Setting: ATF AU
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.
NOTE: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
It seemed he'd barely shut his eyes when a hand shook his shoulder. He nodded, went to the bathroom and blinked. The headache was almost gone. He washed his face and followed his nose to the kitchen.
"Something smells good!" he exuded, peering over Vin's shoulder.
"Good timin'," Vin pronounced. "Grab a couple beers and head inside. I'll fix ya a plate."
Chris sat on the floor, pulling the coffee table in front of him. He flipped through the channels until the game came on. He twisted the top off the beer just as Vin put a napkin and a large plate of food in front of him. It smelled wonderful and he dove into it with gusto. Vin's laughter brought his head back up.
"Damn, Cowboy, come up fer air!" he laughed, settling a few feet away.
"Vin, this is great!" the blond moaned. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
"Hell, it's not like makin' a rocket," he grinned, stabbing a fork into his chicken. "If ya can read, ya can cook. It ain't so hard." He paused again, watching Larabee inhaling the food. "It's Chicken Vin... like it?"
"It's great."
"'Course it is. It's got m'name on it!" Vin beamed, picking up his beer.
The chicken was tenderized and saut�ed. Along with the flavorful meat, there was wild rice and broccoli. "Green food? I've seen it all," Chris teased. "What's in this sauce?"
"Can't give it up," the ex-bounty hunter grinned, wagging his eyebrows. "Old family secret."
"You're full of shit, Tanner!"
He laughed then, taking a huge mouthful. Upon swallowing, he spoke, "After they get brown, ya dump some fancy mustard, lemon juice, parsley and chives on 'em. Then ya add chicken broth. Cheap, fast and easy."
"Just like the chef!" Chris teased, gaining a laugh. "Wait until word gets out that a Tanner is eating green food."
"Doctor's orders," Vin shot back. "Last time I was sick, Rain read me the riot act. Some nonsense 'bout my immune system. Anyhow, if ya mix 'em up with other stuff, they're okay. Usually I dump a load of cheddar cheese all over 'em t'get 'em down."
"There's a heart healthy picture," Chris shook his head. Then he noticed the bruise and swelling under the chef's eye. "You get fresh with that hot law student again?" He teased of a friend of Rain's whom Vin was smitten with. His smiled died when instead of a sharp reply, the Texan turned away as if to hide. "Vin?"
Vin finished his plate and pushed it aside. He took a long draw on his beer and fiddled with the label.
"Spill it." Chris noticed the small pile of paper peelings and the Adam's apple bobbing.
"Promise ya won't blow a gasket," the younger man requested and saw the green eyes narrowing. "I run inta... ran into... McClendon in the men's room."
"Looks like he ran into you," Larabee's voice was clipped as he mentally painted a picture. "Did he hit you?"
"No," Vin denied. "He was trash-talkin' me again. I couldn't care less what he says 'bout me. But I won't let him spout shit about J.D. I warned him... then went to move past. He blocked me and I hit the stall post. That's all there was."
"I'm not so sure," Chris returned quietly, knowing how foul-mouthed McClendon could get. Undoubtedly, the sensitive Texan had taken a verbal beating. "I'm going call him and warn him again."
"Don't ya be wipin' m'nose fer me either..." Vin hissed.
"Either?" Larabee paused, watching the slim fingers now shredding a napkin.
"I was supposed t'meet the other guys fer lunch... but..." he paused. "...I wasn't hungry. I went t'tell 'em and almost got away 'fore... before Bucklin stopped me outside. Damn, interferin' cuss..." He took a swig of beer. "After I told 'im, he's ready... was ready to head over to McClendon and give 'im what for."
Chris smiled then. "Sometimes Buck's best work is while he's standing." He peered over and saw something else was still lingering. "...all of it, Vin. What else is eating at you?"
"This mornin' when ya couldn't stop laughin'..." he paused. "Why was... were... ya laughin' so hard?"
"Huh?" Chris sat up, scratching his chin. "The line about the cows, that was hilarious."
"So it was the joke ya were... was... laughin' at?" Vin asked without looking over.
"Of course it was," Chris's tone was almost annoyed. "Why?"
Vin sighed, pushed his hair back and sighed again. "Like I told ya... I was supposed t'meet the others fer lunch at the Lotus Petal. I got there late... they was... were... laughin' and such when I got there, tellin' Rain about that call and the cow line. They didn't see me." He stopped again and swallowed before turning back to his best friend. "I didn't know... there was another kind of d... d... duck." He flinched when Larabee's utensil dropped and connected with the plate.
"Vin, I wasn't laughing at you!" Chris turned sharply, studying the flush rising on the fine features. "Is that what you thought?" While the shaggy head didn't move, the eyes shifted sideways; that was enough. "Look at me!" He was angry now and didn't hide his ire. "I'd never... I repeat never laugh at you. Are we clear on that? How could you think that of me?"
"I... thought... I..." Vin stopped, shaking his head. "I didn't stay... they don't know I heard 'em. I looked it up, the word , 'duct'. Why didn't ya tell me, Chris?"
"First of all, Vin, I think you misunderstood them. They'd never hurt you like that. Second, I was going to tell you, remember? Josiah interrupted me. I'm sorry, Vin."
"...guess I overreacted a bit," Vin admitted. "Can I ask a favor?"
"Sure."
"Ye'll... You will let me know when I mess up... like that again? It's the only way I'll learn."
"Sure," Chris picked up his beer. "On one condition." He saw Vin's frown. "You quit trying to talk like Ezra." He stopped, watching the eyes soften and a smile fight to be born. "Yer makin' m'head twirl, Tanner. Ya are who ya are, Tex, and I'm damn proud t'call ya friend." He used his best Tanner accent and saw the effect. He moved back to his own voice then, resting a hand on the slumped shoulder. "Don't change, Vin. Who you are is in here," he tapped the sniper's heart. "Not how it comes out of your mouth." For a moment, Vin didn't move, his chest heaved a few times and his head dropped. Finally it rose and the shy smile appeared. "We over this shit now?"
"Reckon."
"Good, get that coffee on. I'll get the cheesecake."
"I ain't got no coffee," Vin stood and collected the plates.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Ya didn't ask 'bout coffee..." Vin's head went into the fridge and he brought the dessert out. "We got plenty o'beer."
"Beer?" Chris wrinkled his nose. "You can't drink beer with chocolate cheesecake."
"That's cause yer Yankee ass is a snob," Vin touted, setting the cake down. He handed Chris a fork and sat back down. "Us Rebs ain't so fussy. What?" He paused, looking at the strange face.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Don't think so," Vin eyed the table. "Got m'beer, m'cake and m'fork..."
"How about plates and a knife?"
"What fer?"
"So we can eat the fuckin' cake!" Chris exasperated.
"Fixin' on eatin' it now. I'm wearin' bare feet... I don't need no plate. This look like a five star restaurant?"
"Wearing bare feet?" Chris puzzled. "I'm gonna have to start writing these little Vinisms down." He was going to say something more, but the words died. He watched the Texan's fork disappear into the box. Several minutes passed; Vin took a long swig of beer and belched loudly. He turned back and there was a ring of chocolate and whipped cream on his lips.
"Somethin' wrong?" Vin asked, watching Chris's strange smile.
"No," Larabee replied. "You slay me, Cowboy, you know that?"
"Why ain't ya eatin?" Vin demanded. "Ya best dig in... I ain't savin' any..."
"Yeah, reckon I will," Chris grinned, picking up his fork. "After all, I'm wearin' bare feet too!" He proclaimed proudly, wiggling his toes.
"Now yer fryin' fatback!" Vin shot back, moving the dish between them.
Two hours later, Vin disappeared into the kitchen just as the phone rang.
"Hello," he paused, licking the knife in his hand. "Hey, Bucklin, what's up?"
"You busy?" Buck held one hand over his ear, blocking out the noisy lobby in the movie.
He frowned. "No, I ain't busy. Chris come over and I cooked dinner. We're watchin' the game." He frowned again as the blond came past on his way to the bathroom. "No, he didn't need his stomach pumped. Ya got balls!"
"Are you okay, Vin? I left a message at the office and your line's been busy."
Vin grinned then, hearing the sincerity and worry on the other end of the phone. "I'm fine, really. Is that why ya called? Ya worryin' 'bout me?"
"You still owe me ten bucks for Josiah's birthday gift. I just didn't want to get stiffed."
"Ya can't lie fer shit, Bucklin." Vin tossed back. "Sorry 'bout the phone line. I left the computer on. I'm fine, Buck."
"How'd Chris take it?" the other man inquired.
"How'd ya know I said somethin'?"
"It's not you as much as those eyes of yours, Slick. Chris can read 'em like a hawk."
"Well, we had a talk, I told what happened. Now, get back t'that hot number yer s'fond o'neckin' with."
"Debbie," Buck used his Barry White voice, "and the L-o-o-v-e-e- god."
"How's the movie?" Vin laughed, waiting for the reply.
"How the hell should I know?" Buck sent back, laughing, then slowed his tone. "Listen, you watch your back, okay? If that prick calls you again..."
"Goodnight, Mom!" He sent back, still laughing. "..thanks, I got the message."
By the time Vin got into the living room, Chris was sprawled on the couch. He sat up; his mouth flew open in astonishment when the slim Texan came by.
"What the hell is that?"
"What?" The blue-eyed man put his plate down and eyed the walls. "Hell, did ya see a critter? I'm payin' some terminator t'gas them little bastards once a month."
"Huh?" Chris slapped the lean leg. "No, what's that?'"
"Oh," Vin relaxed, popping the top on his Yoo Hoo. "It's ten o'clock, time fer m'little snack."
"Little?" the blond amazed. "You ate dinner two hours ago! How can you be hungry?"
Vin just shrugged and picked up the large creation. "Like some?"
"No, thanks," Chris winced. "I'm the sane one, remember? What the hell is it?"
"Tanner Special number 3. I gotta keep 'em numbered so's I don't repeat."
"That's smart thinking, Vin," the other quipped, shaking his head.
"Peanut Butter and banana club sandwich with mini-marshmallows, chocolate bars and raspberry jelly on cinnamon raisin toast." He paused, casting a mischievous look to his best friend. "Last chance?" He offered.
"Tempted as I am," Chris shook his head, "I'll pass. It's getting late and I gotta get moving." He rose, gathered his belonging and paused at the door.
"Hey, ya be careful if ya wash m'shirt," Vin muffled through a full mouth. "Ya got chocolate and stuff on the front. It's a Scooby classic, had it fer years."
"What?" Chris pulled the shirt out. He hadn't even looked at the front. "Christ, Vin, I can't drive in this." He peeled it off.
"Well, ya best find somethin' t'cover up yer chicken chest. Yer likely t'cause a pileup on the interstate. Folks'll be laughin' s'hard." He coughed and nearly choked when the sole fingered response came at him. "Nice, them folks in Washington don't see yer diplomatic side!"
"Night, Vin," Chris called from the door. "Thanks for dinner."
"See ya, Cowboy," Vin called back. "Don't be callin' me fer bail neither."
Sunday was a beautiful day, perfect for a food frenzied football fest. The others weren't coming for hours yet. Vin arrived early, let himself in and had breakfast cooking when Chris came down at seven. After they ate, they cleaned up the house a little and Chris went to town to finish the food shopping, pick up the Sunday paper and get more beer. Vin was gathering up the last of the trash, dragging the large bag behind him. He stepped on the corner of the bag and yelped in pain.
"Shit!" He lifted his tender bare foot, eyeing the bottom. "No cuts..." he continued on his mission. He went through the kitchen and den, down the hall into the guest bathroom and back through the other way into the kitchen. He slid on the floor.
"What the hell?" he muttered, then saw the large amount of blood all over. "Aw, hell!" He picked his foot up. "Didn't even hurt... shit!" Blood ran out of the center of his foot and he headed for the small bathroom closest inside the utility room. He spotted a metal box on the shelf over the washer. It had Sesame Street characters on it with Big Bird holding a red cross. He sat on the toilet and examined his foot. He couldn't see any cuts, but blood was pouring out. He flipped the lid off and grabbed a stack of gauze squares. He blotted it and then ran some water in the sink. He added antibacterial soap and stuck his foot in the warm bath. Then he sat down again and dried his foot. Blood still poured out.
Grabbing the first aid spray, he doused it and then covered it with a stack of gauze, securing it with lots of tape. He waited and peeked and it seemed to work. Now to clean up the mess.
"Larabee'll have a stroke," he commiserated of the blood trails. He hobbled to the mop and bucket, pausing to fill it. He hobbled into the kitchen, eyeing the messy floor. He set the bucket down in the doorway and slid again, upending the bucket all over his new bandage.
"Goddamnsonofabitchtohell!"
He hobbled back into the bathroom, squishing on the tiles. "Can't find no fuckin' cut... where the hell is all this blood comin' from?" He sat down and eyed the empty tape dispenser. "Swell." He paused, raked a hand through his hair and thought on his options. Hunting the house would mean leaving more blood all over. He eyed the hair dryer hanging on the hook above the sink and stood up.
"Hey, Sam!" Buck whistled, getting out of his car. The large black Lab was on a chain, leaping and barking in excitement. "Hey, fella, where's Vin?" he asked, spotting Tanner's motorcycle. Chris was just behind him having turned off the access road right after him. "Where's Vin?" he repeated, watching the dog's keen ears come up. The large black head cocked and eyed the door. A mournful cry came out of his mouth. Sam was Chris's dog, but he loved Vin Tanner who was just a big kid when it came to animals. "Let's go find Vin..." he unsnapped the chain and the dog bounded up the stairs to the deck going right through the doggie door.
"Give you a hand?"
"Yeah, thanks Buck." Chris handed him some bags and they went up the stairs. They both froze in the doorway. Buck set his packages down and took Chris's. "What the hell?"
"Blood trail!" Buck noted. "It's all over the place." He eyed the scarlet marks in the den and trailing up the hall. "Vin!"
"Vin!" Chris hollered.
"Get the hell away! Too Goddamn bad if I'm sittin' on yer water dish. Can't ya drink outta a bowl like other dogs?"
Both men turned at the sound of the cranky voice and headed through the messy kitchen to the utility room.
"Vin, what the hell happened?" Chris demanded, grabbing the anxious dog who was trying to shove Vin off the toilet. "Buck..."
"Yeah, I got him. Come on, Sam." He pushed the animal through the door and closed it. "Somethin' burnin'?"
"...blow dryer..." Vin replied, trying to pick the wet tape from between his toes.
"You were blow drying your foot?" Chris's face screwed up.
"Hell, no! I wasn't usin' a blow dryer on m'foot!" Tanner snapped. "I's dryin' the bandages and sparks come shootin' the hell out."
"Why were you blow drying bandages?" Larabee questioned.
"'Cause they's wet!" Tanner growled. "...from the bucket." then saw the green eyes firing up. "I run outta tape... I couldn't go huntin' more, blood was shootin' out."
"Hell, Vin, who would have noticed?" Buck smirked.
"How'd you cut your foot?" the blond asked.
"..on the trash bag..."
"Let me see," Chris tried to examine the injury.
"No! I'm doin' fine."
"Fine?" Larabee screeched. "Was that before or after you damn near started a fire?"
"Weren't no fire... just some sparks is all." Tanner peeled the soggy pink cotton off. "Aw, hell, ya got it bleedin' again."
"Me?" Chris shot back, taking a paper towel and pushing on the center of the foot.
"Yeah... all that hollerin' ya done, busted it out..." He grabbed the towel. "Leave me be. gimme that Boo boo spray."
"Boo Boo Spray!" Buck laughed so hard he choked.
"Aw, hell, thought ya left," Tanner sighed, taking the bottle. "I won't hear the end o'this fer months. Look, it says it right on the front," he defended weakly.
"That's Adam's box, he was four, Vin." Chris shook his head. "There's a real first aid kit on the deck."
"Vin, you didn't step on metal did you?" Buck asked, still lounging in the doorway.
"No."
"How'd you cut your foot, Vin?" Chris asked again.
"I told ya, on the trash bag," the angry Texan replied. "Quit houndin' me..."
"Oh, I haven't started yet," Chris shot back. "Why did you track blood all over my house?"
"I didn't know it then..."
"How could you not know/" Larabee's voice rose. "You bled like a stuck pig."
"Quit bellyachin'! It's yer fault I'm squatted in here bleedin'..."
"My fault!" Chris shouted.
"O'course it's yer fault... on accounta the pasta..."
"What?" Chris blinked. "Pasta...?"
"Oh, this is priceless," Buck was gasping for air now.
"Ain't ya got some big-breasted woman t'torture!" Vin growled of the lingering agent.
"A team of wild horses wouldn't move me. I can't wait to see where this is going."
"Where was I?" Vin frowned, relieved that the blood was finally slowing.
"Pasta," Buck supplied, watching two veins in Chris's neck beginning to pop out.
"Oh, yeah," Vin remembered, his anger rising along with a flush.
"Vin, I'm trying to remain calm here," Chris said in a low, lethal voice. "How did you cut your foot?" He saw the words forming and stopped them. "Don't say it... if 'I told ya' comes out of that mouth..."
"...on the lid..."
"What lid?" Chris scowled, rubbing his temples.
"The one in the trash... pay attention!" Vin hissed.
"Yeah, Chris, try to keep up!" Buck needled.
"Shut up, Buck!" Larabee swatted the smirking figure. "There wasn't a lid in the trash earlier. How'd a lid get in there?"
"...got blowed up..." Vin winced in advance.
"Blown up!" Chris clenched both fists. "Why can't you just answer a straight question?" he roared, pounding his head on the doorframe. "Oh, my God! I'm in the fuckin' Twilight Zone!"
"Quit shoutin' at me!" Vin threw the soggy bandages at Chris hitting his cheek. "Ya said t'cook the pasta so I got out that big pot and when it boilt, I shoved it off only I didn't know there was a pile of lids on the other burner they hit the knob it turned the heat on and the fuckin' lid blew the hell up I put the pieces in the trash. If ya didn't want the fuckin' pasta cooked, I wouldn't have a hole in m'foot. Does that answer yer fuckin' question!" He stood, eye to eye with the homeowner and finally came up for air.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was running water. Buck was holding his laughter back so hard, he was tearing up. His pained gaze went from one set of angry eyes to the other.
"He's got you there, Chris."
"That made sense to you?" Larabee turned incredulously to Wilmington.
"It don't have to make sense, it's Vinlogic!" Buck winked at the flush-faced sharpshooter. "Come on, Slick, let's get you outside and fix that foot." He paused in the doorway. "Aw, hell! I just lost my best wide receiver."
"It don't hurt none," Vin padded through the room. "Besides, Ezra's coverin' me and he can't catch his own shadow." He saw the water sloshed on the floor and the bloody mess beyond. He watched Chris bending over to pick up the bucket. "Leave it, Chris. I'll get it soon as I get patched up."
"It's okay, Vin. I got it."
"No, I made the mess. I'm cleanin' it up."
"I said I got it!" Chris snapped, shoving the mop on the watery floor. A hand grabbed the handle, stopping the motion.
"Leave it be!" Vin growled. "It's my blood. I'll mop it up!"
"Let go!" Chris shoved at the arm. "Get your foot cleaned up. Go sit down."
"This would make a great picture for the ATF newsletter. Two of the toughest agents carryin' a badge fighting over a damn mop!" Buck intervened, prying Vin's fingers off the mop. "There's plenty of Tanner blood to clean up. You'll get your turn. Go on outside and get your foot patched up." It took a few more glares, but the hot-headed Texan finally left.
While Vin went outside to repair his foot, Buck got a roll of towels and wiped up the kitchen floor. He noticed the water was cleaned up and Chris was examining the bag in question. There in the corner was a thick, broken piece of glass. He watched the blond head go to the window and then move outside.
"Give you a hand?" Chris asked quietly.
"Thanks," Vin replied, staring at the bottom of his foot. "It's not a cut, it's like a puncture... can't hardly see it."
"You sure do have rich, red Tanner blood!" Chris teased but got no smile. "It was an accident Vin. I didn't mean to blow my top. Sometimes your Tanner answers drive me crazy!"
"I'm sorry, Chris." Vin doused the area with antibacterial spray. "Can ya hold this fer me?"
"Yeah." Chris held the thick wad of gauze in place. Vin then taped it securely.
"I'll clean up the hall and rugs..." Vin paused. "Think I'll put sneaks on first."
"Good idea," Chris grinned, cuffing the Texan's neck.
It was early on Friday morning when Buck Wilmington pulled into the federal building's parking garage in downtown Denver. He was belting out the chorus of an ELO tune when he spotted an old friend. His smile was born easy as he locked his car and strode over.
"Well, well, girl, you haven't aged a day... no sir!" he boomed, casting an appraising eye on the sleek black beauty. He kept that image in his head as he sauntered into the office he shared with the rest of Team Seven. He frowned, eyed the empty desks, and then the clock fast approaching eight a.m. He heard the clinking of a utensil against pottery and made his way to the cantina at the end of the large room. It was set up like a small kitchen, housing a table, refrigerator, sink and microwave. The lone occupant was reading the paper, absentmindedly tapping his spoon on the lip of a mug of coffee. His bewilderment grew upon spotting the relaxed attire of blue jeans and a casual cotton shirt. Nearby, a short black leather jacket was tossed over a chair.
"Seen Beauty in the lot," Wilmington noted of the ageless classic sixty-eight black Ford Mustang. "You and the widow stepping out?"
"Which widow would that be?" Chris replied cryptically.
"Well, now I am impressed," Buck laughed, pouring coffee and dropping a box on the table. "How many widows are you dating?" He saw the scowl forming as the lid on the box was lifted. "It's in there, tucked under. Hell, you're the only fool that likes spinach bagels." He grabbed a garlic bagel, slathered cream cheese on it and sat down. "Well?"
"Well, what?" Chris returned, slicing his green bagel.
"Why'd you bring 'er today? The truck acting up?"
"Nope."
"Dammit, Chris, you're hanging around that Texan too much! You're startin' to sound like him." He grumbled at the frustrating answers. "Where is everybody?"
"Nathan and Josiah are heading to Grand Junction; another church got hit last night. Ezra's off on payday and J.D. and Vin are headed south."
"South?" Buck recalled the youth's endless stream of chatter the night before. The bar was noisy and he was trying to catch the eye of a pretty brunette. He did recall the words 'dirt biking' coming up. "Where'd them weekend warriors get to now?"
"Carson National Forest, the South Boundary Trail. They need to let off some steam."
"Yeah," Buck munched his bagel and thought on the anxiety and anger both younger men fought off all week.
The trial concluded, but the daily run-ins with Eric McClendon had grown to a fever pitch by Thursday. Chris got the call from Orrin Travis to come and 'collect' the pair from the courthouse. Buck went with him and saw by the disheveled clothing and the split lip Dunne wore that something happened. The usually chatty youngest team member was pensive and brooding. Vin took an ice pack off his jaw, looked at Larabee's furious green eyes and said quietly, "It's done."
With that, he moved to J.D. and the two walked towards the car. Orrin's version, courtesy of the security guard, was that the two had 'pummeled' the F.B.I man. Larabee knew better; whatever McClendon got, he deserved. Later, after more than a few beers, Dunne broke the vow of silence. They'd been in the elevator; it stopped on the tenth floor and McClendon got on. He sneered and scoffed at them for several floors, making lewd gestures and remarks. But then he made the potentially fatal mistake of insulting Vin's mother. They literally 'spilled' out of the elevator onto the floor of the lobby. By the time the shocked onlookers parted to let the security guards in, the F.B.I. agent was out cold. It was on Orrin's word to the police department as well as a private conversation with McClendon and his superiors that no charges were filed.
Buck blinked his way out of the past and eyed the usually GQ'd Larabee's totally relaxed attire. "You're startin' to take this 'dress down Friday' too seriously."
"I'm headin' out," the blond replied, flipping to the sports section.
"Out?" he paused. "Oh, you're takin' the lovely Mrs. Travis for a romantic getaway?"
"No!" Chris frowned, shaking his head and eyeing the clock. "I got a division meeting, then a teleconference, then I'm heading back to the ranch. After you get done with Mike at Forensics and finish your profile," he noted of the pyrotechnic case he was concluding, "pack a bag and pick me up at the ranch at 1 p.m." He drained his coffee and took his bagel. "Oh, and eat first. We have a lot of road to cover."
"We? Cover?" Buck sat up, cocked his dark head and let a slow grin form. "Vin took your truck to tote their bikes and gear?" He saw the back of the blond head bob, "...and we're going to Taos to offer moral support?"
"Among other things," Chris turned, a grin splitting his handsome face. "I got two rooms at the Sagebrush Inn," he noted of the picturesque Taos hotel. "I picked it special."
"Because of its historical significance, quaint charm and atmosphere?" Wilmington's smile deepened.
"Yeah, there's that too," the leader challenged, raising a sandy eyebrow.
"Too?" the rogue puzzled, scratching his chin.
"NAPWA is holding a conference in Taos," Larabee noted rakishly, "their fifth annual. Some of the hotels in town overbooked and the Sagebrush is housing some of the members."
"NAPWA?"
"North American Professional Women's Association," the green eyes teased. "Mary mentioned having to cancel because of her sister's anniversary party. But you're right, Bucko," he winked, easing his lean frame from the room. "I picked it because of its historical standing."
"Hey!" The six-foot plus frame launched off the chair. "Wait up... wall to wall smart women? Damn! Why we waitin' 'til this afternoon?"
"Because I'm in a generous mood and granting you three hours of annual leave," the supervisor shot back, "or we'd be leaving at four-thirty."
"Why didn't you warn me? I need to pack specialty items. Hell, I hope I have enough time..."
"Specialty Items?" Chris grimaced, taking his notes from his desk, two CD's and a spread sheet. "I know I'm going to regret asking this... what specialty items?"
"None of your business!" Buck hollered, rummaging through his desk. So intent was he on his task, he didn't hear the other man approach.
"The loin cloth of Kings?" Chris's nose wrinkled and then he burst out laughing, reading over the broad shoulder.
"Hey, that's private!" the womanizer slammed the drawer shut. "I don't like jumpin' off a plane without a parachute. Do I pry into your shorts?"
"I'm not touching that, Buck," he gasped, shaking his head at the colorful ad on the paper Buck held for custom made prophylactics. "Long live the King of Latex!" he wheezed, trying to grab the ad that featured a male hunk with a 'crown'.
"Get the hell away!" Buck defended, shoving it back into the drawer. "It's a scientific process."
"Scientific my ass, Buck. You're not eighteen anymore..." he wiped his eyes. "A box... a whole box... custom made. God that's funny!"
"You say one word to that mangy Texan..." Buck warned, seeing the wheels spinning behind the green eyes. Then he saw the evil smile the blond wore all the way to the door. "Chris! Chris, I'm warning you... Damn!" He slammed his fist onto the top of the desk sending the paperclips into a frenzied dance.
By six p.m., they were on the last stretch of their journey. All around them the beauty of the New Mexico desert in late day rose in a majestic display of color and shape. The sky was deep blue, rammed against the clay-colored earth, dotted with bright green cactus. White adobe buildings dotted the perimeter and rising up ahead was a gorgeous cluster of brick colored adobe buildings.
"There it is," Chris noted of the historic Inn nestled in the desert three miles from town.
"There's your truck," Buck nodded, as he pulled his Chevy Tahoe into the parking area. The spruce green all-wheel drive vehicle handled the road well. "Looks like the young-uns' arrived okay. Wonder what they're up too?"
Chris glanced at his watch. "J.D.'s up to his ass in junk food, face buried in a magazine. Tanner's lying flat on a rock somewhere, like any other lizard," he noted of his sun-worshiping friend. He stood, stretched, grimaced and rubbed his back. Squinting through his dark aviator glasses, he rubbed his nose and raked his eyes around the pool area nearby. A smile eased on his face and he moved to the rear where Buck was unloading the bags. "Hey, Buck," he elbowed his oldest friend and pointed. The other man laughed easily, shaking his head in amazement.
"That's why you get paid the big money, Boss," Wilmington joked, eyeing the pair. J.D. was lying in a lounge chair, his body and hair wet from a recent dip in the pool. Beside him was a plate of nachos dripping with cheese and a large, quart-sized soda. Vin's chair was flattened, his slim body browning nicely in the hot sun, clad only in faded blue swim trunks.
"Looks like he made a few friends," Larabee nodded to the bevy of beauties sharing a lounge chair next to the handsome agent. They were sitting sideways, not hiding their appreciation of the lean Texan.
"Well now, that is damn nice of him, warming them up for the old Buckmeister." The dark blue eyes widened as one of the group, a redhead smiled and waved at him. "A box might not be enough..."
"Come on, Casanova. Let's get checked in," Chris groaned, picking up the bags.
It was well past midnight and the others were asleep. Bull Savage drained his beer and eyed the mountains peeking over the desert. A few more days and they'd be riding down that road to where a well paid pilot would be waiting on a private strip of ground. Then, after a few more hours, they'd be in the land of milk and honey. Visions of a sprawling hacienda appeared along with a ripe senorita with large eyes and a beguiling body. Hell, he could have as many as he wanted; it was Mexico and the dollar was worth a lot more. Maybe he'd even marry again. He chuckled to himself and tossed the bottle away. He leaned back in the patio chair and listened to the sounds of the night. He intended to have that dream and nobody would stop him. He'd kill any fool that tried.
Breathtaking scenery flew by their eyes as they continued their long trek through the rough trail. Spectacular vistas of mountains and meadows bowed gracefully before them. Teaming with wildlife, they shared the land with marmots, elks, mule deer, golden eagles and other creatures. It was for advanced bikers as the relentless climbing was a skill only the best possessed. The two-wheeled pilots blazed onwards oblivious to danger. The turnaround point was 22 miles up the trailhead. They passed hikers who grinned at the war whoops the leader was shrieking at the top of his lungs. His long hair was tied back and secured under his helmet. His adrenaline shot up and past his shining sky eyes, leaving a sloppy grin on his partner's face.
J.D. moved ahead, screaming as he shot past the stunned Texan.
"Eat my dust, Tanner," Dunne called back, maneuvering his bike over the rough, uphill terrain like a hot knife through butter. Never one to be seconded at any task no matter how great or small, the competitive devil in the blue-eyed one was born. Despite his inferior ability to the outstanding biker ahead of him, he growled and accelerated. He realized his mistake too late on a particularly tough rise.
The youth had topped it and blasted ahead heading for the wondrous view from Devisadero Peak. This 'lookout' was once used by the Taos Pueblo Indians to stand guard against invading Apaches. A carpet of wildflowers framed his view. In the distance, the outline of Taos could be seen along with the Rio Grande Gorge and the San Antonio Mountains. The loud noise of the motor and the helmet on his head prevented him from hearing the sharp cry. He finally pulled over, his eyes drunk at the sight of the majesty before him. He took his throw away camera from the pocket of his jacket just after he pulled his helmet and goggles off
"I think I died and went to heaven, Vin," he gasped, out of breath. He took several pictures, replaced the camera and took out his water bottle. After taking a long drink, he turned and realized he was alone.
"Vin?" He snapped the cap on the bottle and shoved it back in its holder. "VIN!" He panicked, not hearing a motor or anything else. "Shit!" He pulled his gear on and turned around, deftly retracing his path. He stopped when he saw the deep skids that marked path in the dirt. He eased off his own bike and jogged over to the side, eyeing the uneven incline. "VIN!"
"What?"
"Where are you? Are you okay?" He asked, although the cranky voice was strong and unwavering, which gave him a breath of relief.
"Jes' dandy!"
He half-walked and half-slid down the incline for several yards. Then he spotted the bike, on its side near a patch of trees. He skidded to a halt, grabbing a tree to stop his motion. "You're bleeding!" He eyed the crimson streaks on the angry face. His concerned gaze raked over the prone body. "Is anything broken?"
"Jes' my pride!" Vin growled, still lying on his back. "I landed on it... 'fore I rolled over."
"Oh," J.D. grinned, squatting next to his friend. "Can you walk?"
"No... not jes' yet..." Vin said through clenched teeth, balling his fists against the pain in his groin. "...m'barely able t'form words." He closed his eyes, blocking out the bright purples and yellows that danced boldly in front of him. He felt the youth's fingers moving around his neck and shoulders before gently taking the helmet off.
"I'm fine!" he insisted, a protest which fell on deaf ears. The padded gloves were eased off his hands and the elbow pads as well. He moved his arms, wrists and fingers freely. Nothing was broken or sprained, but he'd be hurtin' like hell come morning. He knew his back and legs, especially his inner thighs, would be mottled and discolored.
"Sit up," J.D. hooked his hands under the arms in the black and royal blue long-sleeved jersey and tugged. He gently rested the dazed man against the tree and lifted the closed lids. "Your eyes are okay. Your chest hurt?"
"No, Nurse Nancy!" Vin growled, annoyed at his mistake. "Only thing that hurts is m'peeshooter and ya ain't foolin' with that."
"No," J.D. grinned, wiping the blood from the cut over the irate blue eyes. "Looks like nobody else will be fooling with it either!"
"Hell," Vin slumped, "Had my eye on that big blond gal..."
"The Swedish banker?" J.D. recalled of their poolside encounter that ended up with drinks later. "I thought you liked the small, dark-haired girl. She sure had pretty eyes and a great smile."
"Had her lined up too..." Vin winced, licking his lips. "I'll be lucky if I can get from the bed to the can," he noted miserably of the bathroom in their room. "Ya got any water? It's gonna be awhile 'fore I can move t'good. Might as well rest here a bit."
"Sure." J.D. got Vin's water bottle from its cage. He took off the side bag, getting out a power bar and a piece of fruit.
"Can't stomach that yet," Tanner denied, his queasy insides piping up. "Jes' water..." He took the bottle and drank as the younger man poked at his legs. After several minutes, he flinched as J.D. moved them, finally bending the left leg. The right leg was sore and when J.D. tried to move it, he stopped him. "Leave it be! If ya weren't s'hell bent on bein' Evil Kneivel, I wouldn't be lyin' here!" He grimaced, slamming his eyes shut as his head began to throb. It was several minutes before the silence forced the lids open. He rested his bottle against his face; the coolness felt good. He watched the younger man's skilled hands moving the bike around.
"Bike's fine," J.D. said in a quiet voice before heading up the hill.
"Kid? Kid, wait..." Vin shouted after him. "Dammit t'hell Tanner!" he chastised, "Why can't ya leave yer mouth shut." By the time J.D. returned, he could see the hurt in the hazel eyes. The youth sat next to him, not hiding his guilt.
"I'm sorry."
They laughed at the dual proposals, spoken in the same genuine tone. Vin recovered first, offering his hand. "I didn't mean that, J.D. I ain't no Dunne, that's fer sure. Hell, y'ed make them professionals on ESPN look bad. Yer good, Kid, real good. I shouldda known better. Let m'pride get the best of me."
"Yeah," the dark-haired youth teased, eyeing Vin's aching groin. "I can see that." After they had a good chuckle, he turned again, giving praise. "I might ride like a pro, but you landed like one. On your side, stayin' with the bike, not fighting it and going over the handlebars. That's why you aren't hurt worse."
"Well," Vin smiled, raising his right leg and pleased that it moved well. "I reckon when they form a league for 'accident-prone-Texans' I'd qualify fer sure."
"You gonna be able to make it back?"
"Yeah," Vin shot out with pained confidence, "Piece o'cake!"
"You gonna be able to sneak past Chris?"
There were several minutes before the dejected raspy voice aired.
"Aw, hell..."
The late afternoon sun was dropping fast leaving an orange glow on the water. The two old friends were taking a respite from the heat. They were sitting under cover at the poolside bar, enjoying cold beer and hot wings. Both heads turned at the sight of Larabee's black truck ambling onto the property. Two sets of eyes were trained on the vehicle. The dark blue eyes crinkled in anticipation when the youngest of their team slid from behind the wheel. Chris's heart sank a bit when the youth walked around the truck to open the passenger door.
"Fuck!" the blond swore softly, watching the rogue's eyes dance as his wiggling fingers appeared before his face.
"Hand it over!" Buck demanded with a sharp grin.
"He's not out yet," Chris tried, even though in his heart he knew the truth. "Maybe he was sleeping." Yet his hand was already on his wallet, peeling off a ten dollar bill.
"Yeah," Wilmington snorted, "and maybe I'm still a virgin. Give it over!" He chuckled, watching the green eyes burn. "I believe the bet was a 'busted up Tanner' for twenty bucks."
"Shit!" Chris swore, slapping another ten onto the open palm. "That's gotta be some kind of record," he noted of his accident prone friend.
With Dunne's help, a string of curses in several languages and a bit of luck, Vin Tanner landed on terra firma. He moved painfully out of the way so the other man could shut the door. Every fiber in his body throbbed, from his toes to the top of his head. Even his hair hurt.
"Heads up," J.D. whispered. "Here comes Papa Bear and he looks pissed."
"Damn," the blue-eyed bruised man clenched. "Why ain't he got his face in one of them books he's always totin' around?" He managed to stand straight and moved the supporting arm. "I'm okay, Kid." He sucked in a breath just as the two older members came around the back of the truck.
"You two youngsters have a good time? We were worried, no calls from the Forest service, state troopers or the sheriff."
"Ha-ha!" J.D. made a face. "If you weren't so far over the hill, you could have come to. It was awesome, Buck," he moved in front on Vin hoping to block their view. He plowed onward, telling of the beautiful sights, sounds and action.
"Hey, Cowboy!" Vin gushed with a false smile.
"Nice face," Chris paused in front of his best friend, squinting at the swollen eye under a neat row of stitches. "How many?"
"Six," Vin admitted, touching the sore eye. "I only done it cause I didn't wanna worry the Kid."
Chris crossed his arms in front of his bronzed chest and smiled. "Ten dollars for each push-up you can do."
"Maybe later," Vin was struggling now, the only objective in his throbbing skull was a hot bath. A long hot bath. A very, very, long hot bath and a soft bed. "Right now, I got plans."
"Well, hell, Son, don't let us hold you up!" Buck exuded, clapping the smaller man on the back with a knowing wink to Chris Larabee.
This caused both sky eyes to bulge and air compressed so tightly in the sharpshooter's mouth that steam nearly came out of his ears. But he remained silent... barely.
"How much later?" Chris hid a smile seeing Vin slipping fast.
Vin's face creased and wrinkled, trying to conquer the pain. He was fighting a losing battle and raised his eyes, meeting the cool green gaze. "Wednesday?"
"Come on, Slick," Buck held onto the Texan's elbow. "The bar's hoppin' and I'm buyin'. I just came into some money."
"What!" Vin pulled away, eyeing the pair, eyes narrowed. "Ya bet on me? Yer a pair of fuckin' buzzards," he glared, shuffling painfully ahead. "...met vultures with more compassion."
"Now, Vin, you can't blame me," Buck lamented. "It was money in the bank." He caught up to the sad soul. He took one arm, Chris the other. This act of contrition was short-lived. Their aid was shirked off.
"Get the hell away from me!" the bounty hunter growled. "Don't be touchin' me, neither of ya jackals. Don't want no part of yer blood money!"
They chuckled as he shuffled towards the elevator, mumbling the whole time. Buck ruffled J.D.'s hair and got an idea. "Hey, Vin, do you need your 'boo boo spray'?" One finger rose over the shoulder of the injured man as he entered the elevator. This caused all three to laugh aloud.
"Hey, Vin!" J.D. waved from the table the other three were sharing. The restaurant wasn't so crowded now having thinned out. They'd already consumed two platters of appetizers waiting for the fourth member to join them.
"You sure you're...." Chris backed off, putting both hands up defensively as the sky eyes flashed. "Okay."
They ordered another round of drinks; Vin got a coke. He was given Tylenol with codeine by the first aid personnel at the Ranger's station. He intended to take some later and sleep well into the next day. He drained two glasses of water and his coke. Nearby, J.D. and Buck argued over a controversial call in the hockey game they watched on television earlier. He inwardly cursed his shortsightedness and began to squirm.
"What's the matter? You got worms?" Chris declared, watching the wiggling body across from him.
"No!" Vin hissed, standing painfully and biting his lip. He moved a few inches, gripping the table top, groaned and staggered. In a flash, two bodies were next to him. He shoved both sets of arms away. "Get away... been goin' on m'own since I was three," he grumbled, taking baby steps gingerly. "Don't need no parade t'shake the dew off the lily."
Buck had already sat back down and taken a mouthful of beer which was a mistake. For as soon as Vin's last comment left his lips, the ale went airborne. He doubled over, choking and laughing, with J.D. pounding his back.
"What's that mean?" the youth frowned as Buck wrote the phrase down on a cocktail napkin.
"What are you doing?" Chris moved, reading over the tall man's shoulder.
"Oh," J.D. saw Vin enter the bathroom. "I never heard of that."
"Another Vinner," Buck wheezed, still recovering. "That boy's loaded with 'em." He tucked the napkin into his pocket carefully. "Me an' Ezra are gonna make a mint off this book."
"Book?" Larabee took his seat, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
"Yeah, it's a sure fire hit, can't miss!" Wilmington oozed. "Ezra even did geographic projections. Hey, you got any of his expressions to add? You spend a lot of time with him. We'll cut you in on a share."
"You're a real humanitarian, Buck," the blond head shook. "...and a dead one, once he finds out."
"Never happen, we're being real careful," he paused as the leader nodded to J.D. who was buttering a roll.
"There goes that bullet on the New York Times bestseller's list," Larabee projected, noting the loose Dunne lips.
"What?" The dark head came up, the nimble fingers shoving a piece of fry bread into his waiting mouth.
"Ezra's gonna kill me," Wilmington lamented, picking up his beer. Minutes went by, piling up and the waitress appeared with their food. Twice, Chris stood, wanting to check on their missing friend. Twice, Buck's hand tugged him back with a knowing look. Then the slow moving Texan's image appeared. By the time he got to the table and sat down, Buck was ready.
"Hell, Vin, why didn't you wait a few more minutes? You'd be in time for breakfast." He chuckled at the failing glare he got from the sweating body. He moved a glass of water closer, but the long -haired man denied it.
"Aw, hell, it's cold," Vin shoved the plate back, his mood darkening by the minute.
Chris got the waitress's attention and had them reheat the chicken and rice dish. Just as he turned back, Vin reached for a roll and knocked the large glass of ice and water into his lap.
"Dammit!" he soured as the cold water and mountain of ice soaked his pants.
"Here, let me get that!" Buck moved with a napkin only to be shot down by two fired-up blue bullets. "Maybe not..." he backed off, chuckling as J.D. moved his chair away from the seeming jinx.
"Sorry, Vin, but you're riding under a black cloud," Dunne apologized as the other's laughed.
Vin gave up then, tossing in the 'towel'. "Well, at least it ain't a total loss. It cooled the boys down some. They's all fired up... had plans fer later." He didn't hide his smile when Buck's 'brotherly' arm draped over his shoulder.
"You tell them little fella's not to fret, Slick. Being the kind, generous soul that I am, I'll step in and pinch hit for you."
"Saint Buck," Chris shook his head.
"...patron saint of..." J.D. left it blank but his wagging eyebrows coupled with their imaginations gave all four a good laugh. The incident was forgotten as the quartet shared a meal and made new memories.
Chris sat up in bed eyeing the red digital numbers on the clock. Three a.m. He stood and walked to the other bed, staring at the heaving chest. He gave his young friend credit; he'd tried hard. How long had he been lying there trying to fall asleep? In the dim light cast by the moon, he saw the fine features coated with sweat. He could imagine how much pain Vin was in and moved to the bathroom.
"Huh?" Vin grunted, squinting at a body near him. He saw a palm, some pills and a large glass of water. He took the pills and nodded gratefully. He'd tried to get up, but the pain in his right side was too bad. "Thanks... Chris?" he recognized the body. "Where's J.D.?"
"We switched." The leader sat down on his own bed, yawning. "That kid can sleep through a hurricane. Better Buck stumbles in there making a racket."
"Sorry... didn't mean t'wake ya."
"That's okay. I needed to, uh... 'shake the dew off the lily anyway!" He laughed, then relaxed as a soft chuckle came from the other bed.
"Night, Chris," Vin yawned, feeling the room fading away. "...than...ks..."
A scream brought his eyes open; his heart was racing and he moved too quickly. His body didn't cooperate and every muscle and bit of flesh screamed in protest. Bent over, he moved stiffly across the room towards the bathroom. It wasn't just a scream; it was Chris's scream from the bathroom. It wasn't just any scream; it was too sharp and vivid. He shoved the door open and ambled inside.
"Chris? What's wrong? What hap..." His words died at the sight that met his eyes. Even his swollen eye was stretched to the limit, bugging out in shock at the scene.
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