Ezra Standish yawned, pausing on the landing in order to study the crowd below. It was early evening, so there weren't a lot of saloon patrons, yet. Brushing at his deep purple jacket, he started down the stairway. His intention was to make the appropriate impression, as it was his first time in the little burg of Wharton's Pass. While the local populace hadn't done a lot to impress him when they had ridden in, he continued to be optimistic that he would find adequate competition at the gaming table.

As Standish reached the bottom of the staircase, he frowned. A vaguely familiar sound -- that of feminine laughter -- rang out across the saloon. Locating the source at the far end of the room, he moved toward it. Arriving at the table where five players were seated around the felt covered surface, he took in each face. Four men, three of them obviously local farmers and townsmen, the fourth wore the clothes of an itinerant merchant.

It was the fifth player that caught his attention. Ezra stood there, watching her for several moments before he was acknowledged. As a pair of crystal blue eyes rose to regard him, he found himself catching his breath. "Hello, Angel."

"Well… hello, yourself." Her soft voice poured fourth in honeyed tones. "I certainly didn't expect to see you here."

"My associate and I only arrived a few hours ago, passing through on business."

"Your… associate?" Her fair features paled even further.

His expression growing hard, he remembered the last time he had seen her. It had been several months ago, but Vin Tanner would always carry the scars. Marshaling his emotions, the gambler said, "You don't know him."

"Hey, we're right in the middle of a game here," One of the other players growled.

Ignoring the man, the pretty brunette smiled and said, "Well, would you like to join us?"

Seeing the angry looks brewing, Ezra said, "Gentlemen, allow me to buy a round as an apology for interrupting the game. I would love to join in, when you reach an appropriate place in the play."

~<@ @>~

The game lasted well into the night. He was marginally aware of Buck Wilmington stopping by at some point. He was too wrapped up in the game to do more than nod to the other man.

The other players dropped off one by one, until Ezra found himself alone with the woman whom he had once married. Was still married to her he supposed, although he had never considered it a true marriage.

Idly shuffling the deck of cards, the young woman looked him over. "You look… good, darlin'." Her voice was like the purr of a big cat… soft, low, and extremely dangerous.

"I could say the same about you."

"Could, but won't," She said shortly.

He simply smiled. He couldn't say it, because it wasn't true. Her face was angles and planes, her complexion had an unhealthy cast to it. Her eyes, once the hue of a mountain lake, were hard and cold.

Shrugging, she said, "Perhaps if I settled down in some sleepy little backwater burg, contenting myself with a pittance that left me wearing gingham rather than silk…"

With a smirk, Ezra said, "Well, your tongue has certainly stood the test of time."

Icy smile growing colder, the brunette said, "Yes, well, I've had ample opportunity to hone it."

"For which you have only yourself to thank." With each exchange, his voice grew angrier, while hers grew bitterer.

"Of course your mother had nothing to do with the decisions I made."

"The only hold Mother ever had over you was training you to walk in her footsteps. Which as I recall, you did only too well… and too willingly."

"Until she considered me… and the state of things… more of a liability than an asset."

He blanched at her words, looking as if he wanted to be ill. After several moments, he said in a pained voice, "If I had known… I-I… I would never have allowed it. I wish you'd believe me, Angel."

Regarding him coldly, the woman said, "The man before me would have stopped her, I think. The man I married? No, frankly I don't believe he would have. I believe he would have considered it… appropriate."

Green eyes dropping to study the contents of his glass, Standish said sadly, "Perhaps you're right."

With a smug grin, she said, "At least I have that much from you."

"I wish I could give you more. I can't say that I'd like to take up where we left off, Angel. But I have missed you."

"So much so that you preferred to stay in an open jail cell rather than leave with me?"

"I know I could never make you understand," Ezra said with a touch of sorrow.

"No, I don't believe you ever could."
Silence reigned for sometime, the two of them simply sitting there across the table from one another. Seeing the bartender eyeing them, Standish said, "I believe the proprietor wishes to lock up for the night. Shall I escort you to your room?"

~<@ @>~

They walked up the stairs, Angel in front of him. When they reached her door, he took the key from her hand and unlocked it. Pushing it open, he stood aside to allow her to enter. She stepped past the threshold, the room beyond cast in the soft glow of lantern light. Turning, one hand covering the one he still had on the door, she looked up into his eyes.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he was captured by her gaze. Running the edge of his tongue across suddenly dry lips, he forced himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. Without realizing it his hand went out, well manicured fingers stroking through her raven tresses. Cupping his palm around her cheek, he leaned forward and claimed her lips.

She leaned into the kiss, her lips parting as his tongue teased at them. Her arms encircled his neck and she pressed her body against his. A soft groan escaped him as she rubbed against his crotch and she smiled as she felt his body respond to her. Just as it had so long ago. Moving backward, she coaxed him inside the room.

Standish pulled away slightly, looking into her eyes once more. They were dark with desire, the pupils wide. He closed the door, drawing her into his arms once more. At her urging, he moved with her toward the bed. They settled onto its edge together, still lost in their embrace. Their hands moved slowly over one another's body as they sought to remember the feel of what had once been so familiar.

After several moments, the woman broke off the embrace. Staring into the slightly glazed eyes of her husband, she smiled as she pulled the pins from her hair and tossed them on the bedside table. Then, pulling herself away, she stood; her eyes on him while she began to slowly undress. He stood as well, and began undoing his clothes as well. Long habit caused them to carefully fold the garments, laying them together on a nearby chair. Then, together, they moved back to the bed.

Ezra dropped to the mattress, pulling her down beside him. He carded the fingers of one hand through her dark tresses, the other hand stroking down her back. She leaned toward him, her lips parting as she offered them to him. Pressing his own mouth to hers, he crushed them in a deep, passionate kiss. He felt her hands stroking over his back and sides, moving around until she found his manhood. Moaning, the auburn haired man pulled her closer.

Passion overcame the reunited couple and they moved together onto the bed. Standish coaxed the woman onto her back and knelt beside her. Leaning down, he showered hot, passionate kisses over her pale flesh. Moving down her long throat he pressed a kiss into the hollow of its base. Continuing along the warm body, he found and began sucking at a nipple. Beneath him, she squirmed, whimpering as he left that nipple and moved to the other. Taking that one in his mouth as well, he sucked with building intensity.

Leaning up, he watched her, gauging her desire. With a hungry smile, he moved his hand to the warm, moist flesh between her legs. She cried out, arching up as his movements sent a thrill through her. Opening herself to him, she reached out to stroke her hand over his handsome features.

Ezra pushed himself up inside her, watching her eyes open wider as he filled her with his cock. She moaned, her muscles squeezing him tight. Long legs wrapping around his narrow waist, she pulled him farther inside herself. He thrust deeper still, then pulled back, until only the head of his cock was inside her. He waited until she wordlessly begged him to bury himself inside her again then slid slowly forward.

The air came alive with sounds of pure sex. He rocked and thrust, grunting as he impaled her on his thick shaft. Beneath him, Angel writhed, digging into his shoulders with her long nails. The Southerner howled as she drew blood, thrusting harder. Their actions became more frantic, flesh slapping hard against flesh as their movements only served to increase their hunger.

With a savage cry, Ezra filled her with his seed before dropping to lie atop her. She continued to move, her own orgasm coming several thrusts later. Lying unmoving for several moments, they both simply concentrated on breathing. Finally, the green eyed gambler moved, withdrawing from her as he rolled to his side beside her.

Sated smile gracing her flushed features, Angel said, "Well, you certainly haven't lost your touch for… satisfying me."

Returning the smile, Standish said, "the feeling is mutual, I'm certain."

Lightly stroking a finger down the side of his face, Angel said, "I'm dying of thirst. Would you like a drink?"

Kissing her fingertip as it slid across his lips, he said, "I should be going."

"Why?" Her lips pursed as she affected a pout.

"Because it wouldn't be prudent for me to be seen leaving your room."

"You are my husband."

Stroking back an ebony curl, he said, "no one is aware of that fact with the exception of the two of us."

Rolling over until she was kneeling on the bed, straddling his hips, she said, "Well, it's the truth, so let them think what they may. You and I have a lot to catch up on, darlin', now, I'm getting a drink. Do you want one or not?"

With a chuckle, he replied, "I never could say no to you." Watching her cross the room, he saw her jerk at his comment. He knew what was going through her mind. He had said no to her before, and sent her from his life.

Angel was smiling when she returned to the bed, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. Holding out a glass to him, she said, "it isn't the best bourbon I've ever had, but it's adequate."

Taking the glass, he tapped it against the one she still held before taking a drink. Sipping it, he let his gaze drift over the woman's pale body. He couldn't help but notice several scars decorating her lean frame. Just another reminder of what his saying no to her so many years ago had cost the woman he had at least thought he loved once.

They finished their drinks and she carried the glasses back to the little table, where the bottle of alcohol sat. Refilling them, she came back and once more handed one to him.

Half way through the second glass of bourbon, Standish felt a wave of weariness wash over him. Lying back against the pillow, he frowned as the room began a lazy spin around him. "I… I fear the long h- hours… have overwh… overwhelmed me. I need… need to go… to my o-own…
bed."

Taking the glass from him as it tilted dangerously, Angel said, "Sh, it's all right, darlin'. You just rest. Your little Angel will take care of everything."

Blinking owlishly, he tried to focus on her face. He frowned as he saw something there that made his blood run cold. Before he could put a name to it, the world went black.

~<@ @>~

Buck yawned and stretched, blinking his eyes open to find the mid- morning sun shining in the hotel room window. That was one thing he liked about traveling with Ezra. The gambler was the only one of their group who slept later than he did. It was nice not to be rousted before dawn by a too-cheerful Texas drawl or the short temper of his oldest friend. With Standish, he was typically the one doing the waking up.

Pulling his lean body out of the less than comfortable bed, he moved to do just that. Then he frowned when he realized that the smaller man wasn't in the room. He hadn't been all that shocked to find the room empty when he'd stumbled into room in the wee hours. He was surprised, though, that the man hadn't come up at all.

Getting dressed, Wilmington scuffed from the room and down the stairs to the saloon. There were a few people there, mostly those who lived in the bottom of the bottle. The big man moved around to the far side of the saloon, where he had last seen the gambler. Seeing that the game wasn't still in progress, he moved to the bar, motioning over the bartender.

"Yes, sir?" The older man asked as he came to stand across the roughhewn bar.
"Do you remember a man sittin' over at that table, with the other card players… fancy clothes, looked like he's never done a lick `a work?" When the other man nodded, he asked, "Did you see `im leave?"

"Left with that little filly, was playin' cards with him an' them other fellas."

"Left?"

Canting his head toward the stairs, the bartender said, "up yonder."

"She got a room?"

Another nod. "Number three."

With a wicked grin, Buck thanked the man and headed back toward the stairs. Not only would he get to wake the other man, but he was bound to get some juicy tidbits later if he worked things right.

Sprinting up the stairs, he moved along the hallway until he found the door with a crude "3" scratched into the wood. Knocking, he pressed an ear against the door, listening for any tell-tale sounds from inside. His Cheshire cat grin faded a little when he heard nothing, but he simply knocked again, this time a little harder.

When the third knock didn't get a response, Buck tried the knob. Finding the door unlocked, he inched it open, peeking inside. Then he pushed it open farther, frowning as he found the room beyond completely empty. Stepping inside, he quickly looked around the room. There was nothing to show that it had been occupied.

Going to the end of the hall where their room was, he checked, expecting to see the southerner there, primping for the day.

Nothing.

~<@ @>~

Bailey Krebs looked up from where he was mucking out one of the empty stalls in his livery as someone entered. He remembered seeing the man just the day before. He had come in leading two horses to board overnight. Nodding as the big man approached, he said, "Y' needin' yer horses saddled?"

"Are they both still here?"

Frowning, the liveryman said, "Hell yeah, what're y' sayin'? Why wouldn't they both be here?"

Holding up a hand to stop the tirade, Buck said, "I'm lookin' for my friend. He didn't come in for his horse?"

"Nope."

Wilmington nodded. That had to mean that Ezra was still in town. He had checked, and discovered that there was no stage service here. When the other man spoke again, however, his blood froze.

"Onliest business I've had t'day's been that dark headed woman an' her sick husband."

"Who?"

Scratching his chin, Krebs said, "She woke me up `fore th' sun come up. Said her husband took ill an' she needed t' git `im home. Said she didn't want nobody t' see `im, cause he'd be `mbarrassed so she paid me good t' hitch up `er buggy `n bring it t' th' back a th' saloon. I still ain't got a clue `a how she got that feller to th' back door. He couldn't hardly walk `r talk. Kep' mutterin' an' tryin' t' push `er away. I had t' he'p `er git `im into the buggy."

"This man… her husband. What did he look like?"

Shrugging, the liveryman said, "Sort `a on th' small side I reckon. Had a sort `a fancy look to `im. Had dark hair… not `s dark as yers"

"What… what did he have on?" Buck asked; his heart beginning to pound harder and harder.

"Mister, I ain't got time t' stand here d'scussin' a man's wardrobe."

Pulling a silver dollar from his pocket, the big man held it out as he said, "It's important."

~<@ @>~

Half an hour later, Buck Wilmington was riding out of town astride General, Diamonds in tow. He uncovered enough information from the liveryman to know that it had indeed been his friend. Something had happened to Standish, and the woman he had been playing cards with the night before was behind it.

He found out that the mysterious woman had driven the buggy east out of town. The nearest town in that direction was a vile little burg called Wolf Meadow. By some reports, the place sounded worse than Purgatorio.

Wharton's Pass boasted neither telegraph nor peacekeeper. That left him on his own. If Ezra was going to be rescued, he was going to have to do it.

~<@ @>~

A few of the more curious watched the dusty buggy rolling up the street. They noted a woman handling at the reins, a man slumped in the seat beside her. He was wrapped in a blanket, he head resting against the brace holding the canopy over their head.

She pulled up in front of the beaten down building that served as the town's only hotel, saloon and restaurant. Reining the horses to a stop, she looked around her, wide-eyed. After a minute or two, one of the locals came to stand beside her.

"C'n I help y', Miss?"

Smiling sweetly, the brunette said, "Missus… Stanhope. This is my husband, Eric. He became ill on the trail… well, he's been ill for some time, really… at any rate, we need to stop so he can rest. Would you be so kind as to help me get him inside?"

Tipping his hat, the big man nodded. "Sure thing, ma'am."

Ezra felt himself being tugged and pulled, then forced to stand. He muttered, pushing weakly at the hands that gripped him. Forcing his eyes open, he stared around him, trying desperately to see who or what had hold of him. There was nothing other than shadows and indistinct shapes. After struggling for some time, he felt what little energy he had, drain away.

The woman who was now calling herself Mrs. Eric Stanhope watched the struggles slow and come to a halt. Smiling inwardly, she nodded to the scruffy man who had come to her assistance and moved into the building.

~<@ @>~

Half an hour later found them settled into a room. It had taken a little doing, but she had undressed her husband and had him stretched out on the bed. Since it was mid-afternoon and a hot summer day, she had folded the blankets on the foot of the bed. She took a perverse pleasure in seeing him lying there, naked and vulnerable.

A soft moan announced that he was beginning to wake. She moved to the water pitcher they had brought up for her and filled a glass with cool well water. Going to her valise she retrieved a large cloth bag. Opening the drawstring top, she looked inside, smiling as she gauged the contents. Luckily she had had the foresight to buy as much of the potion as the old Chinese man calling himself a doctor could supply. Finding the little silver spoon she carried with her
she dug into the bag and retrieved a spoon full of the sugar-like substance.

She had no idea how it had been made, but she had found it to be a wonderful tool in her line of work. Mixing what she had come to call `the candy' into the glass, she carried it to the bed. Leaning down, she stroked the disheveled auburn hair. Another moan, then his eyes opened slowly. She watched as he tried to focus on her, pasting a loving smile on her face.

"Darlin', it's so good to see you're beautiful eyes open," the brunette purred.

He frowned, trying desperately to see who was hovering over him. He could make out nothing but a vague shape. "Wh… who… I don't… ohh… I feel… s-sick… please…"

"Shh, it's all right darlin', your little Angel's right here. I'll take good care of you."

"Wh… what? Ang… Angel?"

"Why yes, darlin', it's your Angel. Everything's gonna be just fine, you'll see. Now, can you drink some water for me?"

He nodded, feeling her slip her hand beneath his head. He was lifted up enough that he could sip from the glass she held at his lips. It had a strange taste, as if she'd dosed it with sugar or molasses syrup. She didn't move the glass until he had managed to drink the entire contents. As he felt himself lowered back to the bed, he moaned as the room swayed around him. "Ohhh… I… I don't f-feel well. C'd… could you ge… get Nath…an for me?"

"Nathan?"

Frowning, he said, "wait… no we were… were… trav'lin'… where… where's… Buck?"

"Why darlin', I don't know who either of those people are." Her voice was soft and light. "There's just you and me here, no one else."

"No… I was… trav… trav'lin'… Buck… we were… unh… we were… oh… it's so h-hard… can't th-think…"

"Shh, it's all right sweetheart. You just rest… your little Angel's gonna take care of everything."

His eyelids fluttered closed, then struggled to open once more. Unable to move the heavy lids, he succumbed once more to oblivion.

The dark-haired woman's smile turned predatory as she watched the prone form relax as the drug moved through his system. The beauty of the strange potion was that she could keep him in this state for as long as she wanted. It was a wonderful tool in making a man amenable to her will. The drug would keep his thoughts muddled; keep him from being able to wake enough to move without being coaxed.

They had been quite the sight, entering the saloon earlier. The man who had come to her aid was half carrying her husband, who could do little more than stumble along beside him. After getting a room, she had led the way up the stairs, the drugged man barely able to pull his feet from one step to the next.

She had paid the stranger well, and he had retrieved their bags from the buggy, before taking the rig to the livery. Taking over the comatose man's care, she had coaxed him out of his clothes before locking them away in the closet.

Bringing her thoughts back from those recent memories, Angel stoked her hand over the creamy, satiny flesh. He was surprisingly muscular, his true physique hidden beneath layers of clothing. Sliding her hand down across his chest and belly, she continued on to the thick thatch of curly hair between his legs. Running her tongue over her lips hungrily, she began teasing his flaccid shaft.

Another benefit of the mysterious potion was the fact that a man's body could become easily aroused, even while he slept.

With a few soft moans issuing from his slightly parted lips, she brought him erect. She continued fondling him until he was rigid, then stood beside the bed. She raised her skirts, the fact that she wore nothing beneath becoming quickly evident. Then, climbing onto the bed, she straddled his narrow hips. Guiding him inside her with one hand, she braced herself on the bed with the other. She groaned as she allowed herself to dwell only on the pleasure of riding the man's long, thick cock.

~<@ @>~

Buck looked down at the little town at the bottom of the hill. Yet another little town. He had been riding a circuit around Wharton's Pass for four days now, starting out before sunrise and going until the sun had already set. There had been no sign of Ezra or the woman he was with in Wolf Meadow, so he had kept riding. Going into each little town or settlement or whatever else came to his attention.

He hadn't been able find any place with a telegraph, so there was no way to let Chris and the others know what was happening. He had settled for sending out a note from the stage way-station he had come to the day before. At least the others would know what was going on soon.

It was still up to him to find the gambler, though. Wilmington knew that something bad had happened to the man. He just didn't know what had happened, or why.

So, he kept riding, kept searching, kept asking after his friend.

~<@ @>~

Blurs. Light, dark, color, shape. Blurs.

Noise. Voices, words, tones, sounds. Noise.

Touch. Soft, gentle, harsh, painful. Touch.

This was his world.

Eric Stanhope struggled to focus his eyes; to make sense of the noises around him. There was a heaviness that shifted over his hips, thighs and stomach. It weighed him down and lifted him up at the same time. He felt his body rock and thrust outside his control. He heard a moan that some part of his fractured mind realized had come from him. Pain flowed through him, but it was a pain he craved. In its wake his body dropped heavy and relaxed to… wherever it was he lay.

The heaviness left his body; he felt the cool air flow over him in its absence. Movement caught his attention, and he fought to make sense of the shadowy figure beside him. In a voice that seemed miles away, he managed, "Who… who… where are… we… who are… you? Who… I know you?"

"Yes, darlin', of course you do. It's your little Angel. Don't you remember Eric? Please tell me you remember."

Eric? Yes, he remembered that name. Was it his? It didn't seem to fit, but it was the only one he had heard for so long. Eric. Angel. Memories tried to push themselves through the sludge of his mind, but he wasn't able to bring them completely out into the open.

"Please, Eric… darlin'. Please tell me you remember." Her voice quivered with fear, but it was a fear that did not show itself in her face. Those porcelain features remained cold and emotionless.

He couldn't say no to her. Couldn't hurt her. "Y-yes… I re… remember."

Her smile was as cold as her eyes, but her voice purred as she said, "Oh, Eric, I'm so happy. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. You've… you've been so ill for so long. I had despaired of you ever remembering."

Shuttered, unfocused eyes stared in her direction. A hand rose weakly, reaching out toward her. With a thick tongue and sluggish lips, he managed, "I'm… sorry I wor… I worried… you… Ang…el."

Leaning down and kissing him on the forehead, the brunette said, "never mind that now, darlin'. Nothing matters as long as you're getting better."

"Better? I… I'm better?"

"Oh yes, Eric, darlin'. You were so ill for so long… feverish and out of your mind. My heavens, I was certain you'd wake thinking you were someone else all together."

With a wan smile, he murmured. "I'm… Eric… I'm… I'm your… husband."

"Yes, darlin'," She stroked his stubbled jaw, continuing the farce of the concerned wife. "You're my husband. We've been married for fourteen years now."
"F-fourteen? So… so long?" His brow furrowed. Something spoke to him from the corners of his mind. Another life, another place. Another name?

With a brittle laugh, Angel said, "It hardly seems that long to me, sweet Eric. It seems as if we're still newlyweds."

Forcing another smile, he said, "I'm… sorry… I only… I'm so… confused."

Continuing to stroke his face, she said, "Sh. Hush now, darlin'. Never you mind, Eric. It's the fever… it's muddled your thinkin'."

With a faint nod, he said, "I'm cer… certain you're… r-right."

"Now then, let's get you a drink, all right?" Not waiting for him to reply she moved to the pitcher and mixed a potion-laced glass of water. She'd been giving him the drug every few hours. He'd been given nothing otherwise, not even the broth the meddling woman that ran the kitchen downstairs insisted on bringing him three or four times a day to help him build up his strength.

That was the last thing she wanted. She needed him just as he was now; unable to even lift his head off the pillow or distinguish dream from reality. By the time she was through with him, he would be convinced that he was Eric Stanhope, and that they were married in more than name only. And if the bitch who had given birth to him found them, she would have quite the surprise. Her `darlin' boy' would denounce her as the wife of Satan himself.

No, the man lying there in the bed would soon turn to no one but her; would believe no one but her. Would love no one but her.

With a cold smile, the brunette bent to feed him yet another glass of `water'.

~<@ @>~

Buck reined the horses in at the livery, dropping heavily from General's saddle. Handing the reins of both mounts to the young boy standing at the door, he said, "I'm lookin' for a couple `a people. Woman and man; might be sick actin'. Travelin' in a buggy. You seen `em?"

"I just come int' town a couple `a days ago myself, mister. Ain't seen no one like that. You wan' `em groomed, `r just rubbed down?"

Tossing the boy a couple of coins, the big man said, "Take good care of `em, son. Give `em as much attention as you can, they've earned." With that he turned, retrieved the saddlebags from both broad backs, and moved with a tired gait toward the bathhouse.

Buck took the time to clean himself up, the trail dust so thick he couldn't even tell what color his clothes were. He was worn to the bone, exhausted from long hours and days in the saddle. If he didn't find Ezra here, he would return to Four Corners and get help. He hated the thought of giving up, but didn't know what else to do.

Pulling himself up out of the hot tub, Wilmington scrubbed himself dry and drew on clean clothes. Feeling a little better, he tossed the ancient man sitting in the corner a coin and picked up their belongings. Stepping back out into the dusty street, the big man scanned the small collection of buildings. Finding one that offered food, rooms, and drinks, he headed in that direction.

Stepping inside the building, Wilmington moved to one side, surveying the room. There were several men seated at the scattered tables or leaning against the bar. Some of them watched him openly, while others pretended to be looking elsewhere. As in every town, he had some hope in finding Ezra sitting at one of the felt covered tables, fleecing the locals. And, as in every town, he found no sign of the gambler.

Sauntering up to the bar, Buck waved the bartender over. She was a large, older woman who looked like someone's grandmother, while at the same time looking rougher than the men she served.

"What can I get for you, Hon?" She asked.

"I need a bottle, a plate of whatever you've got hot, and a bed." The brunet said with a smile. As much as he wanted to start questioning everyone in sight, he knew better. He was still being stared at and studied by the locals. If they were this suspicious, he needed to tread slowly in asking about his missing friend.

Taking a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass to one of the back tables, he dropped both sets of saddlebags onto a chair before settling onto one of the others. Pouring a shot, he tossed it back, grimacing at the harsh bite of the cheap liquor. Filling the little glass a second time, he sipped the second shot. While he did, Wilmington let his gaze wander around the room. His attention was a lot keener than he let on, though. He was studying the other saloon
patrons.

"Here y' go, Hon." The older woman from behind the bar said as she set a plate of stew and a basket of biscuits in front of the big man.

Smiling up at her, Buck said, "Thank you darlin'." His stomach growled as he checked out the food before him. He had to admit that it looked awfully good. A second grumble attested to his stomach's agreement. With a chagrined expression, he explained, "I've been livin' on hardtack the last few days. It does look mighty fine though, ma'am."

Returning his smile, the woman said, "Sounds like you're in a hurry to get somewhere."

Exaggerating a sigh, the big brunet adopted a sorrowful expression. "Just tryin' to catch up with a friend."

"Where y' meetin' up with `im?"

"Well, that's the thing. We were together then he just sort of disappeared on me a few days ago."

"Sorry to hear that, he doesn't seem to be much of a friend if he up an' disappeared on you."

"Yeah, well, seems like there was a woman involved." He replied with a smile and wink.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, the woman said, "That explains it. Most men just don't have good sense when it comes to women."

Buck laughed heartily as if she had said the funniest thing in the world. He had to ingratiate himself with the locals in order to gather any information that might be available on the missing gambler.

Her smile fading, the bartender said, "Hate to tell you, darlin', but there ain't been no smitten men come through here for a long while. Only strangers we've had come into town for near a month's been a married couple… woman an' her sick husband."

"Sick?" Buck tried to keep his voice neutral. The liveryman had described Ezra as barely being able to stand or talk.

With a `tsk' sound the woman said, "poor thing… he ain't been able t' even lift himself up off the bed. She stays up there with `im `cept a few hours every night. She comes down and passes some time playin' cards an' chattin' with whoever comes by. Poor dear, she must be so lonesome… and scared."

"Well that's a real shame," Buck shook his head. "Just sittin' up there… hope she's at least got a good view from the room… you know, to give her somethin' to look at."

"Oh, I put `er right at the top of the stairs, it's got the best view of the town. You can see everything that goes on out two windows, and just open the door and you can see the whole of down here."

"Well, what more can you ask for?"

The woman was called back to work by one of the other customers just then, leaving Wilmington to his meal. He forced himself to eat at a normal pace, although he wanted to bolt up the stairs. He was more and more convinced that he would find the missing Standish at the top. It was nearly half an hour before he returned to the bar and asked about a room.

"Well, Hon, only one I've got's all th' way to the back, right outside th' back stairs. It can get a little annoyin' sometimes, with folks comin' and goin'."

Forcing himself not to lean over the bar to kiss the woman, Buck shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Shoot, darlin', tired as I am, a herd of elephants walkin' down the hall wouldn't wake me."

Five minutes later Buck was heading up the stairs. He paused for only a second, glancing at the door that Ezra might be behind. Moving on past, he walked down the hallway toward the room he had just rented.

~<@ @>~

Angel smiled as she stroked a hand down the cool, satin and steel flesh. He was a beautiful man, even lying here unconscious. She paid the hotel maid a dollar a day to come up and take care of his more base and basic needs several times a day. The little girl wasn't especially good or conscientious at her job and consequently her husband was somewhat the worse for wear. However, he was still not unpleasant to look at, so she ignored the thickening beard, the disheveled appearance and the faint smell of sickness that seemed never to leave the room.

A soft moan drew her attention from her thoughts and the brunette watched as he once more fought to regain consciousness. With a frustrated growl, she saw that he was growing restless more quickly now. She hadn't used the potion for this length of time before and wasn't certain of what to expect.

"Please… I need… I… ohhh…" The delirious man muttered. His eyes fluttered open halfway, rolling from side to side as he tried desperately to understand where he was. "Please… help."

"Shh, hush, darlin'… you're all right. It's all right Eric, you're all right." She forced her voice to sound convincingly like a loving, caring wife. Stroking a hand over his ashen face she purred, "You're all right, Eric. Please, Eric, you're all right."

"Er… Eric… I… who?"

"Shh, it's all right, darlin' Eric. You're gonna be fine."

"Eric? I don't… who… I'm Eric?"

"Yes, darlin', your name is Eric. Eric Stanhope. Don't you remember?"

"No… I… Eric?"

"Yes, darlin'." She couldn't stop the tone of irritation from creeping into her voice. She had to repeat almost the exact same conversation each time he came this close to consciousness. Pushing herself to her feet, she moved to the water pitcher. It had only been a couple of hours since his last glass. Looking into the bag, she saw that the level of the powdery substance was growing lower. For the first time she began to doubt that her plan would work.

Silently chastising herself for such thoughts, Angel dipped the spoon into the bag. This time she added a second spoonful, mixing the substance into the water. Carrying it back to the bed, she knelt down and lifted the man's head from the pillow. With slow insistence, she fed him the water before laying him back on the bed. She watched with growing relief as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Moving from the bed, she began to pace around the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She had never done anything this drastic before. She had used the substance she called the sugar several times to get her way with one man or another. Those times had been only short term, bending their will to her whims for things like land, money or jewels.

Never had she tried to completely reinvent a man before.

~<@ @>~

Buck stretched, rubbing his fists into the small of his back as he tried to ease the ache that had settled there. He had been sitting just inside the cracked open door of his rented room for what seemed like days, watching the hallway. The bartender had told him that the woman with the `sick husband' came out only in the evenings to go downstairs. As soon as she did, he would slip into the room and see for himself whether or not the man she left behind was Ezra Standish.

The hint of movement caught his eye and the big brunet watched as someone exited the far room. He smiled grimly as he saw that it was a woman, but the evening shadows hid her face from him.

Buck waited for several minutes before making his move. He wanted to make certain that she didn't come back up. Sliding quietly down the hallway, he moved toward the door leading to the room the woman had so recently left. Reaching for the handle, he was relieved to find that she hadn't even bothered to lock it. Easing inside, the big man glanced around to make certain there was no one other than the figure sprawled out on the mattress. Satisfied that they were alone, he moved toward the bed. The man lying there was naked, not even a sheet to cover him. He was bearded and unkempt; two things Buck couldn't remember associating with Ezra Standish before.

But it was Ezra.

Leaning over the bed, Wilmington reached out to touch the prone form. Cursing under his breath at how cold the smaller man was, he pulled the blankets up from the foot of the bed, tucking them around the chilled form. Absently stroking a hand over the colorless features, he said in a stricken voice, "Damn, Ace, what did she do to you?"

"Get your hands up!" The voice was deep, male and angry.

Tensing, the former lawman moved his hands out and away from his body. Slowly, cautiously, he straightened and turned to face the man who was holding a gun on him. "Take it easy, mister, this is a friend of mine."

"Liar! He's lying!" This voice was definitely feminine. A petite brunette moved away from where she had been hiding behind the man with the gun.

"Look, I'm not lyin'. My name is Buck Wilmington. His name is Ezra Standish and we work together over in Four Corners. I don't know who she is or what she'd doing to him, but this woman kidnapped my friend. " His comments garnered a wave of laughter.

"Kidnapped. *She* kidnapped *him*?"

"I'm not sure how, what she's doin' to him, but she took him out of the hotel over in Wharton's Pass. All I know is he was fine until after he went upstairs with her. The next person that saw him; said he was talkin' out of his head and could hardly walk."

"You're lying!" Cold blue eyes snapping, the woman cried out insistently. "I've never seen this man before in my life!"

A soft groan brought the conversation to a halt, and all eyes went to the bed. The supine figure there began moving restlessly. As they watched, the man began to show signs of waking. For several minutes he struggled to become fully conscious.

Turning back toward the bed, Buck said, "Come on, pard, wake up. Ezra? Come on, wake up for us."

"Back off, mister," the townsman ordered. Coming forward he forced Wilmington to back away from the bed. Then, leaning over the bed, his gun still trained on the big brunet, he said, "Mister? I need you to wake up. Can you tell me your name?"

Dark brows furrowed and Ezra fought to make sense of the words. Running the tip of his tongue over dry lips, he said, "Wh… what? Name? I'm… I… my name is… is… Stan… hope. Eric… Stanhope."

~<@ @>~

"Damn it!" Buck Wilmington growled angrily as he slapped the cold, iron bars. He paced from one side of the cell to the other in quick strides. Every movement was filled with rage. Coming to a stop at the bars once more, he yelled out, "You're makin' a mistake! Let me outta here!"

"Quiet!" The Sheriff ordered angrily from the little office in the next room.

"You've gotta listen to me! She's lyin' to you, damn it! My name is Buck Wilmington, I work for Judge Travis over in - "

"I said be quiet!"

"Look! Just get word to him, or Chris Larabee - "

"Shut up!" The Sheriff ordered sharply. He stomped toward the cell, pulling his gun as he did. "I told you to shut the hell up, and if you don't... "

Buck blinked rapidly as the man cocked his Colt and pointed it at him. In a soft voice, he said, "Sir, please. This is very, very important. You have to send word to Judge Travis or Chris Larabee. They'll tell you who I am."

"Judge'll be here in th' next month… two at th' outside. He'll deal with y' then."

"A month!" Wilmington cried out. "Damn it, don't you understand? He doesn't have a month!"

"I'm not gonna warn you again," The lawman once more aimed his weapon at his prisoner.

Heaving a frustrated breath, Buck forced himself to calm down once more. "Then, please, sir, at least get the doctor to take a look at him."

"Ain't got one."

"A healer of any kind?"

"Not less 'n a day's ride."

"Then let me ride out and get them. I'll bring 'im back - "

"Mister, just how stupid d' you think I am? Only a fool'd let'cha just walk outta here. Now, I'm a lotta things, but I ain't a fool."

"But he needs help!" Wilmington roared, once more slapping the bar of the cell.

"Mrs. Stanhope says this kind 'a thing happens from time t' time. She's got medicine an' the know-how t' tend 'im."

"Goddamn it! She's not his wife! His name is Ezra Standish."

"Mister, you were standin' right there; you heard him say his name's Eric Stanhope. Now, I ain't certain whether yer crazy or just tryin' ta cause the lady problems. But one thing I do know is that y' ain't gettin' outta that cell 'til th' judge comes."

"But it'll be too late," the ladies man shouted. Then he rested his head against the bars as he repeated softly, "It'll be too late."

Lord God, he hoped the boys were coming to look for them soon.

~<@ @>~

She huffed in irritation as someone knocked on the door. Pulling the covers up over the shivering body on the bed, she padded to the door, calling, "who is it?" Before opening it.

"I brought yer mister somethin' ta eat," Came the response.

Recognizing the voice of the young maid, she opened the door, stepping back to let the girl in. She stood with her hand on the door while the servant placed the tray on the table and turned to leave. Nodding as the young woman left, she closed the door and locked it.

~<@ @>~

Anna Grace stood outside the door, listening. Something was bothering her about this whole situation. The woman who called herself Mrs. Angeline McKenzie-Stanhope didn't seem to be the woman everyone thought she was. Everyone but that man Sheriff Dowdy had arrested that was.

~<@ @>~

Inside the hotel room, the woman Ezra called Angel proved herself to be anything but. Picking up the tray, she settled on the chair near the window and began to eat. She watched out the window, monitoring the comings and goings in the filthy little town. A soft moan drew her attention to the bed and caused her to heave an irritated sigh. He was waking again. Setting the tray aside, she stepped across the room.

"Smell… food. I… I'm so… hun… hungry," the drugged man muttered tiredly. "Please… hungry…"

"Sh, it's alright, darlin'," She said, the compassion in her voice not reaching her face. "You can't have any food right now, I'm afraid."

A soft whimper escaped him as the rich smell of food broke through the fog that had taken up residence in his brain and increased his hunger. "Please…" he murmured before drifting back to sleep.

With an impatient grunt, she returned to the chair and resumed her eating.

~<@ @>~

Outside the room, Anna Grace frowned. They had been bringing trays up three times a day for the sick man then fussing at his wife when she scarcely ate a thing. Had she been eating the food meant for the man she said was her husband? She needed to speak to the man in the jail. Hugging her arms around herself, the young woman hurried away.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she heard her name called. Chewing on her lower lip, she stared up at the door the ill man lay behind. The second call was sharper and more impatient. With a frustrated sound, she hurried toward the kitchen. Her visit would have to wait.

~<@ @>~

Setting the tray outside the door, the brunette moved back inside and closed it once more. Making certain it was locked, she padded to the bed. Unfastening the belt that held her dressing gown closed, she let it fall to the floor. Standing in the day lit room; she ran her hands over her nude body. Continuing her movements until she was aroused, she climbed onto the mattress.

Flipping back the covers, she began fondling her husband's flaccid member. She licked her lips hungrily as she watched the limp flesh begin to stiffen.

~<@ @>~

Buck was pacing again, his boot heels ringing sharply as he strode from one side to the other of the little cell. He hadn't been able to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time in all the hours he'd been locked up. It had to be nearing midnight now at least; maybe later. He could hear the sheriff snoring in the next room and the street sounds had quieted considerably.

His thoughts alternated between those of Ezra and those of their other friends. He prayed that the Southerner would survive and, hopefully, come to his senses. He also prayed that the others would find them. They wouldn't know exactly where the two of them were, he had only been able to give them a general location since they were both traveling. And they probably wouldn't even get the letter for another day at least.

Wilmington was startled from his thoughts as someone entered the door. He watched as a young woman, barely more than a child really, slipped soundlessly into the room. She looked in his direction, then quickly averted her eyes and stepped to where the lawman slept in a little alcove.

Timidly Anna Grace called out, "Sheriff? Sheriff Dowdy?"

The squeak and groan of the metal cot signaled that the lawman was waking. In a gruff, sleep-filled voice, Dowdy said, "What the hell 're you doin' here at this hour, girl?"

In a hurried voice, the young servant said, "I wanted t' come earlier, but I couldn't leave 'til my chores was all done. I'm awful concerned, Sheriff, I think maybe that Mrs. Stanhope ain't who she says she is - "

"Girl, git on outta here - "

"Sheriff, please! I was listenin' outside the door and - "

"Girl," Dowdy growled, "git th' hell outta here, right now, before I take a switch to ya!"

She backed away, glancing helplessly at the jailed man before she hurried back out the door.

Behind her, Buck gripped the bars of his cell so hard his knuckles bled white. "Sheriff, you need to listen to her!"

"Shut up!" Dowdy barked. The squeak of the bed announced that he was shifting once more. A minute later, loud snores once more filled the room.

~<@ @>~

He was restless again. The 'sugar' wasn't working as it had been, leaving her with two choices. She could either increase the amount she gave him, or she could give it to him more often. She wasn't yet convinced that he was hers quite yet, so wasn't ready to wean him from the drug.

Going to where she had the special substance, she shook her head when she saw just how little there was now. She would have to work quicker and harder if she hoped to succeed in her plan. They couldn't leave with him in this state without raising too many questions, so she would have to convince him of his identity as Eric Stanhope soon.

Mixing double the usual amount into the mug, she carried it to where the man lay restlessly on the bed. Lifting his head, she coaxed him to drink the potion. He coughed and sputtered, but she persisted, forcing him to drink the entire mug.

Laying him back down, she carried the mug to the table. She was back across the room quickly as strange sounds began to emanate from the bed. Turning up the flame on the lantern, she gasped. His entire body jerked and trembled as he thrashed about on the bed. His eyes were open, the emerald green hidden by the black of his pupils. He stared fixedly, not even blinking. His mouth was open, strange gurgles coming from deep in his throat. Then foam began to dribble from the corner of his mouth.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she watched his fit grow more intense. This couldn't be happening. He was ruining her plans. She had worked so hard, and now he was dying on her. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. How could he do this to her?

She watched him for several moments, he trembled and shook, his back arching and drawing his body as tight as a bow. He coughed and gagged as the white foam spewed forth. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the spell ended. He dropped limply to the bed, one single, shuddering breath escaping his gore-covered lips.

"Damn you!" She whispered the words harshly, her voice breaking as she glared angrily at the now still body. Reaching out, she slapped one lax jaw. "Damn you! You weren't supposed to die!"

She tried to decide what to do. She could work the angle of 'poor widow' in order to bilk some of the locals. One thing she had learned since their arrival though was the fact that there was very little money to be had here.

No, if she stayed here, she would have to play the widow and bury a dead man. That would cost her two or three days. Not to mention the fact that they would expect her to pay for his funeral.

She certainly wasn't going to waste her own money. If the townspeople wanted to bury him, they could take care of the expense. And of course there was always that mustached behemoth. Let him dispose of the remains.

Giving her husband one final look, she moved toward the closet.

~<@ @>~

Anna Grace stood outside the door, balancing the tray while she tried to decide what to do. The sun was barely up and she would need to be back in the kitchen in a few minutes to help serve breakfast. She was more and more concerned about the sick man, though, and wanted to stay and make certain he ate a little this time. She wasn't certain how she was going to manage it, however. She thought about trying to coax the woman to let her feed him, convincing her to take a break for a while. It was the only thing she could come up with.

Knocking at the door, the servant was surprised when it creaked open a few inches. "Missus Stanhope? Ma'am? It's just me, Anna Grace. I brung yer husband some breakfast. Ma'am?"

Nudging the door open farther, she slipped inside. The stench was overpowering and she quickly set aside the tray. Covering her moth and nose with her hand, she hurried across the room. She pushed the curtains aside and raised the windows. Coughing as the morning breeze did little to clear the air; she turned back toward the bed where the sick man lay.

And she screamed.

~<@ @>~

Buck stopped at the bars, turned, and paced to the other side of the cell. He had spent most of the night pacing, grumbling under his breath, and praying that Ezra was still alive.

The sound of the jailhouse door opening caught his attention. He watched, surprised, as the young woman from the night before came running in.

"Sheriff! Sheriff, ya gotta come! Please, Sheriff!"

Dowdy snorted, coughed, and rolled over on his bed. Cursing, he growled, "What the hell do ya want now, girl?"

"That fella… that Mr. Stanhope? I… I think he's dead!" As she spoke, her eyes darted back and forth, between the sheriff and the prisoner. Then she jumped at the tirade that burst forth from the cell.

"Son of a bitch! You stupid, bastard, I told you! You're to blame for this, you and that lyin' whore!"

The lawman yelled back, "You shut yer damn mouth! Man can't hear hisself think!" Turning back toward the young woman he barked out, "Where's the lady, Anna Grace?"

Shaking her head and pulling her shawl tighter, the young woman said, "She's gone, Sheriff. All her things are gone."

Scrubbing one beefy hand over his face, Dowdy cursed once again. "You sure, girl? If yer lyin', I'll take a cane to ya."

"I-I ain't lyin' Sheriff. I sw-swear!"

"You Gawd-damned fool! She's not lyin'! That bitch killed him and high-tailed it out of town!"

"I ain't gonna tell ya again, shut up!" Once again he addressed Anna Grace. "You go check with Jeeter, see if she did ride out. Does anyone else know about this?"

"I… I screamed wh-when I seen that poor man, so I reckon they might've. I ran right over here s-so I ain't for certain."

"All right. You go check with Jeeter; I'll take a look at this 'dead' man."

Buck felt an icy hand grip his heart as the other two discussed Ezra being dead. "Dowdy! Let me out of here; let me go with you. Please!"

Stalking toward the cell, the porcine man raised his sidearm. "One more word and I'll shoot that mustache right off yer face. Do we have an understanding?"

Blowing out a harsh breath, the worried man forced himself to remain quiet. He watched in silence as the other man and the young woman seemed to stroll toward the door. As they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them, they moved off in opposite directions. Behind them, Buck watched them through the windows.

The big brunet returned to pacing and muttering curses under his breath. He had no idea as to how much time had passed when the door opened and Anna Grace scurried back inside. She stopped out of reach and said in a breathless voice, "Your… the… Mister… that man… he ain't dead. He's in a bad way, but he's breathin'. Miz Clara, she's cleanin' 'im up… he made an aw-awful mess when he got sick. She left him there… like that… didn't even try ta help 'im."

"She lit out." It wasn't a question. He felt a weight lift as the news that Ezra was still alive, but was afraid to hope from much beyond that.

"Yeah." Jeeter… he said he heard somethin' late last night and, when he come down off the loft… one of the horses was gone."

"Did he hear anything that would have made him think she wasn't going willingly?"

The girl frowned, studying the question. "No… he said they was real quiet like. He just figured it was a cowboy lightin' out early after visitin' one a the girls -"

Cutting off Anna Grace's rambling dialogue, the big man said, "What's the sheriff gonna do about it?"

"Don't know, he -" both of them looked up quickly at the sound of someone entering the jail.

"What the hell are you doin' in here, girl?"

Ignoring the man's question, Buck barked, "What's happening? What's wrong with my friend?" Slapping his palm against a bar he bellowed, "Now will you let me out of here!?"

"Look, we still don't know - "

"What more do you need? Let me out of here and I'll track the bitch down, bring her back here, and beat the truth out of her!"

"Sheriff!" They turned to find the woman who ran the saloon puffing and panting her way across the street. As she reached the door, she announced, "That fella's wakin' up!"

"Dowdy!" Buck yelled, causing the sheriff to jump before he turned back toward him. "Let me the hell outta here or so help me I'll - "

"Shut up!" Nonetheless, Dowdy grabbed up the keys and unlocked the cell where Wilmington was being held. He grunted and nearly lost his balance as Buck stormed out through the door.

The big brunet had no interest in anything other than getting to his friend. He ran across the dirty little road to the saloon, bursting through the doors and toward the stairs without breaking stride. He took the steps two and three at a time, bounding toward the room where Ezra Standish lay. He vaguely realized that the others were chasing after him and part of him worried that he'd catch a bullet in the back at any moment, but he didn't care. The door was open so he strode inside, turning toward the bed as soon as he passed the threshold.

Ezra lay there pale and horribly still. He thought for a moment that the woman had made a mistake; his friend and fellow peacekeeper was dead. Then he saw the slightest tremble flow over the man and a slight moan when he exhaled. Buck dropped to the chair beside the prone body and simply watched him for a few minutes. Finally he said softly, "Ezra?"

Dull eyes blinked open, rolling slightly as they tried to find the speaker. Then they closed, the effort too much.

"That's all right, stud, go on back to sleep. Ol' Buck's gonna make sure you're taken care of proper now." A slight sound caught his attention and he turned to see Sheriff Dowdy, Anna Grace and the Saloon owner standing in the doorway. "You're not going to take me back to jail."

Acknowledging that it hadn't been a question, Dowdy said, "I still don't know if I should trust ya or not."

Buck stood, drawing himself up to his full height. In a voice as soft as velvet and as threatening as a striking rattler, he said, "I don't give a damn if you do or not, Dowdy. She's left him… rode out and left him layin' here in his own filth. Now, I intend to take care of my friend here and I don't care if you stand over me the entire time." Turning to the two women, he continued, "I appreciate what you've done for him, but we need to turn the mattress, put fresh linen under him, and bathe him. Ladies, I'm gonna need your help."

They made quick work of it, and soon had a freshly scrubbed and shaved Ezra Standish lying on clean linen. Anna Grace brought a weak broth up and, after Buck propped the unconscious man up on pillows and draped a clean cloth over his chest, she fed him with spoons of broth, running her fingers lightly along his throat when he didn't seem to have the strength to swallow on his own. It took her over an hour to get a little over half the broth down him, but she stopped when he choked and gagged.

"Reckon he's had enough," the young woman said softly. She startled when the man's eyes opened. "I… I think he might be wakin' up!"

Buck was at her side in two steps, only to see those dim, confused eyes close. In a resigned voice he said, "Guess he's not quite up to it yet, Miss."

Together they settled him back in the bad, washed him off and tucked him in. The young girl left the two men, promising to be back as soon as she could. Behind her, Buck took the seat beside the bed, once more sitting vigil over his friend.

~<@ @>~

"Nnnnghhhh…"

Buck jerked awake at the strange, gurgling sound, blinking open grit-filled eyes just in time to see Ezra vomit. Moving quickly he turned the other man to his side, holding a pan beneath the lolling head to catch the remnants of the watered bile Ezra was expelling. He wasn't able to eat anything but weak broth and then not much of that.

He had been sitting in this room for most of the last three days; nursing Ezra through the violence of withdrawal from whatever that woman had given him. He had no clearer idea of what had happened now than he did the moment he'd entered this town. Dowdy had begrudgingly sent a few men out to look for the self-proclaimed Mrs. Angeline McKenzie-Stanhope, but they hadn't been able to locate her in any of the nearby towns. Buck knew that meant she had simply gone farther before she lit, but there was no telling the Sheriff that.

Time enough for that bitch, later.

"Pl… please…"

The brunet saw that the ill man was struggling to right himself. Setting aside the basin, he picked up a damp cloth and wiped off the perspiration soaked features. With a jolt of surprise, he realized that Ezra was looking at him. Actually looking at him. "Ezra?"

"Buck?" The voice was tiny, lost, confused and a little frightened.

"In the all too beautiful flesh." He grinned and then sobered, the fact that his friend knew him caused him to catch his breath. "Damn, son, you know who I am?"

Standish frowned, "Yes… of course. Have… have I been ill?"

Choosing the simplest answer, Wilmington said, "Yeah, you have. Been a long haul, but reckon you're on the mend now."

"What… I don't… how ill?" He muttered, his voice beginning to slur as he was drawn back to sleep.

Patting one of the man's shoulders, Buck said, "Never mind, stud, just rest."

~<@ @>~

It was another four days before Ezra was up to doing more than sitting up in bed, being fed broth, or having his every need cared for by someone else. It was three days before he was well enough that it bothered him. On the fifth day he was able to feed himself, and use the chamber pot, although Buck hovered nearby in both instances, ready to help the man if his strength failed.

"Good lord, Mr. Wilmington," Standish grumbled. "Have you nothing better to do than perch beside me, ready to pounce like some large, clumsy, cat eyeing a maimed mouse?"

Grinning, Buck said, "Nothin' that I can think of, pard."

"Yes, well, might I suggest a trip to the bathhouse, the barber, and the laundry, not necessarily in that order?"

"You sayin' I smell, Ezra?"

"There is a distinct odor coming from your vicinity, yes, and I do not believe that it is… what do you refer to it as? Ah, yes, animal magnetism."

"Well, I like that. Here I've been fussin' and coddlin' you for days and this is how you say thanks."

"Please, do not misinterpret my meanings, my friend. While I am very grateful for your tender care, I am simply saying that you should now take care of your own needs. I'm certain there is a veritable cornucopia of young lovelies in this town awaiting your attentions."

"Nah, I had a chance to look 'em over, and the pickin's are awful slim."

Dropping the charade, Ezra asked candidly, "Are you worried about leaving me alone? I am capable of lying abed until you return, or even managing the chamber pot if necessary."

"Worried? No… I'm not worried."

"You're lying." Standish said bluntly. "I am quite adept at reading people, as you well know. You're not only a liar, but a poor liar at that. Now, what's going on?"

Heaving a sigh, the bigger man asked, "What's the last thing you remember after we hit Wharton's Pass?"

Ezra frowned, concentrating on the question. After long moments he said, "Not much. I remember refreshing myself, leaving the room to look for a game… I… it seems like such a long time since then."

"Reckon it does, but keep thinking on it."

"Well, I did find a game… there was… there was… a woman…" He trailed off.

"A woman?" Buck prompted when the other man was silent for a long time.

"Yes… I… wait… good lord! Angel!"

"You remember her then?"

Avoiding the probing blue eyes, Ezra dropped his gaze, studying the design on the quilt. "Yes… I… she is someone from my past."

"Said she was your wife." Buck probed. None of them knew the true name of Ezra Standish's wife, only Chris and Vin knew what she looked like. Ezra had been closed mouthed about the incident and, when they weren't able to find her, the entire thing was set aside. They had other things to occupy their time.

"Did she? Well, she is not one to be believed." It had been Angel. He didn't know why he couldn't tell this man, who had nursed him through hell without a single complaint, that it truly had been his wife.

"Reckon. Any idea of why she'd drug you… kidnap you, for lack of a better term?"

Able to answer honestly now, Standish said, "I assure you, I have no idea. I'm sorry; I wish I could be more help." There were only vague flashes of memory, faint images of the woman he had pledged himself to so long ago.

Reaching out and patting a shoulder, Buck brought him back from those memories as he said, "Don't let it bother you. The only thing you need to worry about right now is gettin' your strength back so we can get home. Reckon the boys've given up on findin' us."

"Not likely."

The two men looked toward the open door, seeing Chris, Vin and Nathan standing in the opening. Buck grinned in relief and said, "Well howdy, boys! 'Bout time you got here!"

Nathan, ignoring the greetings exchanged between the others and carrying his bag, came over and set down on the side of the bed. With a 'tsk' and a shake of his head, he began to pull things out of his bag.

~<@ @>~

It was another four days before Ezra was deemed fit to ride. With Nathan and Buck nearby, he maneuvered down the staircase, across the saloon floor, and to the boardwalk beyond. There his horse waited, with the others. With only a slightly greater than normal effort, he mounted and situated himself in the saddle. Vin handed him his reins before mounting his own horse. The five men rode slowly out of town, four watching the fifth to measure his ability to stay in the saddle.

Ezra Standish surprised them all by making the trip home without incident. He was tight-lipped about the woman who had spirited him away and kept him captive for so long.

Buck had seen the woman only briefly and the others had proven less than observant. They knew only that she had raven-black hair, pale skin, and pale blue eyes.

Chris and Vin had their own memories of the woman who was Mrs. Ezra Standish, but it had happened long enough ago that those memories were as faded as the whip scars on Tanner's back. Still, they shared the suspicion that it had been the woman they had known as Maeve Tanith.

Whoever the woman was, she was gone, with no indication of where she was going, and Ezra either remembered nothing of his captivity or chose to keep it to himself. The only thing they could do was to return home and put the incident behind them. It was an unsatisfactory conclusion to say the least, but the only resolution they were offered.

Three Weeks Later

"Well, gentlemen, it looks as if I've won again. My, my, I must be enjoying a… what is it they call that? A lucky streak, yes that's it! Now, whose deal is it?"

Buck leaned against the bar, grinning as he watched the Southerner charm the other men seated around the table. Ezra had been carefully and artfully fleecing them for at least three hours. Wilmington watched as the gambler won a hand, lost a couple, then won again. After lulling the others into feelings of comfort, he had managed to win the last five hands without more than a grumble or two.

"Looks like Ezra's back in action," Chris said as he came to join the other man at the bar.

"Yep, looks like everything's back to normal," Buck grinned.

At the table, the object of their discussion was oblivious to that fact and smiled broadly enough that his gold tooth glinted in the lamp light.

Epilog - Six Months Later

"Is this room to your liking, miss?"

"Missus. Mrs. Margaret McClure. Yes, yes, it's fine, thank you. Please, just put the bags down anywhere." She reached into her purse and withdrew a coin, placing it in the young man's hand in return for his assistance with her bags. She smiled at how his eyes bulged when he realized that it was a dollar. It was that sort of reaction that told her how easily the residents in the town could be bought. "Now, if you could, I'd appreciate it if someone could bring me something to eat. I've had a long journey, and I'm simply exhausted."

"Yes, yes ma'am, Mrs. McClure. I'll go and fetch you somethin' from the restaurant myself."

"Oh, you're a dear. Thank you!"

She closed the door behind the young man, rolling her eyes at his honest eagerness. It made her skin crawl. Quickly she removed the cloak she wore and tossed it on the bed. She stroked her hands over her dress, smoothing it over the obvious swell of her stomach. Moving to the window, she peered out at the dusty street below, her eyes growing cold now that she was alone. She hated the fact that she grew more restricted as the child inside her grew.

It would only be a few more weeks, and then her plan would come to fruition. She would have a child by her husband…

And a pawn in the game of chance she was playing.

The End

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