Happy Friday," Buck announced, nearly shouting the words. He held up a pink box as he pulled out his chair. "Got everyone's favorites!"
Buck smiled wide as his friends gathered around his desk, each grabbing a donut from the box.
Buck reached in last and pulled out a raspberry-filled donut, then took a big bite, dusting his mustache with white powder. JD laughed and pointed, his own mouth stuffed full with a cake donut covered in chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles. Buck laughed, too, until he glanced down at the box, realizing one donut still remained: a maple raised.
"Where's Chris?" he asked as he rose from his chair and crossed to their team leader's office. The door was closed.
"He hasn't come in yet," Vin said around his bear claw. Their sharpshooter was always the first one to arrive at the office; he wouldn't have missed Chris's arrival.
Buck knocked on the office door anyway. He waited, and then he knocked again. There was no answer. Inside the small room, he could hear the phone: ringing, ringing, ringing.
"He's not answering," Ezra said, holding up the receiver of his own phone to show he was the one who'd dialed Chris's extension.
Nathan sat down at his desk and grabbed the phone. He pressed a few buttons. Everyone stared at him, waiting. A minute later, the team's medic shook his head. "He hasn't left me a message. He'd have called in if he was sick."
JD was on his cell phone. "He's not answering at home, either. And his cell phone goes right to leave-a-message."
Josiah held up his date book. "No meetings, no conferences, no seminars scheduled for today," he announced.
"Today..." Buck said, under his breath. Today. How could he have forgotten? "I'm gonna head out to the ranch," Buck said to the group.
JD jumped up from his chair. "I'll go with you!"
"No, that's okay, kid. You stay here ... in case Chris comes in." It was a lame excuse, but he didn't want JD to tag along this time. "I'll call when I got out there, if there's anything wrong."
Buck smiled, trying to be reassuring, then he grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. As he neared the elevator, his face began to ache and he allowed the smile to fade as an unease blossomed deep in his gut.
Buck pulled into the driveway, parking behind Chris's Dodge Ram. Buck gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. The unease in his gut had grown, until it seemed to be interfering with his breathing and even his thoughts.
Suddenly, he sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself, and then he cut the engine and headed for the house.
He didn't expect an answer, but he still knocked. A full minute later, Buck dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his key ring. He slipped the duplicate into the lock, letting himself in.
Slowly, he walked into the house, unnerved by the eerie silence. He forced himself forward, down the hallway, dimly lit by what was left of the morning sun filtering through the red and blue stained glass in the panel to the right of the front door. When he reached the living room, he feet froze in place and he simply stared at the sight before him.
The room was a mess. Clothes were strewn about; crumpled pieces of newspaper dotted what was still visible of the carpeting. And there were boxes -- so many boxes -- marked "nursery," "baby clothes," "toys," and "Sarah."
And Chris was in the middle of it.
He was on the floor, slumped against the couch. His left hand rested in his lap, on top of something Buck recognized as a photo album; his right hand was limp beside him; his firearm was a few inches away on the carpet.
Buck walked carefully over, picking his way through the debris. With the toe of his boot, he moved the gun away, and then he knelt down, placing his hand on Chris's shoulder. The man didn't move. His head was bent forward, over the open photo album. Buck noticed that his fingers were resting on a large photo of Sarah and Adam. They were standing outside the ranch, in the front yard; they were both waving at the camera, as if they were saying good-bye.
Adam was five in the photograph. Buck knew the picture had to have been taken only months -- maybe even days -- before their murder.
Today was the anniversary of their deaths.
Buck sat down on the floor. As he leaned back against the couch, his shoulder brushed against Chris's. Buck stared over at the album. He hadn't seen it in years, though he was certain he remembered most of the photos it contained. Some even included him. All the pages beyond the one he now looked at were blank. Chris had boxed up the album along with everything else that had belonged to his wife and son, storing them away in the attic -- out of sight, but never completely out of mind.
"I don't know why I never noticed before," Chris finally said, his voice raw, as if from too much booze, or too much emotion. "Look," he said. He moved his fingers over the plastic that protected the photograph, caressing Sarah's image. "Auburn. Her hair was auburn."
Buck knew this. He'd known Sarah as long as Chris had; Buck had been with him when they'd met back in college.
"Did you know her eyes were green?" Chris asked.
Buck hadn't ever thought about it, not consciously, but somehow he did know. Green, like fresh alfalfa.
"Same as mine," Chris said.
Chris moved his fingers across the picture until they reached his son. He ran his thumb over the small, smiling face as if he were caressing the boy himself.
Then Chris turned to look at Buck. They stared at each other for a long time. Buck watched Chris's eyes as they perused his face, as if Chris were seeing him for the first time, as if he were searching for something, something familiar.
Finally, Chris met his eyes and held them. He reached up and touched Buck's hair.
"So dark," he said softly. "And your eyes are so blue."
Buck let out the breath he only just realized he'd been holding, and then he swallowed hard.
"He looks like you," Chris said. "Adam looks just like you."
"It was just that once," Buck heard himself say. "Just that one time." Buck felt Chris's hand slip down to the front of his shirt, felt the material being balled into the man's tightening fist.
"We'd been trying for months. We'd tried everything." Chris's voice was strained.
Buck just nodded. Sarah had wanted children so badly, and Chris would have done anything to please her. Buck knew this better than anyone did.
They'd taken all of the tests and the doctors had found nothing wrong with either of them. They'd gone through all the standard medical procedures, but emerged with nothing.
Sarah was devastated and Chris had ached with a sense of failure he'd never before experienced.
Buck remembered the hopelessness they'd felt; he'd felt it, too.
It had been New Year's Eve and they'd all had too much to drink; they'd all wanted to drown out the pain for just a little while, but the alcohol had only reinforced the sadness. No one wanted another year to pass without Sarah's wish fulfilled, without the one thing they needed in order to make them a family and their house a home. It was a joy Chris and Sarah deserved.
"I loved him like he was my own son," Chris said, his voice so small.
"Adam was your son, Chris. And he was Sarah's son," Buck reassured him.
"He was yours," Chris said. The words should have been angry -- Buck would have understood if they had been -- but they weren't. Instead, they struck his ears like a resignation. "You were with her."
And Buck had been. That New Year's Eve, Buck had taken Sarah's hand and he had led her into the bedroom. He'd kissed her and he'd held her; he'd undressed her, and then he'd laid her down across the sheets.
Buck still remembered those sheets, so crisp and cool beneath his hands and his legs.
Sarah had opened for him, wanting him, and he'd eased into her. She had been warm and Buck couldn't ever remember having felt anything so comforting. He'd moved slowly at first, gently. He pushed deeper as he rubbed his pelvis against her mound with each thrust.
They'd fit together so perfectly and Sarah had soon been writhing beneath him, panting, gasping for air. She caressed his shoulders, dragged her nail across his back. She'd moved her hands downward, had squeezed his ass, and pressed her palms against his hips. Then her hands had slipped from him; her fingers tangled in the sheets, clutching them in her fists, as her hips moved up to meet his, as the cadence of his thrusts increased.
Sarah had thrown her head back and she'd screamed over and over. There were no words, just sounds, as if the entire world had been exploding around them.
Buck had felt the hot rush as it tore through him, as he'd filled her with everything he had to give.
And Chris had watched it all.
"She loved you," Chris said, his grip on Buck's shirt loosening. "She never told you, did she?"
Buck shook his head, though on some level he had known.
"She'd told me," Chris said. "She loved you, like she never loved me."
Their eyes locked and Buck was unnerved by the man's sudden, intense stare. He swallowed hard.
"I guess I always knew," Chris said. "I just never wanted to admit it, never wanted to admit you were the better man." Chris pushed hard against Buck's chest. "You gave her what I couldn't."
Buck let Chris have his say, let him do what he needed to do. But he knew the truth of it. They'd both given Sarah what she wanted, what she needed. They both slept with her that night. Adam could just as easily have been Chris's son.
He remembered Chris rising from his chair that night, after Buck had rolled onto his side, as Sarah lay panting next to him. Chris had walked across the room and crawled onto the bed. He'd been playing with himself the entire time he'd been watching. Buck remembered thinking how hard Chris had looked, how intense. He crawled right on top of Sarah, pressing himself into her without the slightest hesitation.
She had looked up at him, had met his eyes, and smiled. Then it was Buck's turn to watch as Chris thrust into his wife, as he held her, kissed her, and pumped himself deeply into her.
But she was spent and Buck remembered thinking it wasn't fair, not to Sarah or to Chris. When Sarah's hand came over, slipping into his, Buck reached out with his other hand and began to caress her. He ran the back of his hand over her sweat-slicked skin, up from her hip to her trim waist, up until he reached the curve of her breast. He'd palmed the soft mound, rubbed his thumb over her nipple until it began to peak, and then he squeezed and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Sarah glanced over at him, smiled; Buck remembered feeling that she was asking for something, something more than he'd already given her.
Buck let his hand slide from her breast, down her belly. Chris had kept pushing into Sarah, seemingly unaware of Buck's hand moving lower and lower, between their two bodies. Buck felt Sarah's hair against his palm and Chris's against the back of his hand as he delved deeper, to slip between Sarah's folds.
Buck had allowed Chris's thrusts to push his hand over Sarah's flesh, to move his fingers against her. When she came that second time, she didn't cry out as she had for Buck; instead, she wrapped her arms around Chris and held on to him, as if letting go would mean falling off into some deep abyss. She held him, burying her face against his shoulder as her breath came in small, shuddering gasps.
When Chris had slipped from Sarah to lie beside her, he'd caught Buck's hand, pulling it away from Sarah's body. Buck had tensed slightly, not sure what the man would do, if he'd thought Buck had taken things too far. But Chris had merely held his hand, resting their twined fingers on top of Sarah's belly as they all had drifted off to sleep.
Buck had always been made welcome in the Larabee home; he and Chris went way back, and Sarah seemed to sense the importance of their relationship as easily as Chris's mother had. But that was the first night that Buck had ever felt like a part of the Larabee's family.
Buck had left before dawn that next day, before Sarah or Chris had woken. After, none of them ever spoke of that night. A few weeks later, Buck had found out, along with everyone, that Sarah was pregnant; Chris had looked right at him, had held his eyes when he'd made the announcement.
Chris held his eyes now, and the same sort of feeling coursed through Buck's body. Chris pressed hard against Buck's chest, forcing him back against the couch, pinning him with all his weight.
"You gave her what I couldn't," Chris said again, more forcefully, as if Buck might not have heard him the first time. "You gave her a child."
"And you gave her -- and Adam -- everything else: a home, a family, stability, security. Everything I couldn't." Sarah may have loved Buck for what he'd been able to give her, but she'd loved Chris, unconditionally, just for being Chris.
"What you did for us ... most friends wouldn't have done that. I don't know that I could have, had I been in your shoes."
"Don't know that I could have done what you did. I think I'd have been too possessive of a girl like Sarah, too stubborn and prideful to make the sacrifice you made, to give her the one thing she didn't have and wanted so badly."
"I never could put down my pride, the hope I held that Adam was really mine ... that's why I never thanked you. You gave us so much and I couldn't even say the words."
"You didn't have to. It was enough to see you two so happy."
"I remember you looking pretty happy that night," Chris said, and it could have been an accusation, but it wasn't.
Buck almost laughed as he nodded. It had been an incredible night. "Just wish I hadn't been quite so drunk ... might remember it clearer than I do."
"You might not have done it had you been more sober."
"True," Buck said softly. "But I don't regret it."
"Did you ever ... think about it, after ... being with Sarah, being with her again?" Chris asked, and Buck had to wonder if he really wanted to know.
Buck just stared up at Chris, not knowing what to say. What man truly wants to know what another man is thinking concerning his wife?
"We'd talked about asking you back," Chris finally said, and this surprised Buck. "But there was always a reason not to." Buck understood this -- it was one thing to fantasize, but another to act on those fantasies. "There never seemed to be a good time," Chris went on. "... What with the pregnancy, then all the time and energy it took after Adam was born...."
Buck nodded. They might have found a reason when they decided they wanted another child. He always pictured Chris having a daughter to dote upon and spoil, as he did Sarah.
"Reckon I wanted it more than Sarah did, though."
This statement shocked Buck. He stared hard at Chris's face, but Chris had his head down, his chin upon his chest, as if he were refusing to meet Buck's eyes, as if he were afraid to do so.
"Reckon that mighta scared her a little, since the first time had been her idea."
"I'd never have come between you two," Buck said, assuring Chris. "I wouldn't have wanted that."
"I know," Chris said, finally looking up and meeting Buck's eyes. "But Sarah's ... not here now." The last words sounded as if they'd been torn from Chris's lungs. After all these years, Buck saw how raw the emotions still were for his friend.
He reached out a hand and laid it on the side of Chris's face. "She's always here, Chris. Because you'll always love her. So will I." Then Buck placed his lips gently against Chris's as he pulled him close.
Chris was the best friend he ever had. He'd do anything for him, had done everything for him that he could. Except this.
"I love you, Chris."
Chris pulled away, staring into Buck's eyes; Buck saw surprise, shock, and maybe even a little trepidation.
"Not like Sarah loved you, because no one could love you like that," he explained. He knew what Sarah and Chris had had been special -- that once-in-a-lifetime feeling -- that thing many people never did find in all their days of searching. Buck had yet to find it, not that he honestly ever expected to. But this ... this connection he shared with Chris, since the first day they'd met, it was something; it was more than most could hope for. "I might love you different," he finally said, "but I don't mean it any less."
Chris stared at Buck, as if searching his face for the truth. Buck had nothing to hide from his friend -- he never had; he'd only been waiting for Chris to take a good look.
Buck quirked his eyebrow slightly, eliciting a smile from Chris. A moment later, their lips were pressed together. Chris's hands were against Buck's chest, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Buck merely grasped Chris's t-shirt by the hem and tugged it up over his head. Chris's fine hair stood up on end from the resulting static and, when Buck pressed his lips to Chris's again, a spark ignited between them.
Buck quickly loosened Chris's belt as the man continued to work the buttons on his shirt. Buck pulled Chris up straight, and then he grasped the waistband of Chris's Levi's and yanked the button-fly open. Chris paused, surprised by the sudden action. Buck didn't hesitate -- his fingers flew to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of them. As Chris wiggled free of his pants, Buck zipped open his fly and began to push his own pants off his hips. Chris was free of his clothes, except for his white tube socks. Buck was still tugging at his boots.
"I don't...." Chris was looking around the room as Buck tossed away his second boot. "It's been so long since Sarah...."
Buck wasn't sure what Chris was saying. Was he scared? Was he having second thoughts about what they were about to do?
"Buck ... I don't have anything."
Buck nearly laughed, barely managing at the last moment merely to smile. Condoms. Lubricant. Details. He could deal with details. As long as that was Chris's only hesitation.
Buck reached over to his jeans and dug into the back pocket, producing a condom. "I was a boy scout, you know," he told Chris. "Always prepared." They still didn't have lubricant, but ... Buck would figure something out. He silently tried to remember what Chris had in the house that wasn't oil based, but was still slippery.... Ah, of course!
Buck rose to his feet and pulled Chris with him. He had a sudden urge to scoop Chris up in his arms and carry him into the bedroom, but it was habit more than anything else. Chris was the furthest thing from a girl, and he didn't think the man would take too kindly to being swept off his feet like one. Instead, he grabbed Chris's hand and pulled him along toward the bedroom.
Once there, he tackled Chris onto the bed, wrestling him into submission; however, Buck quickly found himself rolled and pinned. Chris had always been more agile; he'd won regionals back in high school and had wiped the mat with all comers back at the police academy. Buck smiled in his defeat; he didn't mind in the slightest.
He grabbed Chris around the neck and pulled him down into a kiss, gently yet insistently pushing his tongue into his mouth, tasting him. He moved his hands down Chris's back, caressing the fine skin marred by the occasional scar; he noticed quickly that Chris was holding his breath.
"Breathe out, so I can breathe you in," he wanted to tell him, but simply turned his head away instead, breaking the kiss.
Chris gasped for air and Buck used the moment to his advantage, tossing Chris from him, onto his back. Buck turned and pounced, pinning Chris just long enough to get his mouth around his hard cock; instantly, Chris stopped wrestling him.
He heard Chris moan -- the sound echoed off the lonely walls. Buck had heard that sound before, in this very room, years ago. It was a sound this room should be filled with often, a sound that would breathe life back into this house, into Chris, and it was a sound Buck wanted to cause.
As he continued to suck on Chris, Buck slipped a finger into his mouth, coating it. Then he moved his hand over Chris's balls -- causing Chris to wriggle underneath him. He slid his fingers back toward Chris's crack, until he found the pucker of flesh.
Buck knew that Chris had never done this before, at least he was pretty sure; certainly not since he'd met Sarah. Buck vowed to take things slow, to make this as pleasant and easy as possible for Chris. He'd waited years for this opportunity and as much as he wanted to rush things -- like a kid desperate to rip open his Christmas presents -- Buck knew patience would be rewarded ten times over.
He played with Chris's hole, stroking the puckered rim -- slowly, gently -- teasing the man. As he stroked over the pucker with his index finger, he dragged his thumb over the thick skin of Chris's balls, producing a small shiver. Buck smiled around the cock still in his mouth, the cock he was still licking and sucking.
Chris was doing remarkably well, Buck thought. Many men would have come by now, would have been pumping hard down his throat, just at the mere thought of being penetrated. Buck wasn't all that sure that he could hold out had their positions been reversed.
It was enough, for now, that Chris was caressing his back, his ass, and his thighs. The contact felt good and right. Buck had always been more physical than Chris, and Chris had always known this. At first, Chris had just allowed the back slaps, the shoulder hugs, and the jubilant embraces, but soon he had started to reciprocate -- in most situations. He still wasn't all that comfortable when they were out in public, but he'd never been overly demonstrative with Sarah either. It was just the way he was: private.
And thank God for privacy, Buck thought when he finally pushed his finger into Chris's hole. Chris tensed, sucking in a loud, quick breath. However, Buck didn't give him time to linger on the suddenness of the intrusion. He wiggled his finger about, quickly finding the prostate. Chris let out a shuddering gasp as he jerked his hips up, shoving his cock down Buck's throat.
Buck was prepared for this response and went along for the ride. Soon Chris was pumping his hips up, eager for more contact, eager to spill his seed, but Buck had other ideas and did his best to keep him just on the edge.
Eventually, he pulled his finger free and eased back with his mouth, now just gently licking the length as if it were a candy cane. Chris relaxed a bit as well, his hips stilling, his muscles unclenching.
Finally, Buck lifted his head, setting Chris's cock free to rest on his stomach.
"Be right back," Buck said as he rose from the bed. "Don't do anything without me." Then he headed into the bathroom where he slid open the shower door. There on the floor in the far corner was what he'd hoped to find ... two bottles: one of Cowboy Magic shampoo and the other of Cowboy Magic conditioner. Buck grabbed the conditioner, and the towel that hung on the rod nearby, before returning to the bedroom.
He paused in the doorway. Chris was still on the bed. The afternoon sun was shining in through the slats of the blinds, turning stripes of Chris's skin golden. He was lying there, his head turned to the side, as if staring out the window; his hand was on his dick, slowly stroking it -- not enough to bring himself off, Buck could tell, but enough to keep himself hard and interested.
He wondered what Chris was thinking. Hoped it was about him and what they were about to do -- maybe even about what tomorrow would bring for them. But, he didn't ask.
Buck crossed the room and crawled onto the bed. He stared down at Chris until Chris looked up at him. He searched Chris's green eyes, but found no fear, no hesitation or second thoughts. Buck held up the bottle of conditioner; Chris smiled.
He grinned back at Chris. "Reckon they don't call it Cowboy Magic for nothing," Buck said. He squirted a small amount of the thick, white liquid into his hand, but then hesitated. He didn't know what Chris wanted, how he wanted to do this.
"Chris..." Buck started to ask, but then stopped when Chris reached out, cupping Buck's hand in his and guiding it towards Buck's dick.
"Take me, Buck. Like you took her."
Buck nodded as he spread the conditioner over his length. Then he reached forward as Chris pulled his knees up close to his chest. Buck began to work the remaining liquid between Chris's legs. Buck ran his finger over Chris's hole, caressing the sensitive pucker of skin until Chris closed his eyes and his head lolled back against the mattress.
Buck eased himself forward, until his dick was pressed between Chris's cheeks. Then he began to caresses the length of the crack with the head, moving the swollen tip back and forth, over and over Chris's hole. Then he pressed forward, pushing the head past the ring of muscle, causing Chris to gasp, and his shoulders to shoot up off the mattress.
Buck pushed in, just far enough so that he wouldn't slip back out, then he reached up and slid a hand behind Chris's back.
"Relax, pard," he said. "Relax and feel what she felt."
Chris nodded, but Buck knew the reality of the intrusion had been more painful than the man had expected. Buck leaned forward and began pressing his lips to Chris's chest: soft kisses, gentle nibbles and licks. He found a nipple and swirled around it with his tongue, until he heard Chris sigh, his body relaxing as he lay back on the mattress.
Buck slowly pushed forward, easing himself just a bit deeper. Chris tensed, but only for a moment. Buck moved forward a little more, until he was able to press kisses to Chris's neck. Chris arched up against him then, and Buck felt himself slide even deeper into Chris's body.
Buck continued to press forward, until he was able to kiss Chris on the lips, until he was buried to the balls inside his best friend. Chris was returning his kisses now, moving his tongue into Buck's mouth. His hands came up and began to caress the length of Buck's back, and then they slid lower, to Buck's ass.
When Chris squeezed the flesh, pulling them even closer together, Buck began to slowly move inside of him. He eased himself back and forth, pushing his hard length against the spot inside Chris, watching as the contact caused the man to tremble.
He bent his head down and kissed one of Chris's nipples, tugged at it with his teeth, teased it with the tip of his tongue, until Chris arched up against him. Chris's eyes came open and Buck stared into them, seeing things he never dreamed possible. So much of their past was intertwined, so much of their present. And Buck knew, as he continued to thrust deeply into Chris, as he saw in his expression the building of both pleasure and tension, he knew their futures were entwined as well.
Buck slipped his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Chris's hard cock. He began to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Hard and fast, then slow and gentle. Chris's head was pressed against the mattress again, his hips thrusting up into Buck's hand, the ring of muscle contracting at the base of Buck's shaft.
Chris sucked in a noisy breath and held it. He continued to pump his hips upward, urgently, almost frantically. Then he gasped for air as warm cum spurted between them, coating his belly as well as Buck's hand. Buck leaned forward and pressed kisses along Chris's neck and shoulder, but he couldn't last. The pressure inside his own groin was building too quickly.
He placed his hands on the mattress, on each side of Chris, and began to thrust deeply into him. He felt so hard inside Chris's warm body, so hard and so ready. He bent his head with the effort, pumping harder and deeper, faster. Then he lifted his head and met Chris's green eyes. The man was watching him, wanting him to come, wanting the completion as much as Buck did.
Then a violent spasm gripped him and Buck squeezed his eyes closed. For a moment, everything else fell away. There was nothing except the feeling of his muscles tensing beyond their limits and then snapping, exploding, releasing. Buck felt himself gush as he pumped himself deep into Chris's body.
There would be no baby this time, not ever. But it didn't matter to Buck. He had Chris and that was all he ever really wanted.
Buck pulled out as Chris straightened his legs, then he collapsed onto Chris's body. Chris's arms came around him, hugging him, his fingers running up and down Buck's sweat-slicked back. Then Chris helped ease him onto his side.
They lay pressed against one another, drifting in and out of sleep, for a long time, until the sun stopped shining in through the blinds and the light inside the room grew dim. Buck's legs were tangled with Chris's and their arms were wrapped around each other. Buck had no intentions of moving from that position, from the bed, any time soon.
After a long silence, Chris asked, "Did you love her, Buck?"
Buck nodded, not even having to think about his answer. "I loved her because you did. I loved her because she loved you."
"She loved you, too," Chris said quietly against Buck's shoulder. "So, do I."
~ The End ~
'The Twelve Days Of Christmas' Collection Index
January 5, 2003
Comments would be most welcome if sent to: C.V. Puerro
Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.
Characters from "The Magnificent Seven" were used without permission and this story in no way
signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, or CBS Worldwide, Inc.
The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play within it.
The story itself belongs to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.
My thanks to Charlotte for kindly beta-reading this piece. I appreciate her time and generosity! This story was for her.
Quoted lyrics are from "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" by H. Martin and R. Blane.
This author personally recommends Cowboy Magic: grooming products for horses and people.
Background graphics courtesy of Snogirl.
