+ + + + + + +
"Mary." The name rolled over the battered lips, throwing Chris into a whirlwind of confusion.
Mary?
Why did Vin say her name? What did she have to do with anything? Chris was convinced Tanner was finally about to reveal who had beaten him. Was Vin trying to say that Mary knew?
"Vin? What are you trying to tell me, Pard?"
But Vin only moaned and tossed his head restlessly. Chris laid his palm against the damp forehead, shocked at the heat he felt there. The fever had risen hard and fast. Alarmed, he raced for the door and rushed out onto the landing, oblivious to the pouring rain. He saw JD across the street, taking shelter on the boardwalk, and he called out to him, "JD! Find Nathan!"
With a quick nod, JD sprinted off towards the tavern.
Thirty minutes later, Nathan had completed examining Vin. But he offered nothing as he stood next to the bed, his hands on his hips, lips pursed.
"What's wrong with him, Nathan?" Chris finally blurted, his patience worn thin.
"I don't know, Chris. I just don't know."
"It's been a week - a goddamn week. He should be getting better, not worse."
"Yeah, I know that. But sometimes it don't work that way. He's got a lot of things hurt and he's not eatin' or drinkin' near enough-"
"Is it the bullet wound? Has it gone bad?"
"No, it's healin' up fine."
"Then what is it?" Chris persisted.
"Might be he's got infection somewhere else that I can't see. Could be his kidneys . . . or his lungs," Nathan added in a small, uncertain voice.
"Might be . . . could be . . ." Chris muttered, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "He was fine . . . or at least, as fine as he has been. We were . . . talking," Chris hesitated, remembering the feel of Vin's lips on his. "He was going to tell me who did this. Did I push him too hard?"
Nathan bit his lip. "I don't think so, Chris. Fever's too high. Somethin' ain't right, but all I know t' do now is try and get it down."
Somethin' ain't right . . .
Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing the hammering of his heart. He'd thought the worst was behind them. Vin was on the mend, albeit slowly and miserably, and he'd erased Chris's doubts about his feelings with a single feeble kiss. All that remained was to teach the men who'd beat Vin a lesson they'd never forget. And then he and Vin could move on to a future together. He could see it, feel it. But fate had never been kind or forgiving to him or Vin, and he shouldn't have expected anything different.
Fool . . .
"Let's strip him down," Nathan ordered resolutely, pulling the blankets off the trembling form. Within minutes, he'd peeled off the sweat-soaked long-johns and undershirt Vin wore, leaving the younger man exposed.
Each rib stood out, striking evidence that Vin had already lost weight he couldn't afford. Almost unwillingly, Chris let his eyes traverse the length of Vin's body. He'd seen Tanner naked before, though not often, but this felt different. Before, Vin was just another man, another friend. And now . . .
"Chris? Chris?" Nathan touched his shoulder gently. "I need you to sponge him off real good now. Start with his face and neck, and work on down. You got that?"
Chris swallowed as he took the wash basin from Nathan. He sat gingerly on the side of the bed, wringing out the rag in the cool water before sliding it over Vin's battered face. He swallowed again as he shifted lower on the bed and moved the cloth over Vin's chest and stomach.
How many times? How many times had he dreamed of touching Vin so personally? So intimately?
But not like this . . .
Vin shivered and moaned, and Chris flinched at the fire that seemed to consume the cloth and singe his fingers. His stomach rolled and his hands shook as conflicting emotions overwhelmed him. He'd waited so long to touch this man he loved, but he could hardly move as cold fear stole his breath.
I can't lose you . . .
And then, to his dismay, his body slowly began to respond to his deepest desires, and that fear turned to shame. Even with Vin deathly ill, he couldn't control himself. Vin needed him, and he couldn't pull himself together to do this simple thing for him.
"Chris? What's wrong?" Nathan asked.
"I can't . . . I can't do this," he mumbled, eyes riveted to the floor.
"What? Why not? I mean, it's not like you haven't . . ."
Nathan's voice suddenly dropped off as he moved to the opposite side of the bed and plopped down in the nearby chair. He took a moment to gather himself and asked with some trepidation, "You . . . you ain't been with Vin . . . have you?"
It wasn't a question Chris would answer, even if he could find the words. For one thing, it wasn't just his personal life they were discussing; it was also Vin's.
But Nathan must have read the answer on his face because he replied in disbelief, "For God's sake, Chris, if you two ain't . . . why didn't you just say so from the beginning? Why'd you let the whole town go on believin' it? Might've avoided this whole mess!"
"It's none of their goddamn business is why!" Chris exploded. Throwing the towel in the basin, he stood and paced to the window. "Doesn't matter anyway," he said, lowering his voice as he regained his composure. "They believe what they want."
He leaned his head against the window pane, listening to the rain as the wind pushed against the fragile glass. It didn't matter that he and Vin had yet to lay together, they were joined in every way that mattered. To deny that, to deny Vin, was a lie he refused to consider.
Nathan remained silent, but Chris sensed he was waiting for something more. He owed Jackson nothing - and everything - and maybe that explained why he couldn't hold back the words that tumbled from his lips, "A thousand times, I've wished . . . dreamed . . ."
"You want that dream t' come true, then you'll damn well turn around and get back over here and tend t' this man. It ain't my touch he's achin' for - ain't my voice he needs t' hear."
Leave it to Nathan to put it all in perspective with a few short sentences.
Without another word, Chris turned around, picked up the wet cloth, and took his place at Vin's side. He'd let his emotions rule him for too long. The fear and longing that churned his gut would have to be ignored.
I can't lose you . . .
They battled the fever for two long days. Constant rain kept the room cloaked in darkness, and Chris wasn't sure when day passed into night, and vice versa. The other men came by, shaking off the rain and dropping off supplies that included an endless stream of coffee. Chris would have preferred whiskey, but no one asked him.
Nathan kept the room warm, but still Vin shivered, the hardware in his mouth rattling with the chills that gripped him. Every once in awhile, the cloudy blue eyes would seek out Chris, and he'd know that for a few moments at least, Vin was with him. Chris had learned to decipher the stilted speech for the most part, but now Tanner's ramblings were garbled and unintelligible, save a word here and there, a name. His name, mostly, but often - far too often - Mary's name, as well.
Vin's lungs were congested, according to Nathan, and he was still peeing dark, bloody urine from bruised kidneys, and the answer to both problems apparently was to flood him with liquids. That was a challenge in itself, with half the fluids ending up on the injured man's chest. Then Vin developed a painful cough, made even more distressing with his mouth wired shut. Pure torture all the way around - and Chris decided he wouldn't bother to lock up the three men who beat Vin - he'd break their damn jaws instead.
Three steps forward and two steps back had been the adage since Vin had gotten hurt, so on the morning of the third day when Nathan proclaimed that the fever had broken, Chris tried not to get his hopes up. The sun actually decided to make an appearance, too, as if to verify Nathan's assurance that the worst was over, but Chris still wasn't convinced. Besides, there was yet another battle to be fought. Hours of watching Vin suffer had only fueled his need to settle up with Tanner's attackers once and for all.
"Go get some rest, Chris," Nathan offered as he laid the back of his hand across Vin's forehead for the thousandth time. Vin didn't move, didn't even flinch, and Nathan nodded in satisfaction. "He's restin' good now. Whatever he was fightin' against, looks like he finally got the upper hand."
It's not over . . .
Chris refused his offer. "Got something I need t' take care of."
To his credit, Nathan didn't bother to argue. He only shook his head and lay down on the cot near Vin for some much needed rest.
Probably not the best time for this, Chris thought as he made his way over to the newspaper office. He was dog-tired and on edge. But he couldn't get Vin's mutterings out of his head . . . "Mary", over and over. He'd convinced himself over the past few days that the woman knew something. It made sense, after all. In spite of being a woman, Mary Travis wielded considerable influence in the town, and it was unlikely that something of the magnitude of Vin's attack could get by without her knowledge.
"Mary! I need to talk with you," Chris called out as he pushed his way into the Clarion News office without knocking.
It took his head a few minutes to catch up to what his eyes saw - Buck standing with his arms around Mary. It appeared to Chris that he was interrupting something, though at the moment he couldn't have cared less.
Mary pulled away from Buck, her face tinged deep scarlet as she pushed a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. "What is it?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"What do you know about the men who attacked Vin?"
"What do you mean?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Chris growled.
"Now hold on here, Chris," Buck cut in.
But Chris was having none of it. "You know something, and I want to know exactly what it is."
Anger replaced the flush off embarrassment on her face as Mary stepped forward and sternly replied, "I don't know anything. If I did, I would have told you."
"Vin said your name."
"What? Why?"
"You tell me."
"I don't know! Chris, I promise you, I had nothing to do with this."
"Of course she didn't and you're a damn fool if you think otherwise, Larabee. Hell, Vin's been out of his head for days now and you're dead on your feet," Buck said, stepping between Chris and Mary.
"He said her name," Chris repeated, softer this time as Buck's words slowly took root.
"Yeah? Well did you happen t' think that might be your fault? Hell, Chris, you said yourself when this all came about that your answer was t' court Mary. You reckon that might be festerin' in his hot little brain about now?"
Clearing her throat, Mary stated uncomfortably, "I think you two need to discuss this privately."
Buck immediately took heed and turned to her. "I'm sorry you had to get dragged in on this, Mary. Don't worry now, I'll take care of it," he said as he put an arm around her shoulder and guided her out of the office.
When Buck turned back to him, Chris asked with raised brows, "This what I think it is?"
"Does it matter?"
Chris sighed. "It might not always seem like it, but I care about you, Buck. And Mary, too."
With a slow nod, Buck replied, "Then yeah, it is. She's too good a woman t' let get away."
Dredging up a smile, Chris agreed, "She is."
It was a good thing, Buck and Mary, and maybe later he'd find the energy to be happy about it, but right then Vin remained his only concern.
And Buck understood, because he dropped the subject of his latest romance and moved on to the heart of the matter. "We'll figure it out, Chris. Ezra thinks he's close. He's heard some talk in the saloon - nothing definite, but it's just a matter of time before someone has one too many drinks and spills it."
"Actually, time may be something we don't have," Ezra's voice suddenly joined in from where he stood in the doorway.
Both men turned abruptly to face the newcomer. Ezra swallowed under the scrutiny, meeting Buck's gaze before turning to Chris.
"We may a have a slight problem," Ezra continued.
"What is it?" Buck asked.
"Late last night at the saloon, a group of men were discussing the uh, incident with Vin. It started out harmless enough, rumors and speculation as to who the culprits might have been. I kept my ears open and my mouth shut." Ezra paused, as if to see if Chris might argue the point. When he didn't, Standish continued, "As the evening progressed, and the whiskey became more plentiful, personal opinions were expressed."
"Yeah, I can just bet what those opinions were," Buck spat with disgust.
"You are correct, Buck. As much as it physically pained me to ignore the imbeciles, I managed to withhold my anger. Unfortunately, our youngest comrade was not so successful."
"Get to the point, Ezra," Chris clipped.
"In his efforts to defend Mr. Tanner, JD let it slip that Vin knows his attackers."
"I'll kill him!" Buck roared as he stormed out of the office.
Surprisingly, Chris felt no anger towards JD. The kid had stood by them both, and he could hardly blame him for rising up in Vin's defense. Besides, Buck would be harder on JD than Chris could even dream of at the moment.
"Chris?" Ezra asked, apparently stunned by the lack of emotion exhibited by their leader.
"Chris? Do you understand what this means?"
"Means the bastards might want t' keep Vin quiet - might want t' finish what they started."
"Yes, that is my concern," Ezra agreed with a nod.
"Let 'em come," Chris said, the tone of his voice matching the glint in his eye.
Hell, JD might have done them a favor. In fact, Chris wondered why he hadn't thought of it first. If Vin couldn't - or wouldn't - tell them who did this to him, well, there was more than one way to skin a cat.
+ + + + + + +
Something was different, Vin thought as he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was still at Nathan's clinic and it seemed to be forever dark. It still took all he had to simply move or breathe. And Chris . . . Chris was still there, although this time he was asleep in the chair rather than on the floor.
But something was different. Vin cast his eyes towards the window, and maybe that was it - the rain had stopped. It seemed to him that it had been raining for weeks now, but it could be that he was a little muddled. He had vague, hazy memories of being sick . . . of Chris bathing him and looking at him like nothing else in the world mattered.
It matters . . .
Vin studied the lean frame of the man he loved. Chris had his feet propped up on the foot of the bed; his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. His arms were folded across his chest, his head drooping uncomfortably to rest on his shoulder. Damn fool would have a stiff neck come morning; he should probably wake him up and tell him to sleep in a real bed for once.
Larabee had his gun belt on, too - something else different. Chris always kept his weapon handy, of course, but he generally let his guard down enough to lay it at his side when he slept.
Something was up. And that was the real difference, Vin surmised. There was tension in the air; a pervading sense of impending danger. Or maybe he'd just gotten soft and bothered, like an old woman. Hell, he felt like an old woman - Miss Nettie could give him a run for his money, weak as he was.
Chris stirred then, probably sensing that Vin was awake. His blurry gaze sharpened the moment he caught the light of Vin's blue eyes, and he abruptly sat up with a barely concealed groan.
Vin considered commenting that it was hell getting old, but he didn't have the heart with Chris looking at him so earnestly, so hopefully.
"You alright?" Chris asked, leaning forward to stretch a palm over his forehead.
"Reckon," Vin replied, figuring he was as alright as he was going to get for a time.
With a sigh of relief, Chris leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his lips. So easy now, like he didn't even have to think on it . . . like it didn't matter that they were two tough gunmen and Vin was lying broken because of what they felt for each other.
Not that easy . . .
"You scared me, Pard."
Four simple words that held so much pain and fear - and love - that Vin had to turn away when he murmured his reply, "S . . . sorry."
"Vin-"
Chris was interrupted as Josiah suddenly burst through the door, gun in hand.
"Something's going on downstairs, in the livery," Josiah stated with certainty. "I'll go check it out."
Hesitating only momentarily, Chris agreed. "Alright, but be careful."
Sanchez was gone as quickly as he'd come, leaving Vin with a puzzled frown. Something was definitely up if the boys had Chris guarding him inside and Josiah posted outside the clinic door. "We expectin' trouble?" he asked.
A shot sounded before Chris could answer, prompting the blond to sprint out onto the landing. But within seconds he was back inside.
"Go on!" Vin exclaimed, ignoring the pulling of the wires on his teeth as he tried to shout. "Josiah-"
"Josiah can take of himself. You can't," Chris answered succinctly, his mouth in a grim line as he pulled out his gun and moved to the door.
"But-"
Vin got no further as the sound of horses hooves filled the night.
Chris moved to the window. "Damn! They've let the horses out of the livery." He turned to face Vin, his brows furrowed until suddenly he gasped and exclaimed, "We have to get out!"
Vin figured he was at least two steps behind Chris; he blamed it on the fever and lack of food. But he couldn't begin to imagine what would had spooked Larabee so.
Until he smelled the smoke . . .
Chris already had him half out of the bed before he caught on that he was moving. One strong arm gripped his waist and the other pulled his uncooperative legs off the bed. Vin managed to throw his arm over the blond's shoulder and set his feet on the floor, though he didn't hold out much hope of actually walking on them.
The room spun as the smell of smoke grew stronger, wafting up through the cracks in the floor and the open window. There was shouting now, voices calling out "Fire!" as the town's livery burned. It would take next to nothing to ignite the straw; stopping the spreading flames would be nearly impossible. It was only a matter of time until Nathan's small clinic collapsed and burned with it.
Nathan would lose everything. And what had happened to Josiah? Vin knew Chris was fighting mightily to save their lives as he dragged him across the floor, but all he could think of was that their friends were now sharing in the cost of their relationship. If only he'd been stronger - steered clear of Chris from the very beginning.
Smoke, thick and black, assaulted them when Chris opened the door. Vin could see the flames below them, feel the heat of the fire. But the stairs were still standing, and they'd stay that way, if Buck and Ezra had anything to say about it. Both men were working furiously to keep the fire from consuming their only exit.
"Bring him down!" Buck shouted, as if Chris needed to be told.
But before they could make it to the top stair, bullets hit the deck and the walls behind them. "Damn!" Chris shouted, crouching down to the landing and pulling Vin with him.
Vin quickly determined that the shots came from the hotel across the street. Chris fired off a round in that direction, but it was a waste of ammunition. He couldn't see what he was firing at, but with the light of the flames, their assailant could surely see them.
In spite of the noise and commotion, Ezra must have realized that they were being pinned down by gunfire, because he took off across the street like a flash. It would be too late, though, by the time he found the shooter. The stairs had caught the flames - it was now or never.
Chris could make it down easily, if he just kept his head down and stayed low. Hell, he could jump if he had to.
"Just go!" Vin shouted, feeling the wires in his mouth spring free.
"Not a chance!" Chris returned, as he pulled his head up to fire off another round. "I'm not leaving you here to burn. She's not taking you, too."
She?
The heat grew intense, and Vin's chest tightened as the cloud of black smoke settled over them, choking out the air around them. Beside him, Chris tightened his grip and spoke in his ear, "The smoke will cover us. We're goin' now."
Vin tried to get his legs to work, but he couldn't remember how. He couldn't breathe or see, either, and he had no idea what direction to go . . . right or left, up or down. Chris must have caught on that he was completely confused, because he quickly swept him up in his arms and was carried him through the smoke and flames and screaming bullets.
Damn fool . . .
Chris would lose his life because of him yet.
Something shifted then, Chris losing his grip or maybe his footing, and Vin had the sudden sensation of falling and landing hard on something or someone. There were voices tangled up in the heat and the smoke, and he tried to make sense of them; tried to find Chris's voice among them. When he couldn't, he gave in to the darkness that called to him.
+ + + + + + +
Sunlight speared his heavy lids with absolutely no mercy, causing his already throbbing head to explode. With a deep groan, he peeled his eyes open to catch a glimpse of Buck, rushing to pull the curtains shut.
"Sorry, Chris," Buck apologized sheepishly. "Should've thought of that."
"Huh?" Chris managed to grunt.
"The sunlight . . . I should've known it might hurt your head some."
Yeah, it hurt some alright. What the hell had happened?
And then it came back to him . . . the gunfight . . . the fire . . . the stairs collapsing beneath him . . .
Vin!
He sat up like a shot, his eyes darting about the room in panic.
"Shit, Chris, calm down," Buck said as he gripped his shoulders and leaned him back against the pillows. "Vin's fine . . . or mostly fine. About as fine as he could be, under the circumstances. Fine enough, anyway - or he will be - so don't go on the worry and hurt yourself tryin' to-"
"Buck?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Chris closed his eyes and took stock of his aching body. Aside from his head, his arm was bandaged and he felt the sting of burns on his face and hands. Nothing that a few days rest wouldn't take care of, though. If only the same was true of Vin . . .
"Where is he?"
"The room next door," Buck replied. "But you ain't goin' to him just yet. Nathan says-"
"I don't give a damn what Nathan says," Chris muttered as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
Guilt crept up on him, though, as he remembered what Jackson had lost in the fire. "Is he okay? Nathan?"
"Yeah, mostly. He's wore out, between you and Vin and Josiah."
Josiah? Josiah!
"How bad off is Josiah?" Chris asked, his heart hammering in his throat. If the preacher was seriously injured because of him and Vin . . .
"He's damn lucky, is what he is," Buck replied. "Took a bullet in the leg. Almost bled t' death by the time we found him."
"What happened?"
"He heard someone in the livery, so he tried to sneak in the back. They shot him, and he just managed to crawl out the back door before the fire got going. He passed out in the alley, and we didn't find him until it was all over."
Shit. This all happened because he and Vin weren't strong enough to deny their feelings for each other - and now their friends were paying the price.
"Stop it," Buck snapped. "Stop it right now."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chris slanted a puzzled gaze towards the other man.
"I know what you're doin' - what you're thinkin'," Buck explained, "and you just forget it. Josiah and Nathan ain't blamin' you or Vin for what happened."
When Chris only sighed deeply and turned away, Buck continued, "And it don't mean you're wrong t' try and make this work with Vin, either, so you just let that go, too. Hell, Chris, when I saw you carryin' Vin down those flamin' stairs . . ."
Buck paused and swallowed, and Chris was stunned to see moisture in his friend's eyes as he went on, "You were gonna die for him, Chris - it was plain t' see. Whole town saw it. You don't walk away from love like that. You walk tall and unafraid. You fight for it. And we'll be fightin' along side of you. Might've taken a few of us a little longer to figure that out, but we ain't turnin' back now."
Chris closed his eyes as he turned Buck's words over in his mind. It sounded good - but Buck could make most anything sound good. It was true that he'd die for Vin, though - no question about that. Didn't even give it a second thought when that fire . . .
"Who the hell set that fire?" Chris exploded, cursing the cobwebs in his head that kept him from getting to heart of the matter sooner.
"Now just calm down and I'll tell ya," Buck offered with a firm hand to his shoulder, pinning him to the bed once again.
A grunt was all Chris offered in agreement.
"It was three young ranchers, Zeb Andrews, Charlie Jenkins, and Todd Williams. We got them all locked up over at the jail. They're scared half t' death . . . got their women and kids cryin' all over the place. Stupid, dumb-ass idiots got themselves into a mess alright."
"Why?" Chris asked, knowing the answer but needing to set it firm in words.
Buck sighed. "Seems like they got in over their heads. They went along for the ride that night, or so they say. Things got out of control and they knew they'd gone too far. Then when they found out that Vin knew 'em, well, they just got scared. Figured they were dead for sure with the six of us comin' after 'em." Buck added under his breath, "Weren't too far off on that one."
"What's the mood in town?" Chris asked, fearing the worst. The way things were going, JD could become Nathan's next patient while guarding the three men.
"Well that's the damnedest thing, Chris," Buck said in wonder. "It's real quiet. And Mrs. Potter stopped by first thing this morning. Made a pie for you and custard for Vin."
That didn't seem strange to Chris - it was a well known fact that Mrs. Potter had a soft spot for Vin. Although, now that he'd thought on it, she hadn't once stopped by since Vin had gotten hurt.
"And the oddest thing of all is Conklin's bunch of old men," Buck continued. "They said they're gonna rebuild the clinic - on the ground this time. They already got the plans drawn up. Damnedest thing . . ."
Now that was something to ponder. In fact, it seemed like Chris had a whole lot to sort out once his head settled down. But in the meantime, he was going to Vin, come hell or high water. It was tough, but he managed to throw off Buck's hand and stand up without groaning.
"Stubborn old cuss, ain't ya?" Buck muttered as he gave in and took him by the arm.
'Next door' proved to be a formidable distance, with Chris feeling every bruise, burn, and aching joint. It would be worth the trip, though, just to see with his own eyes that Vin had survived the latest catastrophe relatively unscathed.
He had - or at least as far as Chris could see. Nathan had blankets pulled up to Vin's chin, but at least Tanner's face was spared further harm. Vin appeared to be asleep, so Chris turned to Nathan in question.
But Nathan was glaring at Buck. "What did I tell you?"
"Aw hell, Nathan, you know how he is."
Nathan's response was a disgruntled "Humph," as he turned his attention to Chris. "You broke his fall," he said in such a way that Chris wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing. "He still got shaken up some - which he did not need."
Chris could only think to respond, "I'm . . . sorry."
Which he was - for a number of things, not the least of which was the destruction of everything Nathan owned.
"Not your fault," Nathan responded gruffly. But he softened when he added, "Ain't nothin' lost that can't be replaced. All that matters is that everyone is alright."
"He will be alright, right?" Chris asked, hating the desperate tone that slipped out when he let down his guard.
Nathan's deep sigh made his heart skip a beat. Jackson shifted closer to the door and lowered his voice. "Yeah, he should be, but . . ."
"But what?" Buck prodded impatiently.
"But I don't know. He ain't right."
"What do you mean by that?" Chris whispered hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry as tinder.
"I mean exactly what I said. He ain't right, but I don't know why. And he ain't talkin'."
"Maybe he's worried? Does he know that we got the bastards?" Buck asked hopefully.
"I told him, but that seemed t' upset him more," Nathan replied.
"Let 'em go." Vin's pained voice took them all by surprise.
Not sure he heard correctly, Chris repeated as he moved to the bedside, "Let 'em go?"
"Why the hell would we do that?" Buck boomed behind him.
Vin slowly opened his eyes, and Chris knew immediately what Nathan meant - something wasn't right there.
But Vin only swallowed and stated softly, "My jaw . . . ain't worth ten lives."
Chris looked to Buck for explanation, while Buck glanced at Nathan. So Nathan turned it back to Vin. "What'd you mean, Vin?"
"They got three wives 'n seven kids . . . four boys 'n three girls . . ."
Only Vin would know that, Chris thought with dismay. Vin would take the time to not only check on the families he guarded on patrol, but to get to know something about them as well.
"Ain't their fault," Vin mumbled.
"Nope, you're right," Buck agreed. "It ain't their fault that their pa's are low-down, no-good, goddamn murderin' sons of bitches. And it ain't yours either," Buck added forcefully.
Vin avoided their eyes when he replied, "I never . . . saw 'em."
Shit. Chris knew exactly where this was headed, and he also knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do to change Vin's mind. Fortunately, it was no longer up to Vin alone and he told him so. "They shot Josiah and they burned down the livery and Nathan's clinic. They're gonna be locked up for a long time, whether you saw them or not."
To which Vin replied resignedly, "Reckon so."
It hit Chris like a great gush of wind, so strong it nearly toppled him where he stood. Vin never could hide from him, not behind those wide blue eyes, so vast and open like the sky they mirrored. And what he saw in those eyes at that moment was sadness, regret . . . surrender.
"Buck? Nathan?" Only their names left Chris's lips, but it was enough for the two men to get the message. They quickly scooted from the room without a sound.
Chris didn't bother with the chair this time, propping his lean body on the edge of the bed instead. One hand snaked under the blanket to search for Vin's long fingers. He wrapped his hand around the cold hand, ignoring the slight resistance he felt when Vin tried to pull away.
"Ain't happenin', Pard," Chris said with deadly calm. "You're not getting away from me. In case you haven't noticed, I ain't the kind of man to run scared - especially from something I want as bad as I want you."
Vin briefly met his eyes, but he looked away when he spoke. "So many people sufferin' cause of us. We can't . . . I can't . . ." Choking on the words, though they came out far too clear.
"The only thing we can't do is give up."
"You damn near got yerself . . . killed."
Chris tried to play it light. "You damn near got yourself killed first."
"Damn near got our friends killed, too."
And that was the real problem, Chris knew. Bad enough that he and Vin were playing with fire, drawing their friends in on it didn't sit well with either one of them.
"Our friends are fine. In fact, they'd be real pissed off if we gave-"
"No, Chris." So softly spoken, yet so sure.
No, Vin . . . don't . . .
Chris knew at that moment that what Nathan had sensed was true: Vin wasn't right - he was hardly even Vin. The Tanner he knew and loved was stubborn, tenacious, full of life and humor, and above all else, he was a survivor. The man before him now was none of those things.
And he was also wrong. "Vin, don't . . . this isn't you."
"I don't want this anymore, Chris."
You're lying . . .
"I don't believe you."
"Changed . . . m' mind."
"Look me in the eye and say that."
Vin swallowed and finally turned to face him. "It's over," he rasped, the harsh words barely audible.
Over? Vin must have had an entirely different view of their relationship, because Chris was under the impression that they'd hadn't yet begun. Even so, what they had, what they meant to each other - surely Vin wouldn't quit now.
"You want me t' beg, Tanner? Is that what it would take to make you see reason?"
"No!" Vin looked horrified at the very notion.
"Good, because I won't do it!"
Chris believed the black anger had died with Ella, but he was wrong. He was suddenly so mad that he couldn't see straight. Vin would really throw it all away because of three ignorant bastards?
But deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was a town full of people who let him and Vin risk their risk lives time and again for their welfare, but couldn't wait to knife them in the back when their narrow-minded beliefs were threatened. It was a world that accepted two men killing each other far easier than two men loving each other. It was nasty words and violent blows, hurt feelings and broken jaws, burnt buildings and injured friends.
And Chris was furious with all of it, as well as with Ella and even with Vin. But most of all, he was angry at himself because loving Vin was so damn difficult and dangerous, and he couldn't figure out how to figure it out.
"Just go, Chris . . . please."
"Fine," he said, though he remained seated, his hand still clutching Vin's.
Until Vin whispered, "And . . . don't come back."
Vin's eyes were closed now, his body rigid as a thick board - and Chris drew away. So maybe he was wrong, Tanner was obviously still stubborn . . . and maybe he was trying to survive the only way he knew how.
Or maybe Vin really didn't want him anymore. Maybe Tanner finally realized that an aging, hard-nosed gunslinger that drank too much and talked too little just wasn't worth the pain and fear and goddamn aggravation.
Maybe they were just two lost, lonely men who imagined they could find something in each other that never really existed.
A soft hiss of air left his lungs as the fight and the anger drained from his body; he was just too tired and emotionally wrung out to try any longer.
He didn't look back as he left the room. He didn't speak to Nathan or Buck, who waited outside on the boardwalk. He didn't respond when Mary approached him with the news that Judge Travis would be back in town by the end of the week. The only time he spoke at all was to ask Yosemite to saddle his horse and help him mount up.
Vin's words rang in his head as he rode out . . . "don't come back." He wouldn't. He'd go to his cabin to heal up, then ride out and never look back.
He was a fool to believe it could have ended differently. A fool to think he could find love again. A fool to think life held anything more than dust and whiskey and gunpowder.
Don't come back . . .
+ + + + + + +
Dying would have been so much easier, but he never did have good sense when it came to such things.
Vin kept his eyes tightly shut and held his breath; trying not to focus on the sound of Chris walking out of the room, out of his life. He ignored the wetness on his face, the pounding in his chest, the sudden loss of feeling in his limbs.
And moments or hours later, he ignored Nathan's voice, soft and insistent, "Talk t' me, Vin."
Go away . . .
"I just want t' help you," Nathan said in that voice - the one Vin often heard him use when he was trying to stitch up a frightened child.
You can't . . .
Vin slowly opened his eyes as Nathan's hand froze in the air, only inches from his face. Nathan abruptly pulled back and mumbled, "Sorry, I was just gonna wipe . . ."
Oh no, he was crying. That explained the moisture on his skin and the look of pity in Nathan's eyes. Vin tried to suck in a breath, and hated that it sounded more like a sob. "Just . . . go," he managed to tear out of his constricted throat. "Please . . ."
"Alright," Nathan agreed softly as headed for the door. "But I'll be back."
Don't come back . . . don't come back . . . don't come back . . .
The bitter words replayed in his mind. He'd kept his eyes closed to avoid seeing the look on Chris's face when he said them, but he knew the moment when hope turned to anger.
Larabee wouldn't be back. The man still had his pride, and thank God for that. It wasn't too late. Chris still had a chance for a good life. The men would rebuild Nathan's clinic. Josiah would heal. The three men in jail would be set free eventually - sooner rather than later, if he could talk the others into seeing it his way - and their families could go on in peace.
And as soon as he figured out where they'd put Peso, he'd ride out. Heal up in the mountains, under the stars. Walk away . . .
Don't come back . . .
His breath caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he fought it, he couldn't control the sob that erupted from his chest. There would be no walking away from this; he was a fool to think otherwise. He could travel to the ends of the earth, and still Chris would be there in every sunrise, every starry night, and every breath he took.
He could feel the tears now, streaming unchecked down his face; could feel the pressure building in his chest, wrenching sobs re-awakening the misery of cracked ribs. He needed to cough, needed to breathe, but the wires on his teeth hindered him and added to his torment.
No more . . .
It didn't matter anymore. He tore the hardware from his mouth and coughed long and hard. The splint on his wrist caught in the sheets, so he took that off, as well. But he still couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop the choking sobs that clogged his lungs. He was suddenly, acutely aware of the bandage on his right arm . . . too tight, cutting off the circulation and maybe that was the problem. Harder to tear that off using his left hand, his sore wrist screaming at the motion, but he managed it somehow.
But it didn't help. Nothing helped. His eyes were drawn to the window, to the air that called to him so temptingly behind the glass. Days and days he'd been locked up, and it was no wonder he couldn't think or breathe. No wonder he couldn't stop the goddamn tears or the endless voice in his head . . .
Don't come back . . . don't come back . . . don't come back . . .
He pulled his legs over the edge of the bed, forced himself to sit up in spite of the dizziness and nausea that threatened to drag him back down. No where to go and no strength to get there, but anywhere was better than here . . . he had to get away from this room and this town and this terrible ache in his heart.
Three steps and he was down; thudding to the floor as his ankle twisted beneath him. He tried and failed to brace his fall with a semi-healed wrist, and pain flared as darkness beckoned, but it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered, not even Buck's voice drifting through the black shadows. "Vin? Vin, you awake? It's black as night in here. Let me light a lamp, okay?"
Fog clouded his head, but Vin knew enough to realize that the darkness had changed. It was truly night; he'd lain on the floor for hours.
"Aw hell, I'm sorry Vin," Buck muttered as he tripped over Vin's foot. "What are you doin' on the floor, Pard?"
Finally reaching the lamp, Buck lit a match. The golden light illuminated the tall man's worried frown. "Let me help you back to bed, alright? Aw shit. What happened? Damn, Vin, you're a mess . . ."
A mess? That was an understatement. He was a goddamn hopeless mess, and if he'd had his wits about him, he'd tell Buck to leave him in a heap and go on about his business.
Leave me alone . . .
"My God! What the hell happened in here?" Nathan this time, stepping in the door frame just as Buck lifted him onto the bed with a grunt.
"Don't know, Nathan. I found him lying on the floor in the dark. Bed's a mess . . . he tore off his bandages . . . hard t' say what else he's done."
Nathan shook his head as he moved into the room and stood next to Buck. Both of them were peering down at him, eyes full of question and concern . . . and pity.
"I'm . . . fine," Vin sputtered.
"Sure y' are, Pard, sure y' are," Buck said, his voice far too sad for the circumstances. After all, he wasn't about to die on them - he didn't have enough sense for that.
"Alright," Nathan said with a sigh, "help me get him patched up again."
"No," Vin stated loud and clear. He wasn't about to be bound up with wire and cloth and wood again.
Leave me be . . .
"Vin-"
"Leave him be, Nathan," Buck interjected. "He ain't bleedin' and it don't look like he knocked any bones out of place. Just leave him be."
"But Buck-"
"A man ought t' have a say in how he heals up," Buck argued. "Let him rest now."
Nathan appeared to be pondering that thought when Buck turned to Vin and asked, "You need anything before we go?"
Only him . . .
Vin shook his head, but offered nothing more.
"Alright. We'll come by in the mornin' then," Buck offered.
Vin could hear Nathan arguing with Buck out in the hall, saying he shouldn't be left alone. He was grateful that Buck seemed to understand. If he couldn't be with Chris, he couldn't stand to be with anyone.
He wondered if the two men had any idea what had happened between him and Chris. Larabee had probably taken off to his cabin, probably not said a word to anyone. He was probably nursing his hurts with a bottle. But come morning, Chris would see that he was right and he'd move on with his life.
Come morning . . .
The black night was endless as Vin tossed and turned, sleep distant and elusive. Though he tried to fight it, his mind brought back brief, hazy memories of Chris bathing him when he was fevered. He'd known, even sick as he was, that it was Chris pulling the soft cloth over his neck and chest, his stomach and hips, across the flat plains and sharp bones of his body. The cool water felt so good on his burning flesh, but it was more than that. It was his touch, his voice, pleading for him to hang on, fight harder. So much easier to die, but he couldn't, not with Chris counting on him, needing him.
Vin felt the sting of tears starting up again as he lay in the darkness, and he cursed his weakness.
Come morning, it would be different. He'd remember why he had to send Chris away, why it could never, ever work out. Come morning, he'd be stronger.
Come morning . . .
+ + + + + + +
It was another endless night; the sixth since he'd left town . . . left Vin. The days were hard, but the nights were impossible. Chris rarely slept, but when he did, he dreamed about Vin, bleeding and broken, fevered and sick. Or sometimes he dreamt of Vin lying beneath him, thrusting against him as his tongue claimed his mouth. Bittersweet memories of his hands roving Vin's fevered body colored both dreams, and they always ended the same . . . "Don't come back."
The guys had stopped by a few times, checking up on him, bringing him supplies - mostly whisky, which he didn't drink much of. He guessed he'd finally learned that alcohol only made the pain sharper in the end.
Finally giving up on sleeping, he got up and threw another log on the fire. It was getting cooler; he'd have to decide soon where he was going and head out. South might be the best option, though he never liked the heat much. But Vin always felt the cold . . .
Vin . . .
A sharp pain stabbed his gut, and he wondered how long it would take before he could imagine a life without Vin.
The sun had barely come up on the horizon when he heard a horse approaching. A glance out the window told him it was Buck, so he moved out to the porch. It was far too early in the day for Wilmington to be out and about - something was wrong.
Whatever it was didn't show on Buck's face, though, as he dismounted and simply said, "Chris."
"Buck.""How y' doin'?"
Buck knew he wasn't one for small talk, so he didn't bother to answer. "Somethin' going on that I need to know about?"
Buck bit his lower lip, obviously choosing his words carefully, which was highly unusual for the man. "Well, yeah. Y' see . . . aw hell, I'll just come out and say it. Vin ain't doin' too good."
The knife again, digging through his stomach and straight up to his heart. He looked away, not daring to see whatever Buck's eyes held - and he for damn sure didn't want Buck to see what his eyes surely gave away.
But Buck didn't give in that easily; he moved closer and stared him down. "I know he sent you away-"
Chris looked up sharply, "He tell you that?"
"Hell, no. He ain't talkin' at all. But it didn't take much t' figure it out, Stud."
"Well then you know there's nothing I can do."
"He's scared, Chris. Flat out. It's got nothin' t' do with how he feels about you."
That might be true, but what did it matter? Vin had made his choice.
"Don't make a difference. It can't work out. He's right."
"Both damn fools," Buck muttered under his breath.
"Why are you here, Buck? What do you want from me?"
A heavy sigh preceded his words. "He has a cough he can't shake. He won't leave the room except when I help him to the privy. He still can't - or won't - eat. Won't let anybody take care of him . . . won't talk. Nathan's worried, Chris, and that makes me worried."
"Nathan's always worried. Vin can take care of himself. Leave him alone. That's what he wants."
"Maybe so, but it ain't what he needs."
He doesn't need me . . .
"He needs you, Chris," Buck argued softly, as if he'd heard Chris's thoughts. "About as much as you need him."
If only . . .
"I know you got your pride," Buck went on. "And I can't blame y' for that. Hell, that's what makes you the man you are. And I know things have been hard for you and Vin, from the very beginning. But things are changin', folks are changin'."
Chris huffed as he shook his head. "I doubt that. Folks will never understand this and you know it."
"I didn't say they understood, but I think they feel different now. Especially since we let those three young men go."
What?
"You let them go? Why? So they could kill Vin outright this time?"
"Ain't like that, Chris. I told ya - things have changed. Those boys and their families were so grateful t' Vin, they ain't gonna lay a hand on 'im. And neither will anyone else from what I've heard. The whole town knows it was Vin's doin', lettin' 'em go free so they could go back and take care of their families. No one's sayin' a word against him - or you, either."
Buck gripped his shoulders and forced Chris to meet his eyes. "You don't have t' leave. They might not like what you and Vin are - might not understand it - but no one's gonna make trouble for you."
"Vin and I . . . Vin and I are nothing," Chris said flatly.
"That ain't so."
He was tired, and the last thing he needed was Buck there to pile on the guilt and worry - and even worse - to offer hope where there was none.
"Go home, Buck."
Leave me be . . .
"I'll go. But you think on what I said. There's a time t' be stubborn, and this ain't it."
Buck climbed back on his horse then, but he looked back down at Chris and added, "Go t' him, Chris, cause he can't come t' you, no matter how bad he wants to. Fear won't let him."
As Chris watched Buck ride off, his old friend's words rolled through his head . . . "Vin ain't doin' too good" . . . "he needs you" . . . "thing's are changin'."
Might not hurt to stick around a few more days, ponder on things a bit more. Hell, he had no where to go anyway and he was in no hurry to get there. Wouldn't change anything, but still, a few more days wouldn't hurt.
+ + + + + + +
He loved the sunrise, always had. But it lost something when a man was inside looking out. Vin sighed as he turned away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. Wore him out, just making his morning trip to the privy, but he was getting better, stronger - even if Nathan didn't think so. A few more days and he figured he could ride out.
And speaking of riding out, he'd seen Buck take off early that morning, and he couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't going to see Chris. About took his breath away just thinking about that. He could picture it so clearly: Chris standing on his porch in his black pants and white undershirt, sipping on his coffee. He'd probably frown when Buck rode up, probably think something was wrong.
He wondered what they'd talk about, Buck and Chris. Would Chris ask about him?
It didn't matter; a few more days and he'd be gone. It had been three weeks or there about since he was attacked, and even though he was weak as a kitten, his body was healing up fine. Still had some aches and pains, but they were minor - with the exception of his jaw. That still hurt like a sonuvabitch, but he wasn't hungry anyway. Still had a cough, too, which bothered Nathan a whole lot more than it bothered him. It'd be fine, once he got away, out in the fresh air. Away from town . . . from Chris . . .
Chris wouldn't be wearing his boots, while he was talking to Buck on the porch. Larabee was funny that way. Vin put his boots on first thing, but Chris liked walking around barefoot when he had the chance.
It had been six nights since he'd last seen him; six nights that felt like sixty and Vin wondered if this was what the rest of his life would be like - every day and every night endless and agonizing.
Was Chris drinking? He had that habit, when he was angry or upset. But maybe he wasn't all that upset; maybe Chris finally realized that he had better things to do than spend his time with a scrawny, illiterate, wanted man. The same man who told him not to come back.
Vin sighed and pulled a shaky hand through his hair. Maybe he should try to eat a bit more, otherwise he might not make it up on Peso when he was ready to ride. He had no idea where he'd go; thought about heading south, but Chris never liked hot weather . . .
Chris . . .
A sharp pain sliced through his chest, and he wondered how long it would take before he could imagine a life without Chris.
"Vin? Can I come in?"
He startled at the sound of Nettie's voice, just outside his door. Quickly wiping the tear that had suddenly formed, he sucked in a breath and answered her, "Sure, Miss Nettie." Hopefully it sounded stronger to her than it did to him.
"Good Lord, Son, you look like death warmed over," Nettie stated bluntly as she entered his room.
Vin stuttered, "Uh . . ," before deciding he really had no defense to offer.
"Now, what's this I hear about you, Vin Tanner?" Nettie asked as she sat down beside him on the bed.
"Wh . . .what?"
"You know what. Not eatin' . . . not cooperatin' with Nathan . . . takin' your sweet time to get over this. Don't sound like a Tanner t' me."
Vin sighed, the direct result of which was that Nettie leaned in closer. "You gonna let them win?"
"Y' don't understand," Vin mumbled.
"Of course, I do."
"Y' don't know."
"I knew it long before you did. Any fool could see how you looked at Chris Larabee." She softened her voice as she added, "Didn't you wonder why it took off so easy? Why just a few words from a crazy woman were enough to convince the entire town? Because it was right there, in plain sight."
Groaning, Vin closed his eyes and tried to shut out the image of everyone in town laughing over his apparently conspicuous love-sick face.
Nettie brushed the hair from his face, her hand lingering a moment on his forehead. "I ain't sayin' I understand why you feel the way you do. I've gotta be honest about that. I don't know what you see in that man. And the Lord knows, it's not what I want for you - not the kind of life I'd choose for any man I called friend - and especially not for you."
It was her way, Vin knew, of saying he meant more to her than just a friend. Opening his eyes, he met her gaze once more and was stunned to see tears forming there.
"But I want you to be happy - and whole. And for some reason that only God can fathom, that man makes you both."
"It's too late. I . . . can't," Vin rasped as moisture filled his own eyes. He reached up to brush it away, but Nettie caught his hand.
"Yes, you can. It won't be easy, but since when have you gone for easy? You're gonna walk unafraid - just like you always have - with Chris by your side."
"I don't know . . ."
Nettie leaned in closer and said in a low voice, "I hear he's not doing well."
"What? What'd you mean?" Was Chris hurt worse than he thought in the fire?
"Think about it. He's out there all alone at his cabin. Time, whiskey, and nothin' but his own company adds up t' trouble - always has. He needs you."
Vin shook his head. "He's better off without me. I ain't good fer him. And we sure as hell ain't good for our friends."
Nettie scoffed. "Your friends can take care of themselves. And why on earth would you think you aren't good for him?"
"He could have a good life again. A family . . . Mary-"
"Mary! Surely you're not thinking he belongs with her?"
When Vin didn't deny it, she went on, "Well fine, ruin four lives. Bad enough that you're determined to make you and Chris unhappy, let's just add Mary and Billy to the mix!"
Vin's head was beginning to pound as he tried to keep up with Nettie's reasoning.
But either Nettie didn't notice or didn't care, because she kept on. "He doesn't love her, Vin, and it would only be a matter of time before the entire family suffered for that. Besides, that ship has sailed. She's interested in someone else."
The most intelligent response Vin could come up with at that moment was, "Huh?"
"Never mind, they'll tell you when they're ready. We're talking about you and Chris Larabee now."
"I sent him away, Nettie. Told him not t' come back."
"I figured as much. That's exactly why you're gonna have t' go after him. He won't come to you. He can't, no matter how bad he wants to. Pride won't let him."
"I don't think-"
"No, you don't think - that's a problem all men have from time t' time." She smiled at him fondly then and added, "But you'll feel better once you get some food in you. I've brought you some biscuits and honey, and some buttermilk to soak 'em in so you won't have to work that sore jaw of yours."
Vin swallowed and whispered, "It hurts," not talking about his jaw at all.
Nettie wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, "I know, Son, I know. But you just think on what I've told you, and it'll be alright."
Not likely, but he supposed he could do as she asked. Eat a little, ponder a lot. After all, he had a few more days to decide.
Except that an hour later, he knew he couldn't take one more minute of pondering. All he could think about was Chris drinking himself sick - and he probably wasn't eating or sleeping, either. Vin could see him there, at his cabin, sitting alone in the dark . . . black air, black clothes, black mood. Wasn't right or fair - after all, this wasn't Chris's fault. Hell, Larabee had done everything he could to make it turn out right for them.
He was the one who let fear get in their way.
My fault . . .
Nettie was right, Chris wouldn't come to him. He'd have to swallow his fear and go to Chris. And if the man turned him away - which was nothing less than he deserved - so be it.
The biscuits helped, at least he was able to make his way down the hall without having to stop and rest. And for once luck was with him when he ran into JD coming up the stairs. Once he told the kid where he was going, there was no stopping him. JD had Peso saddled and waiting behind the hotel before Nathan could even discover that Vin had left his room.
He had no idea what he'd say when he got there, couldn't imagine being able to say anything at all once had he Chris in his sights again. Wouldn't be the first time the man left him speechless. He could only pray that Chris would understand . . . forgive him . . . touch him. But if not, maybe he'd at least considering being friends. It wasn't enough, but the one thing he was damn sure of was that he couldn't figure out how to live his life without Chris in it. Friends or lovers, one way or another, he needed Chris at his back and by his side.
I take what I can get . . .
+ + + + + + +
Chris couldn't wait a few days - a few hours were more than he could handle. All he could think of was Vin alone and sick; too damn stubborn and proud to ask for help.
He can't come to you . . . fear won't let him . . .
So alright, he would swallow his pride and try one more time. And if Vin turned him away, so be it. Maybe Tanner would at least consider being friends again. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do because he just couldn't figure out a way to live his life without Vin in it.
He was halfway to town when he saw a rider approaching on the trail. Took him about three seconds to recognize the blaze of white on the horse's face and the easy slouch of his rider.
Vin . . .
Tanner straightened up when he saw him coming towards him, but Chris wasn't fooled. Damn fool had no business being up on a horse and where the hell did he think he was going anyway?
None of that mattered though as the two men drew closer. Chris felt his heart pounding in his chest and held his breath as he drunk in the sight of the man he'd missed so desperately. Still too pale, far too thin, but dear God, he was beautiful.
Vin . . .
Words stuck in his throat and it seemed he was capable of making only one sound, "Vin."
Pushing up the brim of his hat, Vin raised his eyes. "Chris."
Silence then, the only sounds that of the cool wind rustling the branches of the nearby trees and shrubs. But finally Chris gathered himself enough to ask, "Where you headin'?"
Vin shifted in the saddle and turned his head to study the storm clouds gathering in the far east, as if he could find his answer in the heavens. After several long moments, he turned back and admitted softly, "Comin' t' see you."
Thank God . . .
There were a million things Chris could have said - wanted to say - but all he could manage was, "Oh."
Vin's tired blue eyes gave away his apprehension when he asked, "Where you goin'?"
No mistaking the hope in Tanner's voice either, and Chris turned his lips up a bit to answer, "To see you."
"Oh."
Vin coughed harshly then, reeling in the saddle, and Chris reached over to steady him. "You alright, Pard? Think you can make it to my place?" he asked worriedly, fighting the itch to yank Vin off the horse and hold onto him for dear life.
Quickly composing himself, Vin answered shortly, "Just a damn cough. I'm fine. I'll make it," he added firmly. All spit and vinegar - shades of the old Vin he knew and loved.
But by the time they reached his place, it was painfully apparent that Tanner was done in. Chris regretfully pushed aside his burning desire to strip the man naked and place his lips and hands over every inch of his body, knowing Vin needed food and sleep. He supposed they needed to talk too. After all, just because Vin was coming to see him didn't mean he wanted him the same way.
Did it?
He got his answer sooner than he thought he would. Vin slipped off his horse, his knees buckling just as Chris caught him under his arms. Before he knew it, Vin was wrapped around him, clinging onto him tightly, his head on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, Chris," Vin rasped, the words hot and muffled against his throat. "I didn't mean it . . . I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . ."
Over and over he repeated the two words, even when Chris gripped him tighter and put his mouth to Vin's hair. "It doesn't matter now."
"No . . . I need t' . . . I need . . ."
"Vin." Chris whispered hoarsely, gentle hands framing Vin's face as he pulled back to meet his eyes. "You need to eat and sleep, and then we'll talk about this, alright?"
"Don't wanna talk," Vin responded petulantly, before forcing his way into Chris's mouth with his tongue.
Damn . . .
After only three weeks, Vin's jaw couldn't be completely healed, but it didn't stop the man from doing all kinds of interesting things with his tongue. Chris could only imagine what might happen when Tanner was at his best.
The kiss was passionate, desperate, and even though Chris was all for making up for lost time, he knew Vin wasn't up to it just yet. He pulled back and whispered, "Easy, Pard. We got plenty of time."
Vin swallowed and nodded, but didn't say anything.
Chris continued, "You need to eat, for starters."
"Can't chew."
"It seems to me you can manage a lot more with that mouth than you're letting on," Chris replied, ducking to hide a smile when Vin blushed. "Besides," he added, "Buck just happened to drop off a gallon of Nettie's potato soup this morning."
With a tilt of his head, Vin asked, "You reckon those two . . .?"
"I reckon," Chris answered with a wide grin.
"I reckon we owe 'em then."
"I reckon we do, but we'll save that for later, too," Chris replied as he led Vin inside.
The first bowl of soup went down fast and easy, but halfway through the second, Vin could hardly hold his head up. Chris hooked him under his arm and dragged him off to bed, Vin mumbling that he was fine and he sure as hell wasn't tired. Chris managed to drop him on the bed and get off one boot before the man was out cold.
He took a moment to study him then, unguarded. Vin's face was nearly healed, only shadows of lingering bruises remaining, white scars barely noticeable beneath curly bangs and shaggy beard. Buck was right about the cough, though; it nagged at Vin even as he slipped into a deep sleep. But the rattle in his chest was gone, his breathing slow and even, and as he lay down beside him, Chris decided he could get used to this real quick - listening to Vin breathe in the comfort of his own bed. A sense of peace came over him; a deep satisfaction at having Vin with him, beside him, and he fell into an easy sleep.
Several hours later, the sound of rain roused him. The fire had died and it was dark and dreary in the small cabin, so he lit a lamp, keeping the wick down low while Vin slept. After throwing a few logs on the fire, he set a pot to brew some coffee. When it was finished, he poured himself a cup and moved to the window to watch the rain.
A short time later, he heard Vin come up behind him, and as always, his mere presence stirred feelings deep inside him. He turned towards him, just in time for Vin to boldly take the mug from his hands and help himself to a sip of coffee.
Vin swallowed it with a sigh and smiled sheepishly before handing the cup back and moving closer to the fire. Chris waited silently, curious what the man's next move would be.
"You remember this summer, when we were fixin' this roof?" Vin asked him out of the blue, his eyes glittering in the firelight.
"Yeah."
"We were both up on the roof, our shirts off, and the sun beatin' down. You were bitchin' about the heat the whole time."
"Well hell, Vin, sweat was running off our backs in streams. Had t' be a hundred degrees that day."
Vin smiled as he nodded. "I reckon it was."
"There a point to this reminiscing, Pard?"
Leaning his hip against the old chair that sat by the fireplace, Vin ran his hand along the worn leather. He kept his face down as he replied, "Just that . . . that was one of the best days of my life."
Finally lifting his head, he added, "And I just want ya t' know that if . . . if that's all we can have . . . us bein' friends, like on that day . . . well, it's enough. Because I just can't figure a way t' live without you. Just can't figure it."
"Us bein' friends is enough for you?" Chris asked.
Vin looked down again and mumbled, "Take what I can get."
"What you can get is all of it," Chris stated firmly as he sat the coffee cup on the window sill and moved to stand in front of Vin. "No more if's or maybe's or when's . . . no more empty promises . . . no more crumbs."
Wrapping an arm around Vin's waist, he lowered his voice and put his lips to the other man's ear. "I don't wanna be friends, Vin. And I don't aim to figure out how to live without you, either."
Vin swallowed and raised his eyes. "I can't give you a family. Can't give you a normal life."
Chris moved his mouth to Vin's jaw. "It's time t' quit telling me what you can't give me, and show me what you can."
Vin licked his lips before taking Chris's mouth again - softer this time, hesitantly, his earlier desperation replaced with uncertainty. Noses touching, he breathed between parted lips, "You ever . . . done this with a man?"
Hell of a time to ask, Chris thought, as he pulled Vin tighter against him and ran a trail of kisses down his throat. But Vin pushed back, his gaze steady and intense as he caught his breath . . . waiting for an answer.
"Damn, Vin, I'm not exactly sure," Chris replied. "Too many mornings I woke up having no idea where I'd put my hands or my mouth - or any other part of my body - the night before."
"Oh," Vin breathed, and Chris couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed. But it must not have mattered too much because an instant later, Vin's hands were in his hair and his lips were on his mouth as he muttered, "Reckon we'll figure it out."
Damn . . .
Epilogue: Blessing
Stars dotted the night sky as a cold wind whipped its way inside Vin's coat, chilling him to the bone. For once, he'd have preferred to stay in the seedy little town they'd just left behind, but Chris wouldn't hear of it. Seemed Chris had developed a real fondness for camping out, once he figured out the two of them could do anything they damn well pleased far away from the prying eyes - and ears - of civilization.That first night at the cabin, he'd told Chris they'd figure it out, and they had - a hundred different times in about as many different ways. Every time was still new, though, still some sort of wondrous gift that Vin couldn't quite believe was his.
He'd remained at the cabin for two weeks, healing up and getting his strength back. Turned out Larabee was a damn miracle worker - Vin had never felt better in his life.
But eventually they had to go back to town, face up to whatever the future held there. They were still on Judge Travis' payroll, and they owed him - as well as the rest of the boys - some sort of a decision.
Vin's stomach was tied in knots that day when they first headed into town. He wasn't sure what to expect, in spite of Buck's assurance that no one would treat them any differently. Chris had pretty much left the decision up to him - whether they would stay or move on - and it was tearing him in two. Like his feelings for Chris, his attachment to the small town had taken him by surprise, and he couldn't quite figure out how to cut himself loose.
But Buck was right; no one gave them a hint of trouble. There were a few raised brows, a few uncomfortable glances, but after a day or two, things were back to normal. Neither Vin nor Chris were ignorant or stupid - they knew trouble could easily find them again at any time. But for the time being, the town had a new couple to worry on - Buck and Mary. Made Vin's heart sing just thinking about the two of them together, but some people in town were divided on the issue. He guessed Chris was right, too, when he said folks would find something else, someone else to talk about.
Their friends seemed to be fine, too. The men in town really had come through and built Nathan a nice, new clinic, while Mary had ordered him new books. Josiah was limping some, but Maude was in town - offering her own, unique brand of sympathy - so he wasn't complaining.
Vin got a little choked up when he recalled how Mrs. Potter hugged him when she first saw him. She promised to fatten him up, and between her and Nettie's cooking - and Larabee's nagging - he'd managed to gain back a few pounds.
He reckoned maybe they'd stay on, for a time anyway.
They kept their separate rooms at the hotel, though Vin rarely used his. He sold his wagon, though, which seemed to make everyone happy - especially Ezra who commented that removing the "dilapidated eyesore" could only improve business. For Chris's peace of mind, they rode patrol together. Vin had always craved solitude, but he found out that he craved Larabee's warm body even more. Couldn't sleep, in fact, if Chris wasn't next to him.
"You gonna stay up on that horse gatherin' wool all night - or you gonna get down and help me set up camp?" Chris asked with a mixture of irritation and amusement, his words quickly bringing Vin back to the present.
Vin ignored his partner as he blew on his hands and rubbed them together. "Too damn cold," he muttered as he dismounted.
"You gonna bitch all winter?" A wicked gleam in those green eyes - Larabee was in a mood.
"Just might. Only fair since I had t' listen t' you bitch all summer."
Chris only grinned as he unpacked the bedrolls, while Vin started a fire.
Thirty minutes later, Vin was already snuggled under three blankets when Chris pulled back the covers to join him.
The blond reached for him, pulling him in close for a gentle kiss. "You leavin' that coat on all night?" Chris asked, his hands obviously seeking skin and finding only buckskin.
"Hell yes. It's freezin' out here."
"Aw, come on, Vin."
"I ain't freezin' my ass off - even fer you, Larabee."
"Well hell, we could've stayed in town then."
"Oh alright. Just the coat. That's it. I mean it, Chris."
"I'll keep ya warm, Pard," Chris whispered seductively in his ear.
He would - no doubt at all about that. Chris had a way . . .
Lord, did he have a way. By the time Chris had him unwrapped, untucked, and unbuttoned, Vin had warmed up considerably.
There was a time when Vin had wondered if what they had between them was a blessing or a curse. But when Chris moved to cover his body with his own and claimed his mouth once again, he had his answer.
He needed to spend a little more time at Josiah's church.
As Chris worked his way down his body, Vin let his eyes drift to the stars above him. So many times he'd wished for them to carry him away, but no more. Nothing could be better than what he'd found here on earth, with Chris.
I got it all . . .
The End