RATING - R. . . PG-17. . . FR-NC17. . . Oh, whatever they are calling it now. . .it's Very Adult
WARNING - Contains Suggestive and Sexually Explicit Material
PAIRING - Chris/OFC
UNIVERSE - Old West (The Original and Still the Best!)
SUMMARY - Several years have passed since the Seven first came to Four Corners. Some of them have grown and changed. Some however, still haven't seen the light...
DISCLAIMER - If only wishes did come true. . . Reality is harsh
John Watson and CBS own The Magnificent Seven and all of its characters.
I seek, nor shall receive, profit from this narrative.
I claim All Original Characters as my own.
Please do not use them without my express permission.
WRITER'S NOTES - Darkness doesn't always foster nightmares. . . Fantasy can become reality.
It was from those two thoughts that this story began because I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the two combined. I hope you enjoy the results.
I'd like to offer sincere thanks to my betas, Antoinette and Marnie. I truly do appreciate their hard work, wonderful comments, and thought-provoking ideas. Without their help, this story wouldn't be half what it is.
"Cookie!" Buck Wilmington yelled happily as the group rode back into their makeshift camp. "Damn, Darlin'. . . ain't you just the most welcomin' sight for these ol' blue eyes."Bent over the big cook-pot, Constance Dukart straightened slightly before setting her free hand on one hip. She looked suitably disgruntled at the tall cowboy. "Somehow I don't think your wife would appreciate you handing out greetings like that, Buck," she teased in reply. The look he gave her in response incited agreement and snickering from the others.
Watching them dismount in the temporary coral, Constance shook her head and returned to stirring her pot. Their antics left her happy, a smirk gracing her facade. . . a serene gratifying smile that would set the tone for the evening. Understanding the origins of her expression made her happier still, for in that very fact, Connie understood that the rogue's job was done for the day, and if that man didn't know his place in this camp then no one did.
As she stirred, Connie amused herself with that thought. Truth was, every man in this camp knew his place, more than any other group she catered to that's for sure. They weren't always out here in the wilds though and she missed it when they were bound to Four Corners. Strange thing for a woman of some forty plus years to think about, but she had her reasons...
"Smells mighty fine, Miss Dukart," the tall man interrupted her thoughts.
"Reckon them flames is too hot though, " his companion added with a knowing grin. "That, or she's been out in the sun too long."
Forearm swiping away the blush from her cheeks, Constance looked up into Nathan's elegant brown eyes. They were full of mischief this evening and she knew it. Of course, the big man who stood beside him probably knew it, too, but what went on in this camp was unspoken and if ever there was a fact, it was that. "Go on with you now," she ordered playfully. "And Josiah. . ."
When the silver head stopped its amused chuckle, she continued, "You know my given name, Josiah. Known it for too many years in fact. Best you be using it or I'll start treating you like JD."
"Ah, you ain't gonna start with that 'kid' thing again are you, Aunt Connie?"
Glances in Dunne's direction had most of the men snickering under their breaths.
Constance was glad for the distraction. "With two young'uns of your own, JD, I think you've proven yourself man enough."
"Oooh. . . Now I wouldn't touch that one with a ten-foot pole, kid," Wilmington advised from the makeshift corral. "You know what women are like. . . gossip about a man behind his back and all. Especially when they's family."
"Then again. . . one might consider us all family," Josiah added to the conversation as he settled on a nearby log.
That statement brought a brief silence and a whole lot of smiles. It was nothing if not true.
More years ago than any of them could count now, Seven disconnected men had found their way to an out-of-the-way little town and ended up making it their own, thereby solidifying a bond that was family. . . maybe not by blood, but by choice. That was the easy part of the story. It was one that had grown into legend in these parts, and most who knew of The Magnificent Seven knew why.
Years had passed since then. They were still defenders, but mostly, they were part of everyday life. They had grown and prospered in that little town. Maybe not in the monetary sense, but they were rich just the same. Ezra would object to that whole definition of course, but there was very little that could blast that stubborn southerner from his preferred ruse of comfort and convenience. Connie was constantly amused by the insults on drives when Standish wasn't in attendance, but all the name-calling in the world couldn't blast Ezra from his rightful place among these men though. That was another undeniable fact and only a fool would dispute it. . .
At her wagon, the woman sighed. 'Rightful place indeed' she mused. There were Seven in this camp and Ezra wasn't one of them this time. It was she who completed the famous number now. Invited along on most drives because she could keep hungry men fed and watered. 'Mothered' really, and although the term belied her age, it was another silent truth around here.
Mr. Larabee moved his horses back and forth several times during the year. The market for fine horseflesh was varied in New Mexico Territory but with statehood almost a certainty now, things had changed in their favor.
Knowing a good horse was something at least three of these men had in common when they started their business. Appreciating the finer points of breeding a pure line was something they'd all learned over time. Standish was the brain behind the commerce. Connie had only heard rumors. Fact was, each of the men told a different version of events that led Ezra and Chris to finally agree on terms. Stories about old debts and bad blood weren't necessarily hard to believe though. Even after all this time, the two men rarely saw eye to eye without a ruckus of sorts. Whatever the reason, the resulting partnership was undeniable. These two men had long ago recognized something in the other that they liked, appreciated even, and it had kept the two as solid friends despite occasional, differing appearance. To that end, they'd made a go of this business of theirs, and there was usually meager profit enough to keep the Seven, and their assorted, happy.
"Can I help ya, Miss Connie?"
Drawn from her thoughts again, the woman's smile was firmly in place before she gazed up into the sky blue eyes that matched her own. "Hungry, Vin?" she asked the obvious.
There it was. . . That shy grin that had her smiling before she'd had time to consider his presence.
Tanner's bashfulness was fleeting, hidden away behind the cock of his head in seconds, but Constance had been around these men long enough to learn their mannerisms. "If you can get the biscuits from your oven, it'll speed up the process," she added without allowing the man time to answer. It wasn't good to embarrass Vin Tanner, intentional or otherwise.
She often thought about the existence this man led. He was quiet. . . still reserved and somewhat uncomfortable with the life that had been chosen for him.
Watching as he bent down to the rock pile he'd assembled, Connie was struck by her choice of words. It wasn't that Vin didn't like being here. And six incredibly close companions was something most men would die for. Men to watch your back while you slept or stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the good fight most in the West saw at least once in their lifetime. Vin Tanner was one of those men, and he was a man who appreciated every moment of the friendships he'd formed over many, many years, but. . .
The hoots and hollers from the corral broke Connie's thoughts once more. She looked over to see JD and Buck assisting Vin with her biscuits and couldn't help the grin that graced her lips. 'Poor Vin. . .' The thought was as fleeting as his shy grin had been just moments before, but it was there just the same.
Snatching up a large wooden bowl, she held it out, doing her best to present displeased and not happily amused. "Put them in here. . . And no more," she slapped Buck's hand as he was about to stuff another biscuit in his mouth. "You have your share now and there will be none left to go with the stew."
"Yeah!" JD added with a scowl. "Leave some for us."
Placing his small bundle in the offered bowl, Vin smiled, tipping his hat ever so slightly. "Ma'am," he added for good measure, making Connie smile thoughtfully at his retreating form.
Glancing at the warm biscuits as she set the bowl down, she watched JD and Buck bound away before stealing one more peek at Vin. His initiatives in the wilds always amazed her. The first time he'd constructed his 'oven' she'd been suitably impressed. The Indian ways were something familiar to her now though. Time did that for routines, and she'd easily confessed her liking to the ones she developed with these men for company.
It was a strange life for sure...
Constance knew her husband would have turned over many times in his grave by now. Losing Paul was an awful shock but she had found a strange comfort in Four Corners. Her sister was here. Nettie was the oldest of her kin, Constance the youngest. The eight siblings in between were spread over many years and together; the ten of them had made a weird and wonderful family. Like any relatives though, they had their moments, especially with so many years between the first and last. Despite the years of constantly complaining though, it was the nurturing side of her big sister that Connie had missed.
Nettie had known of course, and although the objections had remained, she had continued to 'Mother' her baby sister until passing peacefully in her sleep just a few short months after Connie had arrived in town.
So long a point of contention, it was odd to think how that same trait was now so ingrained in Connie. She had naturally filled a void after Nettie was gone, taking over where she had left off and continuing to 'Mother' their niece over the years. . . through her wedding and two babies in fact.
Josiah explained it the way he reasoned most things, saying 'God always has a plan.' He was ghastly at repeating 'Nettie was bad. . . You, Constance, are far, far worse'. It annoyed her some but always made her smile, acknowledging in her own little way, the truth of it all. Paul and Nettie were long gone now, but Casey and JD had replaced a family she hadn't seen in years.
Handing Sanchez his plate of stew, Connie indicated the biscuits and cutlery with a smile. She and Josiah were good friends. They talked about a lot of things and he teased her about most everything except her food that is. Thanks to Josiah Sanchez, it was that very attribute that had ingratiated her with the company of the seven men on their drives. . .
'All cattle drives take along their own cook, Chris.''This ain't no cattle drive, Buck. We've got the finest horses this side of the Texas state line and I don't plan to be dragging them into the ground just so you can show them off.'
'Ezra set up this deal, Chris. All we have to do is move them north to Santa Fe. Just long enough to establish stud rights on a few of them 'well-ta-do' farms. We sow that seed right the first time and it'll pay off in years ta come.'
'Might save time in the future, Chris.'
'Stay out of this, Tanner.'
'You're as stubborn as they come, Larabee. Ain't somethin' a man says lightly about a friend, but I gotta side with Buck on this one... Another thing a man can't take lightly. . .'
'I think I should take offense to that, Vin.'
"I'm sidin' with ya, you mule. I swear you wouldn't know. . ..'
'Gentlemen!'
Connie had interrupted the three men before their discussion had gotten further off topic than it already was. She'd been invited to the jailhouse by Mr. Sanchez, who had promptly left to see to another matter, leaving her in the company of three men she knew, but was decidedly unfamiliar with at that point in time. Some things had changed.
Josiah was still the one to quietly get things started though. And he still liked to step back and watch how they evolved. He had the driest wit Connie had ever had the displeasure, and pleasure, to know. He was the instigator, the observer, and the level head when needed, which was a considerable amount of time sometimes.
Buck. . . Buck Wilmington was. . . well. . . Buck! Watching the man enjoy his helping of stew, Constance was struck by her lack of true description. She hadn't ever known a man like this before and dared to suggest that she ever would. That was a definite shame. Fun loving, boisterous, gregarious, loyal, tenacious... There were so many other words that came to mind when she really thought about it, and yet, there really wasn't another single one that said it all. Buck would just have to do.
Thinking on that long-ago conversation again sent Connie's eyes in search of Tanner. He was the one who had settled the discussion on taking their horses on a 'drive'. As a man with little business sense, Vin often settled for common sense, bringing his version of logic into the fray. Commerce wasn't something he was familiar with, but he knew that if you had something to barter, then you'd best show it off, that way the word got spread and then people came looking for you. The idea was simple and coming from Tanner, Larabee took to the suggestion a lot easier.
Finding Vin with his back against a tree, Constance couldn't stop the smile that graced her lips. He was taking great pleasure in his dinner. A heaping spoon lay in wait on his plate while a laid-back head bit into a warm biscuit. Closed eyes spoke volumes to his enjoyment of the meal and that made their cook giggle, remembering another persuasion he'd used on Larabee that day. 'Don't think none of ya wanna be eatin' ma roasted rattle snake all the way ta Santa Fe 'n back.'
Being Nettie's sister was a foot in the door. Starting another restaurant in town had gone a long way to earning the widow Dukart a reputation as a good cook. The constant patronage of a certain Mr. Sanchez hadn't hurt her standing with the local peacekeepers either. Of course, taking your cookery skills on the road wasn't something most restaurateurs considered, but being raised by pioneer parents had cultivated an adventurous spirit. Connie had missed traveling and hadn't really realized just how much until Josiah's suggestion had come up one day.
Helping her friends out had grown into a supplementary business venture of sorts. Constance catered to the occasional needs of other ranchers, but these quarterly drives with the boys were her favorites. Ezra came only once a year. The other six were usually unwavering in their aid and that suited everyone just fine. There were exceptions of course. Lilly Dunne had come into this world last fall, prompting the absence of both JD and Auntie Connie. Inez had dragged Buck back to Mexico after their wedding the previous spring and the impending delivery of their first child was expected to cause yet another absence the next time out. With their relationship being the longest, Rain was the most stable of the wives. Keeping three children in check kept her busy enough, yet not once had she asked Nathan to miss the opportunity to doctor his companions.
There were other ladies who had come and gone over the years. Mr. Sanchez kept company with several widows in town, all of whom prepared good food. Constance had never been one for gossip but the idea of Josiah entertaining a special friend wasn't hard to picture. After all, he was a very handsome man, and a great companion as well. If her own clandestine interests hadn't been elsewhere, Connie might have been able to see herself in that special friend role with the town's preacher.
Vin Tanner was still unattached. There was plenty of time for him to settle down but somehow, Connie couldn't quite picture him in the role.
It wasn't that he wasn't interested, or hadn't had the opportunity even. He certainly had a way with the 'nephews' JD and Nathan had gifted them all with. Abigale Jackson was Uncle Vin's undeclared favorite though and everyone expected that little Lilly would capture her own portion of the Texan's heart when she was old enough to interact.
Children of his own was something Constance could picture Tanner enjoying. The wife however was something entirely different. Not that there hadn't been women. Vin had been hurt a time or two. Giving his heart wasn't hard he found, but keeping women in their expected surroundings was.
A simple man has simple needs and doubling them for two wasn't the problem. The quandary usually surrounded his unusual accommodations, and the fact that he liked it that way. His habit of up and leaving without a word for days at a time had caused a fair share of conflict, too.
Being a rugged, independent, handsome, self-reliant, sometimes solitary person, who was honest, hardworking and generally agreeable were, as a rule, mostly good points, but finding a woman who could take the whole package, no questions asked, was a predicament Tanner had yet to solve. If she'd been a just few years younger, Connie might have considered the challenge. But while age wasn't so much a factor, there was that other matter of her interests being elsewhere. . .
"You gonna eat, Connie?"
Turning towards the voice, Constance found her eyes lowered. Larabee had that way about him with most and she was no exception. "I will," she answered without meeting the scowl she knew would greet her. "When you've all had your fill."
"You see to it."
The words were almost an order but she knew he didn't mean them to be. Finally lifting her chin to watch the black-clad figure wander back to the rock he'd found to perch on, Connie felt a shiver run down her spine. She shook it off as fast as it had come though, knowing the feeling had no place in the light of day.
Distracting herself with continued musings, Constance realized that there were two men unaccounted for in her tally of Seven. Both, she suspected, were confirmed bachelors. Ezra, by choice. . . at least until that right woman came along... Chris, by circumstance. . . and as much of a shame as that was, Connie really didn't see that changing any time soon.
Standish was definitely the easier of the two. Heaven help the lass who could tame him. The man had a considerable list of standards when it came to the mold his wife would need to fit. Some of the criteria weren't all that unreasonable, and if you took off the part pertaining to not being like 'Mother'. . . well, the decisive factors actually became tolerable. Of course, getting past Ezra's hard shell would be any potential bride's primary chore. Standish played his ruse to the fullest and those who knew him well enough to partake in the game, understood why. For Connie, he had been a learning process. He rarely called her anything but Mrs. Dukart and on the infrequent occasions when he succumbed to casual, Constance was as down to earth as he'd dare go.
A wife however, would need to take Ezra to task on each and every occasion, and yet, somehow maintain the public perceptions the man prided himself on...
"Tell me there's more of that deeelicious stew, darlin'." Swooping Connie up in one arm wasn't much of a task for Buck.
At half his weight, she was dwarfed by his six three frame and no match for his enthusiasm. Yet she did protest, swatting him squarely on the chest and scowling madly until he relented, setting her feet firmly on the ground. "You do that again, Buck, and I'm putting you on permanent rationing."
The rogue's pout was an honest one, drawing more than one chuckle from their amused audience. "Ah, have a heart, Cookie. Too long away from lovin' arms has a terrible effect on ol' Buck. I got 'a be me, ya know? And given the pickin's around here, you're the softest choice for a quick hug."
"I'm sure the lady would oblige if you just asked nicely, Buck."
The suggestion came from Josiah and was answered with another big pout from the rogue.
Shaking her head, Connie hiked the skirt that had come loose in her unexpected tussle. Securing the wavering garment back into her waist belt, she snatched Buck's plate and proceeded to lean over the cook pot and fill the man's order. "Food is always plentiful around here," she deadpanned as she handed back the plate. "Hugs are free to the right sort. . ."
A smug grin had begun to form on Wilmington's lips but didn't last long as Connie continued.
"Unanticipated hugs however, come with a price tag."
The expression Buck now wore had their audience snickering again.
"I'll be glad for the help at the river after supper. You be sure to bring the stone to scrub the pot good."
Ignoring the laughter, Connie took up a clean plate, filled it with a small helping and then picked up a biscuit before retiring to her wagon to eat.
~~~~~~~ 7 ~~~~~~~ 7 ~~~~~~~
It was sometime later when a shadow crossed the lady's sleepy vision. Realizing that she'd relaxed a little too much, Connie blinked herself back to full consciousness before glancing up into handsome blue eyes. "Josiah. . . Oh, my. . . Oh, it must be getting late." Gaining her feet, she felt somewhat embarrassed by having been caught snoozing. "Thank you for coming to check on me. I'm never this tardy. Good grief. . . that's all Buck needs is to think he got out of cleaning the dishes. Now. . . where. . .."
"You hold up there," Sanchez tagged her arm, thereby slowing the fluster of activity he saw coming. "Buck's already down at the stream. I just came to get your plate. Don't you worry none now. We've got everything under control."
"Oh, you shouldn't. . ." Constance began to protest but was immediately shushed into silence.
"Shouldn't my ass. . ." Josiah straightened somewhat, almost taken aback by his own words. "Excuse the language, dear lady," he began again, "but we both know you work just as hard all day long as we do. Feeding seven hearty appetites, three squares, plus, is no easy task, especially when you're not afforded a proper night's sleep."
Four eyes slowly widened at the declaration...
His, surprised that he'd actually let the words slip. . .
And hers, stunned that he'd actually let the words slip...
Chewing at his bottom lip, Josiah quickly cleared his throat, scooped up Connie's empty plate and then tipped his hat before departing hastily.
Completely overwhelmed by her embarrassment, Constance stood and stared at the empty space Josiah had occupied just moments before. When the realization finally came that he had left, she slumped back to her perch, quite unsure as to what she was expected to do now.
It wasn't as if she hadn't suspected that they knew. Seven men, that close, in one camp, for so many nights on the trail. . . They posted guards in the evenings for heaven's sake. There was no way things could happen without at least someone knowing. But it was that unspoken rule.
At least. . . it was supposed to be...
Lazily grabbing at the shawl that hung from her water barrel, Connie seemed perplexed by her daze. She'd been fooling herself into believing this deception for so long. Had she really began to believe it? And besides that, being afforded sleep wasn't the right word. She gladly traded her rest for his visits. It was for a few weeks; a few times a year. . . missing sleep was never an issue. The idiocy of the situation might be laughable if it was someone else but for some reason, she wasn't finding this funny. In fact, she suddenly found herself annoyed. Just exactly what was it that the others believed? Did they really think him capable of pulling the wool over her eyes? Did they honestly think she just let him visit, night after night, without consenting to the affair?
Thoughts of their illicit interludes sent a tiny shiver up her spine.
The latent memories were real. His touch was far more erotic. . .
Reflecting on their time together sent a tremble roving up to shoulders that were quickly covered with a waiting shawl. Connie's eyes closed involuntarily as images continued to flood her consciousness. There was nothing subservient or obedient about their midnight rendezvous. He had started it all, but she had given her consent willingly.
Connie didn't think on their arrangement much. Truthfully, there were things she might change. She'd admit to no one that she missed the little things most women enjoy... company for one. Sexual fulfillment was a very real bonus, but there were times when she was lonely for company. It was during those times that her imagination became both friend and foe. Imagery, after all was all she had. She had no clear picture in her memory of what he looked like in the heat of passion. He came to her in the dark of night, enflaming embers until there was heat enough to last till dawn, yet never light. She had wondered at first, about the secrecy. Why the light of day was never allowed to touch what they shared.
Curiosity was a danger though. She'd learned that young, but the lesson had been lost until after that first time. It was a trade that she had accepted, regretting in some small ways, but never enough to lose what they did share.
And oh what they shared. . .
Connie had been several years without a husband's company that first time. Nettie was long laid to rest and a thriving restaurant business had filled the void of loneliness, eventually expanding into her kitchen on wheels for select clientele. At the end of that first year, the boys were celebrating a big contract in Santa Fe and they were all headed home to share the news with everyone they cared for. Six days out of Four Corners they had pitched camp on familiar ground and settled down for the night. All was not as it seemed though.
He came that first night. She was barely asleep when his hand settled to her shoulder. His approach was always silent, but a woman alone in her wagon, out on the wilderness. . . She was suspicious, nervous of his intent until. . . he began to talk. It was their success that had somehow triggered discord in his mind. He recounted dreams, wishes of a future and a past that he somehow needed to mesh, yet knew he couldn't. There was regret in his tone. Something Connie had never heard from such a strong charismatic presence.
He left as quietly as he had come and there was no hint of their conversation in the morning light. Convincing herself that she'd dreamed the whole episode, Constance kept about her business as though nothing had happened. That worked until the darkness came again.
The second night he asked to hold her. . . wanting, he said, 'to hold on to something tangible.' He talked again. He talked of things in his past that Connie knew only as hearsay. Advice had always surrounded the idle chatter. . . 'He don't talk of it and neither should you'.
That guidance firmly in her mind, she really hadn't known how to respond, barely saying a word the whole time he was there.
Perhaps it was her silence that permitted what evolved. There was nothing ever forced or obligatory and Connie could still remember the slow seductive journey his hands made as they traced the contours of her arms that very first time. Rough fingertips slowly tantalized the tender flesh of her neck. They had eventually possessed her chin, turning waiting lips to greet his. There was so much passion in that first kiss. Heat sparked a flame, yet something stopped him from venturing too far.
The light of day left many doubts and the sleepless night that followed only served to fuel them. When another day came and went without incident, Connie saw fit to convince herself that she was truly going mad. The whole thing was like an illusion. He came and went in the darkness, conveying secrets that she was sure no one should know and then created more secrets between them that no one could know. The mystery was both frustrating and alluring. . .
They were two days from town when conversation around the campfire had them all contemplating a push for home in just one long day. Everyone went to bed that night, thoughts of reunions on their mind. Connie was no different. Her restaurant was doing nicely and with Casey's help, things were looking promising enough to look to the future instead of always thinking about surviving day to day. Sleep had been fleeting the previous evening and sinking into a deep slumber, she was lulled by what she thought to be strange a lustful dream.
A dream he wasn't though. . .
His hand touched her as she lay and when he realized that she had woken, he whispered his desire. He wanted. He had hesitated but found it so very hard to deny a want that had grown each time he watched. . . He'd watched her in town. He'd watched her each time she'd joined them on the trail. He'd secretly enjoyed her laughter and her stories, and now, dared to share some of his own. He had touched forbidden flesh and then tried to deny his want all over again.
It hadn't worked...
He was touching her now, in places he'd only thought about. Touches he'd shared with a wife so very long ago and then never dared to share with another woman since. He was honest as his fingers explored her flesh. The length of a cotton chemise succumbed to his exploration and as those callused fingertips trekked up without that barrier in place, Constance listened to his confessions in the darkness, still not convinced that any of it was truly real...
"I want you, Connie. I want you here and now but. . . Lord help me. . . I don't know how to give you anything else."Memories of his admission sent another shiver through her body and she pulled her shawl tighter across her shoulders.
He had been lying half across her body when the whispered words had slipped from his lips. His head was curled into her shoulder, and that one hand. . . It had paused on her now naked thigh, still gently teasing back and forth, yet not venturing further.
"Forgive a man his want. . . Allow his desire. I promise passion in return. It's buried inside me, Connie, and I need to set it free. . . I swear I'll go crazy if I don't."She had listened to his plea. Words of petition, not force. There was definitely danger in this man but not then. Not ever when he was in her arms, and accepting that fact, Constance was able to admit her own want. This man had already ignited a flame within her and she wasn't about to deny the heat already warming her body. She had reached for his wayward hand that first time. Drawn it up towards her center yet, once again, he held back.
There was one last thing he needed to be clear on...
"Passion, Connie. Nothing more. Never more... Life goes on around us. . . separately, out there."If there hadn't already been an attraction, she may have hesitated then. But lying there in the darkness, there was more truth than just the words he spoke. What was it that had sparked her interest so many months before? Was it the mystery... that danger perhaps?
He was after all, a notorious brooding loner. . . a hard man who occasionally drank too much and who had killed his share of men, for more than the right reason.
There was an underlying physical attraction, too, although that in itself was another unknown. Paul had been dark, hair and eyes a matching shade of brown. . . characteristics in complete contrast to the dirty blond hair and pale green eyes of this man.
A smile graced Connie's lips as she looked across the camp and found him. He was still perched on that rock of his, back hunched slightly as he whittled at a piece of wood.
It had taken some time for her to figure out what her initial attraction was all about. The danger was a very real part of the allure, but there was so much more. That notorious brooding loner was also the same man who took time out of his day to help a friend with an errand, or spend a little time with Billy Travis. He always checked on local farmers when they were long absent from town and cared enough about that same town to nurture a community spirit.
Just don't cross him and you were his friend for life.
Except when he drank.
Most cowboys did of course. And even when he overdid it, there was usually a reason. That unspoken anniversary Connie had never really understood before but, along with the whole town, held bated breath during the twenty-four hour period. Things were clearer now, but only because of the things they shared in the darkness.
Drink had flowed freely when the Judge and Mary Travis passed. Billy survived the stagecoach robbery only because Judge Travis shielded his grandson from the bullets. Billy had enough sense to stay put until the men were gone, although he could never return to Four Corners after that. He had stayed on with Evie, and Billy and Chris had corresponded fairly regularly until the boy went to off college. After that though, the letters became less and less.
It was the town's guess that guilt drove him to the bottle in the weeks that followed the murders, although no one had dared clarify the supposition. 'It was his business' he'd always said, and besides the obvious connection to her son, he'd never once admitted feelings for Mary. She was always the pursuer and most folks assumed he hadn't liked that too much. Connie knew the truth of it all now, but only because of the things they shared in the darkness...
He didn't care to talk about the notches some made in their gun belts. He didn't care to talk about how many he might have in his, or the reasons, right or wrong, behind them. Truth was, he didn't consider himself a gunslinger at all, and if it weren't for the protection it afforded his town, he would have gladly refuted his reputation long ago.
That declaration was one of the pieces that had fallen into place for Connie over time. She had stored the information along side images of a man sitting quietly on the boardwalk, reading, or playing checkers with a little boy. There was pain in his eyes if you looked at them right. He hid it well though, or tried.
Despite popular contention, this man in black did wear other colors and did actually smile. . . quite often if you caught him in the right mood. There was a devil in his smirk at times, too. A playful mischievous sprite that had tempted an innocent woman into an illicit affair she had never once regretted.
She'd answered him that night so long ago. . . not with words but actions that spoke much louder. . .
"Passion, Connie. Nothing more. Never more... Life goes on around us. . . separately, out there."Constance knew she was willing to live with his proposal. His silent promise was honest. . . more real than anything she'd ever heard and she wasn't about to give up the passion that had already sparked long-dormant desire held within her body. She let him say his peace and then, without hesitation, continued to draw his wayward hand to her center. . .
"Bout time you hit the hay, Connie. Long day coming up."
Glancing up into his pale green eyes, Constance couldn't stop the frown that creased her brow.
It wasn't like Chris to usher her to bed.
Come to think of it. . . it wasn't like Chris to be seen around her wagon at all.
He'd always kept up appearances. He'd always meant what he'd said. Life did go on around them, separately, out here in the world. And after that first intense night of passion, Connie willingly lived their secret.
Well. . . not so secret after all, but there was hopefully only a select few who knew, and who would still keep their unspoken truth.
Epilogue
Later that same evening. . .
"I didn't think you'd come tonight," Connie whispered into the darkness.
She knew he was there.
No twigs crackled as he came and went. The wagon never shook or creaked as he entered and no one ever questioned why Larabee volunteered to oil it so well. Truthfully, there were never any obvious signs that he'd been within ten feet of her sleeping quarters and it had always been her hope that things weren't apparent after she'd slept off the glow of their lovemaking but, in hindsight, she had to wonder just how well she'd played their ruse. "Don't suppose you. . . heard what Josiah said tonight?"
His silence made her regret the question yet part of her needed to ask it. There was also no denying the big part of her that needed to hear an answer from his lips.
"That why you didn't think I'd come, Connie?"
Her jaw tightened when the response finally came. Such a Larabee answer. . . He'd told her what she needed to know and ended the discussion by changing the subject, all in a few short words. The man drove her crazy and she could never ever tell anyone her reasons. The roll of her eyes spoke volumes to others who complained in silence as she did, but her frustration was far greater than theirs. There were the few who understood as much about this man as people were permitted to know. Pushing just that little bit further was a dangerous game, but when a man exhausts himself in the heat of passion, he often gives more of himself than usual. She would never tell, but her frustration was still there. . .
"I keep your secrets deep in my heart, Chris." Their conversations were always at a whisper and this one was no different. "But this time. . . It's got away from your control. They know. . . At least one of them anyway. . . probably the rest unless I haven't learned a damn thing about you all in all these years."
Sometimes his silence in the darkness was the most frustrating thing. . .
"Been a long time, hasn't it?"
Sometimes his words were no better.
Well, two could play at that game. Connie had learned a few things in all those years. "Bothers you, huh?" she changed the subject right back again.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
As annoyingly frustrating as he always was, he was. . .
As he always was, Chris Larabee was sitting in her bedding area, in the darkness, promising passion. All a woman should want, but. . . "How long, Chris? We've been keeping this tidy little secret for years. How long have they known and how long have you known that they've known?"
From his kneeling position, he settled, carefully removing his boots before a hand found her blanket. As he spoke, he made first contact with wanton flesh. "Does any of that really matter, Connie? I'm not here to talk but. . . we can if that's what you want."
Eyes fluttered as his fingers graced the sensitive skin of her hips. For a moment it was good, but then her fingers clasped the intruders. "Not fair, Chris," heavy breath told a different story than her actions. "You know I can't deny you when you touch me like that."
He'd leaned closer now, his hot breath igniting the smoldering passion that she was trying so desperately to refute. "And you know I can't deny you that touch, Connie. . . Hell, you don't even complain about my calluses anymore."
She smiled. The tiny echoes of laughter that escaped her lips were muffled, but indisputable just the same. "I do so love your calluses, Chris," she whispered back, her hot breath mingling with his before their lips met.
The embrace lasted until there was no air in their lungs to sustain it. Cooling breath rushed in to replace that lost, but did little to quell the fire now burning between two lovers. His hands had taken advantage of inattention, slipping from her grasp and continuing beneath her chemise, trailing whispering fingers up her torso to find the closest breast. The tweaking and fondling that followed served only to exhaust any hope of extinguishing the flames.
To her own credit, Connie had done a fine job of relieving Larabee of his shirt, save the tails that were still tucked into the still secured belt. She'd learned quickly about how not to separate Chris from his gun, understanding that there was a time and a place for all things sacred. He was beyond stopping now though, so it was definitely the time, and this was always the place. She made short work of the task.
As he always did, Chris retrieved his weapon from unfamiliar hands and then secured it beside Connie's old mattress. As he always did, he used the movement to recline his lady on her bedding, added his 'that's much better' to round out the scene. They had discussed their 'same old, same old' more than once. They'd added many variables to the routine from time to time, taking pleasure in each experiment but always, having enjoyed a change of pace, coming back to familiar territory.
Connie enjoyed no matter what.
Her eyes rolled back into their sockets as his lips found her nipples. There was definitely something to be said for habit. Larabee had the most exquisite of customs. His tradition of spending excessive amounts of time and energy on her breasts was just fine with her. His attention to detail in other regions was almost ritualistic in nature. Who was she to complain though, especially when he was in an attentive mood, refusing her free reign over his body by keeping his damn pants on until they were both begging for mercy?
And so it was this evening. . .
His lips had found her clitoris only after laving copious amounts of attention to both breasts. His fingertips had taken over the task when his mouth was otherwise occupied with its counterpart. Connie was now fast approaching a lip biting session, her hands buried deep in the blond locks at the juncture of her thighs. His fingers played with her nipples as his tongue teased merciless, finally forcing her clit into a much-hailed surrender, thus releasing a flood of sparks to electrify every nerve cell in her body.
She so wanted to scream.
Chris knew it too.
He'd learned more than a few things during their times together. She pawed at his hair in curious waves, each relaying secret messages about his progress, right or wrong. He'd long ago learned the right path to take in his endeavors and understood when detours were in order.
Sex was supposed to be a man's domain. That was the popular myth anyway, but this man had never believed that. He'd discovered early that there was great pleasure to be had in the pleasing. Taking, just never compared.
Temptation was the key. Fantasy and want made grand bedfellows and fostering both in a woman's soul was reward unto itself. Therein lay the philosophy that he'd kept bottled inside him for all these years. . . until Connie had allowed him to set it free once again.
Maintaining a relaxing tempo at her center, Chris waited until he knew she had come back from her journey before once again seeking out her mouth. The vigor of her kiss was stimulating, a sign he always welcomed. "More?" he whispered teasingly. He was more than eager to oblige her wishes.
Between breaths Connie found herself smiling. What woman in the same situation wouldn't, but there again, there weren't too many women who were this lucky. She pulled him to her again, hands clasped at his ears as she nibbled and sucked herself from his lips. "I want you inside me," she finally managed a reply.
Mouth occupied in a pleasurable duel, Chris slowly became aware of the hands tugging at his belt loops. "Is that right?" he teased, his lips taking a momentary pause to find a nipple.
"Damn you, Larabee!" The curse was real.
The curse was music to his ears.
It wasn't that Chris enjoyed distress, but he did enjoy the desire this particular annoyance fueled. He liked his woman to want what he wanted because he needed energy and strength in this facet of his life. He'd missed that. A cathouse never gave him this type of satisfaction and even his occasional regulars had failed to fully ignite his desire. The reason was simple. He needed to commit. . .
Releasing her breast, Chris used the power in his arms to slowly ascend, continuing up until he was perched on his knees, one between her legs and one to the side. "Do you want me, Connie?" he whispered. "You can have me if you want. . . Just tell me what you want."
She didn't need light to see what he was doing. She could hear the release of each button, each, painstakingly slow and purposely teasing. It was a game for sure. One she lived for and one that she wished every woman could know. Chris would do as she asked, if she asked. But then Connie always knew that he would do as he wished, if she didn't. It really didn't matter much though. Whatever he did, asked or otherwise, was always to their mutual satisfaction and always a powerful experience. That was just Larabee's way. . .
"I want what you want," was all she had to say.
The second chorus had chimed in and Chris was in concert with this tune. His pants were lowered and discarded with poetic fluidity, his body enveloping hers in the same flawless motion. Slow mutual touches reigned as lips danced a ballet, becoming accustomed again, although their separation had only been brief.
Connie's hands made unhurried progress to the supple mounds of his backside, massaging gently at first, then more insistently, urging his hips into her pelvis and thereby encouraging mutual pleasure.
Always welcoming her assertion, Chris bided his time with her lips, neck, and eventually her breasts. Never an unpleasant task, it served to heighten a shared yearning.
The energy of their hunger grew until they could withstand the famine no longer. At his urging she parted her legs and his engorgement pressed, unheeded, against her warm moist center, stilling their breath for mere seconds as they readjusted to the touch. She smiled into the darkness and he instinctively recaptured her lips, delving deeper to find her tongue. Her legs parted further in the fray and he wiggled against her, automatically searching out the comfort they both needed.
There was nothing mechanical or impulsive about his admission. Lips continued their heated dance while hands encouraged and pondered familiar territory. Each movement cheered on the long satisfying journey his manhood took to her center. When Chris was finally seated fully, he waited, practically drinking in her shallow fulfilled groans of pleasure.
Only when Connie was ready for him did Chris begin his strokes.
There was great purpose in those first few minutes. They both savored his motion. Her flesh offering the pleasing pressure and warmth that drew him back time and time again. And she delighted in his conquest, her body happily accepting the rhythmic offensive that transmitted each pulse to places touched only now.
His pace grew steadily, urged on now by a physical need that was evolving from carnal desire. Lips still found each other in the darkness. Fingers flexed, massaging skin and taunt muscle, but their focus slowly waned.
Another switch in tempo diverted any lingering attention. Mouths now hung open, drawing in much needed air. Fingers that had once coaxed and teased, now clung to sweaty skin in their efforts to prevent any loss of contact.
Connie squealed about then. It was the muffled cry of ecstasy that Chris so relished. He pushed on, forcing every last nerve to give her pleasure. When the responsibility was fulfilled, he then swallowed the breath that signaled her completion.
"Oh God!'
Chris smiled into the darkness, increasing his rhythm yet again.
Time had ceased to exist for Connie. Her body was her altar and she would encourage his worship until she could no longer draw breath. Such was the allure of lovemaking with this man. Heaven cursed her with his talent and she would forever be in debt. Raising her knees higher, she tilted her hips up, allowing him a deeper thrust and permitting his power to seek out her most sensitive place.
Necessity had taken complete control by now and Chris was at the mercy of his body, begging for release and doing everything in his power to aid the quest. His hands drew her legs up and back, the strength of his legs and arms focused, one goal in mind.
The tingle began for both, almost at the same time. This position afforded mutual pleasure and neither was willing to waste such a good thing. It was more than good though. The pressure of impending orgasm plagued Connie mercilessly. Fingers contracted. A wave of excitement fluttering from her extremities with such power that she shivered with anticipation at its arrival. Muscles shuddered and she fought the urge to scream as a toe curling orgasm approached.
Chris was conscious enough of her signs. How they worked magic for his body was more of concern at that moment though. An all-too familiar tightening was quickly throwing caution to the wind. Basic need took a firmer hold with each passing second, until eventually, all that was left was a compelling primitive urge. His body bathed in sweat, coaxed by the imperceptible muscle contractions of his partner, Chris finally exploded, gifting her with seed. The bliss of the moment shared in mutual ecstasy.
Settling back to earth was never the same journey. There was breath to catch, limbs to tame, and bodies to untangle. Chris lay across her for a time. Connie enjoyed his weight, saying it forced her spirit back inside. Larabee granted her that wish, although he liked her spirit free.
There were tender kisses as he slid from her body. He would always ask after her and with heady breath, she would always smile and nod her reply. Her hand would grace his with one last longing touch.
Her chemise, pushed aside but rarely removed, was easy to rearrange. It took longer for Chris to dress, but Connie enjoyed the fuss he took in the task. She had often wished for light during that time, yearning for just one peek at the body she knew by touch alone. The unanswered desire was worth the sacrifice though.
Chris touched her face as he prepared to leave. One last kiss was a custom he never renounced. Tonight he made it a long lingering embrace, pausing afterwards to peck her lips. "A long time ago," he began. There was an interval before he continued, his thought process not quite right. "A long time ago, I asked. . . no, begged you, to help me."
Connie frowned.
Talk wasn't something Chris normally engaged in after the fact. She sensed a definite struggle within him now... Finding the right words was never easy for this man.
Raising her hand to clasp his, she encouraged his quest.
The fingers squeezing his were much needed strength. A power he had somehow come to rely on and missed when he wasn't able to access it. A few weeks several times a year had grown old over time, yet Larabee had never found comparable strength to change their bargain. Now he'd been given a much needed push. . . "You've helped me, Connie. Darkness has always been my ally. I met you here. I wanted to keep you here, where it's safe. But I can't do it any longer."
A sudden dread overcame her in that moment and she rose slightly, clinging to him. "Chris, I. . ."
"No, no. . . Let me finish." His hand at her cheek was soothing. His lips, just inches from her face, spoke calmly, comforting her trepidation.
"I once told you, that I didn't know how to give you anything of substance. I asked you into the darkness and. . . said that we had to stay here."
Lowering her head, Connie was struck by the irony. She had recalled those same memories earlier that evening, never dreaming that her thoughts were his as well.
"You're right, you know. The boys know about us. Ezra. . . he's always been so damn. . . observant."
Suppressing her amusement, Constance kissed his hand.
"I still don't know if I can offer anything of substance, Connie. What I do know though, is that I don't want to stay in the dark anymore."
She looked slowly up into his eyes, wishing once more that she could see.
Chris kissed her then. . . a long hard kiss that held both promise and trepidation.
They looked at one another when the embrace ended, staring into the darkness as though it was for the last time. And then he left, as silently as he had come, save his parting words. "You've always been my light, Connie. Only now. . . I'm gonna open my eyes and see."
~~~~~~~ 7 ~~~~~~~ 7 ~~~~~~~
THE END
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