bring back alive." He paused and saw the worry lines forming in the pale Texan's face. "You trust me?"

"Ya even gotta ask?" Vin's tone was wounded and suddenly the breakfast was souring in his stomach. He leaned forward, sensing the parting of the road.

"Then leave it alone," Larabee issued, draining his coffee and rising. "I got a long road ahead, I can't tote your damn Tanner worryin' eyes with me..." He extended his hand, snagging the other's forearm. "I'll see you next week."

"I ain't goin' anywhere," Vin hissed, letting Chris ease him back onto the bed. "Chris..." he swallowed hard, studying the features hovering above him. He hoped it wouldn't be the last meal they shared. "I'm grateful..."

"You'll get my bill," the blond teased with a wink. Then he strode away, leaving the younger man to ponder on the long days ahead.

J.D. was sorting a large pile of mail, when the door opened. He looked up and saw Buck and Chris stride inside. He paled a bit, when he saw the steely edge in the icy green eyes of the leader. A cigar was clenched between the tense blond's lips.

"Mornin' Chris," he greeted and got a nod. "You might want to read this, it's Yancy's statement." He turned the papers around and waited. Chris moved towards the desk, dropped his head and quickly read the documents. The only visible signs of change, were the jaw clenching tighter and a short hiss that escaped. Both of Larabee's fists went white-knuckle and he took several heaving breaths. Buck went to the gun cabinet, getting their ammunition ready.

"I got a map for you," Dunne pointed to the table, where the towns surrounding Reading were listed. "He's got to be in one of them. I'll keep checking, you wire from whatever town you in and I'll update you."

"Thanks," Larabee imparted, folding the map and stowing it in the inner pocket of his long black coat. He shifted his hips, letting both colts show. He stood on the other side of the bars, to the men inside, he seemed several feet taller than possible. "Open it, J.D...."

Adam met the peacekeeper's penetrating gaze head on, he never flinched or attempted to move, when the lean body walked inside the cell. He rose and stared straight back, not hiding his remorse. "Take it for what's it worth, Mr. Larabee, but I'm sorry. There's no excuse for what I did. I let Dale bully me for months and I changed. I had no idea how bad off I was, until that night in the cabin when I saw something in Vin Tanner's eyes. I realized then how wrong I was ...and how ashamed. I'll take whatever's coming, I deserve it. I want him to know, Vin I mean, how wrong I was. If he wants to even up the score..."

Chris weighed the boy's words carefully. He was a good judge of character and seldom wrong when it came to his gut feelings. They told him, as he stared hard into the boy's dark eyes, that he was truly remorseful. He blinked once and nodded slowly, removing his cigar.

"It's up to the Judge," he replied, "He's a fair man, I'm sure he'll think it out. Could be, you might not go to Yuma." He waited, watching the eyes wide and honest. He nodded and turned, his stomach curling up at the fetid creature on the other side of the cell. The words on the paper sprung to life. He felt Vin's pain, trussed up like an animal and beaten, whipped and tortured by this sadistic brute, then fed rancid meat. In his mind, he had a dull knife and slowly slid it inside the quivering man's gut. He twisted it, gently separating his intestines and pulling them out, draping the pink entrails like ribbons. He moved closer and Yancy fell off the end of the bunk, cowering on the floor and whimpering.

"You fuckin' pathetic dog..." Larabee hissed, his teeth bared. He gripped the man's head by the hair and slammed it into the wall. With his free hand, he blew on the embers of the cigar, until they glowed. "Ever hear the sound an eyeball makes when you scorch it? It sizzles a little..." he moved the throbbing cigar just a fraction of an inch from the exposed eye. His nose twitched as the scent of urine emerged, fresh from the trembling coward's leaking bladder. He pushed the ember closer still, "...then it goes..POP!" he lunged, burying the firey object into the wall behind the screaming pile of refuse. He looked with unabated disgust at the quivering, yellow-bellied animal. He moved in again, his stomach turning. How many hours...days...did Vin endure this brute's horrific torment?

"Don't hurt me..." Yancy sputtered, drool running down his face.

"I wouldn't risk getting rabies," the blond returned, bending over the curled up snake. "Don't worry about that tight ass of yours. Where you're headed, it won't take long before somebody rapes the livin' shit outta you. Them guards at Yuma love fresh meat..." he curled his lips up in disgust, shoved the body with his boot and pressed the toe of it into the sweating man's throat. "...you not being a man only makes it sweeter. I'll be waitin' when you get out," he vowed in a low voice.

With a final grunt of disgust, he turned, left the cell and stormed into the daylight. He jumped on his horse and turned to meet Buck, who was already mounted and waiting. They were about to ride out, when a voice stopped them.

"Larabee!"

"What now?" Chris grunted, watching Zeb Upshaw approach.

"You won't get away with this! Don't think I don't know what you've planned. You'll murder my son in cold blood. I know your type...defendin' the likes of that savage-lovin' heathen..."

"Chris!" Buck cried out, as the black tornado flew past him. Before he could blink, Zeb Upshaw was thrust chest first against the side of the billiard hall. "Chris, let him go!"

"You listen up, Old Man," Larabee seethed, his rage pounding in both temples. "It's a fuckin' miracle that you managed to produce two sons who can walk upright. But that other animal you spawned made the biggest mistake of his fuckin' life when he messed with Vin Tanner. I made a promise to Vin, to bring him in alive. You see, that's the kind of man Vin Tanner is, not that you'd understand. He's a real man...not a fucked up old bastard like you."

"Let him go," Buck said quietly, trying to pull the leather-gloved fingers free from Upshaw's throat. "We gotta ride..."

"Not without me you're not...." Upshaw shoved Larabee's arm away. "I'm riding with you."

"The hell you are!" Chris bellowed, "Do I look like a fool to you?" He inquired, not trusting the irate father.

Zeb launched a counterattack, Buck added his two cents and the loud trio of voices was silenced by a shrill whistle. They all turned as Judge Orrin Travis approached.

"It's not even nine a.m.," he complained for the loud ruckus, "Chris, Zeb, I'm both sure you know Frank Lewis." He eyed both glaring hotheads, waiting for each to nod. Lewis was a former marshall, now living in the area. He was a good friend of Travis's, respected by all the townspeople and as honest and fair as they came.

"Look, Orrin, I don't need this turning into a circus," Larabee argued. "Buck and me can bring him in..."

"Lewis goes along, on my behalf. I brought the charges, I have that authority, Chris. He's representing the court." He turned to the white-haired Upshaw, "Zeb, you have a boy in that jail that needs you here. I spoke with Adam at length yesterday and I was impressed. He's made some serious errors in judgement and was man enough to own up to them. He told me he'll take whatever sentence I decide. He needs a father...don't let him end up like Dale."

"Okay," Zeb finally relented. He knew Lewis was honest to a fault and would be a good impartial party. "I don't like it, but I guess you're right."

"Where is he?" Buck asked, watching Chris simmering in the dusty street.

"He'll meet you at Drover's corner," He noted of the railway stop on their route.

Chris didn't say a word, he got on his horse and rode out, leaving Buck to take the judge's papers and directives. They rode long and hard, stopping only long enough to water the horses, pick up Frank Lewis and eat. The more miles they put behind them, the quieter Chris got. Buck wasn't sure what would happen, when they caught up to Dale. The first night, in the glow of the campfire, he saw so much pain in the green eyes, it ripped right through him. He knew the silent leader was thinking of Vin.

Frank was a tall, lean man in his early fifties. He'd worked for the judge before and knew the score here. He got his horse settled down, exchanged some small talk with Wilmington and then turned in. Buck took a walk in the woods and then dropped back down, next to Chris. He pulled out a bottle and uncorked it, offering it to his pensive friend.

"All that yakkin' of yours scared the wildlife away," he teased, seeing a stoney profile.

Chris took a long draw from the bottle, sat it between his drawn up knees and stared into the flames. The dancing orange heat didn't warm him. He didn't feel anything, and that worried him. He sighed and groped the bottle, taking another drink and passing it to the right, to Buck. Where else would the giving soul be? Buck was always there...waiting to support, protect and defend.

"I got an itch I can't scratch, Buck," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck wearily.

Buck smiled softly, shaking his head slightly at the perfect metaphor. He knew the man next to him smelled blood. He also knew if he gave his word to Vin Tanner, he keep it...or die trying. He also knew it would take someone as strong as this man to keep that promise. He heard the deep sigh and gave the broad shoulder a squeeze. Chris nodded once, stood and retreated into the darkness. Buck watched him go, hoping he would find the strength to tame the beast inside. He wondered what would happen when Chris found Dale. He took a drink, eyed the dark sky and wondered what the new dawn held in store for them.

The dream was the same, but the bodies changed. It was Chris who was in the hole, wounded and bleeding, unable to move. Nameless faces kept putting shovelfuls of dirt over him. The feeble screams got weaker and weaker, until no more voice was heard. They held him back, the nameless ghouls, preventing hiim from saving his best friend.

The silence of the room, warmed by the afternoon sun, was cut short by a pinched moan from the bed. The visitor stood, walked over to the cot and watched the bruised body twitch. The handsome face contorted, sweat poured down ever bruised inch. The long hair was damp and matted, the result of the nightmare and the return of a fever. The chin trembled and the fist rose, waving weakly until it was caught. A loud gasp and two blue eyes shot open, with the chest heaving and coughing.

"Your resemblence to a drowned rat is quite striking."

"Ezra?" Vin croaked, blinking at the dual fuzzy images hovering over him. "Hell...two of ya..."

"A frightening thought," he smiled and offered a cold cup of water.

"Thanks," Vin managed to drink most of it and then took the damp cloth the southerner offered, wiping his face and neck. "Damn it's hot in here..."

"Your fever has returned," he sat down and waited for the infirmed body to lie back. "Not to worry, our good healer said that is normal. You are to remain in bed and drink fluids."

"Hell..." Vin sighed, "...feel like m'ass is sewed t'this damn bed."

"Of course, if you'd be more comfortable," the gold tooth glinted dangerously, "I'm sure Mrs. Travis would gladly give you a bath."

"Ye'd like that, wouldn't ya?" Vin grinned, "Ya ain't lookin' so bad..." he squinted painfully, his pounding head making his features pinched. "That damn coat of yers is got m'head poundin'..." Vin eyed the quiet room behind the gambler. "Ya alone?"

"I am," he nodded, "J.D. and Josiah will be joining us for supper."

"Supper?" Vin eyed the window. "What time is it?"

"Around four p.m." Ezra felt the change before he saw it. It was as if all the air left his body. The shoulders sagged in the large nightshirt. Vin turned over, hissing as his healing back protested. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm tired...is that alright?" Vin snapped, then slammed his eyes shut. "Dammit...Ez...I'm tired of sleepin' the day away..."

"I know."

Vin's eyes shot open and he looked hard at the other man. "I'm sorry, Ez. I didn't mean t'bite at ya. How ya feelin'?" He recalled how close the other came to dying.

"I'm fine, thanks to you," he pulled the small book from his coat and held it out. "I have something for you. It seems you left it behind when you took flight."

Vin took his precious book and let it rest against his chest. He had a urge inside and later, in the quiet of the night, when the house was still, he'd put it to paper. But now, he caressed the fine leather and thought on the contents.

"I didn't leave it behind," he said quietly, watching Ezra avert his gaze. "I left it t'ya..." He misunderstood the guarded face and felt stung. "I'm sorry...I guess I was wrong..."

"No," Ezra countered, hearing the dejection and feeling the sting. "Don't be. I was quite humbled by your gift. I was overwhelmed by your generosity. I don't know if I've recovered yet."

"It's where I keep my soul..." Vin whispered.

"I know," Ezra returned quietly, "...and I thank you for allowing me that privilege."

"Damn, my head hurts..." Vin gasped, trying to get comfortable.

"Then rest, my friend, I've got your back," he teased, watching one blue eye open and drinking in the shy grin. "I got a book of Keats, I could read some if you'd like."

"...'kay..." Vin yawned, letting the soft words flow around the room and lull him into an easy sleep.

Chris was at the end of the bar, his lean body creating quite a stir. He eyed the crowded saloon, carefully scanning every face. Buck was covering the other side of the street. A hotel, the bathhouse, a livery, a few stores and the mining office were taking up his time. Frank was with the marshal. Reading was not a town to remember. Most mining towns weren't. He turned back, satisfied that the first two hours in town, asking questions about Dale, got the right attention. Some particular information would garner a nice reward. He was leaning his elbows on the bar and nursing a shot of redeye. Cheap perfume invaded his space at the same time a hand snaked inside his thigh and caressed him boldly.

"You like playing with fire?" he groused, feeling the full breasts press against his arm. She wasn't very pretty, average more or less, but she was put together well.

"I like eating fire..." she teased, nibbling his earlobe and biting his neck. "I think I got something you want."

"I bet you do," Chris's voice was clipped as his desire rose, courtesy of the well tuned hands and tongue. He slid his hand across the rounded curves of her hip and kissed her hard. "How much?" he asked, as her fingers unbuttoned his pants.

"Depends on what you're buying," She purred, "I think we can help each other. Say twenty-five dollars worth of extra help." She saw the eyes flicker, the heat nearly stung her face. "Upstairs...fourteen..."

He moved quickly, shoving her in front on him, taking the stairs two at a time. They moved inside the room, he kicked the door closed with his boot. She dropped to her knees, pulling him free and started to play. He jerked the flame color hair hard and pulled her up.

"Look lady, I didn't come her to get laid...I want some information."

"You're hurting me..." She whimpered, suddenly very afraid.

"Then you best start talking..."

"You'll have to excuse my friend, he has no manners." Buck eased his lanky frame through the window and moved to where the couple stood. He eased himself between the glowering hulk and the saloon girl. He pushed her from behind, guiding her to the bed. "Chris, close the barn door, huh?" he nodded to the open fly. "What's your name Sweetheart?"

"Candy..."

"Well, that sure is a sweet name," Buck oozed, cuddling her. "I'll be a hard working gal like yourself could use some extra money. Twenty-five dollars would go a long way."

"It would get me out of this town," She pouted, "...course fifty would get me to San Francisco..."

"You don't start talking and I'll see to it you get to Mexico for free..."

"Chris!" Buck shoved the blond back, "Look Candy, if you anything about this man..."

"His name was Dale," She huddled against the dark haired man, the blond frightened her. "he had a...a...scar shaped like a triangle on his back...lower back..."

"...that's him," Buck said to Chris, knowing the scar was given to the free drinking ramrod after he got drunk one night and got branded by a saucy prostitute.

"Where'd he go? When did he leave?" Chris demanded, grabbing her arm hard.

"He...left...this morning...for...for...San Miguel."

"San Miguel?Are you sure!" The blond directed forcefully.

"Y...y...yes...he's meeting some men there. They used to work for him..."

"Who?"

"I don't know," She answered the snapping green eyes. "Honest...he got a wire late last night. That's all he said..."

"Thanks," Chris tossed the silver on the nightstand and headed for the door. "Buck?"

"You go ahead and update Frank and the marshal. Send a wire home and one to San Miguel," the rogue replied, pulling his boots off and tossing his coat on the chair. "You got poor Candy here all upset. Wouldn't be right to leave her alone..."

"Who said chivelry was dead?" Chris mused, eyeing his now half naked friend.

"No need to thank me, Chris," Buck grunted, as the expert hands coaxed him below the belt. "That's what I c...c....all...good..t...t...team...w...w.ork..."

"Funny, that's now what it looks like to me," he winked and left the amourous pair.

"You don't gotta look so hard, I know I ain't pretty," she tossed, tugging his long johns off. She pushed him back on the bed and straddled him easy. His strong hands rubbed her back, sliding up and down and making her sigh. She bent over and kissed him.

"Darlin, the Lord gives us all gifts," Buck groaned, as he released her mouth. "...and he gave you twins..." he awed of her mammory majesties, "Lord a man could hurt himself in there..."

"Dinner's almost ready, Ezra," J.D. stuck his head in the bedroom and winced when he saw Vin. He met the gambler's eyes and the older man shook his head. The youth's shoulder's dropped, Vin had been sullen and quiet all afternoon. The sun had set and Josiah was busy cooking. J.D. even brought a cake from Mrs. Schmidt's bakery in town. It was a German chocolate cake with loads of icing. He thought it would perk his friend up a little. But Vin barely noticed it when he brought it in to show him. He had a bad case of the blues. "You want anything, Vin?" The body never stirred, the lost blue eyes remained fixed and unblinking.

"I believe our youthful lawman is speaking to you," Ezra prompted, nudging the leg lightly.

"Huh?" Vin blinked, "Oh, sorry...no thanks, Kid..."

Ezra motioned for J.D. to leave and sat back in the chair. "I believe a wager is in order."

"I believe wager is yer middle name..."

"Five dollars says that you cannot guess the color I'm looking at....within five tries..."

Vin painfully sat up and eyed the room. His eyes narrowed when they roamed over the walls and rested on the sly conman. There wasn't five colors in the whole room. "What's the catch?"

"Moi?" Ezra feined innocence. "I've nothing up my sleeve."

"Yer full o'shit, Ez...what's the catch?"

"Five guesses...five dollars...five minutes..."

"Brown," Vin stated and the chestnut head shook negatively.

"Black."

"No."

"White."

"No."

"Damn," Vin stared at the wooden walls and floor, the pants and shirt Chris left hanging on the peg. He sighed and looked at the table, white basin, white tin mug and white bandages. He spotted the bright coat and his eyes perked up. "Red!"

"No."

"Aw, hell...." he slumped, then looked around the room again. He caught sight of the slim volume that Ezra brought with him. "puke green..."

"Most certainly not!" Ezra huffed, laying out his palm. "I win."

"Well?" Vin demanded.

"Chartreuse."

"I knew it!" he sat up and the whole room began to spin wildly, "Yer a crooked as a old crone with a broom. Ya fuckin' no account cheatin' bastard."

"I did not cheat!" Ezra stood up and steadied the irate Texan, before he fell. "Please contain your tantrums to the bed. If you fall and break something on my shift, Nathan will have my hide."

"Where is it?" Vin huffed, gripping the conman's arm hard and blinking at the blurry room.

"If you could see," the southerner sat him down on the bed and smiled at the eyes trying to focus, "it's right there."

"I said green!" Vin hollered, "I said right clear...puke green...ya cheated."

"It's not green, it's chartreuse..."

"There ain't no such fuckin' thing as shar truce...."

"There most certainly is and that is the precise color."

"Get off me!" Vin shoved the hands away. "I'm gettin' m'pants and gettin' the hell outta here...Man ain't even safe from swindler's on his death bed."

"You're hardly dying and I am not a swindler. We made a wager and I was the victor." He manhandled the weaker man easily, forcing him to sit down on the bed. He heard the gasping breaths and didn't miss the deathgrip the other had on his arm.

"The hell ya was...J.D.!!!"

"Jeez, you two are loud. I heard you shoutin' clear over by the coral. Boy that new horse of Chris's is a beauty. I never saw such a color."

"Reckon he's shar truce too!" He held onto Ezra and stood up, hissing as a draft hit him.

"What?" the youth perplexed, eyeing the irate face and half stripped body, "Vin your ass is hanging out. Where you going?"

"Away from him!"

"Sit down this instant," the gambler shoved the frail body down. "Stop whining and pay your debt."

"I don't have no Goddamn debt and yer fryin' my last nerves..." He glared, "J.D. ,what color is that book?"

"Yellow?"

"No it ain't, it's puke green."

"It's chartreuse,"

"What?" J.D. wrinked his nose.

"See! Ya cheated, the Kid never heard of it neither."

"Pay up or I will..."

"Quiet!" Josiah boomed, his large body filling the door. "If you two can't play nice, I'm keeping you both after school." The preacher warned with a knowing wink to Standish. "J.D., get some cider from the porch. Ezra, give Vin a hand to the table."

"I ain't eatin' in a dress...I'm gettin' m' pants!"

"I know you're not talkin' to me in that tone of voice," Josiah loomed over Vin, whose scowl warmed his heart.

"Please 'siah...I'll be good...I just want m'pants..."

"Shit, pants, socks, no boots!" the minister agreed, patting Ezra's back on the way. "Nice work, Son. You done good!"

"Thank you," Standish grinned, picking up a pair of pants and moving to the bed. "Lift your arm so we can dispose of your charming gown."

"Yer enjoyin' the hell outta this..." Vin muttered, hissing as his leg and back throbbed. "God..."

"I'm sorry," Ezra winced, hearing the sharp intake of breath and feeling the fingers gripping his arm. He felt his stomach turn as his eyes raked over the stripes on Vin's naked back.

"Seen enough?" Vin growled, carefully lifting his legs into the pants and standing.

"I didn't mean to stare," Ezra apologized, holding the blue shirt out and easing the injured arm from it's sling. Vin tried not to cry out, but even the southerner's gentle touch was too much. It took several minutes and long drinks of air, but at last he was ready. He stood by the bed and waited, and the hand came up. "Would you like a hand?"

"Thanks," Vin managed, standing and taking a faltering step. "Shit...."

"Lean on me," Ezra suggested, "Don't put weight on that leg."

At last they made it to the table. Vin's stomach was doing flips. A large platter of sizzling steaks was offered. There was a big bowl of mashed potatoes and fresh green beans. There was a load of biscuits and pan gravy with onions. "Damn..." he hooted, then saw Josiah's arm in front of him.

"Here's yours, Vin." the preacher said, winking at J.D. who was next to the recovering patient.

"What the hell is that?" the Texan snarled, eyeing the mess in front of him.

"What's it look like?" Sanchez answered of the plate of grits.

"It looks like somebody already ate it," Vin tosses back, "I ain't eatin' this. I want real food." Then he saw the other three grinning and huffed. "I reckon ya thought that was funny...pickin' on an invalid..."

"You're not an invalid," J.D. gave Vin an empty plate and Ezra speared a nice sized steak for him.

"Double or nothing?" the gambler inquired with a wink, getting the crusty reply he sought and then winked. "Welcome back."

It was almost noon when the arrived in San Miguel. A large monestary was on the edge of town, and there weren't many occupants on the steet .The buildings were almost all Spanish in style and the weary trio pulled up in front of the sheriff's office. Frank went inside to get the lawman and fill him in.

Chris and Buck made their way toward the saloon, peering over the batwing doors. Their eyes roamed the room, which held about ten tables. Six men stood at the bar, eating boiled eggs and ham for lunch. About five others were scattered around the room. Then, in the back corner, almost out of sight, was the back of a familiar blond head.

"Chris..." Buck warned, seeing the dragon rising in the green eyes. His arm was shrugged off and he followed the lean man's strides.

"I'm tellin' you," Dale used both hands. "She was tighter than a drum. I never had such a fine piece of ass." He saw the stunned faces of the men across from him and sat up in his chair. His eyes grew wide as the dust on the table was scattered, when a blood-stained noose landed square in the middle. He knew before the words came, the signature on the rope told him.

"Get up."

The voice was low and lethal. It was so cold and full of malice that is chilled him to the bone. For several seconds, he didn't move. Dale's worst nightmare had come true. His eyes were glued to the bloody noose he'd left on Vin Tanner's body. The devil caught up to him and was waiting to take his soul.

Buck stood sentry in the doorway, moving aside as the cautious patrons left the establishment. What Chris Larabee's deadly gaze didn't say, Buck's simmering eyes did. Once he was certain Chris was in not in danger, he moved to the bar. He kept his rifle drawn and nodded once to the barkeep. The pile of silver he sat on the edge, was more than enough to cover the upcoming damage. Two saloon girls huddled on the upper level, peeking through the spokes of the railing. One lone piece of paper drifted slowly down to the ground, then the air was deathly still. He motioned for the large beer slinger to move outside and noted Frank and the sheriff were on the boardwalk. At last the room was empty. He moved to the gunslinger's right hand, at an angle which allowed him to see the sneer on Upshaw's face.

"You boys know what's worse than a red-skin-lovin' breed?" the wavering Upshaw grunted, keeping his voice level despite the sweat running freely down his back. "...one that ain't got the sense to holler when you try to teach him some manners..." His sentence was cut off and he stifled a cry, when his face was slammed into the table. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth, and he felt a hot breath on his throat. His hand was trapped over his gun, someone's vise-like grip nearly broke his wrist.

"Go ahead, you fuckin' animal, gimme a reason," Buck growled, pressing the man's face even further into the table. "We've come a long way to drag your flea ridden' ass back to the Judge. My friend, he has a lot of patience, I don't. I'd rather blow a hold right through your mangy hide..." he felt the fingers wiggle in an attempt to get at the gun. "Oh, as much as I'd love to let you try that, I can't. You see, Chris here gave Vin his word he'd bring you in alive," He pulled the man's gun and backed up a little. "'course how alive wasn't discussed. Just remember, he gave his word, I didn't..." He rose and flicked took the rifle back from Chris and pointed it to the men who sat in stunned silence across from Upshaw. "...toss 'em on the floor, NOW!" he ordered and waited until the guns were dispensed. "Get out...GO!" Once they left, he tossed the guns behind the bar. He moved back to Chris, reached around him and took Dale's gun. Then he yanked him up by the collar and shoved his arms on the table. He frisked the large body, taking a knife and a pair of brass knuckles. Satisified, he kicked the right kneecap once for good measure. He took the black and silver gunbelt Chris unstrapped from his hip and draped it around his shoulder. With a lone nod to his oldest friend, he moved to the doorway. His large frame prevented entry or exit. It was Chris's show and he'd be damned if anyone would interfere.

For a moment, time stood still. Dale felt Larabee's eyes burning a hole right through the sweat-drenched shirt he wore. Suddenly, the chair was kicked from behind him, causing him to jump. He squared his shoulders and turned around, catching a right fist to his jaw. It staggered him and he moved back a few feet. He'd seen drawings of the devil before and the features bearing in on him bore a striking resemblence. Not one inch of the lean, brooding muscle machine in front of him wasn't coiled.

"Hold it," he sputtered, spitting blood from his lip. "This ain't your call. He had it comin'...lousy indian lovin' bastard..."

Chris growled and cut off the sentence with a left hook to the chin and right to the gut. He pulled Dale up by the back of the blond hair, slamming him against the floor. He knelt over his back, pulled the head up again and curled up his lip in contempt.

"You maggot-eatin' polecat," he hissed, then grinned evilly, "I'm gonna teach you some manners-Larabee style!" he punctuated the sentence with a punch to the kidney and then got an elbow in his gut.

Upshaw picked up a discarded whiskey bottle and swung wildly, catching the side of the gunslinger's head. He saw the green eye blink and took advantage, springing full force at the dazed man. They tumbled and rolled across the floor, exchanging more blows. Larabee used Dale's face for a punching bag, then slammed him into the bar. The coward saw the irate, stormy features, now streaked with blood, sweat and grit, bearing on him. His fingers grasped under the bar for anything...he felt another bottle, only to have it shot out of his hand.

"Nice shot!" Chris grunted at his partner.

"My pleasure," Buck returned, tipping his hat. He leaned lazily against the doorjamb and hooked one thumb in his belt. "Hey Chris, quit playin' with 'im, I'm gettin' hungry..."

"You're...always..." Chris coughed, kicking the curled up monster in the neck, gut and groin, "...hungry or horny...or...b...both."

"Somethin' wrong with that?" The rogue laughed, enjoying every moment of the display.

"At your age?" the blond gasped, lifting the nearly unconscious man by the back of the belt and scruff of the neck.. He spun him around, letting the face and torso hit the bar, chairs and table.

"I'm in my prime," the womanzier crowed, watching Dale Upshaw's bloody face turn green. "You're just jealous..."

"...still...don't...make..." Chris heaved the body hard, sending it into the piano. "...you...a Larabee...Stt..st...stud..." he panted, grinned and fell forward.

"Now whose gettin' old?" Buck laughed, nodding to Frank and the sheriff as they ran into the room. "I remember you takin' down a whole saloon, havin' dinner and two woman before passin' out."

"...no whiskey..." Chris defended, watching Buck's face gettin' fuzzier and further away.

"Goodnight Pard!" Wilmington chuckled, easing the unconscious man up and over his broad shoulder. "Frank, you got this?"

"Yeah, Buck, get him to the hotel. We'll haul Upshaw to the jail..."

"Sure is pretty," The large man observed of the sunset, watching the crimson and gold steaked sky. He eased his body onto the porch and sat on the floor.

"Yeah," Vin replied wistfully, the soft breeze taking his hair from his shoulders. "...never get tired of lookin' at 'em."

"Enjoy the next ten minutes, then you're going inside. It's too cold out here," the older man observed. He glanced upwards and saw the pensive face. Knowing the quiet tracker, he almost heard the mind spinning. "You're gonna eat me under the table tonight, you keep thinking so hard!"

"That obvious?" Vin chuckled, then frowned as Josiah's large hand pulled the blanket tighter around him. He settled back into the large rocker and sipped the herbal tea in the tin mug. "I been thinkin'..."

"I could see that," Sanchez grinned.

"That fella," the Texan paused, shifting his gaze to the horizon. "Ya know, the one who was spreadin' the sickness. What's gonna happen to him?"

"That what's been weighin' your mind down, Son?" He saw the shaggy head dip once and smiled.

"Can't help thinkin' about 'im. It weren't his fault, he didn't do it on purpose." He paused, swallowed hard, remembering the dark days when he wore that mettle. "I can' tell ya, it's a helluva thing t'carry."

His voice broke then and that slight crack tore right through the large man. He knew how deeply this man hurt for others. He also knew that know the noble heart was bleeding for a stranger. He took a deep breath and tried to put right words together. Somehow, he would try to ease the pain.

"How can they keep 'im in jail? He didn't do..."

"Vin," Sanchez interrupted, "It's not for you or me or any man to judge him. It's up to God now."

"God?" Vin turned sharply, staring at the older man's downcast features. "Whaddya mean..." then the words cut through him painfully. "Aw, hell, ya can't mean...God...he's dead?"

"Yeah, a couple days after they detained him at the Fort. He killed himself. I'm sorry, Vin..." He stood and rested a single hand on the hunched over shoulder. The head disappeared under the large blanket and he winced at the stifled sob. Vin was perhaps, the only man who understood those last dark hours that the interred man spent. He knew all to well what desperation and guilt of that magnitude felt like. "I'll get supper started." With a final firm squeeze, he left his young friend to mourn. As his heavy boots fell across the timbered floor, he thanked God for blessing him with Vin Tanner.

The stew was on the table and a plate full of hot biscuits were waiting. The plates, utencils and cider were ready. Josiah looked up as Vin limped slowly to the table, using a single crutch. He eased his weary body down, keeping his eyes averted. The preacher ladled out the meal and sat down across from the disheartened young man. He bowed his head and prayed.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falls, for he has not another to help him up." The verse from Ecclesiastes graced the table eloquently. The deep voice made the words all the warmer. He smiled when he saw Vin choke up and the tracker's Adam's apple bobbing.

Vin felt the preacher's words deeply. Was that the difference? Would this new family of his, these brothers, have lifted him up? The peace he felt inside gave him that reply. He had no doubt, the fire inside that started with a green-eyed gaze across a dusty street, spread among the other six. These men, these brothers, were all the difference. He tried twice, before he found his wavering voice. "Thanks, Preacher...ya sure do put a good spin on them words..."

"No, Brother, thank you." Josiah returned with a smile and gentle tug on the flannel sleeved arm. "That spirit He gave you sure does put a good spin on this old heart..."

He didn't move right away, the pain prevented that. For a few foggy minutes, he felt sure a buffalo herd stomped on his face and chest. Something soft was under his naked back. Something warm was covering his battered body. Somebody near was chuckling at his curse-filled moans. He peeled one eye open, the only one that was working, and saw a blurry mustache.

"Jesus..." he groaned, rolling over and sitting up. He cradled his aching head in his hands and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"No, Buck Wilmington, at your service," the voice said with gusto, "but I can see where you'd make that mistake. Wouldn't be the first time..."

"Shut up, Buck," he moaned, every loud word hiting his aching head like an ax. He winced and licked his dry, split lips. "Water?"

Buck poured a mug of cool water and handed it to the suffering soul. Two mugs later, the empty cup dropped onto the mattress. One hand remained over the midsection another explored the bandaged head.

"Six stitches," The rogue relayed and saw the fingers fumbling on the taped chest. "Two cracked none broken." The battered face came up and he grinned, squatting in front of the suffering man. "Uh...uh...you sure do look pretty..."

"He still breathing?" Chris croaked, rising and taking an unsteady step.

"Yeah..."

"Damn..."

"He's in the jail, busted all to hell. The Doc thinks it will be a couple days before he's up to ridin' out."

"Not a problem," the blond hissed, spashing his face with cold water. "...he won't be ridin'...we leave...to...tom..tomorrow."

"The Doc said you shouldn't be on a horse for a day or two..."

"The Doc talks to much," Larabee grunted, eyeing the room, "Where is it?"

"In your saddlebag," Buck answered of the terrible token, "What are you plannin' on doin' with it?"

"Gift." the battered man replied, buttoning his shirt. "Boots?"

"Sit down, I'll get 'em on. You're onry enough without a hole punched in your lung." After the boots were one, the gunbelt came next. "Gift?"

"A necktie," the staggering body replied, squaring his aching body and heading for the door of the small hotel room. Right now, his stomach was growling and the blue twilight told him it was dinner time. "Coming? I'm starved."

"I guess that means I'm buying."

"Smart man." he grunted, gingerly taking the steps slowly. The hotel dining room was crowded and both men noticed every conversation halted as soon as they entered the room. Buck read the items scrawled on the chalkboard. Chris drilled his working eye on the telltale faces in the room, slowly undressing every amazed guest.

"Damn!" Buck laughed, flagging down a waitress, "It's like walkin' behind Moses..." he noted of the 'river-parting' power that his friend held. "Evein' Sweetheart, what's your name?"

"Emily." the petite brunette replied. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, Honey, my name's Wilmington," he winked and wagged his eyebrows, "I was born ready."

"Food...the order...I meant...dinner..." she stammered, totally undone by the melting smile.

"Steak, rare and thick, potatoes and biscuits, extra honey..." he winked and smiled again.

"Sir?" she turned to the blond man, wincing at the swollen, bruised and quickly discolored face.

"What kind of chicken?" he asked, trying to read the far away chalkboard with one good eye.

"It's all beat up..." she stammered, studying his face, "Uh...uh...I mean...meant....battered...dipped that is..." Silently berating herself and envisioning her upcoming unemployment.

"Something wrong with chicken?" Chris drilled, raking his pained eye over the dining area, when the silent crowd began to murmur loudly. This sent his dining partner into convulsive laughter.

"No Sir, it's quite good...coming right up...mashed potatoes and uh...black-eyed peas..." She left swiftly, as Buck's laughter increased, nearly choking him. Tears ran down his face and he slapped the table. He peeked up and saw Chris blushing, with one green eye glaring at him. That made him even laugh harder.

"Buck, if you don't shut up, I'm gonna tell Ample Amy that Nathan's treatin' you for a rash..." He warned of the loose-lipped saloon girl.

"Aw, hell, Chris," the teary-eyed rogue coughed and recovered, "You got no sense of humor." The waitress appeared, deposting the beers and a basket of warm rolls. She left to serve another and Buck couldn't resist "Somethin' wrong with chicken," he mimicked and scowled, laughing and breaking a roll in half.

"Buck, I'm warning you..." Chris felt his defense slipping. There was something very contagious about Buck's laugher. Coupled with the wet eyes and bright grin, it made for a dangerous situation. Plus, the womanizer was in rare form.

"Beat up chicken and black-eyed peas," he continued, eyeing his battered friend. He laughed harder, clutching his abdomen, "Hey, maybe I'll just change the blackboard to "Chicken-lickin' Larabee'"

"Buck, I swear," Chris started, but couldn't finish. It started as a quiver in his lip and ended with laughter. He drank in Buck infectious humor and felt damn luck to have such a friend.

Hank Griscom looked up in shock when his office door opened at seven a.m. He knew the first two men, having talked to them the day and night prior. But the bruised blond he knew by reputation only. From the doctor's report, he was surprised the young man was able to walk.

"Get him ready," Chris said, staring at the gray-haired law man.

"Upshaw?" He stood and shook his head. "I can't...the doctor said he shouldn't be on a horse for..."

"Get him cuffed, I'll be outside," Chris turned and left, wincing as the sunlight pierced his throbbing head.

"Now wait a minute!" The sheriff started after the arrogant blond, only to hit a six foot wall of resistance.

"Now I thought Chris was real polite," Buck imparted, taking a sweet roll from the overfed sheriff's plate. "Me? I would have said, 'Get the fuckin' animal out here and hog tie 'im'." He popped half of the confection in his mouth and pointed to the cell. "Frank?"

"He looks fit to me, he ate dinner and breakfast and he's standing. Get him ready. We leave in five minutes."

Chris contained his grin, despite the pain it caused. Dale looked like raw meat, his face was red and swollen ,both eyes slits. Cuts adorned his chest, hands and neck. Frank and Buck got him in the horse and tied to the pommel. Chris moved his own horse closer and grinned evilly.

"Mornin' Fuckface," he chirped, pulling out the blood noose, "I got a little present for you." With two fast moves, the noose was on the protesting man's neck, tightened to the point of choking.

"You...can't...do...this...I got...my...rights..." Dale stuttered, wincing as the raw hemp cut into his tender neck.

"RIGHTS!" Chris roared, jerking the rope so hard, the prisoner's face turned purple. "You got the balls to use that word! You go fuckin' rights you filthy animal!"

"Chris! That's enough!" Buck's arm snagged the tense maroon one and he relaxed only when those muscles did. He then turned to the prisoner, "You say one more word and I'm using the privvy rag to gag you..."

They were about ten miles from town, when they stopped. Buck was as confused as Frank and Dale. He saw Chris stop and slide from his horse. Worried about the head injury and ribs, he got down and followed.

"You okay?" He waited and the blond head nodded once. "What are you doing?"

"Get down," Chris growled, yanking the rope until body fell off. "Untie him..."

"Chris?"

"Do it, Buck." He released the rope, holding a gun to the prisoner, until the bonds were cut. "Get your boots off."

"Now wait a minute!" Upshaw protested. "You can't do this...I can't walk back to town...I got my rights...you ain't the law..." His words were cut off when he was thrown to the ground. His head was pulled up painfully by the hair and a sharp knife pressed against his throat, just above the bloody hemp necklace.

"I warned you!" Chris gritted, pressing the blade until a thin line of blood was showing. "You got the balls to talk about rights?" The brutal week of Hell Vin suffered through was displayed in his mind. " I got rights too and they're tellin' me an eye for eye is equal justice. How about if I send Buck and Frank home? You and me can camp out her for a week. I can strip you, peel a few inches of skin off each day...stake out over an ant hill and let them red fuckin' ants eat you alive. Then, for fun, I'll show you how good I am with a whip...then you can dig your own grave and I'll bury you ass up..." He finished, panting and sweating, his eyes bulging. "Do we understand each other? You got any more complaints? Good!" He was shaking with anger and got up in unsteady legs. "Get him out of my sight, Buck," he warned, clutching both hands into fists.

So ten minutes later, they started for home again. Buck in the lead, with Dale bound to him by the noose, jogging behind. Frank was next and Chris behind. They alternated letting him walk and ride, finally they stopped after dark, near a creek. Dale dropped to his knees, utterly spent, every inch of him on fire, especially his bleeding feet. He saw the stream and began to crawl, only to have a black boot stomp on his hand.

"Going somewhere?"

"W..a...t..er...pl...eas...e?"

"I'll bet Vin didn't beg," Chris snarled, squatting down and eyeing the pathetic mass. "Not even when you fed him tainted meat you son-of-a-bitch." he backhanded him hard and felt Buck pull him away.

"Help Frank with the horses and get a fire started," Wilmington enforced, "Go on...I'll see to him..."

Buck shoved Dale ahead, "Get movin' dog..." while following at a close distance. He waited until both feet were in the creek. Dale bent over next, anxious to drink. Buck held his head under the water, until the weak man began to panic. "That enough water for you?" he pulled the head free and tossed the coughing man onto the bank.

"I want the rope off," Dale pleaded, the tight bond was cutting his skin raw and his throat was swollen.

"I want a million dollars, but we all can't what we want." Buck nudged him with his boot. "Get movin'"

"I want it off," he protested, not moving. Behind Wilmington he saw the fire blazing and Frank setting up dinner. Chris Larabee's back was still turned.

"Well now I'd say it looks real pretty around that red-neck of yours. You'll get used to it by the time we get home." He yanked hard, "You want to be treated like a dog? Fine, I'll walk you back..."

Dale started to follow, but collapsed, lying flat on his belly. He began to gag and vomit, frothy water spilling from his lips. His eyes widened and he realized he couldn't breathe.

'Aw, hell," Buck complained, pulling his gun, "Just my luck, the dog's got rabies..." He shoved Dale on his knees and loosened the noose. That's when the body turned, trapping his fingers inside the rope. "CHRIS!" He managed, before both of them tumbled sideways. He saw Dale's free hand with a rock and managed to duck, but not before it hit his forehead. The gun was under his body and he was too dizzy to move. He felt blood running and through a blur saw the rock move again.

"Buck!" Chris cried, spinning and spotting the bloody rock in Dale's hand. "Drop it!" He ordered, feeling Frank move beside him.

"Fuck you Larabee!" Dale growled, raising the rock over the unprotected Wilmington's face.

"Drop it!" Chris called out again, firing a warning shot, creasing the madman's arm. But he kept his grip and left the gunslinger no choice. The rock descended at the same time the fatal bullet was fired. For a minute, there was silence, then Dale's body toppled over.

"Buck, talk to me!" Chris ran over, throwing Dale's body aside. He saw Frank kneel down and shake his head.

"He's dead Chris," the retired lawman noted.

"I tried Frank, I warned him..." Larabee replied, cradling his unconscious friend.

"I know you did, Son. I'll see to the body. You tend to Buck. He okay?"

"Yeah," Chris said softly, wiping the blood away with a trembling hand. "Good thing it hit his head and not something important."

It wasn't a bad cut and didn't need stitches. Chris cleaned it and kept pressure on it, until the bleeding stopped. He ripped up an undershirt for bandages and propped Buck up against his saddle. Halfway through dinner, the blue eyes opened. They flicked to the now blanketed, tied-up corpse. Chris saw the handsome man's face flush with remorse. Their eyes met and the blond felt a lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Chris...I know you wanted him alive."

"Wanted you alive more," Chris returned, handing Buck a cup of coffee. The remorse lingered and Chris felt a tug inside. Nobody had a bigger heart than Buck Wilmington. He knew how important his word to Vin Tanner was. That was what was eating him up inside. "Thanks Buck," he whispered and saw the other nod. They ate in silence, with only the crackling of the flames for music. Chris was checking the horses, when he heard Frank over near Buck. The older man was covering the injured one with a blanket.

"You okay Buck?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, it was only my head," Wilmington replied, "Lucky for me, it missed anything important..."

The look on the retired lawman's face, coupled with Buck's bawdy grin and wink and the suggestive pat on his groin, gave Chris a good laugh. The sound spilled from his lips and he sat down next to his oldest friend, uncorked the bottle and drank in his luck.

The crest on the hill was a welcome sight and brought the trio to a halt. Buck took a swig from his canteen and cocked his head backwards. Chris became silent and sullen, barely speaknig to them. Town was just ahead and he knew who would be waiting. They'd wired the Judge from the last railroad depot that they passed, so by now, Zeb Upshaw would be in town. He urged his horse over to the pensive gunslinger, whose face still bore pale bruises from the fight. The only sign of the rib discomfort, was a slight wince now and again.

"You want to head to the shack, I'll take him in, Chris." He offered and waited.

Chris thought on Buck's words for several minutes. As much as he needed to see Vin, he needed something else first. He sighed, took his hat off and wiped his brow, before replacing the wide-brimmed black hat. Sometimes it was just plain good to have Buck Wilmington riding by your side. He knew without a doubt, Buck would take the body in and bear Zeb's wrath alone. He also knew Buck would shrug it off. It was one of many things that he cherished about this man. He turned sideways and managed a small smile.

"Thanks, Buck," he let his tone bespeak his kinship, "But I gotta do this and...uh...after I need..."

"Need what?" the rogue frowned, eyeing the guilty face. "What's that for? Aw, hell, Chris, don't go questioning it, it's done."

"Is it Buck?" the blond whispered, "I might never know."

"It's gettin' cold," Buck replied, sundown was near, "How about we discuss this someplace warmer with a beverage of choice?"

"Beverage of choice?" Chris grinned, urging his mount into a trot, "It ain't gonna be coffee...you offered, Big Guy, you're buying."

"Done deal!" Buck agreed, riding towards town.

"Dinner's ready Vin," J.D. ambled onto the porch and smiled. His friend was fast asleep in the rocker Josiah brought from town. Since Chris's wire arrived, he'd been spending most of his day waiting and watching. The wire only said they got Dale and were bringing him home. Mrs. Potter send a big platter of fried chicken, some mashed potatoes and corn. J.D. made biscuits and apple crisp. He picked up the cider jug and placed it on the table, where the hot meal waited. Then he went out and tugged on Vin's sleeve. "Vin...Vin..."

"Huh?" the sleepy man blinked, "Aw, hell...day's gone already."

"Don't knock it," the youth teased, "There's nothing like a good afternoon nap."

"Hah," Vin scoffed, letting the younger man help him up, "Seems m'whole damn days is one long nap..."

"You need to heal." Dunne supported him, until he got the crutch steady. Then he walked next to the still recovering body. "You're getting good with that!" He teased, but didn't get a smile. Vin's moods were all over the place. The frustration at the setbacks in his healing were wearing him down. A reoccuring fever and back pain made him weak and irritable. Plus, he was worried about Chris, although he denied it.

"Looks good," Vin managed, settling himself uncomfortably at the table. The broken arm was aching today, coupled with the headache from the fever, he felt lousy. But the Kid went out of his way to keep him company all day and make dinner, so he'd put on a smile. "Ya didn't have t'go t'so much trouble."

"This isn't trouble," J.D. boomed, placing a hot plate of food in front on Vin. He then took the seat opposite. "This is eating!" He laughed when Vin took a long swig of cider and began to cough. "You okay, there, Vin?"

"...the hell's in here 'sides cider?" the Texan choked, eyes wide.

"A little of this and that..." The hazel eyes danced mischievously. "Ezra fixed it up...since Chris will be in tonight."

"Thanks fer the warning!" Vin pushed the cup away, "Think I'll stick t'coffee."

"Tea," J.D. corrected, "it's loaded with stuff and Nate says..."

"I'm tired of that shit!" the sharpshooter nagged, dipping his biscuit into honey, "'sides he ain't here."

"But I am," the sheriff pulled out his badge, "and on duty!" He saw Vin grin and continued ,"Besides, you won't even notice it, not with the apple crisp."

"Apple crisp?" Vin's head jumped up and his eyes raked over the steaming pan from the oven. "Damn J.D.! Thanks!" He knew the concoction would be loaded with sugar and cinnamon coating the buttery-flour dredged apples. Bubbling and brown, it would disappear to quickly. "Ya takin' Casey fer a ride tonight?"

"How'd you know?" J.D. gobbled up the potatoes and reached for a chicken leg.

"Yer all slickered up and ya got them cow eyes..."

"Kincaid's are havin' a barn dance," he noted of a nearby rancher, "I'm takin' Casey."

"Full moon tonight, sure be good fer uh...dancin'," he raised his brows and winked, causing the younger man to blush.

"I 'dance' just fine, thank you!" He scoffed, then hesistated, "Shame you can't go, a lot of folks from town are going." He felt the chill before he heard Vin's fork hit the plate. He frowned and tried to think of what he'd said wrong. Something put a shadow on the Texan's face.

"Did I say..."

"No, it's nothin' ya done," the sharpshooter replied, eyes on the table. "I ain't ready fer town yet..."

"Ready?" J.D. puzzled, then realized what his friend meant. "Nobody blames you for what happened Vin...that was all cleared up."

"It still don't set right, J.D., I mean, why Ez and not me? Maybe that fella wasn't the only carrier..."

"CUT THAT OUT!" the younger man charged, "It's over Vin, let it go. You saved Ez, Chris and the Johnson's by bringing that medicine in. You know, the army wired the Judge and apologized. That medicine got to folks up north and saved them. Why can't you see that?"

Vin thought for a moment, pondering on the young easterner's words. Then his head came up slowly and he found a smile."Maybe I just did, Kid, thanks." He picked up his fork, "Now how 'bout we make short work of this meal and I'll give ya some 'dance' steps."

J.D. laughed and tossed a biscuit at Vin, who responded with heaving it right back. The meal went down easy and the medicinal tea followed. He wanted to decline the bed, but realized J.D. wouldn't leave for the dance, until he was settled. So, after the third yawn, he hobbled into the back room. He was dozing, when a shadow crossed over. He felt a blanket added and pulled up and managed to peel an eye open.

"Thanks, J.D., get goin', 'fore ya lose that moonbeam," he yawned again and heard the door shut. As cozy as he was in the bed, he wanted to wait up for Chris, so he got up and went to the table. He took his journal with him and passed the time by writing. He noticed the container of apple crisp on the sideboard and hobbled over.

The town was quiet when they arrived. They paused in front of the hotel, Frank went in to get the Judge, who had dinner promptly at seven thirty. Usually he ate with Mary, but she was at the dance. Chris and Buck remained on their horses, turning as a southern drawl filled the night air.

"Good Evening, Gentlemen," Ezra strode over and noticed the body wrapped up, "The vermin Upshaw?"

"Yeah," Buck nodded, eyeing the empty street, "Where is everybody? It's awful quiet."

"The Kincaids are hosting a fete of sorts in their barn," Standish replied, noticing the solemn and unsettling Larabee face.

"A party huh?" the rogue smiled, "Talk about bad timing...all those nubile young ladies just itchin' to waltz with the master."

"Yes, well, as much as I would have enjoying filling their dance cards, I am on duty." The gambler grinned.

"You?" Wilmington grunted, "working upright? Hah...talk about desperate. Where's the Kid?"

"Our youthful lawman was dining with Vin, before escorting the lovely Miss Wells to the party."

"Hope he remembers everything I told him." Buck mused, giving Ezra a snort.

"Yes, one can only hope..." He paused as a loud voice was heard, followed by the large, menacing body of Zeb Upshaw. He'd been visiting Adam just outside the jail cell and saw the horses ride by the window.

"Dale?" He hollered, bolting for the horse. He lifted on end of the body up, exposing the lifeless face. He rested his hand on the pale hair and clenched his eyes shut. Then he gently replaced him and turned to the two lawmen. His dark eyes zeroed in on Chris Larabee.

"I wouldn't," Ezra stepped in front on him, spotting the older man's hand on his gun.

"I don't give a rat's ass what the hell you think," Upshaw bristled. "Get out of my way Standish or I'll shoot right through you."

"No, you won't," Orrin Travis appeared, sliding up to stand next to Ezra. "I've heard Frank's testimony and read his report. It was justifiable."

"Justifiable my ass, he was murdered!" Upshaw's fist shot out so fast, Ezra never had a chance. He lunged for Larabee, only to hit the side of a large gray bay. A gun appeared and he saw a dangerous glint in Buck Wilmington's eyes.

"Now you listen to me Old Man, it's done. You leave it alone or I'll bury you next to that vermin you sired. In the first place, he kidnapped and tortured Vin Tanner for over a week. Then he ran...he had a chance to come in, he decided not to...we had no choice."

"Bullshit!" He pulled away, pointing an arm at the silent figure in blank. "You murdered him! I knew it when you rode out. That red-skin heathen should be the one under a blanket, not..."

"Chris!" Buck hollered, as the statue came to life. Before they could blink, Larabee had Upshaw on the ground, a knife to his throat. Buck dismounted, dropping to Chris's side. He saw Zeb's hand on his gun and Chris bared a lip. The blond never uttered a word, he didn't have to; his face was a mask of rage and revulsion. He still saw Vin by the firelight that first night, bruised, battered and bearing the marks of a fresh grave.

"Chris, let him go...Chris..." Wilmington pleaded, gently trying to pull the iron-muscled arm back.

"Let him up, Chris," Orrin said, moving next to the trio. "Zeb, try to remember I am a law official and your family is already well represented in jail. Frank?"

Buck pulled Chris off the older man and moved aside, letting their escort get a hand to the grieving father.

"It's true, Zeb," Frank caught the man's eyes. "I saw it, Larabee gave him three chances to surrender, even winged him once. He was gonna kill Buck, we didn't have a choice. Take him home, Zeb, bury him next to his mother."

For a moment, silence reigned. Buck saw Ezra stirring and moved to help him up. Orrin's dark gaze was enough to make the wealthy rancher move. He took the reins of the horse bearing his son's body and moved away, pausing long enough to stare at Chris Larabee.

Chris saw the silent threat in the old man's eyes. He moved closer, jabbing his finger in the expensive suitcoat.

"You so much as breath near him and them boys of yours will be orphans." He gritted, held the other's gaze for a moment, then felt the body move away.

"Come on, Chris, let's get a drink," Buck suggested, "Orrin, you need us?"

"Not tonight," he advised, knowing Larabee was out of sorts. He caught Buck's eyes and then gazed towards Chris. The rogue nodded once, interpreting the message.

"Saloon's open, Pard," Buck tried, taking his horse's reins.

"May I make a suggestion?" Ezra lisped, spitting blood from his lip onto an expensive handkerchief.

"You okay?" Chris turned, nodding to the southerner for his help.

"Never better," Ezra smiled and winced when the split lip widened. "Since our young Romeo has departed for the party, you might do well to purge your anxiety at your humble abode."

"Ezra's right, Chris, Vin's out there all alone. We'll pick up a bottle and head out, okay?"

"The spirits have been provided." Standish assured, catching a smile from Buck. "An old family recipe."

"Hell, I didn't know wolves could write." Buck grinned, spotting the glint of the gold tooth.

"Your humor leaves a lot to be desired," Ezra drolled, " and I would appreciate it if you went on your way." He saw the blond study him for a moment, then narrow his eyes toward the jail, where Upshaw had entered. "I'll be fine," he reassured.

"He won't try anything Chris," Orrin supported, "I'll even play deputy."

"Wonderful," the gambler lamanted, "Aren't I the lucky fellow?" He pressed the cloth to his lip and saw the Judge walking next to him. "Perhaps I can entertain you in a game of chance?" He tried and saw the strange look. "Perhaps not. It will be a long night."

As soon as the horses were tended to, the weary travelers made their way into the cabin. They stopped in the doorway, both struck by the sight. Buck laughed outright, slapping his hat on his knee and tossing it aside. The coat came next and he shut the door.

"Now that's what I call a welcoming committee!"

A lamp cast a soft glow of light on the sleeping body. Vin's head was resting on his good arm, which was folded on the table. His mouth was covered with remants of apple crisp. Cinnamon and sugar dusted his chin. A large, empty pan was beside him, along with his leather journal.

"You think he's gonna go Mark Twain on us?" Buck noted of the tracker's gift for writing.

"Vin?" Chris's voice was soft and he found his first smile all night. "In a suit? Not likely."

"Hey, look at this," Buck picked up the large jug of cider, uncorked it and sniffed. His eye nearly watered. "Damn! that boy knows his recipes." he spoke of the gambler.

Chris disappeared into the bedroom, returning without his hat, duster or gunbelt. He pulled two mugs from the cupboard and handed them to Buck. He moved to the fire, adding timber and stoking it, until a warmth filled the room. He remained there, mezmerized by the flames. He felt his hand nudged and accepted the drink. "Shit!" he gasped, taking a sip.

"Gotta quite a kick," his friend laughed, "Hey, you think Vin had any? He's a piss and half when he lets loose." He noticed the somber expression and sighed. "You gonna tell me now? What the hell is eating a hole inside you?"

"I gave him my word."

"Well thank you, Chris," Wilmington's voice was sarcastic, "How's that supposed to make me feel?"

"I didn't mean it that way, Buck, I'm sorry." Chris took another sip and blew out a deep breath. "Why didn't I wound him?" He pained, shaking his head and dropping it. "It's just like Eli Joe again..."

Buck was about to disagree, but changed his motives, "Yeah, it is." He saw the head fly up and the green eyes were shocked. "and thanks to that, both Vin and I are still here. Eli Joe and Dale combined don't add up to ant piss. You didn't have a choice...or time to think about options. Would you be happier if Eli Joe was alive and Vin was in the cemetary?"

"That's a stupid fuckin' question!" Chris retorted angrily, draining the mug.

"...and yours isn't?" Buck asked, filling both mugs again. They stared for a moment at the sleeping tracker, his face relaxed and full of youth. "That," Buck pointed to the Texan, "Should answer any of your stupid questions. It was a good call."

"What if I was being selfish?" Chris wondered aloud, sitting next to Vin and studying his profile.

"No, Chris," Buck took the seat across the table. "Then you would have gunned him down in San Miguel. Trust your instincts, okay?"

"I still see him lying in front of the fire that night...I pulled dirt outta his mouth...Jesus!" He raked a hand through his hair.

"I know, Pard, I was there..." Buck said softly, reading the pain in the green eyes.

"I wanted that animal, Buck, I wanted him dead...so bad I could taste it."

"...and now?"

"I don't know..." he sighed, taking a swig and rubbing his tired eyes. He pulled the blanket over Vin, resting a hand on his back. "I gave him my word..."

"Then you got your answer," Wilmington smiled softly, "I know you, Chris Larabee, better than most. The fact that your promise to him is bothering you, is the answer. Put it to bed, okay?"

Chris thought long and hard, letting his mind shift through all the pieces. He nodded slowly, picked up Vin's empty mug and sniffed it. "Cat piss," he decided, "If he's been hittin' this all day, we won't them baby blues for awhile."

"Hey," Buck's eyes lite up and he grinned like a devil. "I got an idea."

"No!" Chris shook his head and pointed to his oldest friend with his mug. "I know you, Buck Wilmington and I'm getting a bad picture."

"Your getting old, Larabee!" Buck chuckled, clinking the cup. "You think he ate that whole tray?"

"I hope not," Chris took the empty pan to the sideboard and then went into his room. "Speaking of putting things to bed..." He moved behind the slumbering Texan.

"Yeah, that can't be good for his back. " Buck agreed, moving to the other side.

"Watch his arm, Buck," Chris warned, gently easing him upright. Between the two of them, they got Vin upright and got him to bed. "Hold him up," Chris dictated, taking a cloth and wetting it," He's not getting that shit all over my bed." He wiped away the appley mess.

Vin sat up and blinked, groaning as a dual pain assaulted him. The light from the window slammed into his head. His churning stomach caused him to sit up to fast, sending rippling pain up his back. He grimaced as his broken arm hit the bed, in his attempt to stand. He felt it coming and knew he had to hurry. Ignoring the crutch, he stood and hobbled painfully towards the other room. He stumbled and sent himself to the floor. His cry of pain caused another body to stir. From his angle on the floor, all Vin saw was bare feet and black pants. He sighed in relief as the hands lifted him, just before the thunder exploded.

"What the hell are you doing?" Chris growled, hung over, angry and housing a bad headache.

"I'm sorry...didn't mean t'wake ya...I ain't feelin' s'good. I'm headin' outside..."

"Shit, you gonna throw up? Godammit Vin, you and them fuckin' apples..." The green face gave him the answer and he tried to hustle the younger man to the door. They almost made it.

Vin remained in the rocker, wrapped in a blanket and letting the sun warm his face. He dozed for awhile, then heard footsteps. A mug was thrust in his hand and he took a sip. Hot tea, sweet and strong. He smiled gratefully.

"Thanks, Cowboy, sorry I missed ya..." He studied the haggard face and winced, then spotted the jug. "All of it?" The blond head nodded and Vin laughed. "...and yer walkin'? Proud o'ya!"

They remained silent for a moment, Chris sipping black coffee and Vin rocking and drinking his tea.

"It's over, Vin," the blond said simply, his eyes gazing on the horizon. He took a breath and let it spill out, short and to the point. "He's dead. I'm sorry,Vin, I didn't have a choice."

"I know," Vin returned quietly, peeking sideways from his blanket.

"Just like that?" Chris turned sharply, his voice rising. He saw the head nodding and walked closer. "How did you know? I haven't even told you what happened."

"I know you," Vin said quietly, drilling the pale eyes hard. "Ya gimme yer word...simple as that. Don't need t'know details."

Chris was amazed, not just at how much Vin's calm acceptance affected him, but at the ease of which the words came. The calmness of the fine features on the Texan's face, the ease of the smile and the light in his eyes. That peace, that was what he'd missed. He noticed the holes were gone...Vin's gentle spirit filled them. He heard Vin inhale deeply and watched the handsome face lift towards the new day. The smile came next, free and easy, giving him one of his own.

"I awake every morn lost in her grace. I thank God every day for Aurora's Embrace. Her gentle touch caresses my face. Her light fills my soul, a healing takes place." Vin said softly, tilting his face to the sun.

"Why the hell can't you just say Good Morning like anybody else?" A cranky voice responded from inside. The two on the porch laughed and laughed hard. Both had been empty, missing something and now, they were whole. "Who threw up in my hat?"

"Uh-oh!" Vin chuckled and wrinkled his nose. "It musta been all that hooch ya drunk Bucklin..."

"Oh really?" Buck appeared, looking worse than Chris. Unshaven, unkempt, smelling awful and eyes not nearly open. "Then explain why there's fuckin' apple crisp parts in here..." He hissed, waving the soiled hat.

"Yer eyes look like two pissholes in the snow, Buck." Vin chirped, worming closer to Chris as the rogue approached, hat in hand. "It was an accident...I was aimin' fer the door."

"Some sharpshooter! You ruined my hat!" Buck boomed.

"It weren't the right fit fer ya. I seen some real nice ones at the undertaker's...I'll take care o'ya."

"Oh, ain't you the generous soul, pickin' from a damn corpse!" He tossed the hat over the rail and hauled the smaller man upright. "Get up and give me a seat!"

"I'm ailin'..." Vin sputtered, "I ain't hardly healed...besides I'm hungry. Nate says I need lots o'food t' get me on m'feet..."

"Nate ain't here," Buck growled, sitting on the rocker and shoving the limping tracker forward. "You're not hungover, you're younger and you're cookin'"

"Man's got a point, Vin." Chris supported, leaning against the rail.

"Aw, hell, some friends ya turned out t'be...I'm can barely walk..."

"Didn't stop you from scarfin' down all that apple crisp." The gunslinger noted, as the body went in the door. "Bacon and eggs, Vin and biscuits..."

"I only got one arm, I can't cook!"

"We're not in a hurry!" Buck replied, easing back, and shutting his eyes. "Take your time." He and Chris both laughed as the banging of pans ensued along with a slew of colorful cursing. "He sure does cuss pretty!"

Vin stared at the pans on the floor, the broken eggs, the flour that now covered his bare chest and hair and sighed. Then he got an idea.

"Chris, I feel sick again."

"So?" Larabee replied, winking at the chuckling Wilmington. "Your hat's right there."

"Fuckin' smartass!" Tanner belted back, heaving a pan out the door.

"Cut that out!" Chris hollered, entering the house. "What the hell did you do to my kitchen?"

"Oh, now it's yer kitchen?" Vin sassed, limping to the bedroom. "Good, I'm headin' back t'bed. Yer kitchen...yer cookin'..."

Chris was going to reply, when he saw Vin freeze and waver.

"I'm fine...just got dizzy." Vin panted, as Chris moved him towards the bed. "Chris, I'm okay. I'm sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up."

"Here," Chris handed him a cup of cold water and pulled the covers back. "Get some sleep. J.D. left a note about your fever. Your supposed to stay in there and drink lots of water."

"That Kid talks t'damn much!" Vin protested weakly, not stifling a yawn. The bed did feel good and he was tired. "I'll just rest m'eyes fer a minute."

"You do that," Chris hollered back, already cleaning up the kitchen.

"He okay?" Buck peered inside and saw Vin back in bed.

"We're both okay," the blond decided, then eyed his oldest friend. "You look like shit Buck!"

"Fuck you Larabee!" Wilmington returned, "...and move out of the way. I've seen how you massacre breakfast."

A week later:

It was early and the street was still quiet. A few proprietors were opening their stores. The sun was up and it promised to be a nice day. Buck ambled down the sidewalk, spotting Ezra in front of the hotel. He nodded and joined his friend, then inspected the street.

"Well, well," Ezra grinned, nodding across the street. "It would appear the mayor of Hamlin is back in residence."

Buck followed the arm and then laughed, as he saw them. A group of small children were clustered around Vin's wagon. A determined, sassy blond imp was in charge, standing on a barrel and peering inside.

Vin warm, lusty dream was interrupted by a tiny hand tugging his ankle. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, was the hand-made, yellow star. It now was attached to the backside of the canvas, so it was the first thing he saw every morning. The love with which it was made, filled him inside with a powerful light.

"Vin, ya awake?"

"No," he yawned, snuggling back down. His first night back in town, free of fever and Nate's wrath. He'd celebrated a little too long with the boys in the saloon. His aching head told him he wasn't ready for people yet.

"Yes ya are, I hear ya talkin'" Callie protested, hitching herself up and inside.

"I'm sleep-talkin'" Vin decided, laying back down. A moment later a little body sat hard on his stomach, causing both eyes to pop open.

"See, I knew ya was up." She smiled coyly, kissing his cheek, "Mornin' Vin! I missed ya."

"Mornin' 'rora, I missed ya too!"

"Rora?" She frowned, backing out of the wagon and dragging him with her. "What's that mean?"

"Aurora," Vin corrected, "Aw, hell," he hissed, covering his eyes as the sun blasted them.

"Good Morning Mister Tanner!"

"Hey Vin!" Buck boomed, clapping the tracker's back hard, "Lookin' good Slick!"

"Shut the..." he stopped, spotting the many sets of little eyes staring at him. "Get away Buck."

"Me and Vin are gonna be real busy," the small minx told the five boys she was with, "I'll see ya later, at the fishin' hole." With a nod from her, they departed.

"You look lovely today, Miss Johnson, the very picture of femininity," Ezra bowed to the confused child.

"What's that?" She demanded, tugging on Buck's arm. She kept her eyes for her hero, who disappeared inside the hotel to get cleaned up. She giggled when the large man picked her up.

"That mean's you're a pretty, little lady," Buck tugged on the blond braid and chuckled when the face screwed up. "Watch it, you gave your Pa your word, no swearin'!"

"I don't know iffen I'm ready to be a 'little lady' yet." She protested, wiggling to get down from Buck's arms.

"Why the new dress and hair ribbons?" Ezra inquired.

"Oh," she said smugly, "Vin's takin' me to breakfast."

"Is that a fact?" Buck smiled, "Does he know?"

"Not yet." She nodded, "It's a surprise."

"It'll be a surprise to the Vin too," Ezra supplied with a sly grin, "When he gets the bill." He noted, knowing the young man lost all his money at cards the night before.

Vin appeared, washed, groomed and in a clean blue shirt. He still looked a little 'green' and the two adults decided maybe food wasn't the best thing for him right now.

"Uh, it would appear your escort is not ready for his meal yet. Perhaps I could entertain you?"

"Huh?" Callie squinted at the handsome gambler then to Buck for help. "What did he say?"

"Vin's not feeling good and he'll take you to breakfast." The rogue translated.

"Oh," She eyed the southerner, "Thanks, but Vin and me will be fine, ain't that right Vin?"

"Huh?" Vin croaked, wishing that he was back in bed.

"More to the point, the bank has not yet opened and he is without funds."

"Huh?" Callie squinted again. "Why can't you talk right?"

"He means I ain't got money." Vin whispered, groping for a seat on a crate.

"Oh is that all?" she rolled her eyes and wormed herself next to Vin. She rested a hand on the side of his face. "Ya sure feel good where you're all scratchy." she noted of his stubble. "Don't worry about money, Mister Standish has buckets of money. Everybody knows that."

"Really?" the gambler astonished, ignoring Buck's loud laughter.

"Yeah, besides, most of it ain't yours, ya get it from them crooked card games. I heard so at school. So since ya didn't work for it, Vin should have it...right? Didn't he take good care of ya when ya got sick?" She decided.

"Sounds good to me, Darlin'" Buck winked at her and saw Ezra's face blanch. "Looks like you're the talk of the first grade, Ace!"

"As I am in a generous mood, today, perhaps we can all dine together?" Ezra offered.

"Can I get dessert?" She asked, "and extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate?"

"She's Vin's date , all right!" Buck laughed, "Cut from the same cloth! Lead on, Darlin'!"

"Ya go ahead, we'll be right there," She said, "and get a good table, one with flowers."

"Yes Ma'am!" The gambler bowed and headed off with Buck.

"So ya gonna tell me?" She asked, sitting on Vin's lap and looking at him. "about Aurora."

"It's a beautiful bunch o'lights that fills up the whole sky at night sometimes..like magic." The weary man explained, mezmerized by the large blue eyes looking at him.

"Ya seen 'roras?" she asked, playing with the scarf on his neck.

"Once a long time ago, when I was a little feller. Never seen anythin' so pretty..." He recalled, then thought of the star she made and the plea in the bedroom. Without that, he might not have made it back. She was his 'aurora' and he hugged her hard, "Ya put me in mind o'them pretty lights, Darlin', everytime ya smile. Yer m'own little Aurora" Then he tickled her, drinking in the peals of laughter that embraced him. "Let's go eat. If Ezra's buyin' ya make sure ya get steak and eggs and extra everythin'..." He took the tiny hand and walked into the sunshine, basking in the warmth of Aurora's embrace.

THE END

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