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.
Vin yawned and inhaled the wonderful aroma of coffee. Gingerly, he eased his body upright and held on for a moment. The dizziness still plagued him, especially when he first woke up. He kept his eyes closed; it helped to ward off the strange sensation.
"Mornin', son, you're lookin' better."
"Hey, Doc." Vin peeled an eye open and took the mug of coffee. The first sip brought a contented moan. "Jest right."
"Mister Carter appreciates the business," he noted of the owner of the Mercantile in town who had supplied the sugar. "Myself, I like it black."
"When we're home, I switch 'em up sometimes," Vin noted of his sugar-laden coffee. "Jest t'shake Chris up a bit. Wakes 'im right up."
"I'll bet." The doctor put his coat on and paused. "You sure you're alright?"
"Hell, yeah," Vin nodded, patting his flat abdomen, "Nothin' churnin'r gurglin'. Ain't throwed up none since lunch yesterday. Bucklin'll be up soon." He nodded to the sleeping body on the floor.
"Well, all right. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Listen, Doc, thanks fer everythin'. We was in a helluva mess when ya come home. Fine thing, ya open yer door t'strangers and they turn it upside down."
"In my book," Murdoch eyed the recovering young man carefully, "a man is not measured by his height but rather by his heart. I learned that from my own father."
"Smart man," Vin agreed. "Ya done good by him."
"Thank you, Vin." He eyed the ribs that were a little too prominent. "I want you to eat every few hours, small meals. Don't push too hard, you rest. You don't want a relapse."
"No, sir, I sure as hell don't!" Vin decided. "See ya tomorrow. Give Moses m'best."
"I will."
Vin sat back and relaxed for a few moments, watching the dark sky. Dawn would rouse soon, stretching her arms and sending a golden yawn to cover the new sky. He sipped his coffee and contemplated on this day. He frowned and thought on the arrival to come. Chris would be returning and he wasn't sure how he'd find him. On one hand, he was glad his friend was well again. But that meant he'd be riding on to find Mason and that worried him a bit. What if Mason got the drop on him? What if Mason saw Chris first?"
"...comes with the territory..." he whispered of his own fate and that of his best friend, both who'd ridden alone for a long time with only their reputation for company. But the ache remained. That too came with the territory, that new place inside where he had family where once was none. Worrying on someone and having them worry over you was a bittersweet pill. He sighed, placed the empty cup on the table and smiled at the sound from below. Buck was snoring on the thick quilt a few feet away. The warmth inside was not from the hot coffee that invaded him; it was a benefit of being in a 'family'. Having a 'big brother' like Buck Wilmington made the sun shine just a little brighter.
"Buck?"
No movement.
"Buck... ya up?"
Nary a motion.
"Buck? Dammit!"
The body turned away, interrupting the nose thunder briefly and then resumed its slumber.
"Buck!"
"What?" Buck sat up, bumped his head on the table leg and blinked at his young charge. "You okay? What's wrong?"
"Nuthin'... day's wastin' and we got lots o'work t'do." Vin held out his arm and waited.
"Huh?"
"Work, ya know, I need t'get m'legs workin'."
"Now?" Buck croaked, eyeing the dark blue sky just starting to lighten. "It's not even day yet."
"Shur it is," Vin scowled when the other man flopped back down. "That's okay, I can do it m'self. It ain't s'far to the potty chair. "
He paused, leaned over a bit and waited, but the body didn't move. Frowning, he pulled the sheet back and swung his legs over the edge. Keeping his eyes on the body, he pushed another button.
"Iffen the floor would jest quit movin', I could get m'self started. Reckon there's enough wood out back fer a splint, worse gets t'worst..." The back of the dark head lifted as he slid off the table. His sharp exclamation was from his warm feet hitting the cold floor but it worked. He barely got his bearings when he was face first into a strong chest. He pulled his head back and gave the growling man his best smile. "Mornin', Bucklin!"
"Goddammit, Vin!" Buck sassed, keeping his hand on Vin's elbow as the unsteady body moved slowly across the room. "...splints out back..." he mumbled, settling Vin on the 'throne'.
"I might be a minute 'er too..." Vin warned. "Best ya wrassle with them pots. I'm awful hungry and we got work t'do. Can't run on empty..."
"I only need one pot for hot cereal," Buck replied, moving across to the kitchen. "Why you all fired up? Yesterday, you burrowed under that blanket like a mole."
"Was part of the plan," Vin winced as his tender insides still protested movement. "I was restin' up extra."
"Plan?"
"Need t'be on m'feet when he gits here, so's I can look 'im in the eye when I kick his ass," he noted. "Don't got no time fer his long face'r draggin' chin."
Buck rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then went outside. He took care of the call of nature before using the water pump to fill the two pots. He set them on the stove and poured himself some coffee. He made the mistake of looking over to the other side of the room and saw the bright-eyed tracker. Twice, the slim body tried to rise and the unsteady feet shot out wrong. He laughed then. Vin looked like an overly anxious terrier puppy whose paws wouldn't work right.
"Hold on, slick." He put his cup down and crossed the room. He helped Vin stand but his arm was pushed away.
"I can do it," Vin protested, eyeing the small table and chairs the doctor set up by the stove. "Jest don't go far."
"Damn, Vin, you got no ass," Buck noted from his station just behind the slow moving man.
"Yer gettin' awful familiar with m'ass!" Vin panted, wondering why the room seemed twice as long.
"Worse things in life," Buck shot back, then moved in and grabbed the younger man when his knees buckled.
"Let go o'me, it ain't much ferther..." Vin protested before his air ran out.
"Rome wasn't built in a day, Vin." Buck supported the sagging man and ushered him to the table. He tugged up the large pink opening in the drawers and buttoned them before depositing Vin on the chair. Immediately, the head went down on top of his crossed arms. He kept his own hand on Vin's damp undershirt, rubbing it a little. "Slow and easy, it's not a race. It's gonna take some time, Vin. Hell, four days ago, you couldn't lift your head."
"I hate this!" Vin soured of his inability to even walk a few feet. "Seems I go sideways fer every three steps I take. Damn beds got m'ass all wore the hell out..."
"Oh, I don't know," Buck teased. "Your ass isn't that beat up. I'm gettin' mighty fond of it." Buck laughed again, and even though the tangled head remained buried, a single finger shot up. He ruffled the damp hair and returned to the stove. "After breakfast, we'll go outside and give them legs a little work."
Vin rested on the table, dozing lightly while Buck cooked. He moaned and forced his eyes open when the tantalizing scent of bacon, eggs and potatoes tied up his senses. There it was, just a few inches away. Three pieces of crisp bacon, scrambled eggs with bits of cheese and browned grated potatoes. On a plate nearby were several biscuits. He lifted his head and licked his lips, the anticipation nearly causing his weak body to faint. Just as he snaked a hand over, the harsh slap of reality hit him.
"Ow!"
"Paws off!" Buck warned, shoving a small bowl at the startled ex-bounty hunter.
"What the hell's this shit?" Vin protested, wrinkling his nose at the pasty mix. "I ain't eatin' that. Hell, I wouldn't even use it to slap bricks t'gether."
"Awful long time until your midmorning break," Buck replied, shoving a bowl of honey towards the grumbling face. "Honey?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Vin grabbed the jar. "Yer mean, ya know that? Puttin' the devil's plate in front of an invalid," he soured of the temptation.
"You give that Tanner mouth a rest or you'll get that for lunch too," Buck warned and saw the blue eyes narrow. "Them bowels of yours ain't fully healed yet and I ain't plannin' on spending my mornin' catchin' Tanner shit."
"Why can't I have eggs?" Vin demanded. "Ain't nuthin' in an egg that'll shoot out." He saw Buck raise an eyebrow and frowned. "That were an accident..." he noted of lunch the day before.
"That stays put, you can have cheese and bread for lunch with some soup."
"Aw, hell, ain't I the lucky one?" Vin grumbled, picking up his spoon and gingerly stirring the thick mix. "Did ya spit in here?"
"Right after I pissed in it." Buck rolled his eyes, snatching a piece of bacon. He suppressed a smile at the low curses in Kiowa and Tanner talk that rose over the cereal.
The language barrier dissolved quickly when the stranger rode down the street. Every head turned to the lone figure dressed in black. The brawling quintet in the street paused, fists in midair, when he rode past. The whore servicing a drunken bandit pulled her head out of his lap when the man above cursed softly. The other assorted lowlifes, bandits and drunks all paused to take notice.
Even the air stilled in its homage.
He rode past them. His head remained still but the eyes under the flat-brimmed hat moved left and right. He drank in every face, body and building. His trained eyes sought out a pale face and light hair among the dark-skinned locals. He swept past the saloon and his eyes lingered on the rooms above the cheap drinkery. He tied his horse out front, tossed a coin to the street urchin with the promise of more if the horse remained there. He took his saddlebags, tossed them over his shoulder and went inside.
He paused in the doorway before entering the room. One hand caressed his Colt and his stance alone commanded respect. His cool eyes slid over the few occupants of the room. Not seeing Mason or any other threats, he headed for the bar. A burly Mexican man was shoving a burrito down his throat when he approached and he nodded to a bottle behind the bar.
"Cuánto es?"
Ciego Canterres eyed the man in black and his blood ran cold. It wasn't just the quiet calm in the low voice or the well-honed body. It was the eyes. He'd seen that look before and it gave him a shiver. He heard the question concerning the price of the tequila and held up two fingers. The stranger nodded and tossed a coin across.
Chris took the bottle and appraised the man before him. The gaze that returned told him the man knew the score. He didn't waste any time. He uncorked the bottle and took a swig. As the liquor burned a path downward, he heard a woman's laughter overhead.
"English?"
"Sí!"
"I'm looking for a man, my height, reddish brown hair, blue eyes. Ladie's man, comprendé?"
"Sí," Ciego hesitated, his eyes betraying him. For the split second that he thought on a reply, his eyes darted to the stairs. That was all the stranger needed.
"Gracias!" Chris nodded, took his bottle and headed for the upper floor.
Carmelita Delgado whimpered under the handsome gringo who rode her. It wasn't often someone as good looking and rich as this man rode through town. He'd paid Ciego well to find her and the silver that she had already tucked into her boot would go a long way. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grunted as he drove hard into her. So wrapped up in the ecstasy that ran through her ripe body, she didn't see the stranger approach. Her lover's eyes widened in shock briefly when the gun hit his head, then he fell on top of her.
"Get out," Chris ordered, hauling Mason to the floor.
Once she'd gone, he concentrated on the job before him. He put his saddlebags and the bottle on the small wooden table by the bed. He squatted over Mason's pale body and pulled his knife out. He thought of the lost hours Vin had spent in the cave, cold and alone. He thought on the pain his friend had suffered before and after the surgery. Those lost blue eyes drowning in fever haunted him. The knife came out easily and he traced a line across the coward's throat.
Easy.
It would be so easy.
Too easy.
He stood, kicking Mason hard between the legs and gathered up his raging emotions. He needed his head clear. He would take Mason back to New Mexico Territory and the charges that faced him. He would make sure he stood in the front of the crowd when they put the noose around the bastard's throat. He'd make sure his face was the last thing that Mason saw. He bent over the unconscious man and issued his threat.
"You fucked with the wrong person," he whispered, holding the knife to the pale skin and gripping the damp auburn hair.
It came to him then and a cruel smile creased his face. He found Mason's clothes in the corner and his luggage. He poked around and found a pair of heavy pants. With quick and precise movements, he cut the pants into several long pieces. He bound, blindfolded and gagged Mason. With his prisoner secure, the man on a mission went back downstairs to get a quick bite to eat. He had a long night ahead of him and needed the fuel.
Before Buck even eased his lanky body from the horse, he met the worried blue eyes.
"He knows."
He didn't speak to Vin. The tracker was dressed in cotton pants and a loose white shirt and sitting on the porch. A full plate of food sat next to him. When Chris hadn't arrived by midday, Buck rode back into town looking for him. Despite his thorough search, questioning the help at the hotel, people on the street and even the sheriff, he came up empty.
Chris Larabee couldn't be found.
He got his horse settled down and finally headed over to the house. He paused on the first step, feeling every bit of Tanner's waves of worry.
"He's gone, ain't he?"
"Yeah," Buck nodded. "I asked all over town but..."
"He's huntin'..." Vin hissed, his anger rising. "GODDAMMIT!"
"You didn't eat?" Buck ignored the curse and moved closer. "You wanna have a relapse? You know better." He shoved the plate closer and watched the handsome man's profile remain on the far horizon. Vin didn't reply but the bobbing Adam's apple spoke clearly for him.
"He'll be back, Vin. And he'll have Mason with him. He gave his word." He sat down next to the other man and held the plate out. "Come on..."
He waited but no reply came. He got his own plate of food and ate quietly, glad that the injured man had finally given in and was eating the chicken and dumplings as well. Afterward, he took the empty plates into the house and got them each a cup of coffee. He sat by Vin, keeping a quiet vigil. The blue eyes remained trained on the path down the road. Finally, as the recovering man's eyes began to droop and the head bobbed, he stood. Vin managed to get to his feet and almost to the bed before his legs gave out.
"I gotcha," Buck supplied quietly, helping the younger man onto the bed. He pulled a light sheet up and then went outside to get the empty mugs. He winced visibly when he heard it, a broken raspy call. It slipped out of the window and onto the wind.
"Word, Chris."
The first thing that struck him as he began to rouse was that he was cold. He shivered and tried to pry his eyes open. The headache that replied was his punishment for drinking too much. He moaned and tried to cough but found he couldn't. The gag confused him at first, but not until he began to tug on his limbs, did he panic. He was bound and gagged, unable to move. He peeled one eye open and his head was forced sideways.
Nothing.
He blinked but the inky blackness remained. As he inhaled again, the damp confines of his prison took shape. The musty smell and icy dampness of the wet ground beneath him were clues to his location. He twitched when water dripped onto his forehead. It was too wet and damp for a mine shaft. He was underground though, naked and tied to posts above his head and below his feet.
A cave.
He shivered again as the cold air caressed his exposed flesh. Then something slimy and wet snaked its way up his inner thigh. The distinct sound of a rattle split the darkness and he screamed. He twisted and tested the ties that bound him to no avail. His heart began to gyrate wildly and tiny rivers of liquid fear began to pour from his body. His eyes darted in the blackness, wondering where the snake went. Had it left to seek out other prey? Or was it just beneath his manhood, ready to strike. He felt sure the pressure in his chest was a heart attack, the fear nearly paralyzing him. The only sound in the dark prison was the thunder in his ears caused by his rapidly beating heart.
He felt it again and his heart nearly stopped. He inhaled sharply, tears running from his eyes. He felt the reptile move again and heard that sinister rattle. It slithered over his groin and stopped, curling up to rest. The slick sensation had his stomach churning and the mental image of yellow fangs ripping into him caused his bladder to empty.
He prayed.
Inwardly, he was shouting every prayer he knew and begging forgiveness. He wasn't a religious man but the cold that hugged his bones told him he was about to die. He didn't know by whose hand he'd been left here. He couldn't remember anything that happened after dinner. How long ago was that? Had he left town and been followed? Had the thieves left him here to die? He closed his eyes and waited to die, cursing his fate.
Through his moaning and frantic desire, he heard the rattling start again. The smooth body nestled against his balls began to dance and twitch. He screamed when he felt the slick skin press against his leg. He was sure those fangs were about to tear into his exposed flesh. The rattle seemed to fill the entire space he was confined in and the fear of the unknown caused him to pass out.
The rattle woke him, jerking his dulled senses to alert. It was by his ear now and he had to smother his first impulse to jerk his head away. He felt the cold scaly skin moving on his neck and he wanted to whimper. He wanted to beg. He wanted to die. He wanted that pressure in his chest to explode and take this away. The rattle sounded by his right ear and the slimey mess moved over his face. He screamed against the rag and passed out again.
The rattle woke him this third time, seeming to move all around. It was in front of his face, then near his stomach, dancing everywhere. The sound to his tortured ears was deafening. It moved again, swirling in a pattern of cold circles on his chest. He cried again, waiting for the bite to come and wondering why he wasn't dead yet.
"Please... I want to die... just end this torture... please... God... take me..."
But he didn't die. Not that time, nor the next, nor the time after. Every time he woke up, he wondered again why he wasn't dead. Hours passed and the torture continued. He screamed, cried and begged. By the last rousing, his bladder and bowels emptied once more and he passed out - again.
Dawn was nearly awake when he exited his own stake in Hell. He stretched and rubbed his back, then made his way to the river. He washed his face and took a long drink, hoping the icy water would keep him alert. His eyes moved to the road that led to the distant cottage where Vin was waiting.
"Soon..."
But not yet.
So he returned to the mouth of the cave where he'd left Mason. He lit a torch at the entry and retraced his steps. He placed the small flame over a tiny craggy rim in the wall. Vin Tanner's boots sat on the small ledge. He took the medicine pouch that contained the snake rattle and hung it from the top of the leather. When the cowering mess at his feet woke up, those totems would be the first thing he saw.
He sat down then, pulled out the tequila and waited. It was perfect in its simplicity. The idea had come to him when he touched the coward's face in the hotel room. Justice, pure and simple. So he'd tied up his prisoner and tossed a pile of silver at the boy who held his horse. That money not only bought the boy's silence but brought him Mason's horse as well. In the darkness behind the seedy hotel, he'd secured his prisoner and left town.
It took several hours but it was worth the trip. This fated destination, Mason's own piece of Hell, would end in the courtroom. He heard a moan and saw the dog's eyes twitching. He moved out of sight and watched from the darkness. He felt a rush of guilty pleasure when those confused blue eyes turned into frightened orbs at the sight of the boots and medicine pouch.
"No... it couldn't be... he's dead... no... Jesus... no...!"
A ghost?
Had Vin Tanner's spirit hunted him down? Or had he died already and was now in Hell?
It burned a hole in his brain while creating a flow of ice water through his guts. They stood side by side, twin images of smooth brown leather. Dangling from the right boot was the medicine pouch. His sharp scream was met by a short laugh, one he knew well and thought he'd never hear again.
He twisted his head again and saw a chiseled profile lean forward into the dim light. A thin cheroot was carefully lit and found a home between the grim line of nearly bloodless lips on his warden. The golden light from the flickering torch gave the blond gatekeeper an almost unearthly aura. The lean body stood in the shifting shadows, a silent and deadly specter. Every muscle in Larabee's face was set in granite, held together by a clenched jaw. But it was the eyes that caused the bound man to nearly die from fright right then and there. They were a shade past lethal, well into the killing zone. There was nothing reflected back at him, no remorse, no anger, no sign of humanity.
"What do want?" he croaked and coughed, realizing that his gag had been removed.
But the cool blond didn't reply. Not one muscle on the six foot avenger moved. Even those damned green eyes that now appeared totally black never blinked. His own eyes, in rat-like fashion, darted frantically. The words ran out, babbling and out of control.
"It's your fault... he's dead. Tanner..." he stammered, but the statue never moved. "...I had to... do it... so you'd suffer and hurt. I wanted it to eat at you... never finding him... not knowing if he died calling your name." He didn't care anymore, the words spilled out and he didnt' care. The hours or days he'd been in this hellhole had taken what clarity he had and he didn't care. "You had to pay for your crime. You killed that kid... he meant everything to... me. You had to pay... you..."
He gasped then when the lean man disappeared into the shadows. For several moments, there was no movement save the water dripping on him from the ceiling above. Larabee clearly had something very specific in mind. Something slow and painful... or he would have never woken up.
As if sensing his thoughts, a short cluster of icy words wrapped in a raspy whisper escaped from his captor's soul. It was a voice as chilling as earth would allow that caressed his ear. A dark shadow slipped to his side and he jerked at the words accompanied by the warm breath on his cheek. He felt the touch of metal, the tip of a knife, as it traced a lazy circle across his neck.
"Vin's a good student," Chris answered the darting blue-eyed victim's silent question. "The Kiowa and Comanche taught him well. I've seen him work."
He paused and saw the unadulterated fear rippling in Mason's eyes. "Sure is pretty!" He grinned ferally. "Sometimes it takes hours... messy though... and that smell... blood and shit spillin' from the severed guts..." He wrinkled his nose in distaste, then slit the belly of a fat bullfrog and let the entrails drip in blotches over the prisoner's face.
Chris grinned again, but there was no warmth or humor in it, when Mason gagged and tried to turn his face away. The other three frogs he'd caught and speared during the night were on a stake nearby. In the darkness, the slimy reptiles played the roll well. Accompanied by the rattle in Vin's pouch, they'd caused the terrified prisoner to assume he was being stalked by a snake.
The bound man saw the icy eyes slide down his belly, the wet knife twirling casually between long, slender fingers. His mind began to imagine every worst scenario he'd ever heard about the Indians and how they tortured their victims. He wanted to plead with the predator's eyes when they lingered on the medicine pouch before lifting to the sharp blade once more. Then Mason saw his saddlebags in the corner next to the tequila.
"No... don't... please... I'll give you the money... all of it... you... can have..."
Mason's muffled pleas fell on deaf ears. His body twitched and jerked when the lean form unfurled and rose in one fluid motion. His saucer-like blue eyes followed the panther-like moves. Larabee paused long enough to spit into the open bag of money, putting that attempted insult to rest. Mason nearly choked on his own vomit when his cold-hearted captor lifted the blade, moved closer and let it dance over the exposed area above his vulnerable manhood. He screamed and pulled back, his heart pounding so hard it nearly broke his ribs.
"Time to party," Chris hissed, sending shards of cold green glass into Mason. "I'm gonna bleed you out just enough to keep you alive, here, in the dark. Minutes, hours, days... you'll never know. Then I'm gonna let Vin send your sorry ass to Hell where it belongs."
The shaking man stilled for a moment, surprised. The shocked confusion brought a cold grin to the blond's face.
"He can't be... he was dead... I left his body..." His voice trailed off then when Larabee's mocking laughter followed the glowing green eyes around the cave. Not just any cave. His heart sank then and his insides turned to ice. He was in the very spot he'd left Vin Tanner to die. His foolish plan had backfired and sealed his own fate instead.
"You fucked up twice," Chris replied to the shocked eyes. "First, you raped my town." His lip curled up in fury then as the broken body of Vin Tanner emerged in his mind's eye. He lowered his voice, leaned in closer to the terrified victim's face and let every word he issued drip in bloodied revenge. He paused as he squatted down and lifted the razor, passing it slowly over the quivering man's exposed shortcomings.
"...and you hurt Vin Tanner."
Mason screamed hard and his eyes followed that arm moving back and forth in a precise arc, the gleam off the blade sending him into blackness, just after the blond executioner sang the refrain from the song of judgment.
"An eye for an eye...."
Mary Travis paused outside the small church that Josiah had rebuilt. It wasn't fancy, but it was a peaceful place that everyone in town had come to depend upon. More often than not, there was somebody kneeling in the simple pews gazing at the homemade cross on the far wall. She smiled when she heard the preacher's deep voice. For the last few weeks, Nathan had been staying in the room in the back where Josiah lived. The older man was taking good care of his best friend, something that irritated Nathan to no end.
"Get away from me," Nathan slapped unsuccessfully at the large hand that now steadied him. "I don't need yuh..."
"You need to remember you're in God's house and watch that pepper on your ungrateful tongue," Josiah reminded him. "The leg's doing good, Nathan. Don't push it. Just take a few steps, it's still healing."
"I know," Nathan huffed. "It's my damn leg. I oughta know how it feels. . ."
He kept his eyes on the table across the room and the twin plates of ham and eggs that waited. There was a jug of cider and a fresh loaf of bread as well. With every painful step, he felt another small victory. By the time he got to the table, his face was covered in sweat.
It was also wearing a proud smile.
He sat down and sighed hard, looking up when a strong hand met the damp fabric on his back.
"Well done, Brother," Josiah said softly. "Very well done."
"Thanks!" Nathan eyed the light shining through the window in the outer room. He thought of the cross on the wall and what it represented. "Seems I owe a lot t' yuhr boss."
"He's not my boss," Josiah corrected, taking his seat and picking up a spoon. "He's my Father... your Father... everyone's Father. It's what fathers do, provide faith."
"I guess." Jackson poured a mug of cider for each of them and lifted his. "I'd say He did a damn fine job. I couldn't ask for a better friend, or brother. I know I haven't been the best guest..." He frowned when his host nearly choked, the smoky eyes widened and one gray brow arched. "Okay, so maybe I was a little cranky..."
"Just a tad," Sanchez managed with a straight face.
"Fact is, Josiah," Nathan's eyes filled with emotion thinking on the long days that bled into weeks. In every pain-filled and fevered moment, one face had hovered over him. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't fuhr yuh. Every time I woke up... feedin' me, cleanin' me..."
"Puttin' up with that cussin' mouth of yours..."
"That too," Nathan chuckled. "Thanks... I want yuh to know, I'll never forget it."
"How 'bout a promise?"
"Promise?" Nathan broke a piece of bread and scooped some eggs onto it.
"This is all I ask, a lifetime promise," Josiah offered, extending his open hand. He smiled when the dark eyes filled and his friend swallowed hard. Then the hand came over and he gripped it, nodded once and went back to his meal.
A knock on the back door brought both heads up.
"Hello? May I come in?"
"Hey, Miz Travis!" Nathan smiled as the widow entered the room.
"Hey yourself, Nathan." She paused. "And congratulations. I heard the good news. J.D. told me..." she noted of the youth who'd burst into her office that morning announcing that the healer had taken his first few steps.
"Yeah, I'm lookin' forward to gettin' back to business," he noted.
"Well, I hope now that you have seen the other end of the 'business', you'll look at your patients in a new light?" she inquired.
"Next time you sass Vin about bein' orn'ry, I'm gonna tell him..." Sanchez added with a sly grin.
"Yuh ain't tellin' that cranky Texan a damn thing," Nathan warned, his heart warming when a mental image of the complaining, blue-eyed patient came to mind.
"You can tell him yourself in a few days. He's coming home."
"When?" Josiah asked the widow.
"I received a wire from Buck. The doctor feels Vin will be ready to travel in a couple of days. I thought... well, maybe it would be nice to have a dinner, all of us, together..."
"A meal of thanksgiving," Josiah nodded. "I like it and Lord knows after the last six weeks, we need it. Can the judge make it?"
"He's coming in tomorrow," Mary nodded. "I'll tell Ezra and J.D. I saw Mister Smithers in town. I'll check and see if he can deliver a nice pig," she said of the pig farmer who lived outside of town.
"See you later, Mary. Thanks for the good news." Josiah walked her to the door and watched her make her way back down the street.
"She didn't mention Chris..." Nathan fretted, wondering on the angry blond.
"No, she didn't. But Buck's last wire said he was doing better. Speaking of which, if you're up to it, we can take a ride out to the village. Nice day for a picnic..." He wagged his eyebrows and got a growl.
"That ain't none of yuhr business..."
"She's a mighty fine looking woman..."
"She's my woman and keep yuhr paws off," Nathan grumbled, then saw the sun shining through the window. "Could be some fresh air would be nice."
"I'll tell Mrs. Brown to fix a basket..." Josiah finished his meal, downed the cider and stood up. "You just remember that leg isn't healed yet and you're not that young anymore. Don't go gettin' yourself all worked up..."
"Yuh never mind about my age," Nathan snapped. "And I ain't so old I cain't whoop yuhr sorry ass. 'Sides, Rain ain't complainin', she likes the way I kiss and such..."
"..and such, huh?" Josiah grinned wolfishly and ducked when a crust of bread flew at him.
"I got some moves..." Nathan defended.
"So I hear..." Josiah winked and ducked outside.
"What's that supposed t'mean?" the healer frowned. "Get back here... dammit!"
He finished his meal and thought on Vin Tanner. With every wire from Willow, their hopes rose. That Vin was even alive was a miracle. He'd mourned deeply for the loss of the sharpshooter, a man who'd risked his life to save a stranger. And not just any stranger, but a man of color. That Chris and Vin did that for him, took out a lynch mob, well, it was something that he'd never be able to repay. So when Mary gave them the good news, he'd felt his heart swell. Men like Tanner were rare and calling one friend was even rarer.
Breathing.
It was something most people took for granted. But he'd never do that again. He inhaled a second time and felt fresh air kiss his face. He cracked one eye open and saw dirt and grass nearby. There was water running downstream under a blue sky. He was on his belly a few feet from the river. Larabee was filling canteens. His eyes shifted and he saw the horses ready for travel. He closed his eyes again and began to form a plan. One thing he knew, he wasn't about to let this man hand him over to a prison wagon. The thought of spending years in a filthy small cell groveling with common animals disgusted him.
He wasn't tied up.
He wondered about that. His hands and feet weren't secured. Neither was he dressed. Surely Larabee wouldn't make him ride into the next town naked? He had clothes in that bag. He didn't dare open his eyes again, but he wondered if his bag was tied to the horse. His mind calculated what distance he thought was between himself and his enemy. His hands and legs were free. With one good leap, he could knock the smug gunslinger on his ass. If he could get that Colt the green-eyed keeper wore...
"Go ahead... I'll put another hole in your ass..."
"Shit!" Mason swore, annoyed that Larabee knew what he was thinking. A boot on his bare ass brought his head up.
"Get your hairy ass up... we're leaving."
"I want my clothes."
"I want a bottle of redeye, a woman and a steak," Chris dictated, grabbing the greasy reddish hair and jerking it up hard. "You want your clothes? Beg. . .!"
"What?" Mason coughed.
"You heard me..."
"Go to hell!"
"Suit yourself." Chris rose, keeping the gun on the body at his feet. "Get moving... I'd just as soon tote your body. Your choice."
"You won't kill me." Mason sat up, then rose. "If you wanted me dead, you'd have never pulled that shit," he nodded to the cave.
"Dead?" Larabee laughed, aiming the gun at Mason's knee. "I didn't say I'd kill you." He narrowed his eyes, ensuring his intent was understood. "I'm good with this." He stroked his gun. "Real good... I can put six in you and make you bleed... cripple you for life. Now, move...!"
"Not like this..." Mason dictated, then saw the slow grin forming. His color rose as his anger grew. He saw his clothes laid out on a rock a few feet away.
"I can't hear you," Chris rasped, cocking his head.
"Fuck you!" Mason snapped, fisting both hands. He saw the black brim of the hat nod once towards the horse. He swallowed hard then before turning back. "Can I have my clothes...?" he gritted through a set band of teeth.
"On your knees," Chris spat back, seeing the defiance leaving.
"I won't grovel," Jeff replied, jutting his wavering chin.
"You'll fuck a snake if I want you to...." Chris ordered, pulling the hammer back and aiming it at the cowering man's knee. "On your knees... now!"
For several seconds, neither man moved. Two sets of eyes locked and the air heated up. Then Jeff Mason swallowed his pride and dropped. He formed two fists; he huffed and puffed, his insides churning. Finally, he spoke.
"Can I have my clothes?" He saw the blond tip his head and cup his ear. He sighed hard, trying to say it. "... please..." He sucked his breath in when the lean man moved behind him.
"Now, that wasn't so hard," he pushed the gun into the pasty skin on the dirty back, "... was it, you yellow-bellied dog?"
Mason wanted to rip that cocky tongue from Larabee's mouth. He wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. He wanted to shove that gun right down the arrogant man's throat. Nobody told him what to do and nobody made him beg. He started to rise and felt his body shoved forward. He hit the ground hard and coughed as dirt found his mouth.
"Worms don't walk, they don't have a spine..." Chris delivered, booting the coward's bare ass. "Crawl... on your belly..."
"I'm gonna kill you," Mason whispered. "You hear me, Larabee? I'm gonna rip your balls off..."
"You wouldn't know how..." Chris watched the wiggling man start to move. "Worms are short on brains... and ball-less."
Buck eased his long frame into the chair next to the pensive sharpshooter. He studied the handsome man's profile for a moment, well aware where those blue eyes were. He knew Vin was worried about Chris. He wasn't sure what had prompted Larabee to leave town without so much as a note, but he intended to find out.
"As soon as the doctor gets back tonight," he decided, "I'll go after him."
"Might as well spit inta the wind..." Vin muttered.
He knew Buck meant well but Chris already had a good head start and they had no idea what direction he'd ridden in. He silently cursed the man who'd done this to him, for although his mind was willing, Vin's body wasn't able. He was getting stronger but the last bout of sickness had really taken a lot out of him. He still tired easily and his back ached constantly as the lung continued to slowly heal. There was a lingering cough that brought tears to his eyes when the burning pain rose. He'd gotten used to the dull headaches, but his eyes were finally clear.
"Mexico, has to be." Buck scratched his chin. "Man's on the run, he's gonna hightail it over the border until things calm down. Could be somebody outside town saw him... there's a couple of towns just across the border, that's a start."
"I'm sorry, Bucklin," Vin turned and offered a waning smile. "I don't mean t' sound ungrateful. I jest got a bad feelin' is all. It ain't like him t'break his word."
"Yeah, that bothers me a little too." Buck sighed hard and felt the heat of the day coming. It wasn't yet ten a.m. and it was already hot. "Come on." He stood and tapped the younger man's leg. "It's gonna be hotter than Hell today. We might as well get your legs movin' before it gets too bad."
"Ya know," Vin stood and began to walk slowly to the water pump across the yard. "In case I fergot t'mention it, yer one helluva friend."
"You'll get my bill," Buck teased, ruffling the wavy brown locks.
"Don't be touchin' m'hair," Vin growled, trying to duck unsuccessfully. "I jest had it fixed right."
"Them rattails..." Buck shook his head and kept pace with the slow walking Texan who had paused at the pump to take a drink. "You wait until we get home. I'll have Sally and Daisy give you the special," he offered, tapping the Texan's backside lightly.
"Keep outta m'drawers!" Vin poured water over his face and eyed the road back to the porch. It didn't seem so far on the way over. "Boys do fine on their own. Don't need no six-foot interferin' jackass."
"That's Mister Jackass to you!" Buck saw the struggle starting and moved closer. "One step at a time, Vin. It's not a race. You're doing fine."
"Fine!" Vin huffed, totally annoyed. "Limpin' like a geezer o'ninety..."
By the time they reached the porch, his legs were wobbling badly. He collapsed in the rocker and laid his head back, taking great gulps of air. It caused the pain in his back to flare up and he gripped the arms of the rocker hard. He heard the door open and shut twice and then felt a shadow across his face.
"Here." Buck offered cold cider spiked with something to take the pain away. He waited until it was empty and went back inside, leaving Vin to his midmorning nap.
With the last tug of his boot, Jeff Mason made a decision. He would rather die here, taken quickly by a bullet, than slowly over the years in some hole-in-the-wall prison. His gaze moved past the lean, black, denim-encased legs to where two horses stood. That's where he'd make his move. He knew the brooding gunslinger would secure his hands to the saddle somehow. He'd need two free hands to do that.
"Get up," Chris ordered, poking the dawdling man in the back.
Silently, Mason stood and moved, walking slowly to his horse. He paused by the side of his chestnut and waited.
"I won't be long," Buck offered of his trip to the riverbed to the man dozing on the bed. He smiled at the obvious frustration. The blue eyes just wouldn't stay open and a single fist was protesting. He tapped the younger man's chest and chuckled. "Quit fightin' it and get some sleep."
"...ain't... tired..."
"No, I can see that," Buck laughed. "You'll feel better after I get some aloe for your back. I'll give you a 'Buck rubdown.' It ain't just anybody I gift that too."
"... m'innerds is all a quiver..." Vin rasped, annoyed. He didn't hear the laughter that followed; he was already sound asleep.
Mason put his wrists overlapping as ordered and around the horn. He waited a few seconds and then drove his elbow backwards. He felt the gun slam against his shoulder and grabbed for it.
Chris was bent over, recovering his breath, and saw Mason's hand moving in. He fired but it was at the same time the prisoner's hand hit his wrist, sending the weapon flying. He fisted his hand and drove it into Mason's belly.
They tumbled under the horse, each narrowly missing the sharp hooves. They rolled and grunted, cutting their faces on the sharp pieces of rock near the water. Fists found flesh, lips were split and damage was done. The only sound in the stilled morning air was that of flesh being pounded and the grunts that followed.
"Fuck this!" Chris spat out a wad of blood and unleashed a powerful blow. It was all he had left and the force of it sent him backwards and Mason flying. He landed on his back, dazed and bleeding. He didn't see the other injured man wrap his fingers around the gun.
Chris managed to roll his battered and breathless body onto his hands and knees. He swiped at the blood running into his eyes from a cut above his eyebrow. It stung and he blinked as his vision blurred. His body jerked at the shot that split the morning air.
"Where the Hell have you been?"
"Buck? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Saving your sorry ass!"
Chris blinked in confusion and saw Buck holstering his weapon. He didn't reply; he dropped to the edge of the river and washed his bloodied face. He took a long drink and turned, cradling his sore ribs. He saw Buck tying up Mason and the blood running from what appeared to be a graze on the other man's head.
"He ducked," Buck offered of the minor wound. He hauled the wheezing, battered blond up and then shoved him against a tree. "I want an answer!"
"Busy!" Chris coughed up blood and dabbed his wet kerchief onto the cut on his inner lip.
"Where'd you find him?"
"Santa Luisa," Chris offered, shoving Buck's arm away and eyeing a rock nearby. He sat down, collected his breath and felt the dark blue eyes burning into him. He knew Buck was doing the math.
"Santa Luisa?" Buck stood over his bruised friend. He tipped the face up and inspected the damage. That lasted a few seconds before his hand was shoved away. "What are you doing out here? Where the hell were you all night?"
"I had an itch that needed scratchin'," Chris growled, rose and limped over to where Mason was lying in the dirt. "How's Vin?"
"See this?" Buck turned, pulled his hat off and patted the back of his dark hair. "Between you and that damned Texan, I'm lucky there's anything left. It's gonna be gray for sure." He paused, put his hat back on and blew out a breath of frustration. "You had that boy worried good. Them damn eyes of his were workin' overtime."
"Just Vin, huh?" Chris challenged, knowing full well Buck worried for all of them.
"He's doin' good, well... better. Once the doc looks at him tonight, I was plannin' on takin' him home," Buck updated as Chris bent down to pick up Mason. He didn't miss the hiss of pain. "Move out of there. I don't need another patient. I ain't cut out for nursin'."
Chris found a small smile on his way to his horse. He gingerly climbed into the saddle and waited for Buck to secure Mason. He watched as the mustached man tore a piece of Mason's ripped shirt and tied a crude bandage around the wound on his head. Then he slung and tied him belly down over the saddle.
His job done, Buck dusted himself off and found his own horse. Tapping the saddle bag full of aloe plants, he turned to the dazed blond who was not admitting to anything. He was about to press the issue again when a hand shot out.
"Thanks, Buck."
"You know, this was a whole lot easier when we were younger," he commiserated, taking the proffered hand.
"Speak for yourself, old man," Chris grunted and rode ahead, leaving Buck to wonder about their twelve year bond.
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