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.
He paused by the water pump, eyeing the man dozing on the porch. The wavy brown locks cascaded a bit too long. Damn tracker needed a haircut. He wa s still down a few pounds but he looked good. The pale features he'd left be hind, cowering in a fevered ball, were now tan and healthy. That was a good sign ; Vin had been outside in the sun. He gingerly eased off his horse, took the burlap sack and walked closer.
"You done good, Bucko," Chris lauded, turning back to where his oldest friend stood.
He smirked at the angry face. Wilmington was still pissed off. He moved towards the slumbering Texan and stepped onto the porch. Vin's head drooped in his sleep, the chin hitting the chest. He touched the tan-shirted shoulder gently, swallowing hard. He'd nearly lost so very much, it still took his breath away. He let out a long sigh and moved his hand into the bag. He took the boots out, setting them down on the porch. Then he moved his hand inside hi s breast pocket and gingerly unwrapped the medicine pouch. With great care, h e gently placed it around his best friend's neck.
"Well, ain't that sweet..." Mason grunted, then gasped and fell off the horse as a bullet whizzed by his ear.
"You're even dumber than you smell," Buck growled, kicking the downed man.
Chris holstered his gun and his eyes, turning back when the body beside him stirred. He saw the head come up slowly as two blue eyes blinked in confus ion. Still out of focus, they roamed the immediate area, then flickered slightly when the body beneath protested the movement.
"What the fuck was that?" Vin mumbled of the gunshot that woke him up. "Dammit, Bucklin, ya damn near..."
His words faltered when his fuzzy eyes righted. He studied the small leath r pouch that rested on his heaving chest. Amazed and awed, he fingered his prized possession, swallowing hard. His eyes moved past the bag to black fabric, a holster and a familiar Colt. He lifted his face, taking in the battered set of features before him.
"He's alive, Vin," Chris answered the silent question.
"I know," Vin countered, annoyed that Larabee seemed to be able to read his thoughts. His gaze ran over the very battered and bloody body now wheezing in the dirt. Fresh bruises, new blood, the battle was recent. His curious stare was answered.
"We had a little talk down by the river."
"Fer a fact," Vin replied, a grin forming. He eyed the collection of bruises and cuts Larabee wore. "Ya done a right fine job. 'Course, it ain't a Tanner job. . ."
"No, I'm still standing," Chris shot back and drank in the softly snorted response.
"Where'd he slink offta?"
"Santa Luisa, just across the border," Larabee answered. "I got a tip last night and had to head out before I lost him. I didn't have time to come ou t here to let you know. I promise I didn't run out on you, Vin."
"I know that town." Vin's head rose slowly, his eyes burning into the pale ones offered. "It ain't that far."
Chris knew what Tanner was asking. Had he rode straight through, he could have been here last night by midnight. But that wouldn't have quelled the fire inside. A part of him had needed to feed the monster that lurked inside, the one that had been chewing at his guts since Vin nearly died in his arms. Now, the beast was sated and he'd kept his word. The best of both worlds.
"I got thirsty," Chris offered, not willing to go further. He saw the brows over those questioning eyes draw in a bit as the tracker studied him. His face colored some as he felt Tanner searching his soul. He turned up the heat in his gaze and finally the tangled head nodded.
Vin knew Chris had taken Mason somewhere on the way back. The thirst that engulfed him had been building since Mason kidnapped him. Chris wasn't prepared to share what he'd done to quench that thirst. He wouldn't push the issue.
He knew the wounds Larabee carried were just as painful as his own. Those wounds were deep and raw, throbbing with a unsatiable beat.
His eyes went to the gunslinger's pants, the usually black boots, and he read the colors. The caked mud wasn't very old and it came from the banks of a river. The reddish hue told him it was from the one nearby. The same river where Moses said he'd found him inside a cave. His head shot up and he accu sed the older man silently.
He knows.
Chris merely nodded slightly and turned his gaze away. He pulled a flask fr om his pocket and took the cap off. He took a swig from it, wincing as the burning liquor hit his cut lip. He dabbed at it with his fingers, feeling the blue fire focused on him.
"It's done, Vin," Chris whispered, thinking on the horrid scene when they'd last seen each other. He dropped his gaze and took in a shaky breath. "About that night... I'm sorry, Vin. What I did..."
"...ya done yer best. Ya saved m'life." Vin's eyes didn't miss the slight tremble in the hand that held the flask. "That's what ya done," he countered. "Yer right, it's over, okay?"
The tracker waited for the blond head to nod and then studied the pouch again, running the fabric through his fingers. He felt that ragged hole in side start to close. The warmth that coursed through his healing body had nothing to do with the sun overhead. He knew just how much Chris would have done to seek justice in his name. He also knew at what cost. His hand shot out, locking onto the other's forearm.
Green eyes met blue.
"Word," Vin saluted, sending all his feelings through his eyes.
"Word, cowboy," Chris rasped, still shaken by Vin's unwavering faith in him .
There.
It was done.
Finally.
Somehow, it hadn't sunk in yet. Vin sat back, closing his eyes as a wave of pain shot through his back. He felt a hand gripping his shoulder and all his tension left. He felt his hand nudged by a flask and peeled an eye open. A slow smile was born and he brought the flask up and took a hearty swig.
"Good for what ails you," Chris predicted and got a soft chuckle for a reply.
"Sure as hell is," Vin answered, his eyes letting the other know it wasn't the liquor he was speaking of. The blond head dipped once, silently accepting the wave of thanks.
Vin handed the flask back and his eyes caught sight of the boots. He winced as he bent a bit lower to study them.
"They're dirty," he noted of the muddy boots.
"You're right, slick," Buck replied, dragging Mason by the collar through the dirt and letting his face hit every porch step. He shoved the coughing man down and rested his own boot on his back. "You heard the man, fuckface."
"What?" Mason coughed.
"Clean 'em," Chris growled.
"Hold it!" Buck hauled the injured man to his knees and winked at Vin who'd thrust his bare foot out. "Looks like you need some socks."
Mason heard Wilmington leave and dropped his head. That lasted only a few seconds before Larabee's hand grabbed his hair and yanked it back up. He felt the tip of a knife press into the soft underside of his jaw. He flinched when that sharp edge drew blood. He wished Tanner would say something. The eyes that now studied him were burning a hole right through him. He should have known Larabee wouldn't run with anything less than his own mettle. The blue eyes that he'd seen a moment before locking onto Larabee's with great emotion were now cold as ice. He swallowed hard and tried to avert his gaze but those damned orbs were making him squirm.
He heard the door slam and saw two white cotton socks appear. The knife moved away and his hands fumbled badly when the bare foot was thrust at him . By the time he got both socks on, the last shards of his dignity were falling away fast. The boots appeared then, right in front of him. He looked quizzically from Wilmington to Larabee.
"I don't have anything to clean them with."
"You got spit," the lethal blond interjected while Wilmington shoved a torn cotton cloth in his hand.
That took that last shred of dignity. He felt it slip out of him with a resigned sigh as he picked up the first of the dirty boots. He shut them all out, concentrating on getting the job done. All he wanted now was to get out of there. Maybe his father could hire an expensive lawyer. Maybe get him transferred back East. But he wouldn't forget what Chris Larabee had done to him. No, God willing, one day he'd make the smug blond pay for this.
"Now there is nothing quite like a good spit shine," Buck crowed, eyeing th e clean boots. "Let's see how they fit."
Mason huffed, felt the color rising on his battered face and shoved the boots on.
"They do look pretty, son," Buck whistled, taking the flask from Chris. He offered it to Vin after he'd taken a sip but the tangled head shook negatively.
"Get this piece o'shit outta m'sight," Vin whispered, whiteknuckling the edges of the rocker. Flickers of memory returned, casting shadows of a hellish night in a cold cave. He heard Mason's mocking laughter and felt those rough hands again.
"You heard him," Chris said, grabbing Mason and shoving him towards the horses.
"We'll be back by supper, Vin," Buck said.
"We?" Chris paused by the horses, cocking his head.
"We!" Buck affirmed, his smoking gaze telling the other he had questions that needed answering.
"Hold up!" Vin rasped, still hearing echoes of that sinister laughter. He stood and walked slowly towards the horses.
"Vin?" Buck puzzled at the odd look on the tracker's face. He exchanged a look with Chris, who was equally perplexed.
"What's wrong?" Chris asked, moving to the wheezing Texan's side. He held onto Vin's arm as the younger man knelt and felt the front leg of Mason's horse.
"Feels hot..."
"Hot?" Buck knelt down and felt the horse's leg. "It don't feel..."
"I said it's hot!" Vin hissed, shoving Buck's hand away.
"Okay, Vin," Buck stood, still feeling scorched from the livid blue eyes.
"You heard the man," Chris directed to Mason. He didn't know all the details of what caused Vin's reaction. He knew it was tied to whatever Hell Mason put him through. He'd seen the heat in Tanner's eyes when the injured man met Mason's gaze. He knew what Vin was hinting at and he caught the blue wrath and nodded once.
"What?" Mason blinked as Larabee tied his bound hands on a long rope. The other end was tied to the lean gunslinger's horse. "You can't be serious! I can't walk!"
"So crawl then," Buck offered, steering the shaky sharpshooter back towards the porch.
"I'm gonna wire home," Buck said. "We leave tomorrow and ride slow, we'll get there early morning the day after. That okay by you?" He saw the damp blond head nod once. "Okay, you drop him off and I'll meet you at the saloon." He cut the rope that bound Mason to the Larabee's horse and walked back toward the Post and Telegraph office.
James Wilson looked up when the bell over the door told him he had a visitor. From behind the tattered shade that covered the window, a lean man in black appeared. The chiseled features were set and rigid, the eyes gleaming a shade just past lethal. He rose, his hand skirting his weapon and saw the blond head shake. Then a body was thrust at him. His face creased at the sight of the ragged man, his clothes bloody and his face a mess.
"Larabee. I work for Judge Travis. This is Jeff Mason. You got my wire? I believe the judge left orders?"
"I'm Jim Wilson, the deputy. Yeah, I got them here." He paused, eyeing the desk until he picked up a piece of paper. "It's quite a list, federal charges too. He won't see the light of day until he's old and gray."
"Read it!" Chris held the charges in front of the shifting blue eyes. He waited until he saw them finish the scattered paragraphs of charges. "Well? "
"Yeah, I d...d...d....did... it..."
"Sounds like a confession to me, Wilson," Chris stated, grabbing a blank piece of paper from the desk and a pencil. "How about you write it down?"
Wilson's gaze swung from the man whom Larabee thrust into a chair back to the stern look the blond man wore. The judge had hinted that Larabee and Tanner were close. There were testimony and statements from the other witnesses as well. He didn't doubt that Mason would be locked up. He eyed the battered faces and wondered about the ride in. The wire from Santa Luisa only stated that Mason had been caught.
"He's gonna swing," Chris predicted, enjoying Mason's fear spreading all over the floor.
"Not up to me or you, Larabee," Wilson replied, grabbing the keys to the cell. "Judge won't be back for a few weeks."
"Well now, that is a shame," Chris grinned, winking at Mason behind Wilson's back. "Could be if you let me know where he is, I could take this piece of shit off your hands." He leaned down, putting his face close to Mason's ear . "I know a short cut..."
"Nooooooooo!" Mason screamed and bolted, running for safety behind the bars . "Keep him away from me."
"He won't cause any more trouble," Chris assured, glaring openly through the bars. "Will you?" He paused when Mason shook his head. He cupped his ear. "I didn't hear you?
Did you hear him, Wilson?"
"Didn't hear a thing," the deputy replied, enjoying the show.
"No," Mason managed, rubbing his aching feet now free of his boots.
"No what?" Chris gritted, leaning in.
"No... Mister Larabee..." Mason sent back, already plotting his own revenge.
"Wilson," Chris turned and faced the deputy, "you wire Paso Del Norte when you get a trial date." He turned back, staring down the cowering mess in th e cell. "Front row, remember?"
"Go to hell," Mason spat.
"You'll be there soon enough," Chris replied, nodding at the local lawman and ducking outside.
The sun wouldn't set for a few more hours yet. Time enough for a few drinks with Buck before heading back to the house. He wanted-no, needed-to share tonight's sunset with Vin. He strode over to the swinging doors and entered. Buck was waiting with a fresh bottle and two glasses. He took the seat next to Wilmington and took the shot offered.
"What the hell happened between Santa Luisa and here?"
"Nothing," Chris shrugged, downing the shot and tapping the table for more.
"We just stopped to have a talk."
"Talk?" Buck pressed, sipping the whiskey and pouring Chris another shot.
"Yeah, I needed to impress a few things into that half-empty skull of his."
He downed the shot and waited for another. "Only one place that suited," he noted of the fated cave. "Helluva talk, took all night."
"What did you do to him?" Buck inquired; he was more than curious. Knowing how deeply Chris felt about Vin, he nearly paled when he thought of all the ways the blond could torture a man without marking him. He shivered a bit, thinking on that unique brand of justice.
"Brought his color out... his true color... took some persuadin'..." He shifted in the chair, thinking on the confession. Added to the evidence, it would bring many years of prison time. Long years where Mason would suffer every day, if he didn't hang first. "Larabee style!" he toasted, tapping Buck's glass .
"You're damned lucky I was gettin' some plants for Vin's back. I heard t hat shot..."
"...and you're lucky I wasn't drunk that night in Lexington when that big woman was ready to crush you." Chris winked, offering his hand and a beguiling Larabee grin. He heard the chuckle and saw Buck unsuccessfully try to wipe the grin from his face.
"I was handling things," Buck defended weakly of that fateful night, the first time they'd met during the early days of the war, nearly twelve years past.
"Yeah," Chris snorted, shaking his head. "Something about the way you weretied to the bed told me how well you were 'handling' things."
"She was a farm girl," Buck offered in the 'large' woman's defense. "I was a wounded soldier. She was offering comfort."
"That's what it looked like to me," Larabee quipped, tossing another shot down. "Guess we're even. Good thing I was on patrol that night, scouting for a place to shelter my wounded men." He narrowed his eyes and took in Buck's profile. "Wounded? I don't recall you having any wound. You were drunk."
"It was medicinal. I had a fever and stumbled in there..."
"You got the stumbled part right..." He grinned devilishly then, recalling the wide, dark blue eyes peering up at the mountain of rolling flesh that was squatted on him. "You should have seen your face. She scared the shit outt a you."
"She didn't seem that big when I fell into the door," Buck lamented, then chuckled.
"She knew enough to tie you up so you couldn't get away." Chris leaned over, enjoying Buck's colors of recollection. "Yer boys was busted up good, Bucklin," Chris mocked in a drawling Tanner accent.
"Don't remind me!" Buck winced, shifting in his chair, then paused. "He's a fighter, Chris. He's been bustin' his balls all week, workin' them legs in ta shape." He laughed then. "Said he wanted to be on his feet to cuss you out eye to eye. Worked up quite a lather just thinkin' on it."
"That's my boy!" Larabee lauded, offering another toast.
"We better pick up some fried chicken from that place on the corner and head back," Buck responded, "or we'll be too drunk to ride."
"Never happen!" Chris corked the bottle and rose. "Come on, stud, let's ride."
It was a beautiful sunset, one that colored the sky in breathtaking shades of rose, scarlet and purple over gold. They sat quietly, drinking in the miracle and enjoying just the freedom of hearing the other one breathe.
Chris was sitting on the steps of the porch, drinking coffee. Dinner had been easy. The fried chicken, potatoes and biscuits went down good. The pie and coffee were accented by tales of the past. He smiled then, recalling Vin's contagious laughter when he told the Texan how he and Buck first met. Then the sun began to fall and Buck excused himself and went inside, realizing his two friends needed to be alone.
"Shur is pretty," Vin commented.
"That it is," Chris replied, turning to face the other man. Vin still had some healing ahead. It would be a few weeks yet until he was truly well, but he'd turned the corner. More importantly, the wound inside was healing as well. Chris hoped he'd been a part of that.
"Things went south," Vin said quietly, reading the green-eyed gaze easily, "and I got planted, ya wouldda brung 'im in."
"I don't know, Vin." Chris sipped his coffee and eyed the scarlet and rose-colored sky. The blue that was being courted there was a rich shade, a true Tanner blue.
"I do," Vin whispered, sending his faith in those two short words. He saw Chris's face change to a look of surprise and briefly, he was gazing into the exposed soul. "Ain't got nuthin' without faith. Ya gimme that... when I thought I was dyin'. I could close m'eyes... rest easier. Ya got no idea what that means t'me, Chris."
"Yeah, I do, cowboy," Chris managed, swallowing his emotions.
It was enough and the silence returned. Twin profiles sought out the sunset and saw God's fine hand stroking the night sky. Eve came, not a bit shy and offering a bosom full of glittering stars. Entranced, the two men gave into her charms, totally and utterly seduced. A candle on the table next to the healing tracker offered a light golden glow. Like Hope, it flickered and offered comfort in a world often far too cold.
Chris rose, placed the empty mug next to Vin's on the table and held out his hand. The change in breathing over the last half hour or so told him the younger man was laboring. He'd seen those healing spots on Vin's back when Buck rubbed him down before dinner. He also knew the coffee was spiked and that the blue eyes were fighting hard. He hauled the younger man up and felt the healing power from Vin's fingers right through the fabric of his shirt where they met his forearm.
"Word," Vin rasped, sending his wholehearted gratitude.
"Word," Chris vowed, accepting the silent thanks and letting that soft drawl caress his own wounded soul with a healing force he didn't question but rather embraced.
Buck cleared the plates off and took them outside to the small tin tub. He tossed some slivers of soap in the hot water and began washing them. He saw the horses arrive and smiled. He moved from the back of the house, dried his hands and approached the pair.
"Mornin'," Buck greeted, shaking the white-haired man's hand.
"Good morning to you as well!" Doctor Murdoch got down from his horse. "How's our boy?"
"He's got a belly full of bacon, eggs, pancakes and biscuits. He's walkin' all over, back still bothers him a bit. Headaches are just about done..."
"Splendid, you did a good job."
"Hell, Doc, I didn't do anything. You and Chris did the hard part."
"You're wrong, Buck," he challenged. "Vin sent for you for a reason. He reached out to the person he knew he needed. Not just anyone, you!" He tapped the tall man's shirt and saw a slight blush form. "You're a good friend, and you care for him. I saw that clearly. That's more powerful than anything that comes in a bottle." He turned as his companion walked over. "Buck, there's someone I'd like for you to meet."
Chris turned when the back door opened and smiled.
"Welcome home, Doc."
"Thank you, Chris, it's good to see you again." He hesitated, eyeing the black eye, swollen lip and cuts marring the handsome face. "Rough ride?"
"Somethin' like that," Chris nodded, touching his sore eye. "I'm fine. Vin's out front. I swear he's half lizard."
"I'll have a look at him." The physician moved aside and Buck entered, followed by a large man whose hearty handshake and deep voice gave Chris a genuine smile.
Vin was sitting in the sun, letting the warm rays bake his face. He heard the door slam and held out his hand. When nothing appeared, he frowned.
"Dammit, Larabee! Where the hell is it? I know ya got chocolate hid inside somewheres. I smelt it... I gotta keen sense o'smell..."
"I'm not surprised," the doctor mused and saw the blue eyes startle open.
"Hello, Vin."
"Hey Doc!"
Vin stood and walked over, letting his smile increase until he shook the physician's hand.
"Gettin' m'legs back," he outed, rubbing his back. "Back still sassin' me a bit, but I reckon that'll clear up."
"Given enough time, I think you'll heal completely," he noted. "How about we go inside and I can examine you? I'd like to look you over before you leave ." He moved to let the other man go ahead of him. He smiled at the surprise that the recovering man was walking into and took a seat at the far end of the porch.
"Can't wait t'git home," Vin sighed, starting to unbutton his shirt. He was inside the house when a shadow fell on him. He raised his face just as the deep voice sounded.
"How are yuh, boy? I sure have missed yuh..."
"Moses!" Vin croaked, unprepared for the swell of emotion that rose in him.
He saw Buck and Chris duck out the back door, leaving the pair alone. Before he could find his voice, he was engulfed in a bear hug.
"I knowed yuh wouldn't die..." Moses moved back, holding the young man by t he shoulders. He saw the eyes pooling and smiled then, feeling his own chest tightening. "Yuh looks good... jest like a new penny. All bright and fine... " He nodded to the table. "How 'bouts we sit down and yuh tell Old Mose how yu h'r doin'?"
"I wouldn't be doin' nuthin' put pushin' up daisies iffen ya hadn't plucked m'sorry ass from that cave." Vin sat down at the table, swiping at his damp eyes. He felt Moses' hand on his chin as it was tipped upwards.
"Lord put both of us in dat cave fuh a reason, boy. Yuh gave Old Mose's heart a good tug. Been a lotta years..." he choked, tapping the handsome young man's face lightly. "The Lord, He don't waste his time."
"No, sir, He sure as hell don't," Vin lauded, his heart full.
The doctor waited a full half hour, letting the emotionally drained man get his strength back. Then he gave him a thorough examination and warned his patient, "You keep eating right, resting and don't overdo. In a few weeks, you'll be as good as new." He turned to Buck and Chris. "Slow and easy on the way back. He can't ride yet. You'll need my wagon."
"I ain't ridin' in a damn wagon," Vin protested. "I ain't no damned invalid . And another thing, where the hell is my chocolate? I got rights. Ya can't force me to lie in no damn wagon like a woman..."
"Shut up, Vin!"
"Aw, hell!" Vin sighed in defeat at the twin chorus from Buck and Chris. He felt Moses' large hand ruffle his hair and heard the deep laughter. "Traitor!" he accused and the old, dark-skinned man just laughed harder.
Buck moved over and clapped the scowling man's back.
"How 'bout you move them new boots of yours, slick," he invited with a wink. "Let's go home."
It was just after four p.m. when Josiah Sanchez stepped out of the saloon. He stretched and flexed, rousing his stiff muscles. He'd spent the better part of the last two hours with his three fellow peacekeepers playing poker. Well, one of them was playing; the others were stumbling badly. He saw a rider and a wagon approaching in the distance. He stepped further towards the street and cocked his head while shading his eyes with his right hand. As they drew closer, the rider took on a familiar shape which caused a broad smile to form on the graying man's lips.
"Well... well..." He turned back and approached the Saloon, pausing at the batwing doors.
"Is something amiss?" Ezra inquired, seeing the strange look on Josiah's face.
"Come on..." J.D. tapped Nathan on the back. "We need the fresh air anyway."
"I was makin' a comeback," Nathan protested, getting a scoff from the green-eyed gambler and an eye roll from the young sheriff. "I was!"
"Well?" Ezra asked of the grinning preacher.
"The lost sheep have returned to the fold..."
"DAMN!" J.D. enthused, moving forward quickly.
"I hope they doused Vin good," Nathan fretted. "Yuh know how he gets when he's trussed up and hurtin'..."
"Uhmmm..." Ezra kept abreast of the limping body. "I can't imagine anyone being that irritable. Can you?"
"Shut up, Ezra!" Nathan poked through the swinging doors. �I wasn't that bad..." He turned when the younger man behind him coughed. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the grinning southerner. "Dust?"
"Something like that," Ezra grinned, eyeing the post nearby. It was at a vacant spot where he assumed Buck would pull in the wagon. Both men looked tired and the blond out in front was battered as well. "Mister Larabee, you're looking well."
"And your wallet looks fatter," Chris quipped, eyeing the new bright blue jacket the gambler wore.
"Miss me?" Buck boomed, pulling the team to a halt and jumping down. He clapped the protesting southerner on the back and winked.
"Like the plague!" Ezra drolled, peering into the wagon. He found a smile for the slumbering Texan dozing on a mattress.
"Look how long his hair got..." J.D. noted, then recalled the last time he'd seen Vin. A dark day by a cold river where the Grim Reaper lurked with scythe held high. He pushed that awful picture away and instead created a new one of their tanned sleeping tracker. He watched that chest rise and fall and marveled at the simple feat. "He looks good, don't he?"
"He's too thin," Nathan winced, leaning on the side of the wagon. He too couldn't tear his eyes from the movement of that chest. He had heard that weak call by the river; the last time he'd seen Vin Tanner, the barely audible drawl that had put a good crack in his heart. He shook himself clear of the strong feeling and concentrated on the patient. "He been coughin'?"
"Nope!" Chris tossed his reins to J.D. "Make yourself useful, kid." He eyed the youngest of the seven and his lips turned up. "How you doin'?"
"Doin' better than you," J.D. tossed back, jutting his chin out. "I'm not wearin' a shiner."
"No, Sheriff Dunne, you sure as hell aren't," Larabee grinned, tugging the youth's hat over his eyes.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We're home!" Buck had climbed up into the back of the wagon and tapped the slack jaw.
Six men watched over the seventh as he slowly began his path back to the conscious world. The pale brown brows furrowed and the nose wrinkled. The lips twisted and a disgruntled huff slipped out. Two hands fumbled badly trying to shove away those that pestered him.
"Here, let me get that for you." Buck swiped the spit from the other man's chin. "You're droolin'... downright embarrassin' to be seen with..."
"Quit pawin' me, I ain't no fuckin' dog!" Vin soured, slapping at the strong hand.
"Same fleas!" Buck ruffled the tangled hair. "Who'd have guessed?"
"Ya touch me again, Bucklin, and I'm gonna twist yer balls int'a knots..." Vin blinked at the sunlight that hit his eyes and saw shadowy faces. Then Buck's face wearing a cocky grin loomed in front of him. He felt the strong hands sitting him up and protested. "Git offa me! There's gotta be some cross-eyed woman lurkin' 'bout ya can go play with."
"He's baaaackkk..." J.D. announced.
"Hey, Vin!" Nathan smiled at the confused patient.
"A favor?" Ezra inquired, eyeing the familiar, albeit disoriented, blue eyes. "When you next attempt to play poker with Saint Peter, please do so long after I've retired to that table."
"Huh?" Vin rubbed his eyes and winced as the long stream of words assaulted him. "Goddammit, Ezra, I can't hardly keep up with ya when I ain't full o'cat piss." He paused and blinked again, waiting for the fuzzy faces to clear. "Ezra? Ezra!"
"In the flesh!" The other man smiled at the softening of the cranky features.
"Welcome home, Brother Vin!" Josiah smiled from the foot of the wagon at the look of pure joy radiating from Vin Tanner's heart right through those emotive eyes.
"Hey, y'all!" Vin rasped, swallowing hard. He drank in every face, digesting every broad smile and tucking them safely away. They gave off a glow that he might need some dark night. He paused at Nathan's soft grin, recalling how close the other had come to dying. "How's yer leg?"
"Standin' on it!" Nathan bragged. "Missed that sorry face o'yuhrs."
"Ya must be desperate," Vin managed, turning to J.D. "Hey, kid... ya okay?"
"Keepin the town safe from criminals and other unsavory elements."
"Unsav'ry elements?" Vin made a face and laughed. "I got back jest in time. Yer hangin' around Ez t'long."
"I'm wounded!" The charming southerner tapped his chest, then moved aside as Josiah unlatched the back of the wagon.
"I can walk," Vin sassed, slapping at both Buck and Josiah. But the circulation hadn't returned to his legs and they both buckled beneath him. Six bodies moved in unison. "Don't need six fuckin' nursemaids..."
"Yuh quit cussin' and let them git yuh up t'the clinic. Yuhr legs ain't ready for all that walkin'," Nathan touted, moving closer.
"Git away!" Vin tossed back with hot sauce. "My ass ain't goin' nowheres but in the Saloon. Ain't never had such a drought. My gut thinks m'throat got cut. Bucklin!"
"Right here, slick," Buck chuckled and moved in next to the wobbly tracker.
"Make yerself useful..." Vin held out his arm and let the taller man steady him. Then he turned to his friends and unleashed a devilish grin. "Let's go, boys, I got me a hankerin' fer whiskey and the night's young..."
"Sounds like a plan," Ezra agreed.
"Yuh need t'eat. Ya ain't got enuf weight on them bones..." Nathan complained as the others moved towards the saloon. "Vin, yuh hear me?" "Lar'bee, move yer ass!" Vin ordered, limping closer to the large table where the man in black was chasing the dust away with a bottle of whiskey.
"Excuse me?" Chris turned, arching a single blond brow at the cocky sharpshooter.
"Yer in m'chair..." Vin decided with a flinch eyeing the nearest chair. "I'd advise you to find another one." Chris ignored the protester and went back to his drink. He pulled out a cheroot and lit it only to find his wrist snagged.
"I'd advise ya t'move yer fussy ass over one..." Vin panted. "...weren't bad enuf ya drugged me up and toted me on a public road..."
"Christ, you're worse than a woman on the rag..." Chris grumbled and shook the arm off. "Nice, Chris, real nice!" Buck shook his dark head, put two bottles down and took the seat next to the blond.
"What are you doing?" Nathan eyed the preacher who was wearing an odd smile.
"Listen, brother, listen..." Josiah advised, nodding to the table. "Sweetest music I've heard in some time."
"Amen!" Nathan agreed. "Shall we join the chorus?"
"After you!" Josiah waved his arm.
It was a night none of the seven would forget for a long time. A night where they drank and laughed, enjoying the bawdy business of brotherhood. When Vin began to doze off, they moved the party to his room at the boarding house. Content to have his friends near, laughing and trading war stories, the tracker slept easy. The smile he wore remained long after the six departed well after midnight. It remained in place, locked up by the peace that finally found him back in the circle where he belonged.
>From the shade of the eave of the sign over the depot, Chris Larabee shook his damp blond head. It was a hot afternoon and just standing outside was difficult. His gaze followed the pacing younger man several feet away.
"You're gonna wear a hole in them fancy boots," he advised, getting a scowl, a huff and a snort. "You getting heat stroke won't make that stage come any faster."
Vin stopped pacing long enough to glare at his best friend again. Then he continued his trip. Twenty steps up and twenty more back. He paused at the turn, eyeing the road that led into town and then sighed, cursed, kicked the post and resumed his path. He heard the long sigh and followed it to the line of lip under the brim of black.
"So go plant yer grumpy ass elsewheres."
"Let's get some lunch," Chris suggested, hoping to take the tracker's mind off his business.
"I ain't hungry," Vin sent back, resuming his pacing.
"I thought I saw a pig flying," Larabee quipped, shoving himself off the side of the building.
"Yer 'bout as funny as a mule with a toothache," Vin sassed and saw the leader's face crease in confusion.
"A mule?" Chris quipped, then heard Buck's voice in his head, warning him not to challenge 'Vin logic'. He saw the telegraph clerk waving at him and walked inside the door and over to the desk. "Problem?"
"Passenger took sick. They had to stop at Durning. Gonna be four hours late."
"Shit," Chris sighed. "Which passenger?"
"Wire didn't say, sorry Chris." The clerk paused. "I'll wire and ask for an update."
"Okay," Chris nodded. "Thanks, Tim."
Vin had just cursed and kicked the side of the building again when he saw Chris approach. Something in the grim expression caused his insides to stir.
"What's wrong?"
"Stage is gonna be late, Vin, won't pull in here until supper. Come on, no sense baking out here anymore."
"Why's it late?"
"Somebody got sick, they stopped at Durning."
"Who?" Vin's heart began to hammer. "Who got sick?"
"I dunno, Vin, wire didn't say." Chris paused in the middle of the street when he saw Vin flop down on a crate and his head drop. He retraced his steps and waited in front of the downcast peacekeeper. "Seems to me you won't have to worry about that bounty on your head. You're gonna worry yourself into an early grave."
"It's important t'me..." Vin whispered, raising his head.
"I know it is, Vin," Chris supported, eyeing the sweat soaked features before him. "It's gonna be fine... Hell, you busted your ass for over a month on this."
"It has t'be real special," Vin sent back, wiping the sweat from his face. "...perfect..."
"It will be, Vin," Chris pressed, not liking the unwarranted distress he saw in the worried eyes. "Look, you got four hours to kill. Why don't you go to the river and cool down some?"
"Yeah... mebbe..." Vin sighed hard, rubbing his neck. Every muscle that held him together was full of tension. Maybe a cold swim would release that pent up action. He dropped his head again and thought on all the planning that had gone into this night. He couldn't ever repay the others for all they'd done, and he hadn't even asked it of them. They'd all offered willingly and that made the fruit all that much sweeter. He felt a hand on his back and bit his lip.
"I'm okay..."
"I know," Chris affirmed, giving the damp neck a tug before moving towards Tanner's horse. He untied the leather and waited. Finally, the lean tracker stood and approached.
Vin took the reins and mounted his horse, turning towards the road that led to the river.
"Vin?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't go drownin' out there." Chris cocked his head and grinned. "You know I hate makin' speeches." He noted of the would-be funeral. "Plus with this heat, a dead Tanner would stink the town up." "Fuck yer ass t'Hell n'back, Lar'bee!" Vin chuckled, extending his arm and locking onto the other's forearm. "Speakin' of stink, wouldn't hurt ya none t'take a dip."
Vin waited and as he turned to leave, he saw a single finger appear on the brim of the dark hat as it was being pulled down. He laughed then before turning his horse toward that cool river.
Page | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
