Setting: OW
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.
Special thanks to a real angel, Jo, whose continued use of her special wings to harbor this old writers in sstorms is more than appreciated. Thans so very much.
"They're here! Mama, I see Josiah!"
"Billy, come back here... Billy...!"
Mary dropped the paper she'd been setting into the printer and ran to the doorway. She saw what her son did, a rider and a wagon approaching. She went back inside, took her apron off and washed her hands, then grabbed the yellow paper and headed up the street.
"Hey, Billy!" Josiah waved to the youngster.
"J.D. sleeping?" Billy asked. "It ain't nighttime, it's only suppertime."
"He's napping," Josiah corrected.
"No, I'm not. Hey, Billy!" J.D. sat up and winced, rubbing his bandaged side.
"You got shotted?" Billy's eyes went wide. He'd overheard his mother talking to Mrs. Potter.
"Yeah, but I'm fine now," J.D. nodded, then eyed the boy's mother. "Mary."
"J.D., you look awful," she assessed. "Their rooms are ready. Mrs. Klinger has two open rooms on the first floor," she noted of the boarding house. "No steps."
"Good." Josiah reined the team in just as they pulled up at the boarding house.
"Hmmprh," another voice echoed. "Be nice not having every bump in the road up my ..."
"Watch your mouth, brother," Josiah warned. "And since I'm the one haulin' that ungrateful part into the house, you'd best apologize."
"Go to hell."
"Nathan!" Mary crossed her arms in front of her chest. She lifted a single 'mocking' eyebrow at him. "I'm shocked."
"I'm sorry, Mary, I didn't see yuh there." The healer gingerly pulled himself up.
"That's alright, Nathan," she replied before touching his shoulder. "You're forgiven." She paused, letting her gaze rest on each road weary face for a moment. One was missing.
"He headed to the saloon," Josiah answered of her search for Buck.
"Mike?" she called over to a neighbor. "Can you send Buck over here?"
"Sure thing, Mrs. Travis," the older man replied, heading for the saloon.
"I missed you, honey."
"Not now, Lily," Buck protested as the voluptuous hostess sat in his lap and pressed her lips into the curve of his neck. He felt her stiffen and then he sighed. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm sorry, darlin'. I'm just wore out."
"Well now, why don't you let Sweet Lily run you a hot bath and take care of that..." she offered, slipping her hand over his groin.
"Maybe later." He uncorked the bottle of whiskey and spilled some down his shirt. He'd taken a hearty gulp when a voice called out.
"Buck, Mary's lookin' for you."
"Okay, Mike. Thanks." He gave the petulant lips a good kiss and after a brief caress, he left.
She watched him cross the street and her heart went out to him. They all looked worn, but one man went beyond that. It was his eyes that she locked on to, troubled dark blue pools that were housed in a haggard face.
"Mary," Buck nodded, resting against the post next to her.
"Vin's alive."
"WHAT?"
She put her hands up, silencing the shocked cries. She addressed them all, but her eyes rested on Wilmington who'd since remained silent. At the news, his eyes shut and he sagged as if all the air were taken from him.
"Orrin got a letter from Chris. The wire in Willow was down and..."
"Willow?" J.D. interrupted. "What's Chris doing there?"
"He found Vin... somehow, I'm not sure of all the details, but Vin's alive. The letter said he survived surgery but was very critical. Chris is with him."
"I can't believe it," J.D. amazed. "How? How'd he get there?"
"What about Mason?" Josiah asked.
"No, well, the letter didn't say. It just said they're in Willow," she stated. "Since the wires were down, he had a courier deliver the note to Orrin and Orrin wired here. Ezra got back last night." She walked past the wagon to the lone figure who was now sitting on the boardwalk, head between his hands. She gently massaged the back of his neck.
"Buck?"
"I prayed," he whispered, eyeing the dusty street between his boots. "I mean, I really prayed, Mary. Harder than..." He didn't finish his thought, his tight throat wouldn't allow another word to escape.
"This came for you a couple of hours ago from Willow. They must have the wires back up. It's from a Doctor Murdoch."
Buck looked at the slim hand and the yellow paper. Furrowing his brows, he took the wire and let his eyes slide over the words.
"Well?" Josiah asked, now standing by the open back of the wagon. Like J.D. and Nathan, his eyes were trained on the forlorn figure.
Buck smiled then, not his usual woman-killer smile but a soft grateful one. His dark eyes were pooled with emotion and his right hand was trembling. He wasn't sure what to make of the message but he'd find out soon enough. He rose, eyed the livery and ruffled Billy's yellow hair.
"You do old Buck a favor, lil' pard?"
"Sure!" Billy gushed.
"You tell Tiny I'm gonna need his fastest horse."
"You leavin', Buck?" the boy asked, perplexed, craning his neck to see up that far. "You just got here."
"I'm gonna go see Vin and Chris," he replied, tapping the youngster's backside. "Go on now."
"Buck?" J.D. egged.
"Huh?" The rogue looked up.
"What's it say? Is it from Chris?" the youth asked.
"No." He shook his head, holding the note to his ear. "It's drawlin'... Damn if that don't sound like music!" he choked, still overcome by Vin Tanner's return to life. "It says... it says..." He took a good breath and rubbed his eyes. "Bucklin, I need ya..."
"You give me time to get these two settled, I'll ride with you, Buck," Josiah offered.
"No," Buck denied, seeing Tiny waving to him. "Town's been without its hired help long enough. You and Ezra keep an eye out. Plus," he nodded to Nathan whose immobilized leg left him in need of care, "Nate needs you here. I'll wire from Willow if something comes up."
"Why wouldn't Chris wire? If Vin is so bad off..." J.D.'s voice trailed off. "Unless something happened to Chris? You think he took off after Mason?"
"I don't know, Kid." Buck ruffled the dark hair and tapped the boy's face lightly. That same thought and a darker one were playing on him as well. He'd known Larabee longer than the others. Being cooped up inside for any lingering amount of time turned him into a caged beast. Had his temper spilled? Or had he stayed until Vin came through the worst of it and then left to hunt Mason? Was the tracker worried? Did he have cause to worry? "But I'm gonna find out."
"Buck... Buck wait..." Mary called after the departing man.
"Let him go, Mary," Josiah advised, lifting J.D to carry him inside.
"What's wrong with him?" the widow asked, waving at her approaching son. "He looks haunted..."
"He is... will be until he finds Chris." Josiah noted as Mary turned and crossed the street.
"You know Mister Wilmington bleeds for the world," Ezra noted, stepping from the doorway eyeing the departing newswoman. "Welcome home. Nathan, perhaps I can be of assistance."
"Yuh wanna help?" the healer asked, holding his hand out. "Gimme some of that fancy shit you got tucked away."
"No!" a voice boomed from inside.
"Shut up, preacher, ain't nobody talkin' to yuh..." Jackson ired. "I ain't forgettin' this."
"My, my..." Standish waited for Sanchez to reappear to aid in transporting the crippled man. "Who urinated in your soup?"
"It's who pissed in yuhr porridge and get the hell outta my way!" Jackson shoved the arm away.
"You, my good sir, are a saint," Standish offered to the returning and grinning Sanchez. That Josiah was not the least bit unnerved by the crusty healer gave him a smile. He eyed the path they'd taken into town. "The road to Hell?"
"And then some," Josiah sent back. "Nathan, I'm warnin' you, you settle down or I'll take the night off and send Hattie in to bath you."
Ezra smirked as the color drained from Nathan's face. The threat of the huge woman who worked in the kitchen at the hotel manhandling him was too much to bear. She reeked of garlic and more often than not needed a shave.
"Yuhr a cruel man, preacher," Nathan muttered, letting the two carry him inside.
It had taken the better part of the day and night but finally, sanity had been restored. The floors had been scrubbed, the dishes done and a huge stack of clean sheets was piled neatly in the linen cabinet. His own bed had a new mattress on it where he would soon be sleeping. Two kettles were warming, one with water and one with chicken broth. A tin of crackers sat near the queasy man's side. Upon awakening, he gave the sick man some herbal tea, broth and crackers. He tried to do this every couple of hours. Although the bowel problem continued, it wasn't as severe. His patient was resting fitfully, murmuring and twitching in a state of troubled sleep. He sipped some coffee and sighed, feeling every bit of his age. A knock at the door brought him to his feet.
"Yes?"
"Doctor Murdoch? I'm Buck Wilmington."
He opened the door and eyed a tall, young man who looked as tired as he felt. He opened the door wider and extended his arm in invitation.
"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. You must have..."
"Vin...?"
Buck dropped his hat on a chair by the door and moved closer. He paused over the converted bed, watching the chest rise and fall beneath a thin, white sheet. He saw the rosy hue on the Texan's cheeks and rested his hand there. He inhaled sharply when the hot breath danced on his hand. He sighed hard and tapped the warm skin.
"Damn orn'ry mangy..." his voice quivered. "I thought you up and died."
"He nearly did and he's not out of the woods yet. The fact he survived the surgery is a miracle. He was making good progress, thanks to Moses and Chris. Then he got hit by a stomach virus of some sort, mostly severe diarrhea and that fever. I don't have to tell you what that does to a man as weak as he already is."
"No, sir, you don't." Buck adjusted the sheet and slid his hand over Vin's heart. Just feeling that thump against his palm made a difference. It made all the difference. The soft thump seemed to go right through his flesh and travel to his heart. "I buried friends in the war, good men. Dysentery...terrible thing." He turned around finally, eyeing the small house. "Chris here?"
"No, he's in town."
"Why ain't he here and who's Moses?"
"Have you eaten, Mister Wilmington?"
"It's Buck, Doc, and no, not since breakfast."
"There's some chicken and potato salad," he offered. "Sit down by the hearth. I'll fix you a plate. It's a rather amazing story."
It was past midnight when Murdoch finally finished his preparations for the next day. He washed, changed and left two low lamps on. He poured a mug of coffee and gave it to the newest house guest. He liked this young man, feeling so clearly just how he ached for his friends. Although his eyes rarely strayed from the sleeping patient, he knew he was worried about the other one as well.
Buck sat by the tracker's side, sipping coffee and watching the younger man sleep. It was an amazing story of luck and fortune. In the morning, he'd ride into town and find Chris. He needed to see those murky green eyes and make sure they were clear. But tonight, he pushed his weariness away and intended to just enjoy the sheer pleasure of drinking in the fine features of the scrappy ex-bounty hunter.
"He's a fighter."
"No," Buck corrected, wearing a proud, almost paternal smile. He cupped the squared chin which caused the pale brown brows to furrow in sleep. "He's a Tanner. Damned if he ain't every inch a Tanner."
"Goodnight, Buck."
"Night, Doc."
Lord, it was hot.
Vin gazed across the desert and wondered how far he was from town. He tugged on his collar and trudged onward, putting one foot in front of the other. The sun beat down and he stumbled, fell to his hands and knees. He crawled then, spying a tree up ahead, shelter from the heat. He was so thirsty. He collapsed and the sand invaded his mouth causing him to cough.
"Easy there, Slick." Buck eased the convulsing body up and against his chest. "Don't you heave on me, Vin. Keep that broth inside."
He cracked an eye open and licked his dry lips. He was too hot and needed a drink. His mouth was burning. Once again, his confused brain couldn't make out the time, just night or day. Darkness outside meant night. A low lamp sent a soft golden light onto the sheet. Someone was holding him and he heard water being poured. He opened his mouth and waited for the mug to appear.
"Slow and easy now," Buck encouraged, smiling as the sleepy features crinkled in confusion.
As he drank, something occurred to him. He sniffed. He sniffed a second time, his nose wrinkling in distaste. The mug was empty and the small effort took his breath. But the smell lingered and his brain replied to his question. The words shot out before he could stop to organize them.
"Cheap perfume... cheap women... cheap... whis...key..." The blues under his slitted eyes darted. He tilted his head back trying to see. A blurry peach-colored form appeared wearing a mustache. The deep laughter caused his heart to surge. "Buck...lin..."
"You look like shit, Vin." Buck's voice broke as the weak prayer went airborne. His throat tightened a bit as he took the wavering hand. He eased Vin back down and reclaimed his seat. The unfocused eyes blinked and moved, trying to find him. He leaned closer, needing to hear the familiar refrain. It was weak, barely a wisp of a whisper but to him, it sounded like thunder.
"...fuck... yer... sorry... ass... t'... t'hell..." Vin pressed, squeezing the hand as much as he could. "Bu....Bucklin..." He took a few moments to capture his lost breath, closing his eyes and sighing when a cool cloth wiped his face. He forced his eyes back open when the aroma of chicken broth hit him.
"You let me do all the work," Buck ordered. He put the mug down long enough to lift a large sack of flour. Holding it under one arm, he lifted Vin with the other and placed it on the table behind the injured man. He grabbed a second one, placing it on top of the first and then added a folded sheet. Finally, he lowered the gasping body.
"Sorry..." He felt the tremors and the claw-like hold on his wrist. "You okay? Somethin' comin' back up or out?" The damp head shook negatively so Buck picked up the mug. Slowly, he spooned every bit of broth into the waiting mouth. Several times, Vin's eyes drifted closed and he'd wait, then gently rouse him. Finally, it was done. He pulled the blanket up and tapped that scarlet cheek. "Sweet dreams..."
A few moments later, while he was sipping a new cup of coffee, a light brush on his hand caused him to turn. The eyes were only half open but shining with a blue light brighter than the noonday sun. The lips parted twice and nothing came out. He leaned in and the hand moved, touching his face.
"Thank God...yer...here...Buck...ya got...no idea..."
"Aw, hell, Vin..." Buck replied, totally undone by the wavering voice and those damned eyes. There was something else brewing in the telltale Tanner mirrors and he knew before the struggling lips could produce the word. He took the flailing hand and gave it a squeeze, sending his promise.
"Chris is okay, he's in town. I'm going to see him tomorrow. Don't you worry about him going off half-cocked." He saw the relief pouring out and used his free hand to pick up the cloth floating in the basin of water. He wiped the fevered face once again and saw the eyes drifting shut. "Buck's on the job. You got my word."
"...good... as... d...d...done..." Vin sighed, slipping into a healing sleep.
A loud sound woke him up. He squinted against the fading light pouring through thin curtains that pierced his throbbing eyes. For a split second, he wondered how or why someone was sitting on his chest. Every breath was hard fought and noisy. The sound came back and as he doubled over, coughing, he realized that the harsh alarm was his own chest rebelling against unwanted invaders.
He curled up a moment, wheezing and trying to decide whether to sit up or bury his head under the blanket. His dry mouth and scratchy throat made the decision for him. He turned onto his back and rubbed his painful eyes. He squinted at the unfamiliar wallpaper and his ears caught the murmurs of civilian life not far away. Images flickered through his foggy brain. A hot bath and shave, a roast chicken for dinner and finally collapsing in a bed. Then a nightmare invaded, in full living color. A naked body cowering in shame and his roaring tirade.
Vin.
"...fucked up good this time..."
"Just proves you're human after all, just like the rest of us."
"Buck?" Chris pried his fingers from his eyes and sat up, immediately regretting it. His hacking cough returned and the light streaming into the small room hit him square in the eye. "When'd you get here?"
"Here as in Willow? Late last night," the rogue updated the confused blond. "Sat with Vin until noon. Damn mangy head wouldn't stay down, kept houndin' me to ride here. I got here a few hours ago. You were out cold."
"Vin? You saw him?" Chris's voice dropped and his face tinged with a bit of regret then. "How is he?"
"He's real weak, that doctor's a little worried. Seems like most of what we get inside him comes out one end or the other. He's wastin' what little breath he can scare up worryin' on you..."
"Fuck..." Chris punched the bed and sighed hard, raking a hand through his clean hair.
"I promised him I'd check on you and I'm doin' just that. So how 'bout you get dressed, we get some dinner and I'll update you on Nate, J.D. and Vin. I promised him I'd get back tonight."
"Dammit!" Larabee hissed and tried to hide his throbbing face from the harsh sun.
"Hold on." Wilmington moved across the room and tied Chris's discarded shirt to the curtain rod. It blocked out most of the light. He then moved to the chest of drawers and poured a mug of water.
"I'm fine," Chris barked, seeing the all too familiar shades of worry pouring from Buck's dark blue eyes. He drained the water, fumbled badly trying to find the medicine bottle and shoved the empty mug back. While Buck refilled it, he took a hit of cough medicine. "Christ, can't somebody make this shit drinkable?"
"Nate says the worse it tastes, the better it is," Buck replied, handing the mug back and straddling the edge of the bedside stand.
At the sound of the healer's name, the blond's hand froze on the mug. He swiped the excess fluid running down his chin and frowned. How much time had passed? He recalled that both J.D. and Nathan were out of surgery but that was...was...how long ago? His rubbed his jaw and was relieved to find smooth skin where his beard had been. His nose told him the bath was successful as well. He lifted his face, squinting through a pounding headache at his oldest friend.
"Nate and the kid?"
"Took forever but we got back to town yesterday. They're both getting better. Nate's gonna be laid up awhile. He damn near lost his leg." He chuckled a bit thinking on the irate man. "Only time he ain't pissin' vinegar is when he's sleeping. Mary told us right off about Vin." He dropped his head then. "I never felt so relieved. I never prayed so hard."
"Never struck me as the religious type," Chris commented. "But for Vin..."
"For you too!"
"Me?" Chris scowled. "What the hell for? Mason don't have the balls to face me."
"I know you, Chris," Buck supplied quietly, his eyes bearing in on the bruised greens. "And I know how much that Texan means to you. You'd ride clear through Hell to get at Mason. Got a picture of you breaking every bone in his body in the middle of some no name town. Some green horn sheriff shoving your hot head through a rope."
"Buck, I wouldn't..." He stopped at the derisive snort that the other man issued. "Okay, I might have, but I gave Vin my word I wouldn't kill him. I'm gonna find him," he curled up one fist and sneered, "no matter what rock he crawled under. But I'm bringing him back to face the judge."
Buck ducked his head and caught the clear green light then. Relief poured over him and he stood, gave the naked shoulder a tug and then eyed the chair across the room. He'd brought new clothes from the store and had been waiting for the exhausted caretaker to wake up. He handed them over without comment, waiting patiently while the other man rose and began to dress.
"Did he tell you what I did...?"
"He didn't have to," Buck supplied, watching Chris's fingers tremble as they buttoned the new shirt. The shake in the fingers matched the one in his voice. "It's written all over your face. You've lost weight, you got dark circles under your eyes... but he's still breathin' 'cause of you and that old man."
"No, I shamed him, Buck," Chris whispered, shoving his shirt into his pants and buttoning the fly. "I did what no other friend or foe ever has. I took the fire out of his eyes. He turtled up on me...," He turned then, glaring openly at the other man. "...on me, Buck!"
"This may come as a shock to you, Chris." Buck handed the dusty boots over and waited as the shaky man sat down and tugged them on. "But you bleed real blood. Genuine one-hundred percent American stock. You've been livin' on coffee and cat naps while takin' care of him. And he's human too, Chris. Hell, who wouldn't be ashamed? Too weak to care for your own needs? But you didn't take his pride away," Buck added in a softer tone, waiting for the haunted eyes to rise. "You gave it back to him when you gave him your word. Don't you see that?"
There was no reply, only a stiff shoulder as the body moved past him, strapped on the black gunbelt and grabbed the flat-brimmed hat. Buck sighed, raking his hand through his hair before he attempted to follow.
"Okay, we settle this over dinner. Then..."
"The hell with dinner, I need to see him. I have to apologize..."
"No!" Buck grabbed him in the hall and turned him. "Now you listen to me. I sat up all night with that boy. I watched his chest rise and fall and held my breath when that raspy breathin' wouldn't settle. He's weak and he's down now, but he's fightin' hard to come back. You're sick too, Chris. You got a fever and you're hackin' shit all over the bed. You cough on him and give him that stuff and you'll kill him. Now, you swallow that damn pride of yours and get your head out of your ass because you even try to get on your horse and you'll wake up cuffed to that bed."
He saw a single brow arch upward over a blazing green eye. "No? You don't think I will? Try me!" He jabbed his finger into Larabee's chest and nodded his head. "After we eat, I'm gonna haul you back here, watch you drink that medicine and you're gonna sleep. I got another bottle from that doctor and orders. You rest, eat and get rid of that mess. You give him time to get stronger. You think he likes lyin' around like a rag doll? You think he don't feel guilty that you bustin' your balls to take care of him made you sick? Chris, he can't fight for both of you and you both need a little time to heal."
Buck stood back and gave the struggling man some room. He knew how hard it was for Chris not to rush to make amends. He didn't know all of what happened, only the little bit the doctor admitted to. He'd pieced together the rest, adding Chris's exhaustion and illness to the gunslinger's legendary mood swings. Cooped up for all that time with no one to help tend to an invalid would have fried anyone's nerves.
A quiet but determined voice brought his eyes to the other side of the hall.
"Four days," Chris vowed, turning towards the stairs.
Every blink seemed to add tiny weights to his eyelids. He fought through the series of attempted eye closures and drew his eyes up unnaturally wide. He kept them focused on the door, his ears trained to hear hooves.
Doctor Murdoch paused in the entry to his bedroom and smiled at the owl-like blue eyes a few feet away. How his patient was still awake was anybody's guess. In his weakened condition, the mere effort of eating soup and swallowing tea usually sent him straight to sleep. Tonight, for the first time in what his patient said was close to five days, the food stayed down. He hoped that was a positive sign and the young man was finally on the mend.
"Vin, don't fight it. You need to rest."
"I ain't hardly... ti...red..." Vin rasped, blinking again and shaking his nodding head.
"It's been a while since your two friends saw each other. It's just possible that they're catching up and Buck was too tired to ride back..."
"...he give his word..." Vin vowed, peering through blue slits at the door.
Shaking his head, the doctor went to prepare his herbs and medicinal teas for the overnight and morning hours. He would try some more soup and maybe crackers in the morning. If all went well, he could try cheese and eggs at lunch. A small snore caused his lips to curl upward. He turned back and returned to his determined patient's side. He pulled the blanket up and felt the forehead. It was cool.
"It's a wonder you keep any weight at all with all that worrying..."
It wasn't much later when the door opened and a soft voice called out.
"It's just me, Doc."
"Evening, Buck. How's Chris?"
"Better. Looks almost human. Go back to sleep, we'll talk in the morning."
Buck took his hat and coat off and paused at the bed. His hand touched the pale cheek and he nodded, encouraged by the lack of fever. He shook the coffee pot which was still warm and poured himself a mug. As he was returning to his chair by the bed, he saw the Texan's body twitching. He set the mug down and stood over the fighter. The brows were furrowed and a small frown had begun to form.
"Damn, you even sleep hard..." Buck chuckled, resting a hand on the twitching shoulder. "Easy, Slick, you're gonna wear that scrawny ass of yours out."
"...m'ass..." Vin mumbled, "...ain't scrawny..."
"Well, we all can't have Buck stock." He eased his frame into the chair and saw two blue eyes peel half open. For a few moments, they blinked and then they narrowed just as the lips parted.
"Buck?"
"Sorry 'bout bein' late, Vin. But you know how orn'ry Chris can get."
"He okay? Looked like Lucifer's stepfather..."
"He's followin' the doctor's orders to the 'T'. He's eatin', dousin' himself with cat piss and sleepin' round the clock. He's gonna ride out to see you in a few days. Had to practically hogtie him to keep him away tonight. He feels awful about what happened."
"Water under the bridge," Vin hissed, eyes fighting. "Make yerself useful." He nodded towards the empty cup.
"Dammit, Vin, I just sat down," Buck growled playfully, ruffling the wavy brown locks. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"
"...try..."
"Here." Buck returned with a clean mug of warm herbal tea. He had a jar of honey in the other hand. "Honey?"
"Yes, dear?"
Buck laughed then, not at the poor joke but at the weak laugh that followed. Vin was proud of his quip and seeing those eyes crinkle up in mirth was something worth savoring. Knowing the tracker's sweet tooth, he doused the tea and stirred it. Then, he held the mug out. A shaky hand came up and he followed it, ensuring that the tea wouldn't spill. It went down easy and he took the empty cup back. The eyes were barely open but trained hard on him.
"Thanks... fer... watchin'... m'back..."
"Aw, hell, you never spill your booze, Tanner."
"...weren't talkin'... 'bout that..." Vin pushed the words out through his fading body. He could rest now; Buck was here. Chris was safe.
"I know," Buck soothed, sitting in the chair and tucking the patient back in. He frowned when the right arm fought under the blanket. He saw determination mark the younger man's face and drew the blanket back. The arm shot up and latched on to his forearm. For a few seconds, he didn't move, taken aback by the gesture that was marked-no, reserved-only for Chris Larabee.
Vin didn't say a word; he didn't have to. Buck swallowed hard and returned the grip, a single nod of his head silently shouting 'you're welcome.' He kept it there for a few moments after the eyes slid shut. Then he gently tucked the arm away again. His own arm still tingled from the warmth of the younger man's touch. It was a wonderful feeling and he let it keep him company as he kept his vigil.
Buck was right, damn him.
The four days of rest and recuperation had made all the difference. As he shaved, he noticed that he looked a lot better. The cough had died down to a nagging annoyance and the hot food and rest had refueled his exhausted body. He rinsed and dried his face and eyed the man in the mirror. Tomorrow after breakfast, he was riding out to see Vin Tanner. He strapped his gun on and set out to find some dinner.
His upcoming conversation with Vin was on his mind. As he put the words together, he headed across the street to the saloon. He wanted a thick steak and a bowl of chili. He paused to go around a peddler's cart, then stopped dead in his tracks and cocked his head. A cold air of foreboding blew down the street, chilling him to the bone.
Slowly, he turned and retraced his steps. His heart was hammering so loud and hard, he felt sure it would break a rib. His eyes found it...he hadn't imagined it. His hand reached out and touched it, the soft leather nearly burning into his flesh. A molten fire exploded inside him then and all traces of sanity and decorum fled in the same rush of blood that caused him to move like lightning.
"What the hell's wr...?"
Jacob Dienner's words were cut off when he was pulled from the seat of his traveling wagon of wares and shoved hard against the wall in the alley. A face, so livid with anger it nearly blinded him, appeared just inches from his own. He yelped in shock and then gasped when the unmistakable form of the barrel of a gun was thrust down the inside of his pants. The iron pressed hard into his groin and he swallowed hard, his eyes bulging in fear.
"Look, Mister... I don't have much money. It's in the..."
"Money!" Chris almost laughed. He held the object of his wrath up and pulled the hammer of the gun back. "I don't want your fuckin' blood money!"
"Shit... aw, shit..." Jacob grunted, sweat rolling down his face.
"Where'd you get this?" Chris growled, impressing a sense of urgency by the force of the Colt now cradling the quivering man's balls.
"That thing?" The shaken man now had total amnesia. All he could concentrate on was the fact that if he didn't choose the right words, his manhood would be lying in bloody bits and pieces in this alley. "Uh... uh... I don't... I can't..."
"Then you better fuckin' think harder!" Chris growled, using his strength to press his forearm against the peddler's throat. "You got ten seconds. I'm quite a pool player and with the right shot, I can send your balls out of either pocket," he warned, shoving his arm harder as he felt the other man's legs quiver. "You piss on my boots and I'll really lose my temper. Now, I want an answer!" he ordered through gritted teeth.
"Okay, okay..." Jacob bought some time. "Let me see, it..."
Chris kept the gun in place and moved his arm back, dangling the soft leather item in front of the shaken man's eyes.
"Uh... yeah, I remember now," the peddler nodded, his eyes following the slight sway of the Native American item. "It was earlier today near the border. I passed some fella breakin' camp. Seemed to be in a hurry, he tossed a bag of stuff away as he rode out. I picked it up."
"What fella?"
"Tall, reddish brown hair, good-looking I'd say and dressed fancy. He, uh...headed south."
"Mexico?"
"Yeah... Santa Luisa, I think. It's right over the border." He didn't understand why this man was so enraged over the hand-sewn leather item on a cord. "It's just some Indian junk..."
In a lightning fast move, Chris holstered his gun and slammed his fist into the man's soft belly. When the peddler hit his knees, he grabbed the sputtering man's hair and pulled his head back. He pulled his knife out and used the tip of it against the exposed white throat, drawing a bead of blood and making his point clear.
"Your brain's smaller than your dick, hard to believe!" Chris grated harshly. "This is a medicine pouch and highly valued by a very close friend of mine. That bastard you saw shot him and stole it from him. Now, I'm gonna find that yellow dog and I'll take down any son-of-a-bitch who helped him," the irate blond dictated, ensuring that the stout salesman was telling the truth.
"I'm sorry... please, don't kill me. How could I know? The boots looked new, I grabbed them. Be a fool not to. That pouch was shoved inside. I didn't know..."
"Boots?" Chris shoved the slobbering and slightly damp man forward. "You show me!"
"Here... take them..." Jacob threw the soft leather boots at the angry black storm.
Chris shoved the quivering man back towards the driver's seat.
"Drive," he commanded. "Don't stop until you hit Arizona. I keep my promises."
"Yeah...sure..." He jumped up, picked up the reins and didn't waste any time.
When the dust died down and the groveling peddler was gone, Chris scooped the boots up. He tucked them under his arm and headed for the livery. He took a few moments to use his kerchief to clean the dirt off of them. Almost reverently, he then folded them and tucked them inside his saddle bags. Then, he carefully placed the medicine pouch inside the kerchief and secured it. He tucked it inside his breast pocket, near his heart.
Chris knew that area of the border and it was very close. If he hurried, he could be in Santa Luisa before nightfall. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, Mason would be locked up in jail and he could deliver that news to Vin.
"The hunt's over," Chris vowed, urging his horse into motion.
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