Deception

by Esmeralda

Vin clutched the blanket with cold-numbed fingers and wondered what had stirred up the gunfighter's ire. What had made Chris snarl and stomp off like that? Dismayed, he tried to work out what he'd done.

He had burned with embarrassment when Chris had stepped in to help him undress. However, it was another kind of heat that had him grateful for the cold, dulling his responses, as his friend had peeled off his wet undergarments.

He'd fought to keep his body from responding - praying Chris would put his flushed face down to embarrassment. The blanket had arrived just in time and Vin had all but snatched it from his friend's grasp.

He'd tried to quell his fear that Chris had detected the cause of his unease. The blanket had concealed his stirring flesh. Hadn't it?

Vin cursed, Chris must have seen something. He should have known nothing escaped that sharp gaze. With a dull moan he sank onto the bed.

He had long since accepted his attraction to the green-eyed gunslinger. It didn't trouble him much - least not if he ignored the gnawing ache that plagued him day and night.

Vin saw nothing sinful in wanting another man, but he'd seen others left beaten and bloody for indulging in so called, 'unnatural acts', and a few unfortunate souls who'd paid the ultimate price.

Always one to be cautious, he hadn't lain with a man since he'd left the Comanches. Two long, lonely years. He'd kept away the cold with the odd bit of female company, but a quick poke with an indifferent whore was not what he craved.

No, what he craved was tall and slender, with the face of a fallen angel and the temper of a pissed-off rattler. Vin shook his head in disgust. Shit, he sure knew how to pick 'em. He might as well shoot himself now and save Chris the trouble.

He'd never once let himself consider what Chris's feelings might be.

Vin knew some married men enjoyed laying with other men, but he'd never dared believe that Chris might be of that kind. The man was still grieving for a lost wife and child, didn't that tell him everything he needed to know?

Chris liked women; Vin had been firm with himself on that point. He had no intention of giving himself over to foolish desires and hopeless dreams; better to crush them before they could take a hold.

Vin sighed, running his hand through his wet hair. What if Chris had seen something? He valued his ability to hide his thoughts and feelings from others, but a man only had so much self-control. Watching those strong, slender fingers sliding off his underwear had sent a surge of heat flooding through his half-frozen body.

He was so sure he'd got away with it, but Chris's sudden flash of temper implied otherwise, and now his misery threatened to overwhelm him as he imagined his friend's disgust.

Vin had been alone most of his life. Without family, since the death of his mother. Without friends, since the People had been forced onto the reservation. Without acquaintances, since the price on his head.

Then he'd come to Four Corners and trouble had reared its ugly head. He'd tried to ignore it, knowing the wrong kind of attention - hell, any kind of attention, could see him dead and swung over a saddle heading back to Tascosa. However, the idea of an innocent man being hung struck a painful cord in him.

He was still cursing himself for being seven kinds of a fool as he'd stood loading the rifle. He'd been ready to set off down the main street when something had stopped him - his attention drawn across the dusty street, directly into the gaze of a man clad all in black.

From the fella's bearing and the fancy silver-studded rig, Vin guessed him to be a professional gun, and he stiffened in wariness, but as their eyes met and held he felt some of the tension drain out of him. He still didn't know what had happened. It was as though, in that moment, something was exchanged between them; leaving each man with an innate and intuitive understanding of the other.

It had frightened him as few things could, and when things had cooled down Vin had responded in the manner of all half-tamed things - he'd tried to run. His wagon was packed and ready, he was all set to leave at any time, only something had held him back. The same 'something' which still held him here as the weeks slipped by.

For the first time in his life Vin Tanner found himself tied to a place. No, not a place - the people. Or rather six men; his existence entwined with theirs. It was the ties of friendship that held him, and for the first time in his life he was willing to be bound.

Now he had to face the possibility that one of those ties had been cut.

Vin lay back; cold, tired and mourning for what might have been lost in one careless, unguarded moment. He turned his head, laying his cheek against the woollen bed covering. Inhaling deeply, he drew in the scent of cheroot, liquor...and Chris. His gut clenched tightly and he closed his eyes against the sudden sting of grief.

His eyes remained shut as the door creaked open and he recognized Chris's soft steady tread. The footsteps stopped by the bed.

"You all right, pard?"

Vin nodded without opening his eyes, not trusting himself to speak.

He missed Chris's concerned frown. Eyes still closed, he tugged the blanket tighter around his body. He felt exposed, raw, vulnerable - feelings he hated. He rolled onto his side, turning away from the room and its silent, thoughtful occupant.

Chapter XII

Chris busied himself making-up the fire, but his gaze kept straying to the figure shivering on his bed. He knew that Vin wasn't asleep. Occasionally, a sharp cough would wrack the slender frame, the blanket would slip a little, and with a muffled curse a hand would steal out and savagely jerk it back.

Each time the blanket fell, Chris's eyes hungrily mapped the exposed body. Following the line of a bare, brown shoulder, down the lean muscled back, tracing the smooth curve of spine toward the narrow hips.

His jaw tightened at the white, criss-cross scars that marred the tanned skin, and he silently promised an ugly death for the man who'd held the whip, should their paths ever meet.

They weren't the only marks on the younger man's body. The rounded indentation of a bullet wound lay beneath a shoulder blade, and a long, puckered stripe, that could only be an old knife wound, curled around his ribs toward his chest.

There were others, some clearly years old, and Chris felt a sharp tug of sorrow at what his friend must have endured in his life. He gave the fire one last prod with the poker and then retrieved a couple of glasses and poured out some whiskey. Knowing better than to startle his friend by touching him unannounced, he simply stood by the bed, glass in hand.

"Vin?"

A "hmph" and a sharp cough was all he got in reply.

Chris's lips thinned in annoyance. "Vin," he repeated, his voice sharp with worry. "Sit your sorry ass up and drink this."

The object of his concern slowly rolled over to face him and Chris struggled not to stare as the tangled blanket caught to reveal a flat brown nipple. He thrust out the glass. "Here. Drink."

Vin reached for the glass with a muttered, "Thanks." As he stretched up, the blanket slid south.

Time seemed to freeze as Chris's vision focused on a single droplet of water, as it fell from a tangled wet curl. It slid lazily down the tracker's chest, bisecting that brown nipple. Downwards, it continued its journey. Green eyes turned smoky with desire as it trickled over the taut belly, finally disappearing into the blanket's folds.

Mouth dry, Chris continued to stare until he became conscious of it. Then he blinked sharply and looked away. With a less than steady hand he raised his glass to his lips and took a long, deep gulp of the whiskey, welcoming its whisper-dry burn.

What the hell was he doing? He had to get himself under control. If he didn't get a handle on this, Vin was going to notice something.

"Nathan should be here soon," he said awkwardly.

"Reckon so," Vin answered, arching an eyebrow in silent enquiry //Something wrong, Cowboy?//

Chris struggled not to flinch from that too perceptive gaze. He forced himself to relax, taking a seat by the fire. He rolled the glass between his fingers. "You feelin' warmer."

Vin gave a slight nod, sending little droplets scattering from his wet hair.

Chris's mouth twisted wryly. "You might want to dry that," he indicated Vin's unruly mop, "before you soak my bed."

Vin cursed and flushed. "Sorry," he muttered.

To Chris's consternation, the tracker then tried to draw up some of the blanket to rub his hair, without unwrapping himself from it. He failed, revealing two long legs and a glimpse of buttock.

Still cursing, Vin struggled to cover himself back up.

Chris leapt to his feet. "Leave it," he snapped. "I'll get you something."

Standing in front of his closet, his back to the tracker, Chris struggled to regain his composure. This was a hell of his own making, he reminded himself. He'd agreed to bring Vin here. He now wished he'd let Nathan take him to the clinic in town. However, as he turned back toward his friend, cloth in hand, his gaze softened.

Vin sat, cross-legged on the bed, blanket tugged back up around his shoulders, only the 'V' of his neck and his head poked free. He looked wet, bedraggled and thoroughly miserable.

Chris felt something twist inside him, and in that moment he shed any lingering illusion that this was purely lust. Yes, he wanted Vin, but this aching tenderness had nothing to do with that base urge.

He was faced now with the same sense of wonder he'd felt when he'd first realised that he was in love with Sarah. Oh, God. What was he going to do. He stood, wrapping the cloth tight around his hands as he tried to settle the knot in his belly. Lust was one thing. Lust he could fight, or divert - burning it away in the arms of some nameless whore. But love....he had no defence against that.

Vin must have seen something in his expression, because the tracker scrambled off the bed. Chris stood, rooted to the spot as Vin walked toward him.

"Chris?" A worried frown lay between the younger man's eyes. "Hey, Cowboy. You okay?"

Chris couldn't speak. He saw the concern in Vin's face and wanted to reassure his friend, but the words wouldn't come. He pleaded silently. //Don't hate me, Vin. Just don't hate me. And don't leave. Please, God, don't leave.//

Vin slowly raised his hand. Chris closed his eyes and held his breath as the calloused tips gently brushed his cheek.

"Chris?"

Chris could hear the puzzlement in the soft raspy drawl, but he was still unable to move.

"Chris, please. Tell me what's wrong. Izzit something I've done?"

Chris couldn't ignore the distress in his friend's voice and he opened his eyes.

Vin was so close he could feel the tracker's breath against his skin; Chris savoured the nearness even as it cut through him like a knife. He was struggling for something to say that would ease the concern in those perceptive blue eyes.

The sound of someone approaching on horseback provided the let out he needed, distracting Vin and easing the tension between them.

"That'll be Nathan," he said needlessly, already moving away.

Vin frowned. "Chri-" he began.

Chris cut him off. "You'd best sit by the fire before he gets in here, or else he'll be dosing you up with some God-awful mixture and dragging your sorry ass back into town."

Vin glowered, but heeded his advice and took a seat by the fire.

Nathan entered the cabin, sweaty and dusty from the ride. He washed up, opened his bag and began to cluck around Vin. "You couldn't have seen to this?" he demanded of Chris, indicating the cut on Vin's head.

Chris gave an indifferent shrug to mask his sudden surge of guilt. "Man ain't exactly bleedin' to death, Nathan."

Nathan muttered something and turned back to the tracker, who was suffering the healer's fussing with relative good grace.

A short while later Vin was patched up, and clothed in the shirt and pants Nathan had retrieved from his wagon. Nathan told him to keep dry and warm, and to rest for a few days.

"Think you can see to that?" he asked Chris, faintly challenging.

Chris glanced at Vin, saw the truculent look, and felt a welcome twinge of amusement. Getting Vin to rest when gunshot was a task, getting him to rest when there was nothing really wrong with him would require a minor miracle, but all he said was, "I reckon so."

"Hmph," was Nathan's reply. Evidently riding into town and back hadn't gifted the healer with a particularly good mood. "Well if I can trust you two to keep outta trouble for a few days, I'll head back. I've got a couple of other patients waitin' on me."

Seeing Chris's look he added. "Oh, nothin' serious. Old man Gissard's just got his-self another toothache, and Mrs. Taylor's youngest is nursin' a mighty fine splinter."

He shut his bag and regarded them both sternly. "So, you two gonna be all right?"

The knot tightening Chris's gut made him churlish. "Quit your fussin', Nathan. I think we can survive a few days without your nursemaidin'."

Nathan 'hmphed' again and with a nod to Vin, who'd stayed silent throughout this exchange, he left.

Chris decided it was time to pull himself together. "Get some rest," he told the tracker. "I'll get us some more wood. Yell if you need me." He left without waiting to see if Vin was going to follow his instructions.

He didn't release the breath he was holding until he was back by the log pile. He unbuckled his gun belt and lay it down within easy reach, then he took up the axe and preceded to take out his frustrations on the indifferent wood.

It was going to be a very difficult few days.

+ + + + + + +

Vin watched the gunslinger leave and then turned to look at the pile of cut wood already heaped up next to the stove. Enough to last several days at least. The furrow between his eyes deepened.

Tugging the blanket tight around his body, he went over to the window.

Chris stood, shirtless, swinging the axe with what seemed to be an unnecessary amount of savagery. Vin moved past that to soak up the pleasing interplay of those sleek muscles beneath all that pale golden skin. The tightening in his groin reminded him this was not the time to be indulging in such thoughts.

Reluctantly, he left the window and went back over to the bed. It still smelt of Chris, which didn't help any. Nor did any amount of slow, deep breathing or dark, brooding thoughts, and with a sigh Vin decided he'd have take the matter in hand, so-to-speak. After all, it didn't look like Chris would be rejoining him any time soon. Though, to be on the safe side, he arranged it so that the blanket covered his lap, and he kept his hearing attuned to the sound of anyone coming back in.

Then he sat back and unfastened his trousers. It took very little coaxing to bring him to full hardness. He need only to conjure up an image of Chris, chopping wood, sweat trickling down that lean, muscular back.

Oh, yes, just like that.

Vin felt vaguely guilty for jerking-off in his best friend's bed, thinking about said best friend. Though there was also an extra thrill, an illicit sort of pleasure, from performing this act so close to the source of his desires.

He let his left hand slide lower, cupping the velvet sac and massaging gently. He ran the thumb of his other hand over the leaking tip, back and forth, teasing himself with the ease of long- experience. He knew exactly what he liked - how much pressure, how fast and how hard.

Still, he couldn't help but wish it was Chris holding him - stroking him. Those long fingers curled around his hard flesh, stroking slow, and firm. Green eyes watching, that mouth - those lips curled in a knowing smile.

Then he remembered the feel of Chris's cheek, warm skin and the rasp of day-old stubble. That was all it took. He came with a stifled moan.

Shuffling over to the table, he washed himself off in the basin Nathan had left behind. Hurriedly, he pushed himself back into his trousers, wincing as the cloth rubbed his still tender flesh. Risking a glance out of the window, he saw to his relief that Chris was still chopping wood.

Moving back to the bed, he flopped onto it and threw his arm over his eyes.

These were going to be a very difficult few days.

Chapter XIII

In fact, the two days it took Vin to recuperate proved less difficult than either man had feared.

While insisting he was 'fine', Vin had an egg-sized lump to go with the cut on his head. The cut itself was relatively minor, but the water he'd inhaled brought on a cough and a mild fever. It left the tracker tired and achy, and Nathan had little trouble persuading him to stay in bed.

The healer wasn't the only visitor to the cabin. J.D. and Buck called each evening, while Josiah and Ezra came out the first morning and the following afternoon.

The second evening saw J.D. practically bursting with the news of their success. It seemed a thorough search of Brown's property had revealed some extremely unpleasant souvenirs taken from his victims, and two pathetic corpses, wrapped in sacking, buried in the yard. However, in his excitement, the boy also let slip that the six men had believed Vin to be dead when they had first pulled him from the river.

Vin quickly recognized that his friends' present unnecessary fussing stemmed from that moment of fear. So, he chose to bite his tongue and bear the attention, despite his discomfort with it. The knowledge that they cared made him feel both humble and grateful. He'd never experienced friendship like this before, to have it six times over...well, he wasn't about to treat it lightly.

Chris spent most of his time in town, returning to the cabin only when it was time to turn in for the night. He'd insisted Vin keep the bed; he took a bed-roll on the floor.

Vin had protested the arrangement, but Chris wasn't in the mood to argue, and Vin didn't have the energy to engage in a battle of wills.

Besides, Vin secretly felt he was owed a little payback. It had been Chris's idea that he wear that damned dress, so let Chris get splinters in his ass from sleeping on the floor.

After two days, Vin went back to his wagon, and life in Four Corners carried on pretty much as before.

Then everything went all to Hell.

+ + + + + + +

It had started when the Judge asked the Seven to escort a group of settlers. Chris had watched Mary making eyes at one of them, while his temper climbed. Not because he wanted her, but because it served as a stabbing reminder that she was doing the sensible thing, the safe thing.

She had, it seemed, finally decided that he was a bad prospect, and had set her sights on someone who could give her what she needed.

Which, common sense told him, was exactly what he should do. Maybe, if he could find someone, someone safe; this agony would ease a little. The sheer, tortuous hell of being around Vin every day. Watching him. Wanting him. Craving what he could never have.

It was driving him out of his mind.

Things rapidly went from bad to worse....Much worse. Some bitch, no doubt fed up with her miserable excuse for a husband, decided to make a play for Vin. Chris could only stand by helplessly as the tracker responded. His desperate, but necessarily vague, attempts to warn Vin off, fell on deaf ears.

He'd been relieved when Richmond had told Vin to go. The settler wasn't the only one who wanted the tracker well away from his wife. With Vin back in Four Corners, Chris could concentrate on the job in hand.

Later, when Buck had told him that the Richmond woman had gone. Chris hadn't wanted to believe that Vin had taken her away with him.

Vin wouldn't leave; weren't they going to Tascosa together?

When had Vin returned with the woman in tow, Chris had felt betrayed. He knew it was foolish. He had no claim on Vin, but still he struggled to rein in the powerful hurt. It wanted to exercise itself in violent rage, and choking it back cost him all the control he had.

His talk of trust was all smoke and shadows. Part of him wanted Vin to read the truth behind his words. Part of him was terrified that Vin would see it in his eyes, and so he'd ridden away.

Seeing Vin thrown down the hillside by the force of that blast had set his heart in his mouth; it was hard to say who was shaking more as he held the tracker in his arms. It jolted him out of his self- inflicted misery. He couldn't fault Vin for finding comfort in a woman, any more than he could fault Mary for setting her cap at Gerard

Chris had overheard Buck once, telling the kid about one of their more colourful adventures, back when they'd both been young and wild. J.D. had laughed, and Chris had smiled, momentarily caught up in his own recollection.

Then the kid had said, "I just can't see Chris doing that. I mean, you, sure, Buck. But Chris?"

Chris had stayed out of sight as Buck answered. Sorrow had underlined the rogue's words.

"You gotta remember, kid. Chris, he was...well, he was just different back then. More, 'alive', if you get my meaning."

J.D.'s voice softened in understanding. "You mean about what you said before. 'Bout his wife and son? How's he's only got half a soul?"

Buck had sighed. "Yeah, kid. That's what I mean."

The two had walked off, leaving Chris to ponder their words. Was that what they saw? Was that what others saw? Half a soul? Half a man? An emotional cripple so wounded by his losses that he could no longer be expected to function as a full human being.

Perhaps it was for the best if he kept his own company. What could he offer any one? Sometimes he felt as if there were a great, gaping void inside of him, hollowed out by the despair and loneliness that seemed to shadow his life.

Besides, he had the friendship of six good men, and yes, he counted Ezra among that number. A good friend, and a good man; though the gambler himself might challenge both statements.

There was Josiah, with his patient wisdom, and all too human weakness for drink and women.

Nathan, who still carried the scars of slavery, inside and out, and yet managed to overcome them to extend the hand of healing to all.

J.D., a raw kid who viewed the world through unjaundiced eyes.

Buck, his oldest friend, who still managed to act like a raw kid.

Last, but by no means least, Vin. The soft-spoken, unassuming young man, who's very presence was a balm to his wounded, tattered soul.

Fortunate, was the man with one true friend. He had the companionship of six.

So why then, did he feel so alone?

Riding back to Four Corners Chris had felt strangely detached, as if he were somehow separated from everything and everyone round him. Even Billy's sleepy weight, nestled in his arms, and the easy- going chatter of his friends failed to reconnect him. He was unable shrug the sudden melancholy that had settled over him like a shroud.

What if Vin had decided to stay this time? Sooner or later some woman would claim the tracker's heart, and what then?

His depression made him distant. He knew Vin thought it was because he disapproved, because Charlotte had been another man's wife.

Chris was content to let Vin believe that was the source of the friction between them.

In time, it got a little easier ~ he was able to talk to his friend without a lump in his throat, choking off his words. He told himself to be grateful that he had the tracker's friendship, and to be satisfied with that.

Vin was here, with him, that was enough.

Sometimes, he could almost deceive himself that it was true.

Chapter XIV

Vin knew something was wrong. Chris was acting distant towards him, cold even. Before, they'd always been comfortable with one another's silences. Now they made his palms itch. What the hell was wrong?

So he'd screwed up, carrying on with Charlotte behind her husband's back. It wasn't like Chris to get all moralistic. He knew the gunslinger followed a code of sorts, one which included such quaint practices as not shooting your enemy in the back. (Vin had never understood that one, seemed to him to be the safest place to shoot some of the bastards he'd gone after - less chance of them shooting him that way.)

However, apparently that quirky code extended to fooling around with other men's wives. He supposed it was understandable, seeing as how Chris had once been married. Vin saw it differently. Richmond treated Charlotte like a belonging, his attitude toward Vin was more dog-in- the-manger, than broken-hearted.

Vin couldn't abide the idea of holding someone against her will. She'd wanted him, and he'd hoped that would be enough. It had felt good to be wanted, to be needed by someone.

He had been deceiving himself, and thankfully he'd realised that before it was too late.

Two things had made him reconsider what he was set on doing.

Chris had talked of trust, of needing to be able to trust him. That had stung. //I'd die for you// his heart had cried. However, Chris had said he needed him. Maybe it wasn't how he wanted to be needed, but he'd suddenly begun to realise what he'd be giving up by running away.

Sometimes it hurt to be around Chris, day-in and day-out, a grating reminder of what he could never have, but at least he could be near him, sharing a bottle of whiskey, a game of cards, a quiet ride. All the things he'd never have again if he left.

He'd been thinking on that when he'd taken a tumble down the bank. He'd left Chris's arms to see Charlotte, sitting alongside her husband. Something in her expression spoke to him. It was one he often wore himself. It said, 'I'm hurting, but I'd rather be miserable here, with him, than happy anywhere else.'

She belonged there. He could take her away, but to what? He had nothing. No property, no respectable trade. Only a price on his head that would probably see him killed one day, and if she were with him, maybe her, too.

Her talk of Brazil, and running away, were all girlish dreams. They had no place in the real world; a world that could be harsh and cruel, especially to dreamers.

He'd been dreaming too. Thinking he could take Charlotte and run from his troubles. From Chris.

He hadn't loved Charlotte. Oh, he'd liked her well enough. She was smart, pretty, and strong-willed behind all that sadness. The sort of woman he knew he could have loved, if he hadn't already given his heart to another.

So, he'd tolerate Chris's thorny mood, oddly grateful to have escaped what would have been a terrible mistake, for Charlotte and for him. She belonged with Richmond. He belonged with Chris.

As for that matter of trust. He'd been gifted with it before - no strings, no promises. Now he'd have to earn it. There was time. He'd foolishly believed the worst was behind them.

He was wrong.

Chapter XV

Ella had been a terrible, dreadful mistake. Chris was still reeling from the horror of what she'd done, numb from the thought that he'd slept with his wife's murderer. The killer of his child.

He scarcely remembered being brought back to Four Corners. He knew everyone was being oddly gentle of him; as if a wrong word, or a wrong look, might shatter him.

Perhaps they were right to be wary. He couldn't ever recall feeling this fragile. Not even when he'd come across their bodies, blackened and twisted, laid amongst the ruins of their home.

She'd killed them. Because of him.

Josiah and Nathan seemed to have shrunk in on themselves, as if their size was an unpardonable intrusion. Buck was subdued; his eyes, dark with sorrow, followed Chris as he stayed close. J.D. and Ezra had fallen uncharacteristically silent.

They'd all expressed their sorrow, and offered their assistance in tracking down the poisonous bitch.

Only Vin kept his distance.

Chris thought of how he'd snarled at his friend, ignoring his warnings, telling him to mind his own business. He now wished he'd cut out his own tongue before he'd spoken to Vin that way.

Chris watched him now, standing in the doorway of Nathan's clinic, face hidden under the shadow of that battered hat.

Nathan waved the tracker in, but Vin shook his head and remained where he was.

Chris felt his heart contract.

"I'll just be a minute, Chris," said Nathan, as he stood and wandered over to the tracker.

Chris listened to their hushed voices.

"He gonna be all right?"

"Should be. Bullet went clean through. I've doused it with carbolic and wrapped it. He'll be sore for a few days is all."

Vin nodded, as though satisfied by the answer. He seemed to hesitate, before extending a hand toward the healer.

Nathan regarded it, clearly startled, before taking it in his own.

"I jist wanted to say thanks, Nathan. For all the times you've doctor'd me, an' everythin'." Vin paused, running his hand under his hat. His soft voice dropped another notch. "An' I wanted to say goodbye t'ya."

"Goodbye?!"

Vin glanced away, and then looked down at the floor by Nathan's feet. "It's time I moved on. I ain't used to stayin' in one place."

Nathan ducked his head to peer under the battered hat brim, catching Vin's reluctant gaze. "This is because of that Gaines woman, ain't it ?"

Chris held his breath.

Vin didn't answer.

"Why do you have to leave now?" Nathan asked. "Can't you think on it for a day or two? That bitch has caused more than her share of hurt an' sufferin' already. Don't let her get to you too, Vin."

"Ain't that." The tone was faintly defensive. "I's gettin' restless is all.

Nathan sighed. "Well, I can't stop ya, but I think I'll wait here while you say your goodbyes to Chris." Clearly the healer knew how Chris would take the news.

Vin released the healer's hand and stepped back, shaking his head. "I've said my peace. Got nothin' more to say to him."

"Vin," said Nathan softly. "Whatever he said to you back there, he wasn't thinkin' straight then."

Vin's expression remained stony.

Nathan threw up his hands. "Fine. Whatever. I swear I never met two more mulish, pigheaded, stubborn..." He stopped and shook his head, his expression softening. "You take care of yourself, Vin. Try dodgin' a few of them bullets now and then. I don't want to hafta come trailin' after ya, pokin' 'em out of your scrawny hide."

A brief flash of white teeth, and Vin was gone.

Gone.

The word echoed emptily, and as Nathan stepped back inside, Chris was already struggling to rise from the bed. The ache in his side was nothing compared to the agony tearing through his heart.

"Here, lemme help."

Chris blinked in surprise.

"What?" Nathan groused. "You think I'm gonna wrestle you inta that bed when your best reason for livin' is ridin' out of town?"

His reason for living? Oh, God, yes.

Chris was through deceiving himself. He needed Vin; needed him like blood and air. If he couldn't bring the young man back he was going with him. Vin was going to have to shoot him to stop him.

He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Chris knew he'd hurt Vin, hurt him badly; taking up with Ella, ignoring the tracker's warnings. He had to make amends somehow.

If only Vin would let him.

Nathan helped him out of bed and onto his feet. Chris shrugged off any assistance getting down the stairs. He stumbled off the last step, sweat trickling into his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe at them and winced as the fierce throbbing in his side exploded into a flare of white hot agony.

On of the edge of his vision, Chris saw Nathan hovering; he could almost feel the worry emanating from the man. Chris knew Nathan was probably justified in his concern. The gunshot wound might be minor, but he'd lost enough blood that he should be laid down resting. However, the healer held back, and for that Chris was grateful.

He looked down the street. Vin was stood by his wagon. Even from this distance, Chris could see that the tracker was busy tying down his few belongings.

//"It's time I moved on. I ain't used to stayin' in one place."//

Recalling the young man's parting words set Chris's doubts and fears ablaze. They in turn, ignited his temper, and pain poured fuel upon it.

By the time he reached Vin, Chris was shaking with pain and anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

Vin pointedly ignored him, and carried on doing what he was doing.

Chris saw red. He grabbed hold of Vin's arm and jerked him round. "I asked what the hell you think you're doing?" he snarled.

Vin shook him off, cold fury lurking in narrowed eyes. "Leavin'," he replied, his tone flat.

"No."

"Get outta my way, Chris."

"You aren't going anywhere," said Chris, catching hold of the tracker again.

He was shaken off a second time; this time more violently.

Undaunted, Chris tried a third time - only to be sent staggering from the fist that struck him.

"Just leave it be, Chris," Vin hissed. "Leave it be."

Dazed, Chris sat in the dirt, watching helplessly as Vin turned away. A snap of the reins and the little wagon rolled forward. Chris shook his head trying to clear it Someone appeared at his side and helped him up.

"Horse," Chris muttered.

"Hmm?" It was Buck. "You done something to get that boy all riled up, Chris? I ain't ever seen him so pissy." The big man's gaze wandered down the street after the retreating wagon. "Where's he goin' anyways ?"

"I need a horse," Chris ground out. He had no time for explanations.

"A horse?" Buck echoed stupidly.

"Vin's leaving." Chris was already heading toward the stable.

"Oh, shit," said Buck meaningfully. "Hey, Chris. Take Belle. She's all saddled up. I was plannin' on headin' out to Lydia's place, but you can-"

The rest of Buck's words were lost as Chris quickened his pace. Vin was getting further away with each passing heartbeat. He had to catch him. He had to set things straight. He had to bring him back.

Belle was saddled up and ready to ride, just as Buck had stated. A placid but powerful mount, she stood chewing on some hay as she waited patiently for her master. She didn't so much as blink as Chris got up on her back. He groaned as the action tugged at his wound. Fortunately, Belle required little in the way of encouragement. He sat, slumped in the saddle, as she trotted happily after the wagon.

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