Oh, he had when he'd found them, burned nearly beyond recognition, but the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced with a mixture of anger and guilt.

Violence — sometimes brought on by drink, sometimes by the lack of it — marred his life for the next few years. But, even in the haze of pain and alcohol, he'd never vented his frustrations on an innocent man.

No, it took coming face to face with the woman responsible for the death of his family, followed by cold sobriety, and, finally, a long night waiting for what seemed like an inevitable death.

He'd not only hurt an innocent man, he'd dragged him further down the road to hell than he had any right to.

"Leave me alone," Chris mumbled into his whiskey and when Vin Tanner placed a hand on his shoulder, he planted what he thought was a solid elbow in the man's gut.

"Chris, yer done. Let's call it a night," Vin said in that quietly insistent tone of his and the words struck Chris's ears as if they'd been shot from a rifle.

He almost flinched. Instead, Chris grabbed hold of his shot glass and threw the last dregs down his throat. Only then did he allow Vin to pull him from his chair and lead him out of the saloon.

He stumbled slightly as he stepped from the boardwalk into the street. There were a few fires burning, a few lanterns here and there, but Chris didn't notice any people about. It must be very late. It was a wonder Vin was still awake, seeing as how the man made such a habit of rising with the sun. Vin would certainly be tired come morning.

Chris, on the other hand, didn't care if he never woke up again; it would be too soon. Mornings hadn't been hard for him for a long time. He couldn't even recall Sarah's face anymore, let alone the feel of her body beside him in bed. The only thing he could recall clearly was waking up alone — day after day, for too long. Even the whores he bedded never stayed until morning. The closest he'd come during these past years were the few occasions he and the boys had slept on the trail; they weren't warm bodies to snuggle against, but at least he knew they were nearby. It was something.

He grabbed Vin a little tighter around the waist, trying to keep his balance, but falling against the younger man just the same. Chris could feel Vin's arms tighten around him; he could feel Vin's nimble fingers pressing firmly against his ribs. He wanted those fingers pressed elsewhere, doing more than holding him upright, doing more than the whiskey had done: helping him to forget.

They struggled up the stairs of the boarding house to the room Chris kept in town. There was no way he could have made the ride out to his shack in the hills; not that he wanted to make the long lonely ride, even if he'd been able.

When Vin laid him down on his bed, Chris caught the man's wrists. As drunk as he was, he was still strong, and he knew precisely what he was doing. He stared up at Vin, trying to focus in on the man's blue eyes — so blue, like the sky, like water, like ... ice.

"Let. Go. Chris," Vin insisted, in that damnably hushed voice again.

Chris released one wrist, but held firm to the other, pulling Vin downward. He reached up and stroked his fingers over the tracker's hair, like a field of wheat, like a comb dripping with honey, like—

Vin slapped him hard across the face, and Chris's reaction was instantaneous. He balled his fist in those golden locks and yanked Vin down to his chest.

"Dammit, Larabee!" Vin said, his voice more of a growl than a shout.

Chris released him. All he'd wanted to do was touch soft hair, to feel smooth skin beneath his fingertips, to kiss lips atremble from his touch. All the things that reminded him of Sarah, that reminded him of ... Ezra: the two people he'd damned by indulging in those very things. Vin was right to refuse him, for so many reasons.

And, thankfully, Vin was not only sober, he knew better. That first day, the instant their eyes had met, a lifetime had passed between them; they'd known each other as if they'd been one, torn in two. Chris had never felt anything like it — not with Buck, not even with Sarah. Vin was like a mirror; their thoughts ran along similar lines, their ideals did as well, but it went deeper than that. Vin was like himself in too many ways. If he'd been orphaned as Vin had or if Vin had had the opportunity for an education ... their destinies could easily have been interchanged with little notice to anyone.

There was one major difference between them, though, and it had taken Chris a long while to figure out. Vin Tanner just wasn't the ladies' man that Buck was — hell, no one was that much of a ladies' man, but Tanner got fewer women than JD! And, Chris finally noticed, it was precisely for lack of trying. Oh, Vin would say something nice about a fine-looking woman, if cornered, but otherwise, not a word, not a look, nothing. Chris just naturally assumed that Tanner fancied other pursuits; that Chris had never caught Vin at it wasn't surprising as he was the most private man Chris had ever met, and this small, upstanding town offered little in the ways of comfort.

It wasn't like the larger towns and cities Chris had visited during his misspent youth. There were some places where anything could be had, if a man knew where to look for it. And Chris had gone looking. He hadn't been raised that way, but, once he'd discovered the pleasures of it, there was no looking back. It wasn't until he'd met Buck that his eyes began to wander again to pretty little things in skirts; and the way Buck attracted women, it suddenly became an easier road to follow. Then Chris had met Sarah.

"Sarah..." he murmured. Remembering her, he ran his hand down the length of the supple body before him. Sarah had changed everything for him. And, she'd felt so right in his arms. He cupped his hand over Vin's crotch, but wasn't surprised when he found not even the smallest swelling of attraction there. Chris thought he'd met Sarah's equal in the Texan, but he'd been wrong. He'd met himself and he never did compare to the likes of Sarah Connolly.

Vin grabbed Chris's wrist hard, twisting the hand away from his body. "Lie still, Chris. Yer too drunk."

Chris just nodded. He was too drunk: too drunk to remember that Vin Tanner didn't like men touching him and too drunk to remember that he didn't lust after Vin Tanner. But, he wasn't too drunk to remember the man who had welcomed his attentions, albeit for only one brief night: that was the only reason his hands had sought out Vin, the only reason they'd sought out the now-empty bottle of whiskey. Chris didn't want to remember, after the single night of companionship, that the man he'd said too much to, done too much to, now wanted nothing to do with him.

Suddenly Chris's feet were cold as twin thuds sounded in the room. Then a blanket was pulled over him, and, a moment later, he heard the door of his room close.

As the silence — the stillness — settled over him, he tried to remember what it felt like not to be alone.

Chris's stomach lurched at the sight.

"Hair of the dog that bit ya," the tall man said with a voice too loud and a smile too bright. Chris buried his face in his hands. "Come on, now. Can't be that bad — well, maybe it can. Still, this'll fix ya right up. Trust ol' Buck, would ya?"

Buck poured him a drink and pushed the glass under Chris's nose. The fumes alone made Chris gag. Still, he downed the burning liquid, silently pleading with his stomach not to reject it. He set the shot glass down, but made no other movements; he just stared into the glass, commiserating with its emptiness. Buck retreated, and Chris was glad for the space. When he felt self-indulgent enough to wallow in his own misery, he'd gotten in the habit of doing it alone, even if he tended to do it in such public places as saloons.

Just as he reached out for the whiskey bottle to refill his glass, Chris heard the swinging doors of the saloon creak open, and then felt footsteps resonating through the floorboards. A chair was pulled out and someone sat down beside him.

Chris looked up. It was Vin Tanner. The tracker was staring at the whiskey bottle, at Chris's hand clutched around it. Vin didn't say a word.

Chris withdrew his hand. He'd had enough. He'd had too much.

Vin motioned toward Inez and Chris knew exactly what he was doing. While Buck's idea might have been a good one, Vin's was better. Chris needed food in his stomach, not more alcohol.

"Whatever happened last night..." Chris croaked out before clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."

Vin dismissed him with a shake of his head; his long hair brushed over his shoulders and Chris suddenly remembered exactly what had happened last night. He'd made an advance on Vin and the man had rejected him.

"Nothin' happened. 'Cept you mumblin' 'bout Sarah," Vin finally said.

Chris just nodded. The man was being polite, sparing him the embarrassment of the truth. Vin was a good friend, the best friend he'd ever had. What he'd done last night was foolish and wrong. Had Vin not stopped him ... well, he'd have lost that friendship, and for what? A single night of indulgence, a night of fruitlessly trying to forget the feel and taste of another man, of Ezra.

He wanted to apologize — really apologize — to both of them. But, he sensed that Vin just wanted to forget the whole thing, and Ezra.... What about Ezra? The man hadn't spoken more than two sentences to him since their rescue. Chris supposed Ezra wanted to forget the whole thing as well. If only—

"That man ... I swear ... he won't budge!" Nathan said, too loudly for Chris's ears. The healer came heavily down the stairs, abusing each tread along the way.

Inez set a plate of tortillas and beans and a cup of coffee in front of Chris, and then headed back behind the bar. While the aroma was tempting, Chris wasn't certain he could actually stomach any of it.

"He can't stay up there forever," Buck said.

"He has to eat," Josiah added, and Chris began to wonder what they were talking about.

"That's exactly what I told him. You know what he said to me? 'I'd appreciate some toast and jam, Mr. Jackson,' he said, like I'm his damn houseboy. I could just...." but Nathan was obviously too upset to finish his threat, choosing instead to drop with a groan into the chair beside Buck.

"I'll take him something," JD offered, halfway to the bar to place an order with Inez.

"Oh, no, you won't. I told him, if he wants to eat, he has to come downstairs."

"But he'll starve," JD protested.

"If he does, then that's his choice. We aren't here to wait on him. And, there isn't any reason that man can't walk down those stairs. His knee is healing nicely, but it's only gonna get worse again if he doesn't start using it."

Ezra.

The man hadn't left his room since they'd come back to town. Two days ago? No, three now. Chris shook his head, as he pushed himself out of his chair. He grabbed his untouched plate of food and his cup, and headed straight for the stairs. He passed the table where the other men sat without saying a word or even sparing them a sidelong glance.

"Chris ... you're not gonna help him that way," Nathan warned, but Chris continued to ignore him.

Behind him, he heard Vin say, "Let him go." At the top of the staircase, Chris turned down the corridor and found Ezra's room. The door was unlocked and he let himself in without knocking.

"Thank you, Nathan," Ezra said, not lifting his eyes from the book open in his hands. "Just set the tray down on the table."

Chris stared at him, waiting. Ezra was seated on the bed, leaning back on two pillows propped up against the headboard. He was dressed in a loose shirt and the pants he'd worn previously — the ones with the side-seam torn open, which had allowed Nathan to bandage the southerner's battered knee. It was unusual for Ezra to be untidy, but today his dark hair wasn't brushed and it hung in loose waves, accentuating his fine features. He suddenly reminded Chris of an Englishman he'd once seen in a portrait: George Gordon, Lord Byron. A devilishly handsome man who wrote the most beguiling poetry; the same poetry he used to read to Sarah.

But, before Chris could muster the words, Ezra looked up. His surprise at finding Chris instead of Nathan standing in his room was plain on his face. How this man ever won at poker, Chris had never figured out; it just seemed too easy to read his expressions.

"Chris!"

He hadn't been sure if the man would use his given name or not, nor was he sure if it was a good sign that he had.

"What are you— I mean, where's Nathan?"

Chris did not answer the question; he simply held out the plate of food. Ezra stared at it for a moment; it wasn't what Nathan had said he'd ordered, but Ezra took it anyway. Chris set the coffee cup on the small table next to the bed.

"Nathan thought it best to starve you into coming out of your room."

Chris watched as a suddenly arched eyebrow marred Ezra's smooth forehead. Then the man's expression sank from surprise into a mixture of annoyance and resignation.

"I disagreed," Chris said.

Both eyebrows shot up this time, giving Chris a glimpse of pale green, without even the slightest hint of hazel. Ezra opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words passed his lips.

"I thought it better for you to keep up your strength," Chris said, barely aware that he'd voiced the thought.

Ezra looked down at the food as he set aside his book and placed the plate on his lap. He took up one of the tortillas, tearing off a small piece.

Chris watched as Ezra's elegant fingers tucked the morsel between his lips, lips that Chris could still recall tasting. He wanted to taste those lips again, but what had been an easy reality down in that forsaken mineshaft now seemed like the most impossible dream. His fingers began to itch again; he wondered what Ezra would do if he were to simply reach out and stroke his cheek. Would the touch cause Ezra to blush? Would Chris feel the sudden heat against his hand?

Or, would Ezra pull away?

"Supper's at six. Downstairs." It wasn't a question or a request, and Chris didn't wait for a reply. He turned and left the room, closing the door soundly behind him. He paused in the hallway, trying to calm the raucous beating of his heart as a sudden wish swept over him to still be trapped deep in the mine, with Ezra.

There was a simplicity to life when the end seemed so near; he'd learned that lesson well after Sarah and Adam's murder. But, somewhere along the way, they'd begun to fade from his mind and so had this bit of knowledge. He should never have allowed things to become so complicated.

Downstairs, he ignored his friends and headed straight for the bar. Inez came over and he waved off the glass she offered him. He leaned close. "We'll be seven for supper tonight. Can you fix something?"

"Sí, señor," she smiled.

Chris nodded, and then turned, heading out of the saloon without another word to anyone.

Chris pulled up a chair beside Vin and sat down. They nodded a brief acknowledgement of the other's presence, but no words were exchanged.

Chris allowed his eyes to wander across the street. Ezra was seated with Buck and JD outside the saloon. The sun was shining on that side of the street and Ezra had his jacket off, hung neatly over the back of his chair. The three men looked to be playing cards, though Ezra was the only one with his eyes on the deck. The other two seemed to be distracted by whoever passed by on the boardwalk: Buck especially, where the ladies were concerned; JD not so much, as if he'd given up any hope of competing in such things with the older, more experienced man. Chris's eyes wandered back to Ezra, watching as he repeatedly shuffled the deck of cards.

"What do you think of him?" Chris asked.

"Who?"

"Ezra."

Chris didn't look over at Vin but guessed from the silence that followed that the man had merely shrugged.

"Do you trust him?"

"Depends," Vin finally stated.

"On what?"

Vin shrugged again, but followed the gesture with words this time. "What I'm trustin' him with. My money in a poker game? No. My life in a fight against some outlaws? Yeah."

"So, you think he's earned his place here, with us?"

"Earned? I don't know. Proved he's reliable when we need him ta be, I s'pose." Vin fell silent for a moment as he pulled his harmonica from his pocket. "Why do ya ask?"

Chris shrugged. How could he explain it to Vin when he didn't quite understand it himself? What had happened between him and Ezra ... down in that mine ... he couldn't imagine any other situation in which he would have behaved toward the southerner as he had that one night.... Nor could he imagine having lived another day without acting on the feelings that had grown too strong to ignore any longer.... So why was he sitting here, needing Vin to understand, to approve? One more thing he couldn't seem to explain—

A few melodious and a few not-so-melodious notes struck Chris's ear, tearing into his thoughts. "You ever gonna learn how to play that thing?" he asked, sounding a little less annoyed than he actually felt.

Vin blew a few more incongruous tones before lowering the instrument. "Sounds fine to me. Reckon it don't much matter what other people think."

"I guess you're right," Chris agreed, struck once again by his friend's plain wisdom. Then he stood up from his chair, crossed the width of the boardwalk in three long strides, and stepped down into the street.

Ezra had followed him without question, without preamble, which surprised Chris — such acquiescence from the southerner was rare. And, after minutes had passed without Ezra saying anything at all, Chris began to worry. It was normal for him and Vin to go riding and not exchange more than a few words the entire time, but the same could not be said for any of his other companions. Not that Ezra prattled on nearly as much as Buck and JD, but he did seem to like the sound of his own voice from time to time.

However, that was not the case today. In fact, the man had been uncharacteristically reticent ever since their rescue from the mine. Chris suspected the problem — hoped, anyway, that he was close to being right.

He pulled his horse off the main road, allowing his gelding to follow a small path so overgrown that it wouldn't be spotted unless someone was specifically looking for it. Someone who knew what he was doing — like Vin, who'd been the one to originally point it out to him.

Chris didn't have to check to know that Ezra was still following him; he heard the crunching of the weeds beneath the hooves of the other man's horse. As they continued, the weeds became taller, greener, until they gave way entirely to a gravelly shore. Ahead of them was a wide, lazy portion of river; on the far side was the rocky face of a hill, which Chris knew firsthand was a good spot for fishing.

But he didn't intend to fish today; he hadn't even bothered with the ruse of bringing his pole. He dismounted, tying his horse near the water, and then he walked over to the shade of an old willow tree. He pulled off his hat, as he sat down to lean back against the trunk. Then, for the first time since they'd left town, he looked at Ezra.

The man was still in his saddle, staring down at Chris, clearly bewildered.

Chris raised his eyebrows and gave a small sideways tilt of his head. Ezra dismounted and tied his horse near Chris's before coming over. Chris gestured with his hand, as if dusting off the dirt for Ezra's comfort. Ezra sat down beside him.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, indeed." Ezra pulled his own hat off and began fiddling with the edge of the brim. "May I ask why we're here?"

Chris nodded. "Wanted to talk to you."

"And you couldn't have done that back in town?" Ezra asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Or during the past half hour on that dusty trail?"

"Thought this was a nice spot for it."

Ezra sighed, but said nothing.

Chris knew the man was waiting, waiting for him to say something — being the one who'd initiated this whole thing — and Chris thought he knew what he'd intended to say, but now the words just didn't seem to come. What was this about anyway? The way they'd acted down in the mine, or the way they'd been acting since being rescued?

"Ezra, I ... I want to apologize—"

"There's no need," the gambler said, standing as he did so. He headed straight for his horse.

Chris reacted immediately, getting to his feet and following, though Ezra, even with his slight limp, remained just a finger's breadth beyond his reach. "Ezra! Wait!"

"For what?" Ezra suddenly turned, causing Chris to sidestep so as not to run into him. "I don't need an apology." Ezra's voice could easily have gone shrill, but it didn't; he kept it calm and low, completely in control. "I don't want one. Not from you."

Chris gritted his teeth at the performance, the tension quickly causing a dull ache to spread throughout his jaw.

"Ezra, I..." he tried again, but still the right words would not form in his mouth, despite all his willing.

"Regret what happened?" the southerner asked, filling in the blank for him. "So do I." He turned away again, untying his horse's reins and stepping up into the saddle.

Chris stood motionless, except for his fists, clenching against his thighs. For a brief moment, Ezra looked down at him from atop his horse. Chris expected to see anger and disappointment in the man's eyes, but all Chris saw was sorrow, as if he were staring into a mirror.

Chris shot him another warning glare, but if the southerner noticed, he gave no indication, which only irritated Chris more.

"I don't understand why we must rush back to town. A few hours, supping in that last little villa, would have been heaven—"

"Ezra!" Chris finally growled. He'd had more than enough. Thankfully, the sudden outburst shut the man up, for the moment at least, but Chris intended to make certain it lasted.

Chris had been riding in silence beside Vin at the front of the pack for the past few hours; he now edged his horse just a few feet closer. The tracker glanced over and Chris spoke to him, knowing the other members of their group had no problem looking to Vin for direction if need be.

"Keep heading back toward town. I'm gonna have a little talk with Ezra. We'll catch up to you later."

Vin nodded, then hung his head, though the move failed to hide the grin spreading across his features. Some time ago, Chris had noticed Vin's amusement whenever Ezra pushed things too far, garnering some measure of reproof from someone in their group, especially when that someone was Chris. He didn't know what Vin found so damn funny about it; although, he had to admit, he knew that Vin would never tolerate an outsider censuring anyone in their group, and that included Ezra.

Chris slowed his horse some, casually dropping back, pausing briefly beside each of his companions, but exchanging no more than a glance or nod with each. Ezra had been bringing up the rear for a while now, as if the others had ridden ahead, trying to keep out of earshot, but Chris had to wonder if the man had purposely hung back, though Chris couldn't think of any reason why he would do so. He pulled his horse in front of the southerner, pacing him for a few minutes before slowing his gelding, causing Ezra's horse to naturally follow suit. Chris almost expected the man to pull up beside or even to pass him, but Ezra remained where he was, bringing up the rear.

As they continued, the road became more winding, as Chris had known it would, and he slowly began to lose sight of the other five men. He made no effort to catch them; neither did Ezra. Soon, he and Ezra were alone.

They traveled on without a word for a while longer before Ezra finally spoke. "Am I to assume you intend to reprimand me, sir?" To Chris his tone sounded condescending and defiant.

"No." It wasn't Chris's intent at all — even if Vin and Ezra assumed it was. The fact that Ezra was finally complaining again was a good sign as far as Chris was concerned. The man had been far too quiet, too reserved, since their rescue from the mine. Chris knew there could be many reasons for Ezra's repression and he suspected he was the direct cause of some, if not all, of them. Though his previous attempts at speaking with Ezra had failed, he was determined to try again.

So, if Ezra was feeling comfortable enough with the group to resume his complaining, then perhaps he was finally ready to talk.

Chris pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, then waited while Ezra did the same. They both walked their horses to the side of the road where Ezra sat down on a large rock. It had been several weeks since their rescue, but Ezra's knee still seemed to give him some minor discomfort.

As Ezra waited, Chris moved to stand in front of him, trying to form the words in his mind. Even if Ezra regretted what had happened between them — especially if he believed Chris regretted it, as well — Chris needed him to know that he didn't, that while he'd acted in the moment, what he'd felt wasn't anything new or fleeting.

But, how was he supposed to tell Ezra any of this? And, in a way the man would both understand and accept? Especially when none of the words entering his head seemed to be the right ones.

Finally, Chris took a deep breath, forcing himself forward, as if leaping from a cliff in order to save his own life.

He grabbed Ezra by the shoulders, to steady himself, as he pressed his lips against Ezra's.

Chris felt Ezra's hand on his chest, pushing him away, but Chris refused to release him. It was the only way he could think of to convince Ezra of his feelings; it was sheer desperation, and he knew it. He pulled Ezra to his feet, to bring them closer together, but the move only afforded Ezra the leverage he'd previously lacked.

The full force of the southerner's weight collided with Chris, who immediately over-balanced. Chris stumbled back, clutching even more firmly to Ezra, pulling both of them down as he fell to the ground.

"Let me up!" Ezra demanded before Chris had even caught his breath. "Let go!" he insisted again, but Chris held firm. "I insist you let me up!" Finally, Chris gave in, releasing him.

Ezra scrambled to his feet. Chris didn't follow. Instead, he propped himself up on his elbows and merely watched as Ezra vigorously dusted himself off.

"I should have known better than to wear a good pair of trousers when going out on the trail with the likes of you!" he complained under his breath. "And look at my new jacket ... thank you very much!"

Chris began to laugh; he couldn't help himself. But he stopped when the man glared at him with angry, narrowed eyes. Ezra turned and stormed off. Only then did Chris hurry to his feet, to run after him. He caught Ezra's arm and pulled him around.

"Ezra...."

"Yes?" the man said icily.

"I shouldn't have waited until I thought we were going to die. I should have approached you sooner."

"Sooner?" Ezra asked, the tone of his voice incredulous. "You mean, you'd thought about ... I mean, doing ... what ... what we did?"

"And more," Chris said, finally finding the words.

It had been too long since Chris had been with someone he thought he might actually be able to love — faults, quirks, and all. There'd been too many lonely nights, and too many working girls. All of it was hollow, as hollow as he'd felt after the fire that had taken his family.

He was tired of the emptiness.

The group the seven of them had formed — as unlikely as it might have been — had filled some of the void, as had his new friendship with Vin. His reunion with Buck had brought both good and bad memories, but, more so than not, those things had only reminded Chris of how much was still missing from his life. There were so many things he'd forgotten were important, things he didn't realize he was even longing for.

"Ezra ... I said this once down in that mine, but I need to say it again — out loud, for us both to hear. I want you."

Chris had hoped the words would bring a smile to the man's face; Ezra had such a handsome, infectious smile he too-rarely displayed. However, Ezra only stared, as if the words didn't make sense to him, as if he hadn't actually heard them.

"I said that I didn't want to die alone. But the truth is, Ezra" — and here Chris paused. For the first time in a long time, he prayed to God, prayed that the man before him would understand and believe him — "I just don't want to be alone anymore."

"And Mr. Tanner won't have you. What a shame," Ezra finally said, his voice flat and emotionless, yet still abrasively harsh to Chris's ears.

"I don't want Vin. He's my friend, but...." Chris thought back to that one night he'd been too drunk to stop himself from making an advance on Vin and was once more thankful for Vin's wisdom. "But, I don't want him the way I want you."

"Are you asking me to believe that you would choose me over him?"

"Yes. Why can't you believe that?"

Ezra scoffed. "Because I've seen Vin Tanner, in all his glory. And I've seen the two of you together, like ... long lost—"

"Brothers, not lovers. I understand Vin; I know how he thinks, what he's most likely to do...."

"Which makes him the perfect match for you then, doesn't it?"

Chris pushed his hat from his head as he ran his hand through his hair, frustrated by this conversation. He would have walked away, in an attempt at collecting his thoughts, but he honestly didn't know what Ezra would do if he turned his back on him. Vin, on the other hand, would head straight for his horse and ride back to town, intent on never mentioning this conversation again.

"No. It makes him predictable."

Unlike you, Chris thought.

Ezra might run, but he was just as likely to take a swing or to just stand there, as he was doing, with arms crossed, scowling. Or he might do something that Chris couldn't even guess at. For all that Chris could read Ezra's features, he'd yet to figure out how to read his mind.

"Look, it's just you and me. Vin's not here, so just forget about him," Chris said.

"Forget about him? Like you did when we were trapped in the mine? Tell me you weren't thinking about him when you ... when we...."

"I was thinking about you. It was all about being with you."

"Until Vin came to the rescue. You were so happy to see him."

"Of course I was. He save our lives: yours ... mine. Ours."

"And you just couldn't wait to get out of that mine—"

"Dammit, Ezra! Don't you tell me you wanted to die down there! Don't you tell me you didn't want to be rescued!"

"Of course I wanted to be rescued. But not so that I could watch you and Vin — hugging the life out of each other, riding together, eating meals together, sitting watch outside the sheriff's office together...."

"I've told you: he's my friend. I understand him. I know what to expect from him."

"But, with me, you have no clue?"

"Honestly? No, not always. I know what to expect from you in a fight, when you're doing your job, but I know that about every member of this team. If I didn't, I wouldn't have stayed past those first thirty days Travis hired us for. But, I did stay. And so did you."

"That still doesn't tell me what you expect from me."

"Outside of the job we were hired to do, I don't expect anything. How can I? You are the most ... frustrating, unpredictable, complex, and ... intriguing person I've ever met. Ezra, I could spend my entire life with you and still not figure you out."

"Your entire life?"

"Probably longer. I have the distinct feeling that you'd keep me interested well into the afterlife."

The expression on Ezra's face suddenly changed from one of insecurity to one of confidence. Chris swallowed hard as he realized that he'd made a mistake, a fatal one. Chris might have the winning hand, but Ezra now knew what cards he held, all of them, and, for someone as skilled at gamesmanship as Ezra, it was enough to turn the tables. Chris could see it in his eyes and, though Ezra did not smile, he might as well have allowed his gold tooth to glint in the sun.

Breath caught painfully in Chris's throat. He didn't know what was going to happen now. If their positions had been reversed, if he were standing in Ezra's boots, he knew exactly what he would do: something very close to what had happened in the mineshaft. Within moments, he'd have Ezra pressed down onto the soft earth and he'd be assaulting him with kisses in promise of the hard and fast taking that would come.

But, he wasn't Ezra. He didn't think like Ezra. And, he had no idea what the man would do now.

This should have bothered him, should have set him on the wrong side of anticipation, expecting the worst. However, this was Ezra. Little by little, Chris had grown to trust the man; he'd watched him put his life on the line too many times not to; he'd seen him stand by each and every man in their group, despite how they might sometimes treat him.

Oddly, Ezra was now doing what a quickly drawn gun no longer could: making Chris's heart race. Chris fought to keep his head clear, to remain prepared no matter what Ezra might do next, but the waiting was killing him, the eagerness to know was driving thoughts through his head like a stampede of cattle.

Before this moment, Chris had truly forgotten what it felt like to be alive.

That's when he saw Ezra take a step forward. The man was going to hit him, he decided. And, Chris found that he couldn't blame him. He should have dealt with this head-on, as soon as they'd been rescued, instead of letting it drag out for as long as it had. It was his fault, and he deserved whatever lashing Ezra doled out.

He was surprised then, when Ezra lifted his hand and stroked his cheek. Then he felt a hand on his waist. His heart seemed to stop, the world tilted. It was like a dream, something that couldn't possibly be real.

Then their lips met, softly, gently. Just the smallest amount of pressure. He wondered if this is what Sarah had felt when he'd first kissed her. That's when he realized his biggest mistake.

He had suspected what Sarah had felt for him, just as he'd suspected what Ezra had felt. However, instead of courting Ezra, instead of taking things slow, he'd forced the issue and taken advantage of their situation. No wonder Ezra had been reacting this way. Man or woman, it was no way to treat the person you loved.

He pulled back. "Ezra, I'm sorry," he mumbled against the man's lips.

Ezra just pulled him close again, deepening the kiss. He felt Ezra's tongue probing forward and he parted his lips to allow him entry. Anything Ezra wanted, at whatever pace the man desired, that was his new philosophy.

He just prayed to God that he wouldn't lose Ezra as he'd lost Sarah, that he'd finally been blessed with someone strong enough to be his partner, in all things.

It was well past sunset when their horses finally walked them down the main street. They headed straight for the livery. Neither of them said a word as they groomed their animals, but many looks were exchanged and somehow they'd both agreed to skipping dinner and heading straight up to bed. Ezra's bed.

Chris had to admit that he was a little nervous as he climbed the back stairs with Ezra. "Tell me you've done this before," Chris had asked Ezra during their first moments of intimacy, when they'd been trapped down in the mineshaft. Only now did Chris recall this and remember that he hadn't received an answer. He was concerned this really was Ezra's first time.

They reached Ezra's room without encountering anyone. Vin and the boys wouldn't worry until morning anyway, Chris was sure of this. As long as he showed his face by breakfast, and Ezra by lunch, no one would even think to ponder how they'd spent their night.

Ezra locked the door as Chris began to remove his trail-stained clothes.

"A bath would do us both good," Ezra commented from behind, and Chris noted the small quaver in his voice.

Chris turned. The man was leaning against the door, almost guarding it. "A bath would do us good, but ... don't reckon we'd make it down there without someone figuring they needed one of us for something and then we'd never get that bath anyway." Truly, it was impatience that ruled his mind on this: a bath would delay them by at least an hour, and they'd been on the trail for too long already.

"It would be safer to remain here," Ezra finally agreed, though he still leaned against the door, making no other move as Chris finished stripping from his clothes.

Chris smiled as he headed for the bed. He lay down, naked across the quilt, and just stared at Ezra.

Finally, Ezra removed his jacket, then his vest and shirt. Chris was always surprised, pleasantly so, by the man's form: so lean and fit, especially for someone who seemed to do nothing but gamble, drink, and sleep. It was another reminder of how much he still had to learn about this intriguing man.

Ezra shucked his boots, and then slowly peeled off his trousers. Chris had grown hard just watching him undress. He allowed his hand to slide down his own body, wishing it were Ezra's hand. He reached his hard length and began stroking. It felt so good, and he longed for Ezra to feel what he was feeling.

As Ezra watched, Chris stroked himself, waiting for the man to join him on the bed. Ezra seemed hesitant, almost nervous. He rose from the bed and approached Ezra, slowly just in case he might spook. Then he touched his bare arm with a gentle fingertip and saw a shudder race across Ezra's frame. He reached up with his other hand and caressed Ezra's cheek.

Sarah had been like this on their wedding night — as much as she loved and trusted him, she'd still trembled beneath his exploring touch. At least Ezra was holding his ground, not shying away. That would make things easier; at least, Chris hoped it would.

"Chris, I...."

He waited for more, but the soft words ended there, as if Ezra could no longer find his voice in order to speak. It didn't matter. They didn't need words, not for this, not yet anyway. Chris moved behind Ezra, dragging his fingers across his warm skin. His plan was clear in his mind: make Ezra sweat and make him scream. Chris was certain he could manage both.

He pressed a gentle kiss to his back, in the shallow depression between Ezra's shoulder blades, then another. His arms, which now encircled Ezra's waist, pulled them close together.

"I want you," Chris whispered in his ear, and then pressed kisses across the back of his neck until he came to his other ear. "Forever."

Ezra leaned his head back against Chris's shoulder, as if finally giving in to the inevitability of what they were in this room to do. Chris slid his hand down over the firm muscles of Ezra's stomach, down through the thick growth of hair, until his fingers were able to curl around his hard shaft. The touch made Ezra groan, and the intense heat against his palm had Chris echoing the sound.

He shifted his hips, until his own erection was sandwiched firmly against Ezra's deep cleft. The man groaned again, which made Chris smile. He kissed his cheek, wanting to turn Ezra around, so that he could press their lips together and grind their erections against one another. He wanted their hot cum to mingle, to slick both their bellies. However, he fought the urge, knowing they had all night, and every night after.

Chris thrust his hips forward and up, driving the length of his penis firmly between Ezra's cheeks, causing Ezra to groan again. He wondered if he could make the man beg for release, but then realized he had no desire to torture Ezra in that fashion.

Besides, Chris knew he would be the one begging for more all too soon.

October 2002

Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.

Much thanks to my beta reader for taking the time and giving me such helpful suggestions. Her invaluable input allowed me to truly improve this story!

Poetry excerpts are from "She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night" and "Manfred" (Act I, Scene I), respectively, by Lord Byron.

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 story itself belongs to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.