Chapter Twelve
"Surely you do not intend to take these two reprobates on to Yuma on your own?" Ezra watched Buck and Vin preparing the wagon for their prisoners. "We could keep them incarcerated here for a few more days until Mr. Larabee is on the mend. Then I could assist you with their transport."
"Ezra, we've been through this a dozen times already. We are already going to be later than we said we would be. They will be lookin' for us tomorrow, and we need a good three days to get there, with havin' to stop early so we can make use of a proper jail cell."
"We could ask Dr. Carmichael to wire Yuma for us when he gets back to Sandy Creek." The gambler did not like the idea of them going on ahead, and he did not relish the idea of being left to take care of Chris, either. Standish felt a bit guilty about that, but he had no idea what to say to the gunman who had put his own life on the line for him. The thought of five or six days alone with Larabee had the conman's nerves rattled, and he was one who prided himself on being able to take any situation in stride.
"Yes, we could, but they most likely won't put any store into what it says. Anyone could send a message sayin' we were runnin' late, but it could really be someone who'd busted the Corbys out. A message like that could be just a decoy to keep anyone from realizin' they were free, until they had a good head start." Buck slapped the gambler's shoulder amiably and leaned a little closer so his voice would not carry. "He isn't gonna eat you alive. Chris wouldn't have taken that bullet for ya, if he hadn't thought ya were worth it."
Ezra hung his head avoiding meeting Wilmington's gaze. "He could be dead because of me."
"He could be dead because of those idiots that ambushed us, not because of you." Buck got a firm grim on Ezra's shoulders so he could not turn away from him. "Look at me." Wilmington waited until the gambler finally looked up so he could see his eyes. "When are you gonna get it through that thick skull of yers that yer one of us now, and we protect each other? That goes for you, too. You've shown us all before that you would risk yerself for us and for the town. We know we can trust you. You just have t' learn that you can trust us, too."
"How can you say you trust me? I ran out on you all and nearly got you all killed because of it. How do you know that I won't do it again when I can't be sure of that, myself?" There, it was out in the open. They all knew of his past transgression, and Chris had made sure that he would never be able to forget it, but it was the first time he had admitted openly that he was afraid that he would let them all down again.
"Ezra, no man can be sure of how he's gonna react to somethin' that hasn't happened yet." The sincerity in Buck's dark blue eyes had the gambler's defenses down. "Just because your past instincts caused you to make the choice to run, don't mean it will happen again. Remember, you also chose to come back. If ya hadn't, all of the rest of us would be dead. Maybe some higher power made you run, so you'd be free to come back and save all the rest of us."
"Now you are beginning to sound like Josiah." Standish tried to take the focus off of himself.
"Reckon ya hang around someone long enough they start to rub off on ya." Wilmington finally eased his grip on the smaller man. "Now, ya gonna help us get ready to go, or are ya gonna stand around arguing about it all day?"
"Lead on, Mr. Wilmington. What disgusting, vile, and reprehensible chore do you need me to perform?"
"Well, since ya put it that way, we could use someone t' clean out the privy pot. I'd really hate to have t' ride downwind of that wagon after that's been setting there gettin' ripe for the last couple of days." Buck grinned at the look on the conman's face, and ducked back inside to pack up some more of their supplies.
"I had to ask." Ezra berated himself for leaving an opening that got him that nauseating assignment. He stalled for a minute, but he could not come up with a plausible excuse why he could not do the assigned task, and finally resigned himself to his fate and opened the door to the wagon.
The smell hit him as soon as he opened the door, and he fully expected to see the contents of the pot all over the back of the wagon after the shaking up things had taken on the last leg of the journey here. Fortunately, that fear was not realized. The built in wooden box that housed the large porcelain vessel was made so that it would not allow the pot to tip over unless the whole wagon turned over. The lid of the box doubled as a seat. Ezra steeled himself and opened the box to discover that the lid used to cover the oversized porcelain vessel when not in use had slipped partway off, which explained the especially pungent smell. He quickly slid the lid back in place and carried the offensive object at arm's length toward the outhouse in back of the jail.
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Ezra watched the wagon pull away with Buck at the reins and Vin riding alongside. Buck's horse trudged along behind, not at all enthusiastic about having to plod along at the wagon's slow pace. The gambler watched until they were out of sight before turning back to the jail.
The door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open, setting his teeth on edge with the offensive sound. A quick glance toward the pallet on the floor told him that Chris had already drifted back to sleep after saying his own goodbyes to the other men. Now that they had no prisoners to guard, Ezra decided it was time to see about securing better sleeping quarters.
Sheriff McCann sat behind the desk. He sighed and leaned the chair back on two legs as he propped his feet on the desk. Already a bored expression had pasted itself on his face, and he glanced up hopefully at the gambler when he came in. "Mighty quiet in here already."
"Indeed it is," Standish agreed. "It will undoubtedly get even quieter very soon. Could you watch over Mr. Larabee while I see about procuring a couple of rooms?"
"Yer leaving here?" Jake looked as disappointed as he sounded.
"Yes. Now that the prisoners are gone, we really need to get Chris somewhere more comfortable so he can rest better. This is nice and warm but it isn't very comfortable sleeping on the floor." The dejected look in the sheriff's eyes had Ezra feeling sorry for him. The past few days had given the man a taste of more excitement than he usually saw in several months and suddenly all of it was being taken from him at one time. "After I see to our rooms, I'll be sure to spend some time with you. Maybe I can impart some of my own experience to you."
McCann scratched his head and his brow wrinkled in concentration as he tried to figure out just what the younger man meant. Finally, he just gave up and looked up at Ezra, hoping that he would explain himself.
"Maybe you would like to hear some more stories of our exploits as lawmen," he suggested.
"Ya got that right. I sure would like to get a chance to learn some more from ya while yer here. Don't know if anything's ever gonna happen around here that I might need the learnin' but ya just never know." Jake grinned at the realization that he was not just going to be forgotten now that his usefulness was over. If yer lookin' fer rooms the most likely place is over at Miss Bonnie's. We only got one boarding house and it only has four rooms to rent out. They're usually full."
"I was under the impression that this town saw little traffic." The gambler's interest was suddenly piqued.
"It don't get much, but since that little boardin' house is the only respectable place to stay, it don't stay empty much. Most end up stayin' over at Miss Bonnie's. She's got 'bout ten rooms upstairs at the saloon." Jake's face lit up slightly each time he mentioned Bonnie's name.
"I trust that the rooms are quite agreeable at the saloon, and admittedly that is my usual choice for a place to stay when I am in need of lodging, but I need to do what is best for Chris. Do you know if this boarding house has any rooms open at all right now?" Ezra weighed the benefits of sleeping in a bed in a noisy, drafty saloon against sleeping in a quiet, warm boardinghouse and there was no denying the outcome.
"Not rightfully sure, but Mrs. Dunlap is the one to see."
"And where might I find Mrs. Dunlap and this boardinghouse?" The gambler pulled his coat closed again and buttoned it firmly against the wind.
"Just past the general store. Ya can't miss it. She's even got a sign out front." McCann grinned at that tidbit of information, like he was remembering some inside joke that Standish was not privy to.
"If you can stay with Chris for a few minutes, I'll be back momentarily." Ezra hurried out the door and tugged the door closed behind him to keep the cold draft off of Chris.
He had no trouble locating the boardinghouse. Mrs. Dunlap opened the door almost before the sound of the knock dissipated. "Mrs. Dunlap? Sheriff McCann said there might be a possibility of finding rooms in your establishment."
"How many rooms you need?" she asked, as she studied the dapper man at her door.
"Two if you have them, but we can manage with one."
"I got one right now, but might have another open in a few days. It's a dollar a night, and another dollar a day each if ya want yer meals here too." Often the price was too much for people who passed through this town. It was not a fancy hotel by any stretch of the imagination, but she prided herself in keeping it clean and serving good, plentiful food.
"My associate and I would welcome the opportunity to occupy the vacancy you have, and we would appreciate the meals as well." Ezra paused, not wanting to offend the woman, but he still needed to ask. "Is the room kept warm? Under usual circumstances it would not matter so much, but my associate has been badly wounded and should not catch a chill."
"Oh, yer that law fella Jake's been fussin' about." Mrs. Dunlap smiled tight-lipped and suddenly sounded almost flustered. "You ain't gonna be bringin' no trouble here to my house are ya?"
"I assure you, dear lady, it is not our intention to do so. Would you mind if I see the room, please?" Standish turned on his southern charm and could see that it had the desired effect on the older woman.
"Sure, come on in." Once the door was closed securely behind him she turned to introduce herself. "I'm Edith Dunlap."
"Ezra Standish, ma'am." He followed the woman up the steps to the first room at the head of the stairs. It faced the main street, which made Ezra feel a bit more comfortable. That way he could keep an eye out for trouble, and watch for Buck and Vin to return. The room was anything but warm when they stepped inside. He looked at the woman and raised one brow in question.
"Room's been empty a couple of days. I don't keep the stove goin' when it ain't bein' used. If ya say ya want the room, I'll get the stove lit to start warmin' it up." She stepped aside and let him look around the room. "I can get ya some extra blankets too."
"We'll take it," Standish announced after a quick check of the room. There was a small room-sized potbellied stove and a basket of wood for fuel, a double sized bed, and a chest to keep their clothes in. "I'll throw in an extra two bits a day if you can see to it that there is plenty of wood so that we can keep the room sufficiently warm for my associate."
"I can see to that. I'll get it goin' now, and when ya bring yer friend over, I'll bring in my bedwarmer to warm the bed some fer him before he gets in t' bed." She set about adding some kindling to the stove and striking a match to it from the tin on the chest nearby. Once it caught fire, she started to gradually add larger bits of wood until she could add a few larger pieces. When she closed the grated door on the front of the stove Ezra could already feel the heat starting to spread through the room.
"It might be awhile before we get back. I'll need to get Dr. Carmichael to assist me in moving Mr. Larabee."
"I'll make sure the fire stays lit until ya get back." Edith followed Ezra out into the small hallway. "I'll take in some extra blankets and some water fer the pitcher. How long you two likely to be stayin?"
"At least five nights, maybe more depending on how long it takes Mr. Larabee to recover enough to travel. "Of course, we'll pay up front for those five nights and meals for five days. If my calculations are correct that would be fifteen dollars plus the extra I offered for the extra wood. Seventeen-fifty?"
"I ain't real good with figures unless I can write 'em down. But that sounds 'bout right."
"I'll write it all down for you if you would like," Ezra offered.
"That'd be right nice of ya." Mrs. Dunlap handed him a slip of paper that she used to figure the bills for her lodgers and watched as he detailed each expense, including the extra fuel for the stove. When he finished she held out her hand for the money and wrote next to the total figure paid. Any additional expenses would be added on below the first bill.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make arrangements to move Mr. Larabee." He bowed his head slightly in farewell as he donned his hat and gloves before stepping back out into the cold.
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"We absolutely are not moving him unless you get someone to help with a wagon. I don't care if it is only a few buildings away. He just isn't strong enough to walk that far even with help." Dr. Carmichael crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Ezra. "I don't intend to see him having any setbacks just to get him to a real bed."
"Nor do I wish to cause him any harm, but you surely must agree that he will rest better in a proper bed, where he can be comfortable." The gambler dug in his heels and refused to be swayed from his plan to relocate the wounded gunman.
"I am not disputing that; I'm telling you he can't walk that far yet." The doctor blocked Ezra from getting to Chris and refused to budge, even though the gambler made no attempt to push past him.
"Doctor, you know that we do not possess a wagon at the moment. I know Mr. Larabee, and I am sure he can manage that short walk if we both assist him." The gambler was getting very agitated at the unyielding physician.
"I ain't got a wagon of my own, but I could probly could get one from the blacksmith long enough to haul him down to old Miss Dunlap's," Jake offered. He's got a little flat wagon that he hires out once in a while."
"That would be fine," Carmichael answered before Ezra could even get his mouth open. He watched McCann hurry out the door before turning back to Standish. "That room going to be plenty warm? That is one thing that was good about him being here; he isn't likely to get a chill."
"The room has its own heating stove, and I have already paid for extra wood so I can keep it comfortably warm at all times." Ezra was annoyed at having his judgment questioned, but he knew the doctor had only Chris’ best interest at heart, just like Nathan did when he tried to keep the rest of them safe and whole.
"All right. Once we get him moved I'll stay around until after lunch and if he hasn't developed any complications from the move, I'll head on home. I'd like to make it before dark, but I won't go if there is a sign of any problems." The doctor busied himself gathering his supplies from where he had just finished changing Chris’ bandages.
About half an hour later Jake McCann walked back into the jail to find Ezra and the Doctor playing blackjack at the desk. "Who's winnin'?"
Carmichael rolled his eyes and sighed. "Who do you think?"
"Must not be you, or you'd just say ya are." Jake grinned at the older man and then drew his attention back to the gambler. "How much did ya take 'im for?"
"Now, Sheriff, one rule of gambling is you never gloat about your winnings at the gaming table. It is considered to be 'bad form'." Standish dealt another card to the Doctor when he rapped the table signaling he wanted another card. He considered his own hand and decided to stay with what he had.
"Another card, Doctor?"
"I'll stay."
"Very well. I have..." Ezra paused as he flipped the cards over for all to see. "...twenty; a king and a ten."
"You must be the luckiest man this side of the Mississippi." The doctor grumbled and tossed in his hand. "You got back just in the nick of time." He glanced up at McCann with a wry smile. "Much longer and I would have even lost my shirt."
"I don't consider it luck, but I agree about the timing." He grinned at Jake flashing a glint of gold from his gold tooth. "I would have hated to take the good Doctor's last dollar, before he had to ride home, especially since he has taken such good care of Chris."
Ezra pocketed the deck of cards and joined the Doctor on his way out the door to check out the wagon Jake had borrowed. He turned up his nose at the decrepit, dirty condition of the cart. "Let us hope that it remains in one piece. One bump and it's liable to disintegrate."
Carmichael shook the wobbly frame and cringed when he noticed the wheels were a bit rickety too. "It just needs to make it about half the length of this street. We'll need to take it really slow, for the cart and the patient's sakes." He spread out a blanket in the bed of the small wagon to keep some of the dirt at bay.
The sound of the door had roused Chris from a fitful sleep, and Ezra could feel the green eyes fixed on him as soon as they stepped back in the door. He did not pause, but walked straight to the gunman's side.
"Where’ve you been?" Larabee's voice was still soft, which said as much about his condition as the doctor's observations. He was weaker than he would ever admit, and taking a deep breath to speak louder was bound to be painful enough that the experience was not one he wanted to endure unnecessarily.
"We have procured a cart of sorts so we can move you to the boarding house now that the prisoners have been removed. Are you ready to try moving?" The gambler squatted down beside the pallet to talk to Chris.
"Yeah. You suppose we could make a stop at an outhouse on the way? It's hard pissing in a bucket when you're flat on your back." Larabee shoved the covers off and started to sit up on his own only to find a hand on his chest holding him down.
"I can appreciate your desire to hurry, but you need your boots on and it'll be easier getting them on you before you get up." He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when he caught sight of the doctor lifting one of Chris’ feet to slide the boot in place. It took only a couple minutes to get him ready.
"If you'll take hold from the other side," Carmichael instructed as they both got hold of the wounded man and helped him sit up. Both scrambled to keep him from toppling over backward again from the sudden wave of dizziness that hit him when he found himself completely upright for the first time in two days "Easy, you need to do this a little at a time and allow yourself time to adjust to not being flat out."
After a minute the world stopped spinning out of control and Larabee nodded that he was ready to try again. The doctor leaned down to slip one arm under Chris’ and wrapped it around his back and waited for Ezra to do the same. "Be ready, he's going to be pretty unsteady when we first get him to his feet." The two men lifted together and managed to stand the gunman on his feet between them, allowing him a chance to get his balance.
"Let's go," Chris urged. He hated feeling so weak and dependent on others. After all his injuries and gunshots one would think that he would be used to dealing with the aftermath, but it never stopped making him feel like he was not a whole man. He knew he would continue to feel like that until he could manage to handle at least his basic needs on his own.
"All right, first stop one of the town's finest outhouses, and then on to a feather bed and rest." Standish tried to hold up as much of Chris’ body weight as he could so the gunman would not have to overexert himself.
"Don't care if it's the finest in town, just as long as it’s got a door to close and a hole to piss in." Larabee grumbled under his breath between small gasps when his side pulled sending streaks of pain racing through his torso.
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The move had really taken a toll on Chris, and he sank into a straight-backed chair long enough for Ezra to pull his boots off. Mrs. Dunlap was busy running the bedwarmer over the mattress between the sheets. The long-handled, closed pan held hot coals from the fire, and she had to be careful not to let it rest too long in one place or she could scorch the sheets.
"Now that we have you in a proper room, do you think you could rest better if we get you out of your outside clothes?" The gambler set the boots aside and then helped Larabee with his coat.
"Yeah, I would." He started to unbutton his shirt but found his hands so shaky that he did not protest when Ezra brushed his hands out of the way and finished the job for him.
Once the shirt was off the doctor took his place on the opposite side and together they half carried Chris to the bed. They paused just long enough for the gambler to loosen Larabee's jeans and push them down far enough for Chris to sit on the bed. Carmichael let Standish steady their patient, while he tugged the jeans the rest of the way off, then he picked up Chris’ feet and helped turn him around so he could lie down.
Mrs. Dunlap picked up the discarded clothes and folded them before laying them on top of the chest in the room. "I'll go see to some hot broth for ya." She looked at Chris, her eyes full of sadness at seeing his weakness and discomfort. "It's gonna be a couple hours 'til lunch, but if any of ya want some, I got some left over biscuits an' some homemade blackberry jam."
"My dear lady, you truly are an angel of mercy." Ezra smiled, oozing charm from every pore. "Mr. Larabee ate very little this morning, and I would be most grateful for something more to break the night's fast. My own breakfast was a bit meager, as well."
"I'll fetch up enough for all of ya then." She brushed past the gambler and softly closed the door behind her on her way out.
"While she's out of the room, I'd like to check your bandages and make sure you didn't pull anything open during the move." Doctor Carmichael retrieved his bag and opened the front of Chris’ long-johns to get to the bandages. "Did you happen to bring a fresh pair of these?" He lifted the edge of the garment to indicate what he referred to.
"Yeah, in my saddle bags." Chris looked around to see if his bags were in the room. He frowned when he did not see them.
"I put them in the closet." Ezra pulled out the bags and dug through them looking for the fresh undergarment. Once he found them he laid them on the foot of the bed.
"Help me get him changed before Mrs. Dunlap comes back." The doctor indicated that he needed Standish to help Chris sit up while he worked the bloody, bullet-damaged long-johns off the gunman's shoulders. It took them a few minutes to get Larabee into the fresh garment and settled back into the bed.
"You'll need to take care of his wound after I leave," the doctor pointed out. "I'll leave you some supplies. Let me show you what you need to do for him while I check the bandages."
By the time Edith Dunlap had returned with a tray full of coffee, biscuits and jam, and Chris’ broth, they had fresh bandages in place, and the patient was decently covered and resting against a pile of pillows while he waited for a small dose of laudanum to take effect. He would not take enough of it to put him to sleep. Old habits died hard and he just could not stand the thought of being incapacitated by a drug. He chuckled softly to himself at that thought. Getting knocked out by a drug was bad but yet he didn't worry about being off kilter by getting drunk. Even to himself it did not make good sense.
Ezra sat on the edge of the bed and handed the cup of broth to Chris. "Can you handle this on your own?"
"Yeah, thanks." Larabee held the cup with shaky hands, but he was determined to drink its contents without help.
Doctor Carmichael busied himself putting butter and jam on some biscuits. He handed a small plate to Ezra and set one on Chris’ lap, before gathering his own and taking a seat in the one chair in the room. "Try to eat that. You'll not get your strength back if you don't start eating more."
"I know." The gunman heaved a heavy sigh and then winced as the pain it caused shot through his injured side. "Damn! I've been shot before, but it's never put me down like this." He gasped for breath as another searing pain pierced through him.
"From the location of the other scars, I'd say that this one hit in a more vital place. You're lucky that it didn't hit anything vital, but it ripped through you deep enough that it's going to take you quite awhile to heal." The doctor polished off the biscuit he'd been eating and rose to get another one. "One thing’s for sure, Mrs. Dunlap's a pretty good cook. Anyone that can make good biscuits can usually cook most anything. You start eating better and stay put in that bed for a few more days and you'll start regaining your strength."
"How long do you propose we wait until he can travel?" The gambler accepted the half-empty cup that Chris held out to him and placed it on a bedside table, before holding the plate up indicating that Larabee had to take the biscuit.
"That wound is deep. You don't want it tearing loose inside after it starts healing." The physician thought about it for several moments before attempting an answer. "If you've got a sturdy wagon that he can lay down in, you can probably start back in a week. But, if he's intending to ride back, I don't want him even considering it for at least two weeks, and that's only if you stop frequently to rest and stop early for the nights."
"Doc, you aren't serious?" Chris looked at him in dismay.
"I'm very serious, and I think I am being very liberal with my estimates. Most people I would tell they couldn't even be moved by wagon for at least ten days and three weeks on horseback." The older man looked Larabee straight in the eyes. "I figure you for the kind of man who wouldn't wait that long, so why waste my breath on it."
"Ah...this is very true; however, you approached it wrong." Ezra turned far enough so Chris could not see and winked at the doctor. "Mr. Larabee is the kind of man that you have to double your estimated time of incapacitation in order to keep him abed for the required amount of time."
"And you don't give Nathan just as much trouble about staying in bed?" Chris glared at the gambler causing the younger man to grin back at him. "What?"
"You can glare, so now I feel more assured of your full recovery." Standish chuckled at the frown on the gunman's face. "Now, sir. Are you going to eat that biscuit, or will it be necessary for me to feed it to you?"
"Ezra, eat shit!"
"Why would I want to do that, when there is still half a plate of Mrs. Dunlap's superb biscuits?"
Chris just shook his head and took a small bite out of the biscuit, finding it light, soft and delicious. He had not realized just how hungry he was until that first bite. The food they had offered him before was all right, but it did nothing to stimulate the appetite. Once the first half was gone, he wasted no time in snatching up the second piece.
"Would you like another?" the doctor asked from his seat.
"Yeah, but not right now." Chris struggled to keep his eyes open. He suddenly felt like his arms were made of stone, and he found himself very tired.
"Get some rest. There will be more when you wake up." He smiled when he saw that his words had fallen on deaf ears. His patient had already slipped off to sleep, his morning's exertions having finally caught up with him. He motioned for Ezra to step out of the room with him.
"So far everything looks good. But, I think I'll wait until morning before I leave, just to be sure that he doesn't develop any fever."
"Thank you. I appreciate everything you've done." Ezra held out his hand to the doctor. "And I want to assure you, that he won't travel before he's supposed to, even if I have to tie him down to keep him here."
"You know, I think you'd do it, too." Carmichael laughed and clapped the gambler on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me. Jake said I could come back there and use one of the cots in the cell to grab a little sleep. I'm afraid I didn't sleep much last night. My old bones aren't used to sleeping on hard floors anymore. I'll be back later tonight to check on him, but you know where I'll be if you need me."
"I apologize for your discomfort last night. If you had said something, we could have put one of the prisoners on the floor and appropriated the cot for you." Ezra felt terrible that he had not considered that option the previous night. At the time though, all he was concerned with was that Chris was going to be all right. His sense of guilt over the gunman's condition had begun to consume him and clouded his thinking.
"Don't fret over it. I'm just getting soft is all; been leading too comfortable a life lately." With those words he slipped into his coat and headed down the stairs.
When the doctor was gone, Ezra slipped quietly back into the room and helped himself to another biscuit. He caught himself yawning a short time later as he sat keeping watch over his friend, and once jerked awake when he felt like he was toppling off of the chair.
"This is crazy," he muttered under his breath as he shook his head to try to wake up. A quick glance at Chris told him the gunman was deeply asleep, so he grabbed one of the extra blankets Edith had left and rolled up in it on the floor. He had barely laid his head down when he fell asleep.
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Edith Dunlap knocked softly on the door to the room Chris and Ezra shared and waited for someone to answer the door. When she heard no sound coming from inside she grew concerned and knocked again slightly harder. She was still greeted with silence, so she tried the door, easing it open just enough to call out softly to the gambler.
"Mr. Standish?" She frowned when he did not answer. He had not seemed like the type to leave his injured friend alone, at least not for very long. She was fairly sure that she had not heard him come down the stairs after the doctor had left.
The door creaked slightly when she opened it a little farther and stuck her head inside. Chris Larabee lay right where he had when she saw him last, a couple of hours ago. Edith was glad that he looked more comfortable and appeared to be resting better there. At first glance she missed seeing Ezra in the room and thought that maybe he had stepped out for a few minutes, but just as she started to back out of the room she saw the corner of a blanket on the floor on the far side of the bed.
Mrs. Dunlap smiled to herself when she stepped around the foot of the bed to see Ezra, deeply asleep, on the floor. Lunch could wait a while for those two. They were both so exhausted that she knew the sleep would do them both more good than being awakened to eat.
She eased back out of the room and returned with another blanket. Even though the room was being kept warm, the floors could still get a little chilly. With practiced ease she flipped the blanket open and let it settle over the young man on the floor and then paused to add another log to the fire before going back downstairs to serve her other guests.
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Ezra enjoyed a leisurely stretch before he suddenly remembered that he had a patient to tend to. As the last of the fog leftover from his nap lifted, he sat up to check on Chris. The gunman still slept deeply, but even from his vantage point, the gambler could tell that Larabee was breathing easier than he had been before. He almost wished there was someone he could gloat to that he had been right to insist on moving Chris to a proper bed, where he would not have his sleep disturbed by other external discomforts. The pain he endured from the gunshot wound was enough to keep even the hardest man from sleeping well.
Standish rose from the floor and immediately started to fold the blanket he had wrapped himself in. At first he was startled to find a second blanket, but then he realized that Mrs. Dunlap must have come to check on them. He would have to remember to do something special for her before they left town. The room was still reasonably warm, so he thought no more than a couple of hours could have passed, but when his stomach growled in protest of its empty state, he tugged his watch out of his pocket. It was after five o'clock. They had been sleeping for almost seven hours.
Despite the long nap, Ezra still felt worn out. He had not realized just how stressed he had been while guarding the prisoners and tending to Chris at the jail. Now, here in this room, he could let his guard down and relax. It was somewhat unnerving to think that Mrs. Dunlap could come into the room, cover him with an extra blanket and add fuel to the stove without waking him up. Usually he was a very light sleeper. He certainly hoped that Chris had not woken up needing him and that he had slept through that also.
Chris was still oblivious to anything around him, so Ezra slipped out of the room and walked quickly downstairs. It took only a few moments to locate Edith in the kitchen where she was working on the evening meal.
"Well, look who's decided t' wake up." Mrs. Dunlap paused in stirring the stew in the pot and grinned at the gambler. "I checked on ya to see about bringin' ya some lunch, but ya both were sleepin' so good, I thought it best t' just let ya rest."
"I am much obliged for your thoughtfulness; however, I do apologize for adding any extra burden on you." Ezra smiled at her, flashing his gold tooth, and displaying his dimples. He was pleased to see that the smile still had its usual effect as Mrs. Dunlap blushed like a schoolgirl.
"It wasn't any trouble." She motioned toward a chair. "You like to sit an' have some coffee while I finish up cookin'?"
"I would be most grateful, thank you." He seated himself and accepted the cup she brought to him. He almost moaned in pleasure when the energizing brew slipped down his throat, and he quickly followed up with another swallow. "I can't stay away long. Mr. Larabee was still sleeping, but I don't know for how much longer."
"Well, just finish yer cup an' when supper's ready I'll bring it up to ya. I saved some chicken an' dumplin's from lunch an' I've got stew cooking fer supper. Which would ya like?" Edith moved to the oven to check on the loaves of fresh bread she had baking.
"The chicken and dumplings sound especially nice. I know Mr. Larabee is partial to them also, that is if there is enough for both of us. If not, I enjoy a good stew just as well." Ezra really hoped she had enough of the dumplings. He had not had those for a very long time, but he would forgo them for Chris. He was sure the lighter chicken would set better on the wounded man's stomach that the richer stew.
"I've got plenty fer two." Edith had decided that the bread needed just a little longer to bake and the stew was doing fine just simmering on its own for a bit. She poured herself half a cup of coffee and joined Ezra at the small table she used to prepare the meals. "I figured you two could wake up at anytime, starving half t' death, an' as impatient as a pair of winter woke grizzlies."
"My dear lady, I find it difficult to imagine that I could ever be impatient with you." The gambler's stomach rumbled causing him to duck his head in embarrassment. "However, I can't say that my stomach is as disciplined."
"Poor boy," Edith teased. "I could find ya a bite to tide ya over."
"That won't be necessary. I am quite sure I can survive until mealtime, and it will serve my rude stomach right to have to wait a little longer." He winked conspiratorially at the older woman, causing her to giggle. "I loathe to rush away again, but I really should go check on Mr. Larabee."
"Ya go right ahead." Mrs. Dunlap patted the back of his hand where it rested on the table between them. "I'll bring yer supper up just as soon as the bread's outta the oven. Ain't nothin' better than fresh, hot bread. Now ya scoot on outta here."
Standish stood, smiling warmly, and gave her a slight bow before turning to leave the kitchen. "I will be waiting with considerable anticipation. If your bread is as good as your biscuits, then I will feel certain that I have died and gone to heaven, where I get to indulge in the food of the angels."
Before she could say anything to contradict his assessment, Ezra went through the door and disappeared down the hall. He was beginning to understand Buck just a little better, in his insistence on flirting with any woman he met. Edith Dunlap looked to be past forty years old; she was already a widow; and she found she had to find a way to support herself. It did not leave her much time to be noticed by anyone else. A little harmless flirting had seemed to brighten her day, and he was glad he could provide her with a few little memories to make her feel as special as she clearly was.
+ + + + + + +
Ezra froze for an instant when he opened the door to the bedroom, but quickly recovered and rushed inside. "Mr. Larabee, what do you think you're doing?" The gambler reached Chris and placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up. "You are not supposed to try to get up on your own yet."
The gunman glared at Ezra and was pleased to see the smaller man flinch slightly. At least he had not totally lost his touch; he could still set a man back on his heels with a look. "Where the hell were you? I laid here for as long as I could, but I have to piss."
His green eyes reflected the guilt he felt at the realization that his friend had needed his help, and he had not been there to give it. "My apologies. You were still sleeping and I merely went to inform Mrs. Dunlap that we would be in need of sustenance soon, since I discovered that we both slept through the midday meal." Ezra explained his absence as he retrieved the chamber pot from under the bed and handed it to Chris.
Larabee wasted no time with talk as he quickly made use of the porcelain vessel, which was anything but easy to do lying down, and handed it back to Ezra to cover and put back under the edge of the bed until it could be emptied. He ran his fingers through his hair with shaky fingers and took a deep breath before trying to speak again. "Sorry. I should have known you wouldn't have gone too far."
"You had no way of knowing just how long I intended to be gone. You have no need to apologize to me. On the contrary, I should be making amends to you." Standish straightened the covers and then laid a hand on Chris’ forehead to see if he felt feverish. He was pleased to find that the older man's skin was warm to the touch, but not hot.
"How long was I asleep?" Larabee tried to crane his neck around to see out the window, but he could not quite twist far enough.
"It is still light out, but not by much. I fear that after you dropped off, I did too. You slept a little over seven hours. I woke up not quite half an hour before you did." He fussed a little more with the covers and then retrieved the chair so he could sit by the bed.
"Reckon we were both pretty wrung out." Chris winced slightly at a twinge of pain. It hurt but it was not as bad as it had been any other time that he had moved around too much.
"I hope you don't mind, but I took it upon myself to choose your evening meal. Mrs. Dunlap was making stew for supper, but she had saved us some chicken and dumplings from lunch. "I told her how much you love a good plate of stew."
"Stew! You told her I'd rather have stew than dumplings?" Chris was stunned. "When have you ever known me to turn down chicken and..." The gunman saw the sparkle in the gambler's eyes and the hint of a smile that he could not quite contain and knew he had been duped. "Ezra, you are a sack of horse shit."
Standish burst out laughing at the look on his friend's face, despite the disparaging remarks aimed at his person. "Mr. Larabee, you are just so utterly predictable."
They were spared any further sparring by the sound of a knock on the door. Ezra frowned at the sound and wondered why it sounded so odd. A few strides got him to the door, and he opened it several inches just as Edith Dunlap pulled her foot back to rap her toe against the door again. He yanked the door open and reached out to grab the near side of the large tray to help the older woman steady it. She had wobbled off balance after being startled by his sudden appearance, combined with the equally sudden disappearance of the solid wooden door her toe was aimed at.
"Oh, my goodness! I thought fer sure that tray was a goner." She allowed Standish to take the heavy tray from her hands and then followed him into the room. "I see our patient finally got his eyes pried open." Before Chris could come up with a retort, she smiled at him and felt his forehead and neck. "Ya look liked ya feel a bit better than ya did when ya got here."
"And he is bound to feel even better after a good meal." Ezra brought a shallow bowl to him that was full of bits of chicken and large drop dumplings. He sat the plate on the gunman's lap before spreading one of the cloth napkins over Larabee's chest and handing him a fork. "Would you like some assistance?"
"I'm shot, Ezra; I'm not a baby," Chris grumbled.
"If you remember, I've been similarly incapacitated myself in the past, and I know that I felt as weak as a newborn for some time after the injury."
"Well, that was you, not me." Larabee worked at cutting a bite-sized piece off of one of the dumplings. When he finally succeeded and speared the clump of dough, he smiled and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Mrs. Dunlap, these are some of the best dumplin's I've ever had." The gunman barely swallowed before praising the cook.
"That's just yer hunger talkin', but I thank ya for the compliment." She edged closer to the bed and looked at him intently. "I know ya can do it yerself, but why don't ya let me cut those up for ya, then you can concentrate on eatin' 'em?"
Chris considered the difficulty he had in catching the rolling dumpling and holding it still enough to carve a piece out of it, and relented, with a nod of his head. He relinquished the fork and waited as she cut the dumplings into manageable sized pieces.
"There ya go. That should make it a bit easier fer ya. Ain't no sense in ya wasting what little energy ya have tryin' to catch the food, when ya really need t' be eatin' it." Edith Dunlap smiled, dimpling her slightly pudgy cheeks. She stayed right at the bedside while she made sure that Chris could manage feeding himself, and once satisfied that he could, she turned back to Ezra.
"You gentlemen need anything else?" She was happy to see the gambler making such quick work of his dinner, too. While she had been taking care of Larabee, Ezra had wolfed down almost half of his own meal. "From the looks of it, I think maybe I should bring up the rest of the dumplin's. I've still got a bit more stayin' warm on the stove."
Ezra started to speak to tell her that it wouldn't be necessary, but he had his mouth stuffed full of the delectable dough balls. Before he could swallow so he could say anything, Edith had already left the room. He had to admit that he had been hungry enough to chew shoe leather, and he would not refuse a second helping, since she had already gone to the trouble of going after more.
It seemed like she had barely left when she came back carrying a small cooking pot, being careful to keep a heavy towel between her hand and the hot handle. "Here ya go." Mrs. Dunlap spread out a cloth on the table and sat the pot on top of it. Her furniture was not fancy, but she took pride in keeping it as nice as possible. "I just brought all that was left, so you boys just finish 'em up. I'll come back fer the dishes later. Right now I need to go check the stew and get it on the table for the other folks."
"Thank you, ma'am." Ezra had swallowed quickly so he could speak before the woman could get out the door again. "You've been most gracious."
Edith smiled again as she opened the door, and then turned back for just a few moments. "Either of you two need me, I'll be downstairs." With that, she stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her.
"She is a fine woman." Chris stabbed a bit of chicken and ate it before continuing. "Seems like someone would have snatched her up by now."
"Maybe she likes her independence. She's made her own way since losing her husband. I would imagine it would be difficult giving up that freedom." The gambler grew serious as his mind wandered back to Mary. She had done the same thing since Steven died, and now she was prepared to give that up for him. It was a sobering thought, and he made a conscious decision to be certain that she knew that he did not intend to interfere in her business or expect her to give up all of the independence she had grown used to. They would both have concessions to make in their transition into married life, but neither of them should have to change completely for the other. Mary had made it clear that she would not ask Ezra to completely give up the lifestyle he had known for most of his life, even though she did not fully agree with his choice of gambling as a career. He just hoped that he had made it equally as clear that he did not expect her to give up anything about her life as a newspaper editor and reporter. She loved what she was doing, and she felt that she was providing a valuable service to the community, and she was.
"Thinking about Mary?"
Larabee had been watching him after he had fallen silent, and the question startled him. Ezra ducked his head, at being discovered, in an attempt to hide the slight blush and the impish smile that tugged at his mouth. "Have I grown that transparent?"
"Only to someone who's been married before." Chris almost chuckled at the look of relief on the gambler's face. "Don't worry, not everyone has figured out how to read you like a book."
"I should hope not. It would certainly curtail my prospects of providing for my family."
"You will do fine."
Ezra noticed that each time the gunman took a bite, the fork took longer to travel from his plate to his mouth. He had taken to lifting his head to try to meet the food partway there, rather than trying to lift his arm far enough to bring the food to him. That last bite seemed to have taken the remainder of his strength. Chris let his hand drop to his side as his head flopped back to the pillows piled behind him and his eyes drooped closed.
Setting his own plate aside, Ezra rose from the chair and went to sit on the edge of the bed. Larabee's eyes flew open when he felt the bed shift under the gambler's weight, and felt the man lean across him enough to retrieve the fork from his limp fingers. Without saying a word, Standish picked up the plate and speared a piece of a dumpling and held it out to Chris. He held it there for several seconds while the gunman made no move to take the offered food. "Are you going to eat this, or let your pride leave you hungry?"
Chris opened his mouth and let Ezra guide the fork to his lips. After chewing and swallowing he looked dejectedly at the gambler. Having to rely on someone else for help with even the most basic of needs did not sit well with him.
"Chris..." Ezra chose to use the man's given name to ensure that he had his full attention. "There are times in every man's life when he finds himself in need of some assistance. So, I empty a chamber pot for you, or I help you eat or change clothes. I seem to recall a time in the not-too-distant past where you did a lot more than that for me. You found me, near death, and in an awful mess out in those woods. You cleaned me up and got help for me. I would be dead now if you and Mary hadn't come looking for me. Do you think it was easy for me to have either of you forced to tend to me in that manner? It wasn't, I assure you. It was humiliating, but it was something I had to allow because I could not do it for myself. And now, here you are, in the position you are because you protected me. Let me help you, and know that I am more than glad to do it." Ezra was used to speechmaking; he did it quite often. But he was not used to pouring out his feelings and admitting his own weaknesses to someone else. The significance of that was not lost on the gunman.
"This isn't your fault. I know you think it is, but it isn't." Chris knew that no matter how much he tried to convince the conman of that, he would never completely succeed.
"How do you figure that? The gun was aimed at me. It should have been me..."
"Ezra, I told you back in Tucson that you aren't alone anymore. I would have done the same for Vin, or Buck or any of the others. You're one of us, and you have people to watch your back for you now." He was fading out toward the last as his energy reserves hit bottom, but he had to make sure that the gambler understood. "You would have done the same for any of us. Don't even try to say you wouldn't, because I've seen you risk yourself for us and for others, too." He saw the younger man hang his head, embarrassed by the certainty in Larabee's voice. "Besides, Mary would have killed me if I'd let her become a widow again before she even got to have the wedding."
That last statement brought a smile to Ezra's face and lightened the seriousness of the conversation. "Ah, so now the truth comes out. It was an act of self-preservation."
"I'd rather take a bullet than what she'd have put me through."
Ezra laughed at the truthfulness in that statement, having been on the receiving end of Mary's ire in the past. "And as bad as that might have been, it is nothing compared to what you are going to get from me if you don't finish every bite of this."
Chris frowned at the fork that was once again hovering near his mouth, but opened it to accept the bite. But before the gambler could stuff in another dumpling, he grumbled, "You really can be a pain in the ass."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Larabee. I like you too. Now eat!"
The gunman sighed and opened his mouth.
+ + + + + + +
Ezra walked downstairs with the doctor when he stopped in to check on Chris later that evening. He wanted a chance to talk without the gunman overhearing. "How is he doing, really? It seems like it is taking him longer than usual to start getting his strength back."
"Mr. Standish, I'm not going to mince words with you." Dr. Carmichael shrugged into his coat as she spoke. "He's lucky to be alive. There are so many vital organs that the bullet could have hit, but somehow it missed them. He lost a lot of blood and it is going to take time for him to recover from that. One thing to be thankful for though is that losing that much blood might have been what has kept him from getting an infection. It has a way of flushing out the wound, and wounds that bleed heavily don't go septic as often, as long as they are kept clean."
"I appreciate all you've done for him, and thank you for staying on another day." Ezra held his hand out to the older man. "It is a relief for us both to know that we had you here to see him through the worst of it."
"I didn't do much really. You fellas had taken very good care of him before I got here. Someone's taught you a thing or two about taking care of wounds like this." The doctor returned the handshake, and with his free hand he gave the gambler a light pat on the shoulder. "He's lucky to have such good friends. I'll stop by in the morning before I leave town. As long as something doesn't go wrong tonight, and I don't expect it to, I can feel it is safe to leave him in your care."
"Thank you. I'd like to go ahead and settle accounts with you tonight. How much do we owe you for dropping everything to ride to our assistance?" Ezra dug into his pocket to get money to pay the good doctor for his time and supplies, and then watched from the door as Carmichael headed back toward the jail and some more sleep.
By the time he got back to the room, Larabee appeared to have already fallen asleep. Ezra was surprised that he was still tired, too, and had gotten out the blankets to make up his pallet on the floor when he got that prickling feeling that made him feel like he was being watched. He turned to see Chris staring at him. "Is there something that I can do for you before retiring for the night?"
"No. I was just trying to figure out what you're doing. Why are you sleeping on the floor?" He shifted in the bed to relieve the dull ache that was starting in his back from lying around so long.
"I did not wish to disturb your rest or risk bumping you and maybe causing you more pain." The gambler went back to work unfolding the first blanket.
"You're not going to hurt me. Hell, you don't hardly twitch a muscle during the night."
The gambler finished spreading the blankets and then went to add some more wood to the heating stove before taking off his jacket and unhooking his derringer rigging. When he turned back he locked eyes with Chris and saw the determined look in the older man's eyes. "I fear that is not always the case. I do occasionally have very restless nights."
"You're just making excuses."
Standish hesitated a few moments before he turned down the lamp and gave in. "Very well. Apparently you aren't going to accept that I would be fine on the floor."
"Ezra, just get your butt into bed."
He could not bring himself to continue to argue with an injured man, at least not over that situation. The conman toed off his boots and stripped off his trousers and shirt before climbing into bed. The feather mattress felt like a little bit of heaven after so many nights of sleeping on the floors of the various jails where they had stopped to house their prisoners for the night. He felt Larabee stop shifting around after looking for a position that caused as little pain as possible.
"Chris..."
"What?"
"Thank you."
"For what? Sharing the bed?" The gunman scowled in the near darkness.
"No. For saving my life...again." Ezra's voice was not much above a whisper, but in the silence, broken only by the sound of the fire crackling in the stove, it sounded too loud and too chagrined. "Mary would have been devastated."
"It wasn't just for Mary; it was for me, too." Larabee struggled to pull his thoughts together so he could try to make sense. "I didn't want to see Mary and Billy hurt if something happened to you, but I didn't want to lose a friend either."
"A friend?" The gambler could barely believe what he was hearing, and he turned over to face the other man. "I thought you only tolerated me, at best."
"I suppose I did at first. It's just so hard for me to trust people."
"And I lost your trust right from the start," Ezra finished for him.
"Yeah, but since then you've earned it back and then some." Larabee paused, suddenly embarrassed and wishing he had never started telling this, but he gathered his resolve and plunged on. "I should have let you know that before now, and I should never have reacted like I did when I first found out about you and Mary. I should have known you would never force yourself on a woman...I just thought...no, I didn't think. That was the problem."
"You had feelings for her."
"That doesn't excuse what I did." Guilt caused the words to catch in Larabee's throat, as he forced himself to say things that had been left unsaid for way too long. "You've been thinking that I don't trust you...but it's me who keeps wondering how you and Mary could ever trust me again."
"Do you still love her?" Ezra was almost afraid to hear the answer, but deep down he knew he had to know.
"No." Chris glanced over at the gambler. "I don't think I ever really loved her. I just thought I did when I realized that I couldn't ever have her. Then it took awhile for my pride to let me admit to myself that she was much better off with you than she ever would have been with me." He paused and sought out eye contact with the younger man in the dim light. "I do care a lot about her, but as a friend."
Ezra felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off him. He had overheard one conversation between Chris and Mary, when they both talked of being no more than friends, but the specter of Chris’ words that one day in the saloon when he had asked him, 'Did you love her?', still haunted him. The scene continued to replay in his mind, as he responded, 'I still do,' and he still saw the sadness in the gunman's eyes as he admitted to Ezra, 'That makes two of us.'
"Thank you, for telling me that. You have no idea how much that eases my mind." Since Larabee was doing some confessing, it only seemed right that he did too. "I hadn't been able to completely shake the feeling that I had somehow stolen her from you."
"No, you didn't. My pride thought you had for a while, but then my brain finally told my pride to butt out." Chris chuckled and then hissed when the quivering the laughter caused caused a pain to shoot through his side. "Damn!"
"Do you need some of your laudanum?"
"No. I don't like taking that stuff. Besides, I won't feel anything if I'm asleep." Larabee shifted a little more, and pulled one of the extra pillows from under his head so he could lie flatter. "So, we need to shut up and get to sleep."
"Of course, you're right. I've often wondered how it is that we don't seem to feel pain in our sleep, or at least not nearly as much. It seems like it would just keep..."
"Ezra!"
"Oh! Good night, Chris."