by Kaed

Genre: (pre)slash

Universe: OW, pre-series

Pairing: Chris/Buck

Notes: This came about as part of a Christmas gift exchange. The recipient asked to have a story about a young Chris and Buck. They also asked for a good female character; hope Ada Mae fits the bill.

Buck Wilmington sauntered into the dimly lit saloon, slipping to one side of the door until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The day was just half over, and the sun was brighter than a chunk of gold in a dung heap. When his vision grew clear once more, he moved into the room, checking for signs of trouble as well as opportunities for some sex. He had been on the trail for over a week, and felt ready to explode for lack of companionship. The big rogue's dark blue gaze fell on a young prostitute standing at the bar, sipping a glass of whiskey. Striding across to where she stood, alone, he said, “Well, howdy, darlin'.”

“Hey, there, sugar,” the young woman replied, checking him over, head to foot. “You lookin' for a good time?”

“Always, girl... always!” He motioned for a shot of whiskey with a second shot for the working girl. “Been keepin' my own company for far too long. Reckon I better find me a willin' young lady to help me out, before I just up and explode.”

With a laugh that ended in a cough, she replied, “I think I can help you out with that... handsome.”

They downed those drinks, she swallowing as quickly as he did. With a widening grin, he said, “So, you hungry? Reckon I could do with some dinner before we become... better acquainted.”

“Tell you what, you go find us a table, and I'll go get you something from the kitchen.” The woman replied. “Otherwise, Nestor scrapes up the dregs for customers.”

“Much obliged.” Buck handed over a silver coin, then swatted her playfully across the rump, chuckling as he watched her sashay toward the back of the building. While he waited for her return, he looked around the saloon, filled with the smells of cigar smoke, whiskey and bodies that hadn't seen the inside of a bathhouse for quite some time. There was a table nearby surrounded by half a dozen men who spoke only to offer a bid or call. Not letting his sight settle for more than a second, he nevertheless noted that one of the players was more than passing handsome. He was wearing a store bought, white shirt, a gray bandana and hat, along with dun colored jeans and boots. His duster, also dun colored and having seen better days, was draped over the back of his chair. As if feeling eyes on him, the man turned to look directly at Buck, who found himself drawn into a pair of hazel-green eyes that were at once dangerous and sensual.

“You got a problem, pard?”

Raising his hands in a way that clearly signaled that he didn't want any trouble, Buck replied, “Not at all, cowboy. Just watchin' the game while I wait for my dinner.”

“Don't call me a cowboy.” The threat of violence was clear in his soft, even voice. “And I suggest you keep your eyes off the game.”

Buck simply chuckled, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to find the whore he'd been waiting for, approaching him with a tray topped with a large bowl, and a chunk of bread. Turning his attention back to the young woman, he said, “Smells good from here, darlin'!”

“You can't smell it with all the cigar smoke in here, but it is good,” she agreed. Setting the tray on the table in front of him, she took a chair herself, and sat nearby.

Buck frowned, “Now, girl, I'm not gonna sit here and eat alone. Where's your dinner?”

Waving a frail looking hand, the young prostitute said, “Oh, I ate earlier, you go ahead.”

His voice dropping and taking on a somber note, Buck said softly, “Sweetheart, when is the last time you ate?”

Her cheerful facade failing, the girl replied, “We only eat when we can pay... and Nestor usually charges us double.”

“Well, I ain't about to stand for that.” He dug a silver coin out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You go get another bowl of stew and more bread, girl. Say I've got a powerful appetite. And if this Nestor fella tries anything, you call out for ol' Buck. Understand?”

She looked uncertain, but then a bright smile lit up her face. With a giggle, she hurried off to do as he said. He sat watching, eyes glued to the door that she disappeared through. He heard a soft snort and turned briefly to see the man who wasn't a cowboy, watching him. Neither man said anything, and Buck quickly turned his attention back to the door. A minute later, the little brunette reappeared, another tray in her hands.

They settled in at the table; eating dinner and making small talk. Buck belatedly realized that he hadn't asked her name, and learned that she was called Charity, but her real name was Ada Mae. By the end of the meal, he learned that she had run away from her family when she was twelve, become involved with an older man who took advantage of her then left her stranded in the cluster of buildings laughingly referred to as a town. She had learned quickly that she only had one skill that could earn her money. She had been trying for three years to make enough money to return to Boston, where she'd come from. However, most of her money was spent on rent for the room, one meal a day, and a monthly trip to the bathhouse. The rest of her funds were taken from her by Nestor and Louis, the saloon owner and bartender, for one reason or another. Buck calculated in his head and decided that he had enough money to get her on a stage out of the territory, although he doubted he had enough to get her much farther than that. He wondered if he could buy his way into the game but decided he would try for it after he and Charity went to her room. They finished their meal, Charity wolfing down the less than tasty stew in such a way that he wanted to wring the necks of the two men who were so wantonly taking advantage of the girl. Pushing back his chair, Buck rose and extended a hand, taking the small one that the woman offered him. “Well, darlin', let's me and you see if we can go work off some of this dinner.”

~o~

Chris Larabee barely glanced up when the pair disappeared up the stairs, but he did note that they were gone. He had learned quickly after he left the family farm back in Indiana, that a man kept track of what was going on around him if he wanted to live. He went back to studying his cards and then the other men at the table. From the look of the young man on his right, who had been losing all evening, he was going to fold before his cards did. Next to him was the man who had dealt the latest hand. He had the look of a professional gambler and had been nearly impossible to read all evening. Right across from him was an older man; a peddler by trade, who looked as if he might just have a good hand; one of the few times he had looked relieved all evening. The last man at the table was on his left; he had the demeanor of a cowboy and dressed like one as well.

He'd left home at seventeen, searching for adventure, and he found it. He had quickly embraced a nomadic existence, living by his wits and his gun. For the past several months he had found himself in the company of what he considered to be the most beautiful, exciting woman on the face of the earth. Ella Gaines had been at his side, getting him into trouble as much as she got him out of it, and landing him in jail at least five times. None of that had bothered him, though. But, two weeks before, she had goaded him into a battle that nearly cost him his life, and did cost them their relationship.

The wound in his side wasn't as deep as the one in his heart, he discovered. Ella had begun flirting with a trio of men in a saloon that he barely remembered. They had all been drinking, and the men had started handling her a little rougher than a lady should be, and she had come to hide – literally – behind him. He had been content to play cards and drink a few beers, but quickly found himself squaring off the trio. By the time they managed to get out of the saloon, he was bleeding pretty badly from a knife wound and fighting to keep himself moving forward. They had ridden until the next day when, like it or not, his body declared itself finished for the time being. He remembered the world around him going out of focus, then waking on the ground, with Ella hovering over him.

She had gotten him into the saddle and climbed up in front of him, taking the reins and sending the horse forward. He barely remembered the ride and only vaguely recalled her helping him off the horse so they could take refuge in a line shack. She nursed him back to health while, at the same time, trying to keep his anger toward the men who'd been responsible for his injury. He knew though, that she was the one truly at fault. Over the course of the days that followed, he took a good look at what their relationship was doing to him. She was wild and exciting, but there was a darkness about her that he had blinded himself to. If he wanted to live for more than another year, or perhaps two, he needed to get away from her.

If Ella recognized the change in him, she didn't say anything. She seemed content to continue to keep him pissed off about the fight. He played along until he was well enough for them to come out of hiding. With her twisted sense of loyalty to him, Ella continued to devise ways of getting even with the trio. But, by that time, he had had his own plans. He continued to play along, even riding back to the little town he'd been wounded in. The men who'd wounded him were long gone; trail bums who never stayed long anywhere. Ella was disappointed, to say the least, and insisted they ride out after the men. Chris, feigning continued weakness from his wound, managed to get her to stay in town overnight. So, after one final night of wild, passionate love making, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his things, and rode out of town. He was still looking over his shoulder, expecting to see her, or one of the men he had run afoul of, coming for him.

Returning his mind completely to the game, he said quietly, “three”, as he tossed three cards onto the table. Picking up the three replacements, he kept all emotion from reaching his face as luck gave him a second pair of fours. He tossed several coins into the pot on his next turn, and called. With a loud curse, the cowboy to his right threw his cards onto the table, picked up the three or four coins left in front of him, and stormed from the saloon. He shared a bemused look with the man in the fancy clothes, and drew the pot toward himself. Lady Luck was sitting on his shoulder.

~o~

Buck noted one of the players leaving the game in a huff, and smiled. He wasn't happy that the man had evidently lost, but that he would have a better chance of buying into the game himself. While Charity, or Ada Mae, had refused taking payment for her services, he was certain that he could find a way to finance her way out of the hell she'd found herself in, if he could win a few hands of poker. He scanned the players from his vantage point of the stairway and decided that the man in the fancy clothes, obviously a gambler by trade, and the blond cowboy were the two to beat. From the looks of their dwindling caches, the others would be leaving the table soon, themselves.

He stepped onto the sawdust covered floor just as the hand was played out, leaving the older man, the one who looked like a peddler, with nothing more than a few coins to pay for dinner and a bed. With a curt “gentlemen”, he left the table. As he approached, he spoke up. “Looks like the game's gettin' a little rich for some of the players. You boys interested in lettin' someone new in?”

“It would depend on whether or not you have the... price of admission, shall we say?” the gambler said in a cultured voice.

“Well, how much does it take to buy in?”

“Five should do it.” The blond spoke up from where he was stacking some of the coins in front of him.

With a low whistle, Buck nonetheless pulled out his bankroll and placed it on the table, in front of the chair he settled in. Tossing in the ante, he looked around at the remaining three players and got nods of approval before the man across from him dealt the next hand. He slid the cards toward himself and found he'd been dealt a trio of sevens, a queen and a two. Tossing the last two onto the table, he accepted their replacements and made a low bid.

The game continued, the players giving little attention to what was happening around them. More people entered the saloon as the sun went down. Trail hands, peddlers, people who ran other establishments in the little town, entered the saloon. Some came for dinner, others came to drink, still others came to socialize. As with many small towns of the area, the saloon was also the social center.

Ada Mae, doing double duty as a waitress, delivered meals and drinks. She did nothing but smile when some of the men got a little too friendly with her. They slapped her backside, pulled at the tattered, faded ribbons on her clothing, and and a few even tried to kiss her. She was very adept at slipping away from them, leaving the offender with a smile and an air kiss instead.

But there was always one.

“Aw, c'mon, honey, just gimme a little sugar.”

“Maybe after you win your game, Mr. Talbot... we can celebrate, how's that sound?” She tried to pull away from his hard grip.

“Then how about you sit down here and... count my money for me, girl?” He kept his grip on her and patted his thigh with the other hand.

Buck's attention was drawn from the game as he searched the growing crowd for signs of Ada Mae, and of trouble. He found her standing near a table at the other side of the saloon, doing her best to get away from a large, well dressed man. Buck knew the type, someone who looked like he was used to getting anything he wanted. He and his friends had started their own game, although, from the looks of them, they were playing for higher stakes at their table. Tossing his cards on the table, he muttered, “fold”, shoved his chair back, and strode across the room.

“Honest, Mr. Talbot, I can't do that... not right now,” Ada Mae was saying as Buck approached. Her words were pleading, and she looked frightened.

“Mister, I believe the lady'd like you to let go of her.”

“Who the hell are you, and what makes any of this your business?” Even seated the other man seemed to be looking down his nose at Wilmington.

“My name ain't important, but the fact that you're harassing a friend of mine makes it my business.” as he spoke, Buck reached out and grasped the other man's arm hard. The man cursed and jerked his arm away as if the touch burned.

“How dare you touch me! Do you know who I am?”

“No, and I ain't interested in findin' out. Now you keep your paws off the lady--”

Talbot stood, the chair falling backward as he gained his feet. “Lady!? You must be stupider than I thought, boy. Now I guess I'll have to teach you a lesson in manners...” Drawing back a ham-handed fist he swung at Buck, who deftly avoided the punch before delivering one of his own. With a surprised “whoof”, Talbot fell back, crashing into the table; causing the cards and money to scatter. One player tried break the man's fall only for both of them to end up on the floor.

gYou know what's good for you, you'll stay right where you are,” Buck said with a low growl. He started after the man, only to find himself grabbed from behind by two other men. He tried to pull away from their grip, but it only resulted in them holding him more firmly. And, suddenly, it seemed like half the saloon crowd was gathering around them. Wilmington sighed as he realized that this Talbot wasn't alone... like he was.

Talbot was assisted to stand and brushed himself off. "You must not be from around here." Buck watched as the fancy dressed man took a bowie knife from one of the other men. "I'm a very important man in these parts."

Buck snorted derisively, and one of the men holding his arm suddenly punched him in the side causing him to lose his breath. Blinking to clear teary vision, he struggled to get air back into his lungs then, forcing himself to straighten, he stared coolly at Talbot. “Too important to fight your own battles, I reckon.”

“To important to need to... boy.” Talbot taunted, leaning forward to press the edge of the knife against Buck's throat. “Now, you need to gather your things and get the hell out of my town. Comprende?”

With a wide grin, Buck leaned back slightly, then spit in the other man's face. “Go to hell.”

Talbot pressed the knife against his neck just hard enough to break the skin, then pulled back. “No. It would be too easy to just kill you. I want you to hurt... for a long time.” He threw the knife down hard, the tip gigging the sawdust and hard packed dirt beneath. Then, he turned his attention back to Wilmington. On his part, Buck struggled again to get loose, only to find himself pinned as two other men helped to hold him in place. Methodically, Talbot began punching him in the midsection with all the strength he had. Buck fought down the urge to cry out, instead his leveled a cold glare on his attacker. In response, Talbot reared back, his fist balled in anticipation if the blow to come.

Suddenly, above the din of the crowd now watching the exchange, a single gunshot rang out. Talbot howled, blood erupting from his hand. Buck, along with everyone in the room, turned toward the sound.

The blond stood beside the poker table, Colt still drawn. In a voice of restrained fury, he growled, “Let him go.”

“You sh-shot me!” Talbot cried out.

“You'll live. Let him go unless you want me to aim for something more vital.” The Colt moved slightly downward, the meaning clear. A few of the people watching chuckled, despite the look of rage Talbot threw their way, promising retaliation.

With a barely perceptible nod, Talbot got the others to let Buck go. One hand clutching his aching gut, Buck moved away. He held out a hand, happy and relieved when Ada Mae came to his side quickly. Together they hurried to toward the blond. He offered them a quicksilver smile, canting his head toward the table.

“Get your share, and mine. I'm thinking we'd better light a shuck and put as much space as we can between us and them.”

With a nod, Buck gathered up a decent share of the money spread out on the table, but left as much as he took. Holding Ada Mae's hand, he asked, “You got anything in your room you need to get before we leave?”

“I just need to get something to put on...” she looked down at her outfit, which stated her profession quite clearly.

Taking a few quick strides across the room, Buck was back quickly with the jacket from the back of Talbot's chair. “Probably bigger than you need, but it'll do 'til we can get you something better.”

Ada Mae smiled as she was helped into the coat, which dwarfed her in folds of expensive material. Buck wrapped an arm protectively around her and led the way out of the door. Outside, the two men climbed onto their horses; Buck pulling the woman up in front of him in the saddle. They quickly rode from town, looking back to see if they were followed.

A few of the bar patrons came out, mounted their horses, and rode after them. Shots rang out, heels kicked horses to urge more speed, and shouts followed the three people being pursued. Within a mile the shots and shouts grew sparser. By the time they were five miles from town, the road behind them was empty, allowing them to slow the horses to a walk.

“Guess they're not that interested in you,” the blond said with a cocky grin. Putting out a hand, he said, “Chris Larabee.”

“Buck Wilmington. Guess not,” the big brunet responded with a laugh. Together the two men urged their mounts on.

~o~

The moon was full, giving them light to travel by. Ada Mae fell asleep in Buck's arms and rested easy against his broad chest, snuggled down in Talbot's coat. A few times she roused with a coughing fit that seemed to erupt from deep inside, but she settled back to sleep quickly.

“That doesn't sound good,” Chris said softly, after one such attack.

Shaking his head, Buck said, “It's not. Seen it before; ladies get it from the men they entertain in the bawdy houses.”

“Consumption.”

“Think so.”

“She's hardly more than a girl.”

Hearing the genuine sadness in the other man's voice, Wilmington said, “At least she's getting out of there.”

“Think she'll stay out?”

Shrugging, even though the motion couldn't be seen, Buck said softly, “We can only hope, pard. We can only hope.”

~o~

Just after midnight they stopped to rest the horses, starting a small fire to heat some coffee. Ada Mae, still wrapped in the stolen coat, curled up on one side, opting for sleep over coffee and hard tack. The two men sat at the fire, staring past it into the darkness in a surprisingly comfortable silence.

Chris lit a cheroot, blowing the smoke into the air. From time to time he slid a look at the man sitting near by. He had checked him out earlier and found himself admiring what he saw. This Buck Wilmington was a nice looking man, that was easy to see, and he sported one of the nicest mustaches he had ever seen. But, beyond that, there was something about him that drew people to him. He couldn't put a name to it, but he could feel it. This was a man that you would be lucky to have at your back.

“So, you goin' anywhere in particular?” Chris was shocked to hear himself ask the question. You didn't ask something like that of another man on the trail.

“Nah, not really. You?” Larabee found himself entranced by the patch of dark hair that danced when the other man talked.

Shrugging, Larabee replied, “Looking for a good time and a few dollars.”

Buck nodded. Chris barely registered the words spoken from just below that beautiful swatch of fur. “Mighty fine life, ain't it?”

Eyes focused on the other man's mustache, he could only nod.

A few minutes later the wind kicked up a little, sending the fire dancing. Chris watched as a swirl of sparks were caught up in the air and headed toward Wilmington's face... his mustache. Without thinking, he reached out and batted the offending flickers of light away. Then, realizing what he had done, he snatched his hand back, looking away into the darkness in an effort to hide the color that was rising from below his collar.

Wilmington didn't comment on the other man's actions, but his mouth quirked up in a smile. This Chris Larabee wasn't the first person to be enamored by his mustache. And he wouldn't be the last. Watching the other man, he found himself drawn to him as well. The blond was lean and well-muscled, his movements graceful and controlled. He had a way about him that spoke of an underlying lethality that was only partially restrained, like a pet rattlesnake. This was someone he wanted to get to know better.

A lot better.

From where she lay, Ada Mae watched the two men and smiled.

~o~

Around sunrise they found themselves in the next town; little more than a gathering of weather worn buildings, squatting beside the dry, rutted road. They stopped first at the livery, leaving their horses in the hands of the grizzled old man who ran it. Then, Ada Mae positioned between them, they headed for the mercantile. The young woman blushed and thanked them over and over as the two men made certain that she had two complete outfits, down to stockings and bloomers. She changed into one of the outfits in the tiny fitting room at the back of the store, emerging with a broad smile on her lips. Gone was the young prostitute Buck had met the day before; replaced by a very proper young woman in a crisp, blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair.

While waiting for her, they found a small satchel that would be perfect for carrying the rest of her purchases, and had them packed away for her when she returned to the main room of the store, carrying her old things. Buck took them from her, handing it all over to the store owner with a request to burn the lot. Then, offering his arm, he led the young woman from the store, Chris right behind them.

They entered the hotel, a squat little building that boasted only two floors and half a dozen rooms; they claimed two of them for themselves. Climbing the stairs, they found their rooms, Chris taking one, while Buck and Ada Mae took the other. A short time later they emerged from their rooms and went in search of something to eat. There was a small restaurant that served palatable food, and they shared a meal of stew and bread. The young woman ate as much as her two companions, leaving the two men to smile at her healthy appetite.

There wasn't much to see in the little town, and Ada Mae excused herself to go back to the room, while the two men found a poker game in the saloon. It was well after nightfall when they returned to the rooms, each man carrying a full bottle of whiskey. While Chris opened the door to the room he was using, Buck was stunned to find the door to the room he intended to share with Ada Mae locked, and a note tacked to the door. Opening the folded paper, he read her crudely written note:

“ Buck, I have headack. Can you bunk with Chris tonyte? Ada Mae”

Dark brows furrowing in a frown, Wilmington called out to the other man, who was just entering his room. “Hey, Ada Mae's indisposed. Mind if I camp out in your room tonight?”

Chris stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath before he responded. “Uh, yeah, that's fine.”

Entering the room first, Larabee lit the lamp and uncorked the bottle he was carrying. Taking a healthy swig, he dropped to the chair and tipped it back on two legs, absentmindedly scratching the healing wound in his side.

Settling on the foot of the bed, Buck took a drink from his bottle before pointing with it toward the other man. “You got somethin' hurtin'? Noticed you favorin' your side a time or two.”

“Yeah... picked up a scratch in a bar fight couple weeks ago.”

“It healin' up okay?”

Shrugging, Chris said, “Seems to be.”

“Maybe I ought to take a look at it? Hate for it to go sour on you.”

Another shrug. “If you want.”

Buck scarcely hid his smile as he stepped across the room as the other man stood. With fingers that trembled slightly, he slowly helped him undress. Once Chris was naked to the waist, he examined the almost healed wound. It seemed healthy enough, but just to make sure, he ran his fingers across the pale, warm flesh, causing the other man to gasp softly. “Well, it looks alright. Whoever patched you up did a fairly decent job.”

“Well, considering she was the cause of the wound, I reckon it's only right,” Larabee said in a whisper. He wanted to move away from the touch; away from how excited it made him. At the same time, he never wanted that touch to end.

“So, it was a female? She must have had some hellacious nails!”

Chris snorted. “No, just a big mouth and a penchant for finding trouble to get me into. Being with that woman was like walking on the edge of a sharp knife... sooner or later you're bound to bleed.”

Buck grinned. “Yeah, they can be a handful.” His voice was soft and he realized that his hand was still on the other man's body. And neither of them seemed very interested in him moving it. Testing that theory, he slid his hand along Larabee's side and stepped closer. The other man's eyes grew wide and, for a second, he thought he'd been in the wrong. But then the blond smiled and stepped closer as well, one hand coming up to tentatively stroke his mustache.

The mustache always got to them.

Leaning toward Chris, Buck brushed that mustache across his lips and then over his chin before running it along the other man's long neck. He could feel the sharp intake of breath as he reached the ridge of bone at his shoulder. There he paused long enough to deliver a soft nip before moving back. Their eyes met, and he canted his head toward the bed, a wordless invitation as he stepped backward. He smiled as the other man followed him.

The Beginning...
December 25, 2011

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