Retribution

by Cowgirlfromhell

Chris/Cadence Nichols (OFC)

Adult/Het

OW

All spelling and grammatical errors are intentional.

Chapter 1

The weekly stage pulled into Four Corners sending clouds of dust billowing from the horse's hooves and the coach's wheels. John ‘JD’ Dunne sat on a wooden bunch outside the saloon flipping an ancient pocketknife into the well-worn wood of the boardwalk and watched as passengers stepped down from the stage, his eyes widening as the last passenger stepped lightly to the ground.

Jumping up, the young peacekeeper ran headlong into the drinking establishment, tripped over his own feet and threatened to fall, ass over teacup, onto the table where Josiah, Ezra and Buck had been half heartedly playing poker and generally just chewing the fat on a warm June day. Vin and Nathan played a cutthroat game of checkers at an adjacent table while Chris, in one of his moods, was nowhere to be seen and was more than likely riding the outskirts of town, keeping an eye out for any untoward danger.

Grabbing beers before they could spill and chips before they could disappear into pockets, Ezra and Buck quickly stood and backed away from the table, while Josiah simply reached out and caught the young man around the waist and stopped his forward momentum just seconds before he would have collided with said table.

JD broke free of the near tackle and catching his breath said, "You ain't gonna believe this but I think you'd better be headin' for the church, Josiah. I think one of the stage passenger's in need of a preacher."

"That so?" Josiah set his beer mug back down on the table, placed his hat on his head and stood with a deep sigh. "They bring in a body?"

"No, nothin' like that." JD crossed over to the window to peer out at the street again.

Ezra looked down at Josiah and the big man just shrugged his shoulders while Buck threw down the loosing cards he'd been dealt in disgust and headed to the door to see what J.D. was going on about.

"We'll, I'll be damned," he laughed and smiling he pushed the batwings open and headed for the small group of passengers surrounding the coach awaiting their luggage.

Walking up to the slatted brown doors Josiah looked over them and watched as his friend headed directly toward a forlorn looking, quite possibly distressed damsel and chuckled, "I'm sure you will, Buck."

The preacher, Ezra and Nathan all followed the ladies man out into the street. JD brought up the rear while Chris Larabee, astride his big black gelding, pulled the horse up to watch the small convergence in the center of the street. Only Vin Tanner remained in the saloon content to let trouble find him and not the other way around.

Buck Wilmington’s damsel in distress was a young woman with sky blue eyes and coal black hair lately done up in a most sophisticated style but now thoroughly disheveled. Long strands of her dark hair fell haphazardly around her dirt-smudged face and down her back, the dark color a sharp contrast to the once pristine, cream colored, lace draped and pearl studded wedding gown she wore, an expensive piece of finery now grime covered and sorely worn. Ignoring the gaping onlookers the young woman tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles in the silk and at the same time stretch out some of the kinks after the long, arduous journey.

As they approached the passengers, Josiah said softly to JD, "I see what you mean about her needin' me…but where's the groom?"

There was no one amongst the other passengers she could have been remotely connected to, let alone engaged to and a thoroughly perplexed JD just shrugged his shoulders while Buck, sensing a lady in need, quickly doffed his hat. "May I be of service? Name's Bucklin Wilmington."

His was a name familiar to her and when the young woman looked up into his face a smile of genuine pleasure lit up her haggard features. This was undoubtedly ‘the ladies man’ an exceedingly tall and handsome man with blue eyes that fairly twinkled with more than a hint of the rogue. She knew she was finally on the right track.

Ezra Standish cocked his eyebrow and moved closer awaiting the young bride’s response. She looked vaguely familiar to him when she smiled again as Buck boldly pushed a stray curl back from her face. Not wanting to be shut out by the smooth talking Wilmington, Ezra bowed and offered to retrieve her luggage.

"I haven't any," she replied without hesitation her speech lilting with the slightest of brogues. She knew ‘the gambler’ stood before her offering his help, his green eyes sharp and questioning. Would he be as accommodating if he knew the reason for her lack of luggage she wondered, her heart beating swiftly.

"I'm Josiah Sanchez and I'm the closest thing to a preacher you'll find in town…if that's what your looking for," came a booming baritone.

The bride blinked and her long, dark lashes fanned her pale cheeks. He looked like no preacher she'd ever seen before but his sheer size and passively menacing face made perfect sense now that he stood before her in the flesh. And, as there were no others like him on the street, the town's only practitioner must have stood next to him. Nathan nodded as her eyes came to rest on his face and she smiled again. Only the young one failed to acknowledge her in some way. JD simply stared at her wide eyed and tongue-tied.

Tying his black to the railing in front of the sheriff's office Chris Larabee walked to the edge of the small convergence. He touched the brim of his hat briefly as Mary Travis caught his eye and turned to stare openly at the young woman standing in the obviously costly gown, now travel stained and hopelessly snagged.

Returning his level stare through the crowd of townspeople the bride spoke up. "I'm looking for one Chris Larabee."

Laughing Buck lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed away from the young woman. A bride looking for a would-be groom the likes of Chris Larabee meant nothing but trouble and his friend’s attention had defiantly been caught.

Chris looked to Mary once again and seeing the surprise on her usually serene face he just shrugged his shoulders. Although he was sure he had never seen her before the woman was nonetheless vaguely familiar to him, too and he replied, "I'm Chris Larabee." His voice was even and guarded as he shouldered his way to the center of the group.

"I was told that you and six other men protect this town." Six of the seven now stood before her and she turned her gaze directly to the one dressed in black and nodded in satisfaction. He looked every inch the white knight, even dressed all in black as he was, and she would have recognized him instantly as the leader of these other men.

"That's right," his acknowledgment ever careful, revealing nothing more.

The bride's shoulders relaxed a bit as she smiled in relief and spoke hurriedly, "My name is Cadence Nichols and I may be in need of that very same protection."

Chapter 2

"Nichols!" Ezra was taken aback by the mere mention of the name but could immediately see the resemblance to the pack of stone cold killers who had invaded the town months earlier searching for vengeance. "Of the Kansas City Nichols," he muttered, a pain beginning to grow behind his eyes.

"My brothers told me about you...and this town and I figured this was the only place I could truly be safe," Cadence told them, her hand fluttering nervously to her throat.

"Let me hazard a guess," Ezra pushed the brim of his hat up and stared down at the dress, "You disagreed with your sainted mother on her choice of a husband."

Cadence looked to the gambler again noticing his immaculate visage and looking down at her costly skirt she again tried to straighten out some of the wrinkles though her ministrations were useless. "I did," she said looking back up into what she'd hoped would be kind eyes.

"May I presume he was left standing at the alter?" Ezra asked becoming suspiciously resigned to her fate, his eyes growing colder.

"He was," she said evenly glancing from one set of unsympathetic eyes to the next.

"And even now your brothers are in hot pursuit?"

Vin, who had let curiosity get the best of him, groaned knowing the answer to Ezra's question even before Cadence spoke. He turned his eyes to glance at Chris' stony profile.

Cadence cleared her throat and answered softly, "They are."

"Well, your brothers may have told you about this town...about us...but you figured wrong. There's no safe haven for you here," Chris spoke harshly and took a step closer to the woman, "So I suggest you get back on that stage and move on." Larabee was angry, blunt and to the point adding, "Your family did a lot of damage when they were last here."

The young woman's lips thinned and her eyes narrowed like a petulant child recently scolded by a stern father and replied angrily, "And you caused my family grievous injury and harm!" Her initial impression of the gunman had been a mistake; her dislike of him instantaneous after his rebuke and she turned to face those she thought might be more compassionate and willing to help.

"Well, that couldn't be helped, Miss," Josiah spoke up in their defense as his wary eyes searched the roadway the coach had traveled fearing her family was close at hand.

"I know what my family is like and what their business was in your town," she said fully aware of the loathsome looks and sudden wide berth the town's people were giving her. "They told me how you stood up to them," she added and turned back to speak directly to Chris, her slight brogue thickening with every angry word, "I thought you were an honorable and courageous man but apparently you are a coward."

Not willing to stand idly by and listen to the insults, Mary Travis stepped toward the woman. "Now wait just a minute..." she said ready to defend Chris and the others.

But Cadence Nichols would brook no outside interference from her and spat out, "Oh, do shut up!" Knowing she would get no help in Four Corners but exhausted to the point of tears, Cadence hoisted up her skirt and grabbed the lift to her voluminous train and began to march directly toward the hotel leaving the dwindling group staring after her.

"Tell the driver to hold the stage," Chris barked out to no one in particular and added, "I'll see that our wayward bride gets back on."

"But she needs our help," the youngest of the lawmen pointed out clearly not wanting to remember the horrific beating he'd suffered at the hands of the woman's brothers.

Josiah spoke up and told him, "It's a family affair, JD," and placed a gentle but firm hand on the young man's shoulder and gave him a warning squeeze, "They need to handle it themselves."

Chris Larabee had already made his decision and his bobs jingled as he strode purposefully across the street and into the town's hotel lobby where Cadence Nichols was about to sign the hotel register. He stepped up behind her and reached around to grab her hand and force it away from the ledger.

"She won't be stayin'," Chris told the clerk in no uncertain terms then stepped even closer to her. Bending down, his lips next to her ear, he made his wishes clear, "I want you back on that stage...now."

When he finally released her hand, Cadence lifted her head haughtily and returned the pen to its holder then turned back around to face him and slapped him across the face.

The clerk gasped audibly and instinctively backed away from the desk and sent a beseeching look toward Ezra, Buck and J.D., who had followed the black clad gunman into the hotel.

Watching the two of them standing toe to toe with barely an inch between them, Ezra cleared his throat. "Is there a problem, Mr. Larabee?" he asked trying to diffuse the tense situation. The two of them pointedly ignored him.

"Don't ever do that again," Chris warned her in a voice deceptively soft but deadly cold. He refused to back away and watched as she, too, tried to control her temper.

"Then don't man-handle me or order me around nor speak of me as if I weren't even here!" she spat out. Her eyes grew cold but her words burned with frustration and anger.

Chris snorted a derisive laugh at her demands and said with a sneer, "Apparently Ma Nichols whelped a bitch after all those lambs of hers." The gunman turned to Ezra who, surprised at the vulgarity of his comment, just stared at him. "Get her the hell out of here and on that stage!" Larabee ordered then turned on his boot heel and almost yanked the front door off its hinges as he left the hotel, guests and friends alike staring after him in stunned silence.

"You'll have to excuse him, Miss…" Ezra started but Cadence held up a gloved hand and took in a deep breath.

"The hell I will," she vowed and turned her back on him to tell the desk clerk once again, "I'd like a room, if you please."

"Listen ma'am, I don't want any trouble here," the hapless clerk sputtered wiping his brow with a handkerchief, his fear of the black clad gunman outweighing that of his boss, the hotel's owner.

"I assure you there won't be any trouble..." Cadence stopped and turned to look pointedly at JD, Buck then Ezra, "Unless one of these gentlemen tries to put me back on that stage."

Ezra knew they had been bested for the moment and said to JD, "Mr. Dunne, please tell the stage driver that he can be on his way...and if I were you I'd avoid Mr. Larabee at all costs until the coach is well on it’s way."

JD, hat in hand, left quickly to complete his mission, after which, he planned to return to the sheriff's office until further notice.

Ezra turned back to the young woman, made a slight bow and said, "Welcome to our little municipality, Mizz Nichols."

"Thank you," Cadence replied with a wan smile. She was thankful to finally have someone on her side if only in securing lodging, "I realize that my family is a little unorthodox in their dealings..." she said and took up the pen to sign the register.

Ezra cut her off with a most ungentlemanly snort as he looked over her shoulder. "Unorthodox! They are a rabid pack of cold-blooded killers!" he said then begged her pardon, "No offense intended…Miss Creant."

Cadence turned around to face him and giving him a wry smile replied, "None taken, Mr. Standish. But Mr. Connolly did shoot my brother down in cold blood and Ma and my brothers felt they were in the right to come after him."

"Did they also feel they were in the right trying to kill us right along with Hank Connolly?" Buck asked her and reflexively rubbed the still tender spot on his shoulder where the deranged man had put a bullet.

"I'm not trying to defend them!" she stressed, her hurried flight and arduous journey having worn her to a frazzle, "I'm just trying to get free of them!" She closed her eyes and a single tear slipped from beneath her lashes to wet the dust on her face and leave a visible rivulet that the ladies man was compelled to trace with a gentle finger.

Cadence started badly at his intimate gesture. Her eyes flew open and she clamped her jaw shut tightly, embarrassed by her lapse in fortitude, a moment that had left her vulnerable and weak. Steeling her spine once again she forced herself to calm down and began to try and explain. “Ma is forcing me to marry the son of a "competitor", if you will," she told the two of them and Ezra nodded in understanding.

"Ah, yes. Combining wealth and power through marriage. Making an ally of an enemy. Time honored traditions amongst kings and Southerners," he said gently, offering her his handkerchief, “Many a great plantation was forged 'round a wedding cake.”

"Until the Union Army freed the slaves and those great plantations crumbled," Buck reminded him caustically, "Too bad we ain't done anything for the circumstance of the fairer sex."

"We could argue the pros and cons of women’s' rights 'till the cows come home, Buck," Ezra told him, "But perhaps one of us should give Mr. Larabee the…news."

But Chris Larabee already knew. He continued to stare at the doors of the hotel from across the street and from under the brim of his hat as he leaned against the wall outside the saloon, his jaw working furiously. The stage had pulled out minutes before without the Nichols woman on it. Roughly pulling a cheroot from his breast pocket, his anger at her apparent defiance of him growing, he forcefully struck a match against the wooden wall and lit the small cigar.

"What'll we do now?" Vin Tanner took his place against the wall next to the taciturn gunfighter and chewed on a piece of jerked beef his blue eyes squinted and trained on the road into town.

"Ride out and find out how far behind they are. I'll get her out of town." Chris stopped when Vin chuckled out loud and his mood darkened even more. "Even if I have to cold cock her and throw her over the back of my horse." Vin gave his friend a jaundiced look and Chris just sighed, "If they're set on taking her back, my place is as good as any to hand her over."

Pushing off from the wall Vin started down the sidewalk toward the livery his hand resting on the butt of his mare's leg while Chris tossed his cigar into the middle of the street and returned to the hotel only to find that with Buck and Ezra's help, Cadence Nichols had slipped out the back, her destination, Potter's Mercantile.

Chapter 3

"Son of a bitch," Chris Larabee swore as he headed back outside again slamming the door behind him. In Potter's he found the woman peering into a glass case housing various firearms.

She looked up at the proprietress and said, "I'll take that one, if you please, Mrs. Potter. On credit of course." She'd picked out a well-used but well maintained, .44-.40 caliber Russian Schofield. Nothing fancy, just a serviceable weapon with which to defend herself.

Mrs. Potter's forehead wrinkled. She liked to do business strictly on a cash and carry basis. But looking up and into the glaring face of Chris Larabee she would extend this woman a line of credit just to see her out of her store and gone.

"She won't be needin' it."

The cold voice sent a shiver down her back but Cadence refused to even acknowledge it or him. A moment later she cursed under her breath when she saw Mrs. Potter's wide-eyed expression and knew the formidable man dressed in black was again directly behind her. "I believe this is still a free country, Mr. Larabee," Cadence said not bothering to turn around. "I'll be taking this gun and some other necessities and leaving your fair town as soon as I can procure a horse. Of course I'll repay this fine gentlewoman as soon as…"

"It's a free country alright," Chris interrupted, "but I'm the law and I'm takin' you into protective custody so don't even think about sneakin' out the back."

Cadence spun around quickly, ready to slap him again, and found her hand held painfully in his, his eyes mere slits.

"What'd I tell you?" he reminded her.

Cadence tried to pull her hand free but he held fast. Reining in her quick temper she decided it was best to back down...for the moment.

Ezra walked into the Mercantile and sighed audibly. He had only left her for a moment and Larabee had found her yet again. He saw the grip the gunman had on the girl's hand and started to protest but closed his mouth when he saw the black look on Larabee's face.

Never looking at the gambler Chris barked out his orders, "Get her a horse. I'm takin' her out to my place." He frowned as he looked down at the wedding gown. "I think I have something fit for ridin' up in my room."

Cadence looked at him with anger flashing in her eyes. She was sick to death of every man she came in contact with telling her what to do, where to go, even what to think and she replied haughtily, "I'm perfectly capable to choose my own horse and certainly my own clothing!" She then let her anger get the best of her and told him, "and I'll not be followin' a punter the likes of yourself to your room."

Taken aback by her insult Chris squeezed her hand harder as tears threatened to slip from the corner of her eyes. He noticed her distress and relaxed his grip but never released her hand explaining, "We don't have time to waste. I won't endanger anyone in this town by allowin' that pack of jackals you call a family to ride on in here. You can parlay with them at my place."

Cadence accepted his ‘proposal’ meekly as she had other ideas about ever letting her brothers catch up to her or going to Chris Larabee's "place" for an ill advised meeting.

"Mr. Standish," she called to the Southerner as he left to get her a horse, "I'll still take the Schofield Mrs. Potter has in her case." She turned to Larabee and added, "My family doesn't "parlay" well."

Grunting the gunman turned and dragged her out of the store, down the street and up the stairs of the boardinghouse in which he stayed while in town. It was a sparse room with only a single bed and a four-drawer bureau. He yanked open one of the drawers and pulled out a clean white shirt and a pair of black pants and shoved them at her. "Put these on!" he barked and unblinking, she just let the clothes fall to the floor.

Stooping before her to pick up the articles of clothing, Chris paused a moment, let his head drop and took in a few calming breaths. He didn't really want to hit her. Strike that, he thought. He did. In fact he wanted to turn her over his knee and spank the living daylights out of her then knock her out if she continued to thwart his every move and left him no choice. Instead he stood up and explained the situation and probable outcome to her. "I don't know how far away your brothers are so I want to be out of here, pronto. So either you put these on or I'll put them on you myself."

She took the clothes he shoved at her and stared insolently at him when he made no move to leave the room or to even turn his back. The man's boorish behavior continued to annoy her but the mention of her brothers started to unnerve her as well. Stripping her gloves off she started to unbutton the many tiny pearl buttons that ran down the bodice of the gown with unsteady hands.

"Oh, hell. We don't have time for this," Chris growled irritably and grabbed the high-necked collar of the bodice and simply ripped it neatly down the front, buttons flying in every direction.

At the risk of having him rip more of her garments, Cadence succeeded in removing her skirt and soon stood before him in her chemise, drawers and satin slippers, her face flushed with embarrassment.

Finally noticing the dusky hue of her cheeks Chris cursed under his breath. Knowing the woman for all of ten minutes she seemed to bring out the very worst in him. Her whole family did for that matter he conceded and turned to allow her some privacy in which to dress.

Cadence looked at the slim legs of the pants and took off the slippers. She left on the handmade French silk drawers and slipped into the course, rough garment thankful for his lithe build. The chemise was another matter. Similar in length to a short nightdress there was no way she could bunch it up to fit under his shirt so she slipped it over her head and let it fall to the floor. She snatched up the sleeveless gossamer silk corset cover that lay on the bed and though it left nothing to the imagination she put it on.

Slipping into the shirt she found the buttons barely closed across her uncorseted, full breasts and the tails hung down to her thighs. The sleeves hung well passed her wrists hiding her hands completely and when she cleared her throat, the signal for him to turn back around, he snorted.

His clothes looked ridiculous on her and he grabbed her by the waistband and roughly tucked the shirttails into the trousers and then rolled up her sleeves. Stepping back to take a bold look he told her, "If we cut off your hair you might pass for a scrawny boy," and smiled insolently at her when she gasped at the suggestion.

"And if we geld you, you might pass for a proper lady's maid," she retorted and eager to be rid of the lout, pushed past him, opened the door and started down the stairs.

Ezra waited for her at the bottom gun belt in hand and watched appreciatively as she came down the stairs in the tight pants and decided Chris Larabee's clothes had never looked better. Handing the gun off to her he asked, "Are you sure you know how to use one of these, darlin'?"

Cadence looked at him askance and asked rhetorically, "With my family tree?"

"Touché," he replied and watched as she slipped the gun belt with it's newly punched buckle tongue holes around her slim hips and expertly broke open the pistol to check for cartridges, " I do believe Mrs. Potter has some young men's boots that might fit you and I dare say that this might prevent sunstroke until it's safe for you to return," whereupon he placed his hat on her head with a flourish.

"Thank you, Mr. Standish. At least there is one gentleman in this unfortunate town" she said with a nod and genuine gratitude. She started toward Potter's again turning back briefly to make sure Chris Larabee was still following and saluted Ezra's generosity with a finger to the brim of his own hat.

Shaking his head, the gambler smiled, his cheeks dimpling. She was one Nichols he would very much like to get to know better, he thought, as he watched the unlikely duo enter the store.

Buck came up behind the gambler and watched as her hips and rump swayed provocatively. "Why'd you go and get her a gun?" he asked watching the tight fitting pants as they disappeared into the mercantile.

"Wanted to even things up a bit."

"You are talking about when her brothers get here."

"Of course, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said with a wink for the skeptic as the two of them headed toward the saloon, "Of course."

In Potter's they found a pair of boots that fit her fairly well with the aid of some thick woolen socks and grabbing a few more essentials and some food goods, Chris paid for everything and walked out to his horse. He loaded his goods into his saddlebags and turned back to her to hand her his black duster. "The fewer people who recognize you the better," he said tersely as she shrugged into the coat.

The wedding gown would most certainly lead her brothers and fiancée directly to Four Corners but after that it was anyone's guess as to where she could have gone. A large buckskin gelding stood saddled next to his black and he nodded toward the horse.

Untying the reins. Cadence struggled to get a foot up and swearing softly at her inability to mount the large horse Chris lifted her up into the saddle. The buckskin was headstrong and started backing away from the post immediately but she reining him in with authority and turned him around smartly, and brought him to a neat halt.

Nathan, Buck and Ezra stood on the boardwalk and watched as Nathan noted, "If she handles that Schofield like that buckskin she ain't gonna need our help."

"But maybe Mr. Larabee will," Ezra joked as Nathan smiled.

Buck's face remained passive, his eyes suddenly troubled, as they watched the riders turn the corner heading east toward Chris' cabin.

Chapter 4

The pair rode in silence until they came to a fork in the road. Cadence halted her mount next to a ragged, weathered sign pointing north with "River Bend" scratched on it. "I'll be leaving you here, Mr. Larabee. Please thank the others for their help and be assured I'll see to the return of this horse and the repayment of any monies you've expended on my behalf."

"And where the hell do you think you're goin'?" Chris asked his annoyance plainly written on his handsome face.

Tired of his bullying and determined to be on her way and to put as many miles between herself and the prickly gunman as possible she told him, "Why to River Bend, Mr. Larabee or does your jurisdiction extend there as well."

"What are you gonna do when you get there? You don't have any money and I'll lay odds you haven't done a lick of work in your entire life," he said and looking at her contemptuously continued, "Besides, you can't go draggin' that murderin' pack of animals behind you from town to town. There's no tellin' how many they've already hurt or killed chasing you, princess."

Remorse clouded her eyes for a moment but then she firmed her resolve and decided to tell him why she couldn't let them catch up, "I can't go back. I…I don't love him."

Chris sighed angrily. "Christ, would it be so bad? Surely you can put up with your intended if he's that set on havin' ya. Hell, lots of people don't marry for love...they just settle."

"Would you settle for less?"

Finding the answer in his hooded green eyes, eyes that looked away under her scrutiny, Cadence turned the buckskin toward the trail to River Bend but held the horse up momentarily to turn in the saddle. "I don't want to cause anymore trouble for you or your town so tell them I took the stage to the railhead. Tell them I'm taking a train to Boston. Oh, for God's sake, tell them anything!" Cadence turned to knee her horse but heard the unmistakable sound of the cocking of a pistol and turned back again to see the gunslinger's colt pointed at her.

"And what do you plan to do, Mr. Larabee? Shoot me?"

"Nope," he told her and moved the gun barrel lower, "Just your horse."

Closing her eyes Cadence sighed in exasperation. She was so tired of it all. Chris pointed the barrel of his gun to the trail straight ahead of them and she turned her horse in that direction.

The two continued on until they rode over a hill and a small building came into view. It was a one-room cabin, a shack really, constructed of rough, hand-hewn boards with a covered plank porch attached to the front. A corral holding three fine horses stood near by and a small lake behind the cabin sparkled in the late afternoon sun. The whole scene was so idyllic, so peaceful, such a sharp contrast to the hardened, edgy man dressed all in black who had ridden the whole way in silence beside her.

Dismounting Chris helped the young woman down from the buckskin and unstrapped his saddlebags while Cadence waited, pouted really, for him to speak. "You go on inside, I'll take care of the horses," he told her and handed her his saddlebags then headed for the corral, reins in hand, the two horses walking complacently behind him.

Cadence walked slowly to the cabin and once inside she found it to be clean and neat, the room of a disciplined man living alone. There were no feminine touches anywhere she noted placing the bags on the table. She unbuckling the heavy gun belt and placed it next to the bags and hung the duster on a peg by the door. She then sat down in one of two sturdy chairs, her muscles sore and complaining, and watched out the small window as the cabin's owner unsaddled the horses, watered them and turned them out into the corral with the others.

Lowering her eyes she ran her fingers through the tangled ends of her hair. Had it really only been seven days since she had left her groom at the altar? It seemed as if she'd been on the run forever with only a few brief respites in which to eat and sleep. And now she was to wait in the small cabin like an obedient child until the lawman, who seemed to be straddling a thin line between right and wrong, could hand her over to her family.

Goose flesh covered her arms as she thought of her former fiancé. Was Chris Larabee as bad or worse than Henry Oliver? What would he expect of her now that he had her alone, away for the town and the others? What would he want in return for his "protection"?

What was he gonna do with her now, Chris wondered as he dumped some flakes of hay into a trough, the horses bumping against one another eager to feed.

The stomping of his dusty boots on the porch heralded his arrival and Cadence turned the butt of the Schofield in her direction. Ignoring her Chris just hung his hat on a nail by the door, removed his own gun belt and brushed his golden hair back off his forehead. It fell obstinately back over his eyes as he stooped to put some wood into the small stove. "You cook?"

Cadence wasn't sure if he was asking her a question or ordering her to do so and she replied tersely, "No," either way her answer truthful.

Chris slowly stood and glared at her again. Why did the vary sound of her voice set his teeth on edge and why did mouthy answers, even if they were only one word, anger him so? Would she continue to thwart him at every turn, he wondered and thought sourly the answer was most likely yes.

"I don't know how to cook," she finally admitted under his scrutiny, loath to let the man know he'd been right about her all along. Cadence Nichols had never had to work a day in her life. In fact she had been raised with plenty of servants and eight doting brothers. She had been sent to and expelled from some of the finest boarding schools on the east coast and unlike her mother and her brothers, she had wanted for nothing.

There was a touch of reserve in her answer, as if not knowing how to cook diminished her further in his eyes, though she didn't know why she should care. He was, after all, only an illiterate, boorish shootist whose only redeeming quality seemed to be his prowess with a gun.

Larabee snorted and shook his head as he retrieved a pan hanging on a nail behind the stove's chimney and anger flared in her again as he looked at her, his expression full of disdain.

"Nor would I, if I could, cook for a jackass the likes of you!"

Slapping the large frying pan on the top of the small stove with a clang, he laughed harshly when she jumped and walked the few steps to the saddlebags. He pulled out a linen towel and a bar of soap and tossed them to her and jerked his chin toward the back door. "Speaking of jackasses, you smell like one. You can wash up in the lake out back," he said and took great satisfaction in knocking her down another peg when her face visibly paled then reddened deeply.

She was mortified. Having spent the past week on the run with no chance for a full night's sleep or a decent meal or a proper bath, she did stink and it rankled her to have him of all people point it out. Grabbing the soap she fought the urge to hide her head in the scrap of linen that was to pass for a towel and stalked through the back door.

His crude laughter followed her down to the lake and she thought that if the Good Lord were truly merciful he would let her drown and be done with the whole mess. Tossing the gambler's hat into the soft grass she pulled a multitude of pins free from her tresses and tried using her fingers as a comb but it was useless. She sighed and checked to make sure she was alone before stripping off her clothes and walking into the surprisingly warm water.

Sinking down into its comforting depth she was thankful to finally be getting rid of the dirt and grime that covered her. She held the soap out in front of her and wondered how she could get rid of the foul tempered Chris Larabee although she was thankful for his purchases however unkindly they were offered.

The gunman hadn't picked a misshapen square of lye soap but an expensive finely milled bar of French soap that smelled wonderfully like lilacs. She lathered herself from head to toe, dove under the water to rinse then stepped out to retrieve the towel and dry herself. Dressing quickly in only the borrowed shirt and pants she washed and rinsed her undergarments and started back to the cabin feeling somewhat human again.

Laying her corset cover and drawers on the railing to dry in the late afternoon sun Cadence entered the cabin and was surprised by the wonderful smells that filled it. The hard-bitten gunman was evidently a very good cook and her traitorous stomach growled audibly in the awkward silence. Chris looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

"Thank you for the soap and the towel," she said stiffly all the time wanting to slap the smug look off of his face. But she remembered his warning.

"We jackasses have to stick together," he replied with a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Now sit down and eat some of this before you fall down."

Cadence, surprised by his joke, laughed aloud and noticed the way the fleeting smile had changed his face completely...if only for a moment. Her sentinel also seemed a bit more relaxed now that they were out of town and back on his home ground. He served up the hastily concocted meal of fried beef and potatoes and the two of them ate in silence but when she glanced up occasionally she noticed the deeply etched lines of anger around his sensuous lips and between his icy green eyes had lessened.

Chris leaned back slightly in his chair and watched her from beneath hooded lids as she ate, delicate fingers holding the heavy knife and fork, long black lashes fanning her cheeks as she single mindedly tucked into the food. "I see you don't have one of those city girl, bird like appetites," he commented strangely pleased that she'd found his cooking edible if not good.

Starting slightly when his deep voice broke the silence Cadence looked up at him and replied truthfully, "It's delicious. It's not every man who can cook this well without the auspices of a woman."

"My wife…" he started and a look of pain flashed across his features...a look that was gone as quickly as it had come.

She could not keep up with the man's changing moods. First he was rude, overbearing, then stiff but solicitous, even minutely pleasant. And now he seemed to withdraw into himself almost painfully and Cadence glanced away uneasy at the prospect of being alone with him in the small cabin. She was evidently trespassing onto another woman's domain and her questioning gaze landed again on him.

He took in a steadying breath and spoke again, "She died...almost four years ago."

Cadence noticed the tiny quaver in his indrawn breath and her heart softened involuntarily. "I'm so sorry," she said softly,

But Chris hadn't wanted her to know even the smallest element of his life and he stood quickly; eyes averted and put an end to any further conversation. He didn't want the pity he heard in her voice or saw in her eyes nor did he want to feel her compassion. He wanted to hate the youngest of the Nichols clan the way he hated the rest of her family. Glancing at her Chris saw that she was, for the first time, at a loss for what to do, what to say. It was plain she was sorry she had blundered upon such a painful subject and recognizing her unease he took pity on her.

"Look, you must be exhausted. There's the bed. I'll sleep on the porch where I can keep an eye out in case your kin come calling." Her eyes met his exhaustion dulling their blue fire. Creases etched the sides of her mouth. She looked done in and he was tired, tired of fighting with her, tired of crossing swords with her at every turn. Grabbing his bedroll Chris silently left the cabin.

Minutes later Cadence heard him spread out his bedroll and saw the flash of a match in the fading evening light and the smell of a cigar wafted through the open window. She was relieved that he was gone but felt a little guilty for having him vacate his bed for her as she pulled off the pants. The oversized shirt made the perfect nightshirt and with her body and mind drained she got into the small bed. It was soft and warm and as she laid her head on his pillow she could smell lingering traces of him, smoke, leather and a faint hint of cologne. It was a comforting smell and knowing she was safe, for the moment, she was asleep in minutes.

Chapter 5

The following morning Chris stood next to the bed a tin cup of coffee in his hand and silently watched the young woman as she slept. It had been a long time since a woman had lain in his bed and the sting of loneliness pricked his heart. Still tangled from her bath her hair spilled riotously over the pillow and he reached down to touched its smooth, silky lengths. He noticed the dark circles that pooled under her thick, black lashes and wondered just how old she was. She must have been very young when the Nichol's patriarch had died in prison over ten years before he mused when a noise on the porch drew his thoughts from the woman in his bed to the possible intruder on his porch.

The gunman set the cup down on the edge of the stovetop where it balance precariously and pulled the Colt smoothly from its holster. The cup fell to the cabin floor with a clatter and awakened Cadence abruptly from her sound sleep.

At the sight of the gunman, his eyes squinted, his strong jaw fully set, his gun drawn, she choked back a scream and eyes wild, rose up quickly onto her knees and scooted into the farthest corner of the small bed. Thoroughly disoriented and obviously terrified she whispered, "Is it my brothers?"

Instinctively distressed by the young woman’s obvious terror, Chris quickly assured her that everything would be okay and reached out to cup the side of her pale face gently with one calloused hand. He then walked cautiously to the window and peered outside.

Vin Tanner stood a few feet from the porch hefting a good-sized rock in his hand.

The tracker watched as his friend stepped out of the cabin and onto the porch. "Didn't want to barge in on you," he said and smiled sheepishly, his erroneous assumption that there was anything to interrupt, irritating Larabee.

"Wait on the porch," Chris said flatly, "I'll get you some coffee." Inside he grabbed two more tin cups from the crude shelving unit nailed to the wall above a dry sink and filled them both. Leaving one on the table he took one last look at Cadence Nichols and noticed some of the color returning to her cheeks and wondered why the notion of her own kin outside the door had scared her almost to death?

"It's Vin," he explained to her then apologized, "Sorry I woke you." Cadence remained silent; the blankets pulled tightly up to her chin, and after a few moments he toed open the door and left her alone in the cabin.

Vin jerked his chin toward the cabin door and asked, "She all right?"

"Yeah, I just scared her out of a sound sleep drawin' down on you when you heaved that rock on the porch." The two of them sat down on the makeshift bench made of two pieces of split log and a plank. Taking a sip of the strong brew Chris asked, "You find 'em?"

"'Bout 3 days ride from here. Sheriff from over Cottonwood wired JD and said one a the brothers got pretty shot up and they hold up for two days 'till he was able to ride again. Let it be known they was headin' for Four Corners and that there'd be hell to pay if we was hidin' the girl." Vin looked at Chris and the gunman only grunted. "They must be loosin' some of their edge, getting' bushwhacked and havin' to hole up for two whole days," Vin continued as he recalled the broken arm that hadn't slowed Peter Nichols up one whit. He then asked, "You talk her into goin' back?"

Chris shook his head and rubbed his whiskered chin thoughtfully. "Not yet...but somethin' ain't right. It's more than just wedding jitters. For a moment she thought they were here and turned white as a sheet."

"She don't seem afraid a much,” Vin said to her credit, “Why her own kin do you suppose?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders and looked up as the woman in question opened the door and stepped out onto the porch and asked, "May I join you?" Cadence, dressed again in Larabee's clothes, had hurriedly run her fingers through her mass of dark hair trying to make herself as presentable as possible but to no avail.

To Vin she looked enticingly disheveled and after a long moment of staring dumbly at her he jumped up from the bench, pushing Chris Larabee back down as he did, and offered her his seat on the bench.

Cadence took her place next to the gunman on the small plank of wood, their thighs brushing briefly and asked the tracker, "Have you any news of my brothers, Mr. Tanner?"

"Received a wire in town sayin' they're 'bout three days away," Vin told her sipping his coffee.

"I can be very far away from here in three days," she said pointedly and looked him straight in the eyes over the rim of her own cup.

Unwilling to go against Chris he was unable to offer any help and turned his eyes away and told her, "It ain't much of a life, runnin' and watchin' over your shoulder all the time. 'Sides knowin' your ma I bet she told your brothers not to come back without ya. They'd find ya sooner or later."

"I'm sure she did but…but I just can't," she stammered and bowed her head to stare into the cup, "I'd rather…" she started then her words trailed off.

"You want to tell us why?" Chris asked and touched her forearm lightly to get her attention. She lifted her head to look at him and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment...or was it shame? She bowed her head again, her long hair covering her face, and unable to speak she just shook her head and Chris decided then and there that he wouldn't press her to return home with her brothers until he knew more.

"You can keep runnin' or make a stand here...with us," he offered and Cadence looked up hope filling her heretofore desolate eyes.

"You'll help me then?" she asked disbelievingly.

Against his better judgment Chris nodded. "You look to be old enough to make your own way...make your own decisions. We'll try to make 'em see things your way."

Cadence breathed a sigh of relief and answered on of Larabee’s questions. "I'm twenty two but they all still think of me as the baby. Even before Da died Ma was always wrapped up with the family business. That left my brothers to practically raise me. They taught me how to ride, shoot, drink, gamble, spit and cuss."

Chris sighed and Cadence stopped immediately knowing that she was running on as his words filled her with hope.

"Why, Ezra would think those fine qualities in any woman," Vin laughed easing her embarrassment. He was eager for her to continue while Chris began to fidget.

Blushing Cadence added, "Well, Ma didn't. Finishing school taught me how to behave as a proper lady should...but sometimes it's so hard. That's one reason she wants me to marry Henry Oliver so he can gentle me. But, as with his horses, his idea of gentling is to break spirit."

"Sounds like there's no love lost 'tween you and this Henry Oliver fella," Vin stated quietly knowing intimately about broken spirits.

"He's a drunken, cowardly Welsh bastard!" she blurted out then blushing furiously at her outburst she entreated, "Do forgive me, gentlemen. Maybe I could use a little gentling where my language is concerned."

Vin found her candor refreshing and laughed aloud. He liked the way she blushed and he silently vowed he would do his best to keep her out of the hands of the "Welsh bastard".

Chris watched and listened impatiently as the two of them casually conversed and felt a surprising and unwelcome twinge of jealously. His face and eyes turned dark and noticing the change in his face as well as the gunman's body language Vin stood and said, "I best be gettin' back to town. You need anything, Chris?"

"Could use some cartridges in case talking doesn't do the trick," he told the tracker.

"I'll bring some when me and the others come back." Vin set his cup on the railing and stepped off the porch to grab the reins of his grazing horse. Vaulting into the saddle he touched the brim of his hat. Smiling to himself he thought that the two of them somehow looked “right” sitting next to each other on the front porch as he turned his horse and started back the way he'd come.

Chapter 6

Chris felt “wrong” sitting next to the Cadence Nichols on the bench. He was more than twenty years older than the headstrong and arrogant woman...so why then did he want to pick her up in his arms and carry her back inside to his bed and make love to her like there was no tomorrow? He knew the way things stood that maybe there would be no tomorrow but that was no excuse to think such lascivious thoughts.

He felt his body hardening at the thought of bedding the Nichols woman and wanted to put some distance between the two of them so she wouldn't notice how she affected him. He stood and threw the remains of his coffee out into the yard, set the cup on the windowsill and without a word, headed to the corral to tend to the horses and to take quick stock of his life where women were concerned

Without a doubt Sarah had and would always be his true love. He had loved her since they were children and would continue to love her always. But Chris Larabee was still alive. A man with a heart, albeit hardened by circumstance, that still beat in his chest. He was strongly attracted to Mary Travis but in a reserved way. Maybe it was because Mary herself was reserved and very proper in her dealings with him. While this black haired, blue-eyed, child/woman with her flashes of temper coupled with the innocence of youth and, in her unguarded moments, her vulnerability caused him to react like the young hothead he had once been.

Chris Larabee had lived a hard life and knew that it had made him hard in return and if she didn't want this Henry Oliver she should have someone like Vin or JD, both still young and wet behind the ears and capable of love. The last thing she needed was to tie her hopes and dreams to a jaded, hardened, stone cold killer like himself.

Without a word of her own Cadence Nichols had followed the gunman to the coral and he looked surreptitiously to his left and as she filled the oat bucket and leaned over the split rail to dump the grain into the trough, the five horses jockeying for position. She rubbed the muzzle of his black and the damned horse leaned in for more instead of biting as he was want to do. Hell, even his horse was falling under her spell!

Chris strode purposefully to the tack shed near the corral and hoisted his saddle and blanket onto one shoulder, opened the coral gate and whistled up the traitorous black. "I'm gonna ride out and keep watch on the north road. You'll be safe if you stay in the cabin."

Her hair blew in a gentle wind and she brushed long tresses back behind her ears and looked up at him her disappointment quickly turning to petulant anger. She had thought for a moment that this man might befriend her but now she saw only the same coldness in his eyes that she had seen when she had first encountered him in town.

Watching him saddle his horse she thought back to her sheltered childhood and the men in her life, men who petted and fawned over her, who could deny her nothing. But she was older now and lived in a world of hard and sometimes cruel men and she was still expected to meekly accept her lot as a richly dressed and finely bejeweled piece of property.

Cadence Nichols had been the center of attention in the large Nichols family and, despite her family's dubious financial dealings; she had also been the belle of the ball in Kansas City. Scandalous in the things she said and did, she was nonetheless sought after by many a young man, much to the chagrin of their shocked families. But her social whirl had come to an abrupt end with her engagement to Henry Oliver, another scion of Kansas City society with strong ties to crime.

Cadence had loathed him from the start and never failed to let him know it but still her suitor persisted becoming more and more possessive, more and more bullying. The more she tried to assert her independence the more her fiancé pulled and the more her mother pushed. No matter what they her brothers did they would always be her lambs but she was to be her mother's sacrificial lamb...offered up on the altar of prosperity.

Months before her brothers had recounted their run-in with the seven men charged with protecting the town of Four Corners and they had quickly become her knights in shinning armor. If she could only reach them they surely would be able to make her family see that marrying Henry Oliver was a terrible mistake. But on her hurried journey west she had discovered that the Nichols name most often elicited fear and loathing in most people and initially she had found these seven men no different.

And now, as she stood watching Chris Larabee saddle his horse, his apparent anger manifested in the forceful tugs on the cinch strap, she realized that it had been presumptuous of her to ask total strangers for help. His cold eyes drove the point home even after his grudging offer of help and she was now sorry that she had ever come to Four Corners.

As if reading her mind Chris Larabee, the reins to his horse's bridle held loosely in his hand, walked his mount to where she stood and said to her, "If you leave...you'll be more sorry when I catch up to you than when your brothers do." He then mounted the black and spurred the big horse off across the meadow.

Chapter 7

The sun was low in the western sky when Chris Larabee finally returned to his small spread via the lake. Dismounting he dropped the reins and let his horse wander to the edge of the water to drink. The horse's ears cocked forward and the black lifted his head, water dripping from his muzzle and blew softly. Something was on the other side of the patch of cattails that stood waving in the gentle late afternoon breeze.

Cautiously rounding the weeds Chris saw it was the Nichols woman standing thigh deep in the water. Her back was to him, her long hair pulled over one shoulder and she wore the delicate sleeveless corset cover and the sheer drawers, both items nearly transparent when wet.

Cadence, hearing sudden splashing, whirled to find the dark gunman slogging his way forcefully through the shallow water toward her. With no time to flee she modestly crossed her arms to shield her breasts from his eyes and stood still with her head bowed accepting of whatever was to come.

Chris reached her and roughly turned her until her back was to him again. Cadence thought he was mindful of her modesty but beneath the virginal white silk and the delicate satin flowers and silk ribbons he saw strips of faded yellow and purple-brown bruises while smaller finger sized bruises, for the most part faded, marred the pale skin of her upper arms.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded circling around to face her, his ragged breath catching in his throat.

Heart hammering in her chest and frightened out of her wits at his fully clothed charge into the water, Cadence could only stand before him her voice mute.

"Who did this to you, Cadence?" he repeated and grasped her chin in his fingers and lifted her face.

His voice even but so very, very angry and Cadence shouted, "Henry Oliver! Now let me go!" and batted his hand away.

He grabbed her wrist before she could get away. "Why didn't you tell someone? Surely your brothers wouldn't have allowed this to continue. And your ma...she wouldn't force you to marry someone who would do this to her own child."

Cadence took in a deep breath and clamped her lips together until her chin stopped quivering long enough for her to answer him without bursting into tears. "Ma believes a woman reaps what she sows and I sow disrespect and dissatisfaction and in return reaped my future husband's just punishment. She told my brothers it was God's retribution for my headstrong ways and they were to never speak of it again!" and Cadence Nichols, having no real hope of changing her life...only putting off the inevitable for a few more days at best, began to shiver.

The youngest Nichols child was no longer the headstrong and willful woman she had once been, nor was she the docile and gentled creature her mother had hoped for and Cadence could no longer keep up the façade as fat tears rolled down her wan cheeks. Her spirit was broken.

Chris could see it all too well in the misery in her once defiant eyes, in the defeated set of her shoulders. He gently gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair as she sobbed against his chest and vowed, "I'll kill the bastard myself."

A short while later Cadence sat mutely on the bed staring at nothing and, although wrapped in a course woolen blanket, she continued to shiver. Chris wrapped in the linen towel, his wet clothes spread out before the small stove, tried to engage her in conversation but she remained silent, sighing occasionally as one does after a monumental crying jag. Chris cringed each time she did.

He stirred up the fire in the small cook stove and added more logs and sat down next to her on the bed. She looked up at him and saw his look of pity and tears started to slip down her face once more.

"Please don't," he beseeched her and slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, "Everything will be all right. I promise you that much."

Cadence relaxed and wearily rested her head on his shoulder. He stared down at the top of her head for a moment and then, impulsively; he lifted her chin to kiss her lightly on the lips. Instead of slapping him for taking such a liberty she hungrily returned his gentle kiss and suddenly Chris Larabee was all but lost.

He pushed her back onto the bed and followed her down, his lips still on hers. Ending the kiss he then followed the trail of her tears down her cheeks, his lips planting gentle kisses down the smooth line of her neck and finally to her breasts where he feasted like a starving man.

"Mr. Larabee…Chris," she whispered and arched her back as all thoughts of her fiancé, her brothers and most especially her mother were driven from her mind simply by the feel of his lips and tongue.

He heard her whisper and stopped momentarily and looking into her eyes which were no longer full of sorrow but dark with passion and he gave her fair warning. "Say it and I'll stop." But she pressed her hands to either side of his head and dragged him down to kiss him hungrily once again.

"I won't," she assured him and let go of all her doubts and fears. She would know gentle caring and happiness if only this one night she vowed to herself.

Chris opened the blanket and gazed down at her body now completely naked before him. She was so beautiful and so young. Rising up on his knees he released the towel wrapped around his waist and showed her how she affected him...had affected him very nearly from the beginning. Gently parting her legs he slipped a finger inside her and found her pliant and slick for want of him. A small groan escaped her throat as he guided himself to her opening and slowly pushed into her. Retreating and pushing again, a little further each time, the thin membrane gave and he buried himself deep within her, wondering no longer if she had suffered anything more than a beating at the hands of Henry Oliver.

Hours later, sated and lying beside her as she slept peacefully once again, Chris Larabee watched the tip of his cheroot glow in the darkness and thought about what he had done. He was a man who prided himself on his self-control. It was how he stayed alive. What he had done that night was uncharacteristically rash, especially for him. He was also a man of strong passions and when they burned...it usually led to death and this time his passion led him straight to Cadence Nichols.

Deflowering a virgin meant more to him than to others of his kind...men who drifted, men like his longtime friend, Buck Wilmington. Chris knew that the act came with consequences and responsibilities and he found, to his astonishment, that he was ready to accept them all. He was ready to live again.

Chapter 8

The first creak of the porch steps brought Chris Larabee fully awake while Cadence continued to sleep peacefully, wrapped in his left arm, held close to his heart. Gingerly he slipped his colt from its holster looped on the bedpost. He thumbed back the hammer and waited as someone, taking great pains not to be heard, pushed the door open, the barrel of a pistol preceding the intruder.

Chris' breathing was slow and steady, his gun hand perfectly still as he watched a wide brimmed hat came into view. "Jesus!" he swore under his breath. He was just about to shoot his oldest friend, the jackass, and would have let fly with a well aimed bullet just inches from Buck's nose if not for the exhausted woman still asleep in his arms. “This had better be good, Buck," came the soft, icy voice.

Buck Wilmington started badly then breathed a sigh of relief. Lowering his pistol the ladies man stepped into the cabin where it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior and a few more to adjust to the sight before him. Buck looked thoughtfully at his friend and said softly, a frown ceasing his forehead, "I just bet it was."

Chris extracted his arm from under Cadence's head and she snuggled closer into the warmth of the pillow. Slipping from the bed he pulled up the blanket and covered her shapely hip and backside from wondering eyes. His own nakedness not withstanding, he sauntered over to his now dry clothes and pulled on his pants. Neither man spoke until they were outside on the porch.

"What're you doin' sneakin' around here, Buck?" Chris rubbed the stubble on his chin and then running his fingers through his hair, yawned mightily.

"Just ridin' patrol. Didn't get a response when I rode up so I thought somethin' might be wrong."

"Pretty far from town for patrol, aren't you?"

Leaning against the porch's split rail, Buck took his hat from his head and fingering the brim, turned it in circles in his hands. "Mary was concerned and rather than have her ride out, I told her I'd check on you."

"The Nichols brothers?" Chris asked curtly.

Buck saw the hardness in his friend's eyes and knew nothing else was open for discussion except maybe the whereabouts of the Nichols brothers. "No word since the telegram," he said and turned toward the window when he heard movement inside. The girl was up and about, he guessed, and Chris' steady gaze and lack of acknowledgement warned him off again; until a loud crash sounded within followed by an angry feminine voice.

"Jumped up Jesus on a stick!"

Chris hurried through the door, followed closely by Buck, and found Cadence, dressed only in his shirt, standing near the small stove sucking on three fingers, the still hot coffee pot and yesterdays dregs on the floor.

When she realized she was no longer alone, color stained her cheeks and Buck had the decency to finally turn his eyes away, his usually sharp reflexes sorely taxed by too many surprises so early in the day. Chris crossed over to her and examined her fingers, blowing on one, then another, never taking his eyes from hers.

Buck shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as the couple pointed ignore him and finally volunteered, "I'll be outside waterin' my horse."

"You do that," Chris responded tersely and as soon as the door shut behind Buck he pulled her captured hand to his chest.

Cadence stepped into his embrace and they kissed slowly, emotions less pent up, heavily spent the night before. Chris wished her a good morning and nuzzled her throat and Cadence tilted her head back enjoying the sensation. He slipped the shirt off of her shoulders, his mouth following it down until he was bent before her, suckling again. Bending her head she watched the muscles of his broad back ripple and sighed.

At the sound Chris straightened up and smiled, lifted her off the ground and laid her back on the bed. He then slipped in beside her content to be back where he would have been if Buck hadn't come sneaking around.

Buck Wilmington wasn't a sneak. What he was, after sitting and stewing for a long, long time, was angry. He was angry and disturbed by how things had gotten so turned around. He hadn't felt the need to question the lawman's motives in bringing the Nichols girl to his cabin but he did question his need to bed the young woman like a common whore. "Damn it to hell!" he spat out and jumped down off of the corral fence to pace nervously, slapping his hat against his leg with every other step.

He had watched his friend dance on the edge of the abyss for over three years, never caring about anyone or anything. It had been hard for him to just stand by and watch but then the handsome ladies' man had become cautiously optimistic when Chris Larabee decided to stay on as the law in Four Corners and to tentatively court the town's newspaper publisher, Mary Travers. Now Chris Larabee and Cadence Nichols, of all people, waltzed together ever closer to that same precipice, just inches from falling in.

Buck stopped walking and looked over at the cabin again. She was so young. What did the taciturn gunfighter have to offer Ma Nichols' only daughter...days of seeking vengeance as he continued the search for his family's killers...nights filled with his nightmares?

Chris Larabee was no longer the man he had been when he married Sarah Connolly and fathered a son. After their death's he became fragmented, broken into pieces with razor sharp edges, a gunman who killed for killing's sake, always wearing the black of mourning. Cadence Nichols would be better off married to the Welshman Vin had spoken of...at least he was a whole man.

Frowning, Buck thought of the Nichols woman as she stood next to the stage just a few days before. She had come to Four Corners wearing white; the color of hope, a new life stretching out before her with or without her fiancé. But she had somehow chosen to tie herself to a man whose haunted past was as overwhelming and smothering as a woolen mantle on a blazing August day. "God save 'em both," Buck thought as he heard the cabin door finally open.

Freshly washed and shaved, Chris Larabee walked purposefully to the corral to tend to the horses. He found that Buck had already seen to them and he turned to his friend and waited for Buck to speak.

"What in the hell are you thinking? Do you have blinders on?" Buck started in.

Chris cut him off sharply. "Nothin' I do is up for debate, Bucklin."

"I think I should take her back to town with me."

"She stays here!"

"You don't think you're puttin' undue pressure on that girl?"

"Woman, Buck…and if I am?"

Buck sighed and rolled his eyes. "Now she's a woman. Two days ago she was a spoiled brat in need of a spankin’."

"She's a woman now, my woman and I'll stand with her against her brothers, against this Henry Oliver," Chris told him, his eyes cold, the set of his mouth grim.

"And when it’s over?"

"If I'm still alive I'll stand with her then, too, if she’ll have me. I don't take what happened between us lightly, like some," Chris said and Buck winced as his friend's barb hit its mark, "I'll finish it here and now. After... she can go if she's of a mind to or she can stay. It's her call. If she stays I'll have her gladly."

"I hope you know what you're doin' partner" Buck said earnestly a frown continuing to crease his forehead.

"I'll see you when they get here." Chris' words were sharp and to the point dismissing his friend in no uncertain terms. Chris knew Buck was right. He did have blinders on when it came to this woman but he saw in her only what he knew to be there, her ability to finally heal his shattered heart.

Buck sighed again as he watched his oldest friend walk back to the cabin. Chris’ gate was determined and his was back ramrod straight...as if he were marching into hell.

After Buck left, the two of them made their way down to the lake where Cadence floated belly down in the warm water, her naked body buoyed by Chris Larabee's strong hands. The bruises along the small of her back were almost gone as were those on her arms. Fresh, tiny bruises dotted her neck, shoulders, legs and nicely rounded ass. He was a strong and demanding lover and welts marred the smooth skin of his back and shoulders where she had not realized she held so tightly to him as they made love on the grassy shore. He had never felt a thing.

"Tell me about your life here," she said lazing over to float unashamedly on her back and smiling, he moved them to shallow water where they could rest on the bottom.

"I bought this land a few months after coming to Four Corners...after I decided I'd stay on a while, to protect the town, the people.

"That newspaper woman?" Cadence asked splashing water in his face.

He pulled her leg, dunking her under the surface and she came up sputtering and laughing. "Yeah, even Mary Travers," he conceded. His feelings for the Clarion editor had cooled, replaced by the overwhelming desire he now felt for Cadence Nichols. A hoyden, disguised as a blushing bride. He had wanted to slap her smug, beautiful face but now realized that it wasn't her arrogance that had angered him so but her self-confidence, a facade that had shattered soon after her hopeless situation with her family and his refusal of help became all too apparent to her.

He was sorry for his treatment of her and would spend days, hopefully years making it up to her. He wanted to rebuilding her confidence and most of all regain her trust simply because he needed her. She was the lifeline that would eventually allow him to let go of his anger.

"What did you do before coming to Four Corners?" she then wanted to know.

"Whatever I had to," he answered quickly.

Cadence looked at him from the corner of her eye and took his measure. Having no illusions about him she knew he was a man of few words with a past locked tightly away but she didn't care. This man would protect her and offer her a new beginning and she would let her past go, gladly and be happy with the time they had, whether it be a few more days or a lifetime. She didn't need much and would take only what he offered and give back what she could. And when she turned and smiled so beguilingly at him, he rolled onto his back and let her make love to him in the lake's shallows.

Chapter 9

Vin spotted the group of six men riding low in the saddle and hell bent for Four Corners in his spyglass. He snapped it closed and vaulted into the saddle and turned his horse to ride back across the plain to alert the others who were waiting just off the road leading to town. The six of them would do their best to head the Nichols brothers off before they could enter the town but what Vin had failed to see in his haste was a lone rider peel off from the rest of the pack and head east toward Chris Larabee's spread.

It was no accident of chance that one of the riders would so unerringly head for the eventual rendezvous point ahead of the others. Henry Oliver, the one unknown quantity in the Nichols faction, set out to Larabee's spread to lay in wait or, if the most dangerous of the seven was in residence, use his anonymity to his advantage to the drop on the gunman. Walking his horse with slow care Henry cautiously approached to corral and spotted the large black among the other horse therein. Larabee was in residence but he wondered how many of the others were inside with him?

"Hello, the house!" Henry Oliver shouted toward the cabin as he dismounted, "My horse has thrown a shoe. Can you help me?"

Cadence recognized the voice immediately and by the look on her face Chris knew the spurned bridegroom was outside. But what Chris didn't know was that Henry Oliver was, at that moment, fingering the women's undergarments that had been left on the porch railing to dry.

His infamous temper quickly igniting, Henry Olive tipped his hand and shouted, “Larabee! I know you're inside and that my conniving bitch of a fiancée's in there with you!"

Cadence gasped but Chris assured her, "He doesn't know a God damned thing. He's bluffing." Grabbing his gun the gunman whispered sharply to her, "Stay put! The others'll be here soon!"

"Please don't go out there," she begged him as tears welled in her eyes.

Chris stopped momentarily to pull her to him and said, "I promise you everything will be all right."

Placing both hands to the sides of his face she looked up into his eyes and saw no trepidation, no panic and convinced he had absolutely no fear of the angry man shouting outside the door, she kissed him slowly, believing everything would be just as he promised.

Chris let her go, opened the door and walked slowly out onto the porch where Henry Oliver, an above average man in bulk and in height, waited next to the door, a thick piece of cord wood held tightly his hands. It was a makeshift club that he swung with all of his might and it struck Chris a glancing blow to the side of his head and he stumbled off of the porch.

The Welshman was on him in an instant his ham like fists pummeling the gunman to the ground and Chris lay disoriented and mute until Oliver's booted foot kicked into unguarded ribs, breaking bone and tearing cartilage. It was then that he cried out bringing Cadence to the window.

Her face drained of all color and she turned away to dress hurriedly, donning the black pants, the white shirt and the duster. Dressed as a man she hoped that Henry would believe she was one of other gunmen, one that he'd overlooked in his rash and murderous attack on Chris Larabee and that he would be forced to deal with her instead of continuing to beat the man to death.

Cadence shoved her hair up under Ezra's hat, grabbed the Schofield from its holster and stole out the back door of the cabin. In the distance she saw plumes of dust. There were multiple riders but she knew they could never reach the cabin in time. And if luck was against them and it was indeed her brothers instead of the lawmen, they would do nothing to stop the beating Chris Larabee was suffering at the hands of their friend and her fiancé.

Peeking around the corner, Cadence saw Chris Larabee held upright on his knees by the scruff of his neck, gasping shallowly for air, blood running freely down into his eyes from a gash above his forehead. His arms were outstretched; his palms up and he mutely conveyed his willingness to take the bullet from the .45 now pressed firmly to his head.

Henry Oliver demanded it but Chris Larabee would not beg for his life. He had seen the dust on the roadway and knew, even though they wouldn't reach him in time, Cadence would be safe...and she would be free. The others would see to it, his friends would see to it, and he looked up and smiled a bloody smile as Henry Oliver thumbed back the hammer on the pistol.

Her heart in her throat and tears in her eyes, Cadence couldn't bare to see such a courageous and proud man on his knees, supplicant to the likes of Henry Oliver. She had to get Henry to move the gun away from Chris' head because when she finally killed him, his fingers could reflexively pull the trigger and Chris Larabee would be dead, too.

Cadence watched as Chris' defiance of the brutal man pushed Oliver over the edge and she stepped into sunlight and called him out. "Henry Oliver!" she shouted out and the man looked up.

"No!" Chris cried out when he heard her voice behind him.

But events were already in motion and quickly lifting the gun barrel away from Chris Larabee's head, Henry Oliver saw only a second gunman and took aim. Her objective achieved, Cadence squeezed the trigger and her bullet hit the Welsh bastard squarely in the forehead. But, even in his well-deserved death, the Welshman had the last laugh as his bullet punctured her breast, ripped through her heart and exited out her back. Cadence Nichols was dead even before her body crumpled slowly to the ground.

Chapter 10

Chris struggled but managed to rise to his feet and stumble to where Cadence had fallen. Blood continued to blossom onto the white shirt she wore, a death's rose under the duster. On his knees again in the dirt he clasped her to his chest as the others, Magnificent Seven and Nichols brothers alike, rode up to the cabin with guns drawn and at the ready.

Ignoring the immediate danger of turning his back on the Nichols, Buck Wilmington threw himself from his saddle and ran to his friend's side disregarding completely the prone body of Henry Oliver, bullet hole in his head, dead eyes wide open in surprise.

"Chris!" Buck grasped his friend's shoulder and bent his head to look into his face. The ladies man just squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. It was there, in Chris' eyes, the same look his lifelong friend had the day he found out Sarah and Adam were dead.

Dismounting, John Nichols holstered his .45 and strode over to the pair, his face ashen as he looked at the body of his beloved sister. He noted the battered continence of the gunman and heard his breath rasping noisily and for a moment John thought the man would topple over but he stayed upright and held on tightly to his sister's lifeless body.

John then looked to the body of Henry Oliver and wondered just what had happened.

Nathan grabbed his medical kit and ran from his horse to kneel beside Chris. He checked Cadence Nichols for a pulse and, finding none, shook his head. He then reached out to check the gash on Chris's head. The gunfighter hissed as the healer's fingers probed the torn and bruised flesh and he let the healer wipe away some of the blood that now slowly trickled from the wound.

Squatting before them, John looked down at his sister and softly but firmly told Chris, "We'll be taking her home with us now. This will kill Ma."

Chris stared at the man before him for a long moment, anger in his eyes, and suggested hotly, "You tell her it was God's vengeance!"

John flinched at the words. He knew exactly what the gunman referred to.

Peter Nichols come to stand before the body of Henry Oliver. He stooped over to check the body of the man who was to be his brother in law and, confirming the fact that the man was dead, he stood up and turned to Ezra and told him, "Do what you want with him."

John waited patiently as Buck finally eased Chris' hold on the girl and helped pass her body into his waiting arms. He walked slowly to where the horses stood, Matthew and Luke Nichols still astride their horses. Matthew holstered his gun and took Cadence gently into his arms.

The remaining Nichols sons each bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. Tears sparkled in Matthew's eyes as he brushed his sister's hair gently back from her forehead and said, "You're truly a free spirit now, Cady." He turned his horse slowly and waited for his brothers to mount up before the silent and mournful procession started to head back to town.

Suddenly one horse broke formation and twisted back around as John Nichols walked his large roan back to where Chris Larabee knelt. Ignoring the guns that had been redrawn to point directly at him, he looked down expectantly.

Chris looked up at the mounted rider and said, "She saved my life."

John asked, "Was she happy?" and after a long moment Chris nodded.

"I was, too," he replied honestly. He was slightly surprised at the realization and a small smile played across his pale lips as he thought back on the last few days.

Convinced his sister had been in good hands and happy in her last hours, John nodded and turned his horse to follow after the others.

Less than an hour later, three of the four Nichols brothers stood outside the telegraph office ready for trouble should it come their way. They stood in closed ranks on the boardwalk as more and more of the townsfolk suddenly found reason to be walking down the street passed them.

John Nichols, the expected missive crushed in his hand and his mouth set in a grim line, walked slowly from the telegraph office. His brothers crowded around him to hear word from the matriarch of the Nichols clan.

"We're to wait here for Ma. She's on her way. Cady's to be buried here, in the cesspit," John told them and the others loudly voiced their displeasure with their mother's decision.

"A fitting place for a harlot," John shouted to be heard as he continued to paraphrase the telegram, "She's to be buried here next to the man who turned her away from God and family, the one who took her down the road to perdition."

Peter Nichols darkly handsome face became white with shock then red with anger and he demanded, "Buried next to Henry Oliver? What can she be thinking?" His voice was like acid and he wondered how his sainted mother could she be so cruel. Cady was her flesh and blood, her only daughter. She should be brought home to the family plot, buried next to Da and her beloved brothers.

To a man, they all loved Cady dearly and cruel or no, they would not, could not go against Sophia Nichols' wishes. But they misunderstood and John waited for them to quiet down before he corrected them. "Not next to Henry Oliver. She’s to be buried next to the whore monger, Chris Larabee."

The brothers remained silent until Luke finally asked the loaded question. "We're to be goin' after Larabee, then?"

"Not yet. We're to wait 'til Ma gets here," John said and angrily elbowed his way through his brothers.

The undertaker was just about finished nailing the coffin lid on tight for the Nichols woman's trip back to Kansas City when John strode in. Digging a five dollar gold piece from his vest pocket he tossed it atop the coffin. Backing away the undertaker stared at the other black clad gunman. Business had been brisk the last time these men had come to town. It looked to be the same this time.

"There's been a change of plans. My sister will be buried here. Dig me two graves, undertaker. Two graves," John repeated coldly. He turned on his heel and left as quickly as he'd come.

Chapter 11

Chris Larabee returned to Four Corners the following day with the rented buckskin in tow. His hat was low over his eyes and he looked neither left nor right. He ignored the greetings of the townsfolk as he made his way to the livery and, still astride the black, handed the reins of the rented horse to Yosemite. He tossed him a five dollar gold piece. "Much obliged," was all Chris said and the flatness of the lawman's voice caused a shiver to run down the blacksmith's spine.

"Someone walkin' across a grave for sure...but it ain't mine," the bearded man muttered to himself as he led the buckskin to the nearest stall, Chris Larabee well out of earshot.

The black clad gunman walked his horse slowly down the street and stopped in front of the saloon. Dismounting, he tied the horse securely to the railing and the horse shied as his black duster flapping in a sudden breeze. He looked down at the large dark patch on the breast and ran his hand almost lovingly over the material. It was stiff with dried blood and a hole in the material rested directly over his heart.

Mary Travers watched him from the sidewalk in front of the Clarion. The others had returned the preceding day; well after the Nichols brothers had arrived in town with the body of their young sister resting in Matthew's arms. But the Clarion editor could get no other information from Buck or the others. Only that Chris was alive and as she looked at his battered face, she silently cursed them for not telling her he had been brutally beaten.

Wiping her hands on her printer's apron, she hurried up the sidewalk hoping to catch him before he entered the saloon. "Chris I..." she started and placed her hand familiarly on his arm. Up close she saw just how badly his face was bruised and cut up and he seemed in great pain as he dismounted. She wanted to comfort him but when he looked at her then at her hand, she jerked it away as if burned by the simple touch of his eyes.

"Not now, Mary," was all he said to her as he walked slowly into the saloon where, once inside, the bawdy laughter and music slowly died down and finally faded away altogether.

Drinks were forgotten and chips went un-wagered as the room suddenly grew deathly quiet and cold. The same thing had happened when he had first come to the small town and he realized that, even now or maybe especially now, he still scared these people.

"Fuck 'em," he thought as he walked up to the bar, his spurs the only sound in the room, and demanded, "Whiskey."

Chris threw back the shot and when the bartender pulled the bottle back to return it to the shelf behind the bar he said, "Leave it...and one more."

Ezra watched as Chris Larabee slapped a twenty dollar gold piece on the bar and said, "Oh, dear." The gambler's voice was barely a whisper but sounded like a shout in the silence of the room.

Soon after that the others slowly, cautiously began to come back to life, though some still kept a wary eye on the gunman, and the saloon was once again filled with the raucousness of a Saturday night.

Buck, with his back to the bar and his elbows resting on the shiny surface, watched as his oldest friend continued to drink and ignore his surroundings. The ladies man had seen it all before. The copious amount of alcohol that would temporarily ease the pain and, at the same time, fuel the murderous rage that would inevitable overtake the man and cause him to become uncontrollable and very, very dangerous. Buck figured they were all in for a rough time of it and threw back a shot of fiery amber liquid and turned to order up another as JD hurriedly entered the bar through the bat wings.

The young sheriff spotted Chris Larabee in the back of the saloon and started in his general direction until Buck had the foresight to step into the agitated young man's path and strong-arm him toward the bar keeping him well away from his intended target. After a few urgent words, the two of them left the saloon together.

Once outside JD insisted anxiously, "We gotta tell "im!"

"We will, JD, we will,” Buck assured him, “We just gotta tell him when he's willin' to listen"

"Can't we just arrest 'em?" JD wanted to know, "The Nichols I mean."

"For what? It ain't against the law to be stayin' in town 'stead of on their way to Kansas City."

"It should be...if you're stayin' in town to murder somebody!"

At another table in the saloon, Ezra played poker with two hapless trail hands while Nathan sat and watched Chris Larabee surreptitiously. Possible concussion, contusions and broken ribs for sure, the healer tallied up and wondered what other injuries the man was pointedly ignoring? From the looks of him, their leader had received a horrendous beating at the hands of the Welshman and from what Buck had told them all of the budding romance between the gunman and Cadence Nichols; he’d received no less at the hands of Fate. It seemed that any woman Chris Larabee took an interest in was destined to die well before her time. Not an easy thing to live with.

Itching to tend to the man who had saved his life, Nathan instead remained seated, Larabee's cold eyes warning them all away. He knew full well his offer of help would be rebuffed and none too gently. "He should be in my clinic," he said to Ezra and nodded toward Chris.

"That very well may be but it's not likely, Mr. Jackson," Ezra replied reading Larabee's body language and intentions loud and clear as he gathered up another meager pot. The two strangers stood and walked away leaving them alone at the table.

The gambler proceeded to shuffle the cards preparing for another deal when the bat wings pushed open again. This time Buck stepped into the dim light with JD in tow and both men made their way to the gambler's table. They sat in the now vacant chairs and Ezra dealt the cards as Buck leaned in and spoke softly to the two of them.

"JD and me were just up at the cemetery. Oats is up there diggin' two graves...one for Cadence Nichols and the other for Chris."

No one spoke until Ezra finished his deal; the final four cards face up and he predicted pointing to each card, "The ten of spades to Mr. Wilmington...worry; bad news. The queen of spades to Mr. Jackson…the widowed woman. The five of hearts to Mr. Dunne…jealousy and ill will. And the Ace of Spade to myself... misfortune; sometimes associated with death or, more often, a difficult ending."

The reading of the cards to foresee the future was only a parlor trick his mother Maude had used to fleece the unwashed, the uneducated and the unwary. But this time Ezra was certain that the fates were serious and that the cards were indeed a portent to an extremely violent and bloody future

Chapter 12

The sound of shattering glass rent the still night. Josiah Sanchez jerked from a deep sleep and wondering momentarily if he had dreamed the noise as he rose up on his elbows. He wiped his whiskered face with a calloused hand and spotted a soft light pooling under the door. He was not alone in the church.

Rising silently he pulled on his pants, suspenders hanging loosely at his sides, his chest and feet bare. The old hinges complained nosily as he cautiously opened the door of his sleeping quarters. Not knowing who had need of sanctuary in the middle of the night it was better to be safe than sorry. To his surprise, the altar of the small church was awash in a golden glow, every candle in the church, every candle in Potter's Mercantile, perhaps every candle in the whole town, blazed brightly and cast a rich golden glow over the plain pine coffin resting there.

Josiah cast his eyes to the back of the church and in the last pew, lost in the shadows, hat pulled low over his eyes, serape over his shoulders, staring at the halo of light at the front of the church, sat Chris Larabee. Moving slowly toward him down the center isle, mindful of the broken glass of a smashed whiskey bottle twinkling in the soft light, he chose to sit a row ahead and directly in front of the silent gunman. He folded his hands and bowed his head.

"Psalm 34:18. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Chris heard the words, snorted derisively and wished to hell he had another bottle of whiskey. If Josiah wanted to placate him with scripture he would play along although his knowledge of the good book was minimal at best.

"When calamity comes, the wicked are brought down..." Chris only quoted the part of the proverb that fuel his resolve to fight the Nichols but Josiah thought the rest pertained to his friend as well and finished for him, "but even in death the righteous have a refuge."

Chris smiled mirthlessly. Even in death Cadence Nichols would have no refuge, no sanctuary because her mother would deny her yet again and bury her far from home. He also knew that God had no refuge for him, now or in death. He was a cursed man.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted," Josiah then said and Chris almost laughed out loud.

Mourning brought him no comfort. Vengeance for his murdered wife and son would bring him comfort, justice for Cadence Nichols, who had offered him peace and succor, both of which God had seen fit to take away from him, would comfort him.

It was his turn and Chris stated simply, "Let the dead bury their dead," making his intentions known. If he had his way, there would be no Nichols left alive to bury Cadence.

Josiah got the message loud and clear and he would back Chris' play...but hadn't there been enough killing, enough sorrow he wondered? In a futile attempt to alter fate, Josiah tried again and quoted, "Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it."

But Chris could do neither and quoted another sinner who had fallen from grace with a voice devoid of any emotion, "He has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light."

God had tested Chris Larabee to the limit and he had broken under the weight, turning a once righteous man into a man who set his own rules and exacted his own vengeance whether justified or not. A man who, in reality, wanted to die and who was not afraid of hell and Josiah wondered if the gunman would demand or offer retribution. He turned to speak to him but Chris was gone.

Exiting the pew, Josiah returned to the makeshift altar and spoke to the pine box. "If you don't mind, Cady Nichols, I'll sit with you awhile." And Josiah sat, lost in his own thoughts, long after the sun had risen and all the candles had melted down and winked out one by one.

Chapter 13

The next morning the ironclad coach rumbled into town. Sophia Nichols, prostrate with grief and in need of the help of her sons to even walk, had retreated to the hotel ostensibly to mourn the death of her youngest but as soon as the door closed behind her she began to craft the plan that would allow her retribution. The whoremonger was the target of her holy wrath and her sons would kill the lawman or die trying.

Later that day the matriarch headed to the church, not to ask forgiveness as before, but to pray for the protection of her sons and for the death of Chris Larabee. Josiah watched her ruefully as she marched inside after biding John stand guard outside. The woman basically ignored the coffin standing before the altar as she knelt to pray.

The preacher cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something I can do for you, Sophia?"

She pulled back her mourning veil and looked up at him scornfully as he stood before her and replied, "I've not come to ask anything of you preacher, if that's still what you call yourself."

"It is," he said softly, calmly and she snorted.

"I've come to pray."

"For your daughter's soul?"

"For Chris Larabee's death. I mean to see him dead once and for all for what he's done."

Josiah looked at her questioningly and she huffed. "My boys told me she was stayin' alone with him at his cabin."

"Chris Larabee took her to his home to protect her," Josiah told her and watched as her back stiffened.

"From who? Her own brothers?" she asked contemptuously.

"From Henry Oliver."

Josiah’s answer unnerved her only slightly and she continued, "He was to be her husband. Why would she be needin' protection from him?"

"It seems he was abusing her, beating her."

"Nonsense!" Sophia said and stood up. She began moving around the small church, unable to keep still, "It was her way to be willful and disobedient. Henry Oliver was only trying to keep her from sullying his good name...and ours."

"Seems to me the only thing the Nichol's name conduces is fear and loathing," Josiah countered.

"Maybe in this cesspit full of ignorant farmers and cowboys…but in Kansas City we are pillars of society, the most powerful family in the city."

"And in the Kingdom of Heaven? What will the rolls reflect when the name of Nichols is called? Cold-blooded murder? The abandonment of a child?"

"I did no such thing. Cady ran away and if she hadn't, she would still be alive."

"If she had stayed in Kansas City she would have suffered another kind of death."

Sophia looked at Josiah as if he were insane and told him so. "You're crazy, preacher."

"So some say but I know for a fact that you did abandon your own daughter to a harsh and brutal man and now you're abandoning her again...in death," Josiah said and pointed to the coffin.

"No daughter of mine would have given herself freely to the likes of Chris Larabee."

"I guess you're right," Josiah said sadly, "And you're well within your rights to shun her for what you believe to be her transgressions." Sophia smiled smugly at what Josiah considered to be a hollow victory and he continued, "We'll be glad to welcome Cadence Nichols into our little family here in Four Corners, lay her to rest in our humble cemetery. I'd be honored to conduct the service. She may have only been here for a short time but she saved the life of a man I've come to respect and admire and I won't let her sacrifice go to waste."

"Well, you can speak your piece over her…and him as well. Chris Larabee will be joinin' her in your little cemetery as well as in hell." Sophia pulled her veil back over her face and continued bitterly, "This is the forth of my lambs to die in your town. Before I leave...I'll burn it to the ground!"

Chapter 14

Not many in the small town had ever met Cadence Nichols nor even laid eyes on her before she was spirited out of town so the turnout at the small cemetery was sparse at best. Not even Chris Larabee was in attendance.

Sophia Nichols, dresses in black for most of her adult life, looked no different than she had when she had first come to town months before. Her four remaining sons, having convinced her to attend the graveside internment of her only daughter, also looked much the same, dressed all in black with weepers on their hats...and armed to the teeth.

In the town cemetery there were two freshly dug gravesites adjacent to one another. One was filled with the coffin of the young Nichols woman while the other, a hole precisely three feet wide, seven feet long and seventy-seven inches deep, remained empty. The dimensions, not lost on anyone in attendance, were the same numbers 3-7-77 often written on slips of paper pinned by vigilantes to the corpses of their particular brand of justice.

As the family gathered around the second grave, that of Cadence Nichols, Nathan, JD, and Ezra formed a loose faction directly across the gravesites from them. Josiah took his place at the head of both while Vin sat on a barrel just outside the white picket fence, his Sharps rifle butt resting on his thigh as a precaution. The tracker didn't really expect any trouble because the last Vin had seen of Chris Larabee; the gunman was still at the saloon and still deep in his cups. But with a volatile bunch such as the Nichols, one never knew.

Josiah waited a few more minutes and, deciding Chris Larabee was not coming, began the internment service.

"Man, that is born of woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cast down, like a flower: he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.

In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?

Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts: shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer: but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge eternal: suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee."

Josiah closed his book momentarily and began to stoop in order to retrieve a hand full of earth but Sofia Nichols' cold voice stopped him and at the same time caused Vin to stand up.

"If the Lord truly knows the secret of my heart, if He has not shut his merciful ears to my prayer as you say, preacher, then he will deliver unto me the devil's own spawn, Chris Larabee."

"I don't believe he's coming," Josiah told her calmly.

Sofia simply smiled a predatory smile and said one word, "Peter."

Sofia's son drew both Schofields but fired only one shot...directly into JD Dunn's thigh and hell rained down on them all.

When he heard the first of many rapid-fire gunshots, Chris bolted from the saloon.

'Here he comes, Ma!" Mathew shouted and trained his gun on Larabee. He fired as the gunman ran toward them and Vin heard a muffled thud and a hiss directly behind him.

Chris Larabee had been lured into the fray and Mathew Nichols had gotten lucky and more than likely hit his intended target. There was virtually no cover in the cemetery other than a few half dead trees and some flimsily constructed headstones made of wood and the gunplay was fast and furious.

Vin sighted in on Peter Nichols, the most accurate shooter in the Nichols' clan, but Chris grabbed his shoulder and to the tracker's surprise, pushed his weapon to the side, his kill shot going wide.

Chris' gun remained in its holster as he marched into cemetery and shouted out at the top of his lungs, "This is going to stop, here! This is going to stop, now!"

"Look out, Ma," John Nichols shouted a warning unsure of what the gunfighter had in mind. With his gun still trained on Larabee he looked quickly at Mathew who now laid still on the ground before him.

Buck slowly rose from his crouched position, blood running down his side, his gun still drawn and aimed at the faction across the cemetery, the little square patch of fenced dirt now pooled with blood.

J.D. moaned softly, the bullet that had taken him down and that had brought Chris Larabee to a crossroads in his life, still burned painfully in his thigh.

Checking to see who was still able bodied, Chris shouted, "Nathan, Ezra, get JD outta here!" and as the two of them picked up the boy and headed for Nathan's clinic, Chris took another deliberate step toward Sofia Nichols and asked, "Buck, you alright?"

"I'm here, Chris," the ladies man said letting Chris know that, even though he was wounded, he still had his back.

"Ma…." John said again and stepped forward to bring his pistol to bear on the advancing gunman.

"No! It's over!" Chris' commanding voice sounded like a shot in the unnerving quiet that had settled over the gravesites.

Peter Nichols, his handsome face streaked with blood and grime, stepped from behind a scraggly tree and knelt clumsily by Mathew. His eyesight was blurred with dripping blood from a wound deep in his scalp but he didn't need to see to know that Mathew was dead.

"Ma, he's dead," he said to his mother but she ignored him and continued to stare at the black clad gunman still making his way slowly, deliberately toward her.

"You keep away from her!" John warned Larabee off.

Josiah swung his gun, now held with his right arm, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, to bear and ordered, "Don't try anything, son," and for a moment they were all frozen in time.

"You want retribution, Sophia?" Chris Larabee asked, his voice low pitched and angry but well under control. He now stood directly in front of the woman and she nodded her head. "Then you can have it…but only you. Not your boys…just you," he said as his eyes locked with hers.

Ignoring the burning pain in his shoulder and the blood that seeped through to dampen his shirt, Chris pulled his pistol from its holster and let it swing around on his trigger finger and with the butt end facing her, he thrust it at her and demanded of her, "Take it!"

Her jaw fiercely set, Sophia took the pistol righted it and aimed it at his chest. John and Luke, her only sons left standing, moved in closer to her as did Buck, Vin and Josiah.

"You say you want retribution, payment for the death of your daughter? Well I'm here. But you forced her to run. You forced her to seek protection wherever she could find it. She should have been able to turn to you, her family, but you turned away from her. You should have protected her. She was your flesh and blood and you threw her to the wolves and now she's dead. You'll have your retribution, Sofia, but you're gonna have to live with it!" Chris took a deep breath and continued his voice now tempered by his pain, both physical and emotional, and by his exhaustion.

He was tired, tired of all the killing and of all the death that seemed to follow him…and he was tired of caring. "I loved her and I know she could have loved me given the chance," he said and sucked in another deep breath. He let it out slowly. "So take your retribution because I can't live with it…any of it."

"John," Sophia turned to her son and demanded, "Kill him. Kill the fornicator."

The youngest Nichols stood mutely staring at his mother for a moment then turned to look at his brothers. Mathew, dead in the dust, Peter, blood dripping from his head, Luke, unharmed but clearly rattled and he simply lowered his weapon.

"John, what in God's name is wrong with you? I said kill him!"

"No," John said in defiance of his mother, "He's right, Ma. It will stop here. I won't kill him. He tried to protect Cady. He put his life on the line for her while we…we did nothing."

"We failed her, Ma…didn't keep her safe…or in our hearts," Peter spoke from the ground and from his heart, his strength as well as his very life waning.

"No, she was willful and spoiled…" Sofia tried to counter but she was cut off.

"She was spirited, full of life, Ma. Much too good for the likes of Henry Oliver," John insisted.

"But the marriage would have been good for business," Sophia also insisted dabbing her brow with a hankie.

"But not for Cady," John added, "Larabee said it will stop here and it will…but you'll have to kill him yourself.”

"Luke!" Sophia shouted fully expecting that when one son failed, another would step up to do her bidding.

"No, Ma," the young man said lowering his guns to his side, "John's right. It stops now."

Chris moved one more step closer to the matriarch and grasped the barrel of his pistol in both of his hands and pulled the barrel to his chest, over his heart. He looked Sophia Nichols in the eyes, his plea visible in them…his plea and much more.

As if under his spell the Nichols matriarch looked long and hard and deep into the soulless depths of the gunfighter's green eyes and whispered, "Oh God! Oh Lord! Cady my lamb," and tears began to roll down her suddenly ashen cheeks.

Sophia Nichols had looked into Chris Larabee's eyes and had seen the Lord's retribution...or perhaps the devil's reward. The man who stood before her hadn't been able to save those closest to him, not his wife, not his son, not his father-in-law nor even her own daughter and the pain and the guilt and the suffering shown plainly therein. Chris Larabee wanted to die, had wanted to die for years and his Colt dropped from her hand and fell unfired into the dust.

Sophia turned to face her sons. Her mouth opened and a soft moan preceded her words, words familiar to all who could hear her, words that had come back to haunt her. She turned to her sons and begged, "Forgive me, boys. Please forgive me. Forgive me, Cady, my last born lamb, my youngest, my sweetest," she cried turning to the gravesite.

Sophia Nichols was suddenly weak and in need of a strong and steady support. She turned once again to John and he wrapped his arm around his mother, suddenly grown smaller, if not physically then most assuredly in his eyes, and together they walked out of the cemetery toward the hotel.

Chris watched them go and cheated out of what, in his mind, would have been a just and merciful death cried out, "No!"

Sophia turned to look back. Her face was drawn and her eyes held neither anger nor hope and the gunman's hands began to trembled as his eyes began to well up and Chris Larabee was even more lost than before.

Chapter 15

Nathan Jackson's clinic was full to bursting. Josiah, his arm bandaged and well on the mend, sat vigil with Sophia Nichols at the bedside of Peter while John and Luke saw to the preparations for the transport of Mathew's body back to Kansas City.

Buck Wilmington, his wounds stitched closed and his broken ribs wrapped in wide strips of linen, clucked solicitously, along with Casey Wells, around the sickbed of JD. The young lawman's bullet wound was deep and it had taken surgery to remove but now, doped to the gills on laudanum, he was enjoying every second of the fuss.

Only Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee, both unharmed in the short-lived gun battle, remained unaccounted for with Chris solidly among the missing. The Texan checked the livery and, after spotting Chris' big black among the other horses turned out into the corral behind it, resumed his search for his friend...his next stop the Clarion.

Mary Travis, having neither seen nor spoken to Chris since the day he'd arrived back in town, was curt with him, almost unwelcoming. Vin knew she had been hurt by Chris' brusque dismissal of her concerns and he hoped that one day she could find it in her heart, which he was pretty sure still belonged to the reticent gunman, to forgive him.

Vin had already checked the saloon but figured it couldn't hurt to check again and when he stuck his head inside the bartender jerked his head to the right, toward the small staircase that led up to a small, dark alcove. Grabbing a bottle and a glass from the bar the tracker walked up the stairs.

When his eyes adjusted to the gloom Vin took a seat next to Chris. The gunman neither looked at him nor acknowledged him in any way. Two could play at this game, Vin thought, and he poured himself a drink of tequila.

Chris had long since given up on glasses and was drinking straight from the bottle. His chair was tipped all the way back against the wall and his bottle of rye whiskey rested on his thigh. He took a long swallow and blew out as it burned all the way down.

"You been to see JD yet?" the tracker asked nonchalantly as if they were just passing the time of day.

"Nope," came the terse reply.

"You gonna go see 'im?"

"Nope," Chris replied and took another healthy pull on the bottle.

Vin drank his shot of tequila and poured himself another. "I kinda think you should. Peter Nichols shot him to draw you out." Vin knew he was playing with fire but what he didn't know was how much he'd get burned.

Chris rocked forward in his chair, pushed the table over and grabbed Vin by the front of his shirt and threw him across the alcove and into the wall. He followed him to the wall and pulled him back up onto his feet and shoved his forearm across the Texan's neck.

"Do you really think JD wants to see me after all this?" he growled meaning not just the gun battle and its aftermath but the fact that he had gotten Cadence Nichols killed and had dragged each and every one of them into what should have been his punishment and his alone.

Vin pushed his arm away and asked angrily, "You think this is all your fault?"

Chris just snorted derisively dismissing the obvious and said, "If I had put her back on the stage none of this wouldn't have happened."

"Maybe not here but somewhere else down the line…and do you really think you could put that gal anyplace she didn't want to be put? You put her in your care and in your arms and I believe in your heart…"

"And I ended up putting her in the ground!"

"You didn't! Henry Oliver killed her!" Vin shouted but the gunman had turned away and was heading out of the saloon and into the darkness that had descended on the town and on his heart.

Chris had kept his bottle in his hand the whole time he'd assaulted his closest friend and now that it was empty he threw it against the back of a building and it shattered, the violence of the act and the aftermath, strangely comforting. He felt at peace as he realized that the last of his compassion and tenderness had been torn from his soul and was lying in a hole just down the street. He also felt it only right that he say his farewells…or maybe join her.

Chris thought that he would be alone in the cemetery but a lone figure stood in the dim light thrown from a lantern hooked on a tree limb. Josiah Sanchez picked up a handful of dirt and rained it down on the coffin and started to read from his book.

"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased sister, we therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.

I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth, blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord: even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours."

"Blessed are the dead indeed," Chris said and walked unsteadily to stand next to the preacher.

"I thought I'd finish this," Josiah said to him.

"Me, too," Chris said and pulled his gun from its holster.

"God doesn't want us before our time," Josiah sighed and reminded him gently.

"What about the devil?"

"You think the devil wants to fight with you for all eternity?"

Chris laughed softly. He knew he was a hard man and was thankful for those who had stood with him and by him.

"You tell JD and the others that I'm sorry. Tell Sophia I wish her daughter's life had ended in a different way…her sons', too."

"You need to tell them yourself."

"And what? Have 'em laugh in my face?"

"Why would they do something so heartless, so cruel?"

"Because I deserve it."

Josiah lowered his head and shook it sadly. He knew that the gunman thought that for every foul deed in his life God had exacted a terrible revenge. But ever the pragmatist, Josiah thought that most times God had nothing to do with it. Men like the man who had killed Chris Larabee’s wife and son and men like Henry Oliver had exacted the heavy toll on Larabee's heart and soul for reasons of their own. God was most likely innocent."

"It's true that you reap what you sew but not in every circumstance. Your wife and your boy died tragically and what did you ever do to deserve it? Get in a few fistfights? Kill men in the war? We were all fighting for what we believed in, what we thought was right."

"Then why'd God take 'em from me?"

"Perhaps he has other plans for you…starting with this town and the six men who would stand by you even up to the very gates of hell."

Chris stared hard into Josiah eyes but the man never blinked and he was inclined to believe him, in him...and the others, if just a little. "But what about Cadence Nichols?"

"Sometimes God's need are more urgent than ours."

Chris looked down at the coffin and knew that Cady was now safe and that pain could never touch her again and he found himself envious of her and jealous of God.

"If she could...do you think she'd ever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Chris," Josiah insisted.

The gunman was fairly secure in his love for the girl and knew he'd tried to do right by her but the other things he had done since Sarah and Adam's deaths came back to suddenly haunt him. "Do you think God will ever forgive me?"

Josiah placed his hand on Chris' shoulder and spoke softly to him, "God will forgive us all one day, even those of us afraid to ask… and 'if we die in the Lord, we will rest from our labours'"

The thought of eventually laying down his burden was enticing and maybe he'd take God up on his offer someday but he had things to do, the first of which was to see that Cadence Nichols rested in peace.

"I'd like to do this if you don't mind," Chris said picking up one of the shovels left behind by the gravediggers.

"Sophia's taking all of her children back with her to Kansas City," Josiah told him and the gunman simply nodded.

It was fitting. She didn't belong here, she had never belonged here and she had never really belonged to him. Going home with her family was the right thing. Chris leaned the shovel up against the tree and wiped his hands on his pant legs while Josiah retrieved the lantern from the tree branch.

Chris extended his hand to the preacher and said, "I'll see you later, Josiah. I gotta take care of some things."

Josiah had done his best to try and answer Chris Larabee's questions but whatever happened next was up to his friend. But he was a firm believer in divine intervention and he added, "Give my best to Mary…and I'll tell Vin you're on your way to apologize."

FIN

Josiah's graveside quotes were taken directly from my 1882 copy of "The Burial of the Dead" by the Reverends George and Samuel W. Duffield, a book that, in 1882, was either purchased by or given to S. P. Klotz, pastor of the United Brethren Church of Butler Co., Iowa in 1885. The only page of the book to be purposely dog-eared was the page from which I quoted. I love and treasure unusual old books and knew this one would come in handy one day.

As always I hope you enjoyed my little piece and thank you for giving it a read.

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