It had been a slow and pleasant week filled with flirtation and suggestion
and plain old fun, culminating just this afternoon in a dalliance in a
wheat field that left Buck Wilmington's skin electric with pleasure. The
smell of grass and sex on him had been so strong when he'd got back to
town, he'd gone to the bath house for a late afternoon soak, then retired
for a little siesta. Buck dozed atop his bedcovers in trousers and union
suit, and was startled awake by a sharp knock at the door. He lolled his
head to the side as the door swung inward, and Chris Larabee stepped into
the room.
"Chris," he said, taking his eyes off his six-shooter and propping up
on his elbows, jaw cracking on a sleepy yawn. "I didn't expect to see you
here."
"Then you don't know me as well as you like to think, Buck."
Buck laughed, genuinely amused. Chris Larabee liked to be many things,
and one of them was unreadable. Or so the old boy liked to think. "You
don't say."
"He's a fine boy, Buck, and you're corruptin' him."
Well. Maybe Chris was unreadable, because that had come out of nowhere.
"I'm--I'm corrupting him? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You and JD. You're teachin' him things no young man ought to learn."
Buck watched Chris a long time before answering, examining the cold
assessment in the eyes, the harsh distance that rarely changed or softened.
"I don't recall you ever complaining," he ventured, offering a sly grin.
No change in the distance, no softening in the eyes. Buck wasn't much
surprised. Chris was in a state, had been for weeks; there wasn't no talking
to him when he got like this. "You and me, that was different," Chris said
after awhile. "We're different."
"Yeah. We sure as hell are. I'm not much for being alone, I never was.
And I swear to God, Chris Larabee, you make a man feel lonelier than a
coyote on a desert night, howlin' to the moon for company."
"Let's not go makin' this about me. We're talking about the boy."
Buck raised his eyebrows, bristling a little. He didn't remember volunteering.
"Are we?"
"Yes, we are." Those eyes, they seemed near-dead tonight: inscrutable,
impenetrable, and uncaring. All Buck would have to do would be to say,
'leave me alone, it ain't your business,' and Chris would tip his hat and
back away. But he'd made his peace as best he could, and he reckoned he
preferred the concern, even if it wasn't for himself at the moment.
"Well, then. He's a fine boy, growing into a fine man, and if he's old
enough to ride into a gunfight with us, he's old enough to choose who he
beds."
"But did he choose? Or did you choose for him?"
Tension whipped through Buck, tightening his muscles and crackling just
as sharp as a whip. "I don't think I appreciate what you're suggesting,
Chris," he said, keeping his voice even with an effort. "He is grown, and
if you think for a second that I'd--"
"Oh, don't git your back up," Chris derided, looking away. He walked
to the window, flicked the curtain aside and looked out, and Buck stared
at the whipcord-thin body silhouetted against lowering sun. "He's young,
and he's impressionable. And never let it be said you can't make an impression
on a body. Man or woman, makes no difference if they spark that urge in
you."
Buck frowned, and finally sat up on the edge of the bed, clasping his
hands between his knees. He knew he wasn't being complimented. Nor was
he being criticized. Chris didn't usually let out enough emotion to have
an actual opinion. Chris was just stating what he thought of as fact.
"I'm not gonna hurt him," he ventured, feeling his way carefully.
"You don't know what you're doing to him."
Buck snorted. "And you do? You have any idea at all whether any of these
boys is happy or sad, satisfied or not? You care?"
"I care." But Chris' back was still to the room, and Buck didn't believe
him.
"Chris, just... leave it be. No use stirring up bad feelings, and there's
no use in you worrying about JD. What's done is done."
The silence stretched a long time, and Buck braced himself for harshly
worded criticism. "I never meant to hurt you," Chris finally said.
The words were quiet, and they took Buck by surprise. "I thought we
weren't talking about you."
"If it needs talkin' about, then..."
Buck looked up from his clasped hands, trying to read the lean lines
of tension in his old friend's back. There'd been a time when he could
understand any twitch, any shrug, any slight shifting of weight, better
than he could the feel of a horse underneath his saddle. But that time
was gone, long gone, and the body before him was a cipher.
"It don't need talkin' about," he said quietly, letting the truth sit
there between them. He forced a smile. "I'm not one to heap more suffering
down on either one of us."
Chris turned then, tilting his head in a way that anyone could read:
judgment. "And you think sullying J.D. will ease your suffering? You're
a selfish bastard."
Without thinking, he was off the bed and across the room, and for reasons
he'd never know, Chris didn't strike back. His knuckles burned, and Chris
stayed where he'd stumbled back against the wall, reaching slowly to rub
at his jaw. "I'm a selfish bastard?" he growled. "Chris, you--how can you
say that?" He drew a breath, fighting for words through the muck of feelings
between them. "I loved you. I loved your family like it was my own, because
you loved her more than anything, and anyone with eyes could see that.
And I thought maybe there was enough affection in you for them and for
me, but then they died, and there wasn't no affection in you at all no
more. Now, I know you blamed me--"
"I didn't blame you, Buck."
"You never touched me again."
"It wasn't because I blamed you."
In the months that had followed Sarah's death, Buck had tried more than
once to broach the subject; he'd been grieving, too. But Chris had never
been willing to speak a word on it, had barely been willing to share kind
words about his lost family at all. "Then you tell me what it was."
Chris prevaricated, his eyes taking on a hunted look. "Hard for a man
to have time, between all the women you get up with."
Buck reined in his reaction before it got the better of him. "Now don't
go insinuating about my friendships with ladies. It wasn't the women, Chris,"
he said gently. "It was just the simple fact that you didn't want me no
more." He felt his eyes stinging, tears just starting to fill--of rage
or grief he honestly did not know. Every time he thought he'd put this
behind him...
"I always want you, Buck," Chris said gruffly, harshly. "I just--I just
can't stand you. Not yet."
The words would have been funny, if they weren't so true. "I lost them
too, Chris." He turned away, thinking about Chris finding him again a year
ago, about how happy he'd been to see the man--and he had, still was. But
what he'd known with Chris Larabee was dead and gone, and best buried just
like Sarah and Adam. "I sold off your horses and retired your farm while
you spent your time in whorehouses and hellholes and Lord knows where else,"
he said quietly. "I planted flowers on their graves, and grieved alone,
while you drank yourself half-crazy and buried anybody who would draw on
you." There was no accusation inside him; he was stating his own facts.
Chris had tried so hard to get himself killed, it was a miracle he hadn't
succeeded. "I hoped you'd forgive me, but eventually I realized you couldn't
even forgive yourself."
Chris' voice, when he spoke, burned with an intensity Buck rarely heard
anymore; he turned at the sound, hungry for some kind of healing for his
friend. "The past has nothing to do with the present, Buck. That's got
nothin' to do with why I came here."
"You came here to tell me not to take some comfort with that boy. You
came here to tell me my business when you washed your hands of it and me
a long time ago." He deflated suddenly, tired of the fighting, tired beyond
his years. "I missed you, Chris. Then you roused me out of a warm bed and
brought me in for that Injun thing." He laughed, the sound soft and fragile
to his ears. "I'll tell ya, pard, I'm grateful you're doin' better. I'm
glad for you, that the past is enough the past that you c'n maybe start
livin' again, a little. But Chris..." the feel of water on his cheeks startled
him and he ducked his head, swiping at the tears. "Don't begrudge me some
comfort."
"Your women aren't comfort enough?"
Buck couldn't keep the chuckle inside himself, and it hurt too much
to try anyway. "Well, now. What a thing to say."
"Buck, I'm not gonna stand here and--"
"Of course women are a comfort, always have been," he went on, riding
over whatever insult Chris might intend. "And I like to think I'm a comfort
to them. Women..." he sighed, and slipped his hand into the waistband of
his trousers. "It's women in general that make life worth living; the whole
mass of them out there brightening the world for me like Sarah did for
you. But I never found a Sarah for me, Chris. And my associations with
ladies is... It's not the same, and you know it. Besides, you talk like
I'm bad for him. That ain't so."
"You're gonna get in the way of him being normal. He gets his release
with you... I know how you are with a man. You'll spoil him. And then he
won't--"
Buck rolled his eyes. "Chris, come on, now! I'm good, but I'm not that
good." He smiled a little. "You want me but you can't stand me, and believe
it or not, that makes its own crazy kind of sense to me. But you can't
tell me you don't want me havin' no one else, neither. And you can't tell
me I don't take care of him. Hell, I shove him at women every chance I
get. He's still afeard of them, that's all. But Casey... he'll marry her
one day."
"And then what?"
Buck sighed, and turned away, and thought things he would never say.
"Then I'll stand up for him at the wedding, just like I did for you."
"And after?"
Buck smiled fondly at the suspicion in that voice. Chris was a son of
a bitch, but Buck didn't begrudge him that; Chris always had been a son
of a bitch, and always would be. It was, Buck hated to admit, a big part
of his appeal. "You worried I'm gonna decide to try my hand at farmin'?
Don't be. By the time JD works up the gumption to ask for her hand, he'll
have forgotten all about me, that way."
He heard the floorboards creak, then a hand squeezed his shoulder, making
him tense; he hadn't realized Chris had gotten so close.
"You're not such an easy man to forget. That way."
Buck imagined there was warmth in that quiet voice, and didn't turn.
Seeing Chris' eyes would dispel that fantasy quick enough. He just reached
up, and patted the hand on him. Somewhere inside this man, buried deep
down under all the rage and pain and grief, there was something decent,
something reliable. There always had been. "Well sir, I thank you for sayin'
so." He chuckled, but startled forward with a jerk when a second hand came
up, grasping his other shoulder, holding him still.
"It's no more'n the truth."
Taken aback by the obvious suggestion, half-hearted though it was, Buck
gently stepped away. No, that wouldn't lead to any good for anybody. Not
now, at least. "Don't, Chris," he whispered, turning to meet the man's
eyes. He smiled, nodded between them. "Now this... this would be hurtin'
him. And I sincerely don't aim to do that."
Chris scoffed. "You? Not jumping from bed to bed? That's a good joke."
The contempt was familiar territory, all right, as was Chris' natural
inclination to use Buck to ease his own frustrations. He raised his eyebrows,
inviting Chris to share the humor of the situation. He felt like a kid
again. "And what about you? Are you whoring yourself to save his virtue?
It's a little too late for that," he said, honestly amused.
"You watch yourself, Buck Wilmington," Chris grated.
Oh yes, familiar territory indeed. "I always have. So let's just leave
it be."
The two feet that separated them was barely enough. Buck damned his
own responsive body and the memories that could warm it even after two
whole years, as he watched Chris speculate on his resolve. He withstood
the scrutiny, the intelligence that always showed itself when Chris was
sober enough to let it out, and forced a twinkle to his eyes. "We got ourselves
over a year of friendship back, Pard. I'd rather not have to start that
clock over again."
"I never stopped thinkin' of you as a friend, Buck."
Oh yeah, Chris could say that now. Chris' memories of the year following
Sarah's death were drowned so deep in tequila bottles, he probably didn't
remember the hell he'd raised, nor the pain he'd caused. But saying those
words was a big step forward, even if it was a lie. "I know. Just like
you know I think highly of you. But Chris, you never have put Sarah to
rest, and you'll never sort out you and me until you do." He smiled, fond.
"Now go play house with your tracker boy, and leave my city boy to me."
Chris, unsurprisingly, bristled and squared off; so much for sentiment.
"What makes you think you know my mind, damn you?"
Buck just smiled, thinking of prostitutes and love and lies, and the
loneliness in men's eyes he'd grown up seeing as a boy, and the loneliness
in Chris' now. "Cause you ain't no different from the next man, and because
Vin Tanner's been raised far enough from civilized folk that he won't say
no." Buck sighed, humor fading, and shook his head at the wistfulness sweeping
through him as he whispered, "Because he never knew her, and he didn't
know you, before." They had both lost so much. "Because he's prettier than
a pup scrabbling across a yard to the scraps you throw it, and because
whether he knows it or not, he's sweet on you."
"Would you shut up?" Chris snarled, moving away. "I swear, you like
the sound of your own voice almost as much as Ezra."
"Well, it's a damned pretty voice," he reasoned. He folded his arms
across his chest and watched as Chris made his way to the door, all dark
angles and shadows in the light of the kerosene lamp.
Chris paused, his hand on the knob, and turned. His eyes were a bit
like Buck remembered them from long ago, responsible and sober and almost
affectionate. "You'll do right by the boy?"
He was damned proud of Chris, and not a little proud of himself. They'd
gained back a lot of ground. Swallowing, he made sure of his voice before
he replied. "He'll forget the Rangers, he'll marry Casey, and he'll grow
up to take care of this town... and he'll forget all about what he got
up to with me," he promised. "If I have any influence on him at all, that's
what he'll do."
They looked at each other, years passing silently, guardedly, between
them, and Buck figured they were closer now than they'd been since the
day they'd ridden home, heads aching and rumps tender, dicks limp with
exhaustion and grinning at each other like guilty schoolboys, toward a
hill and an afternoon sky dusty with smoke. Buck raised his eyebrows. Chris
nodded.
"Thanks, pard," Chris said, eyes warming with an openness reminiscent
of years past.
There was so much between them, and maybe it wasn't dead at all. Maybe
it was just badly, badly burned, and taking its own time to recover. Well,
Buck wasn't going anywhere. And it looked like Chris wasn't, either.
"Any time." He smiled, and feigned tipping an imaginary hat, and turned
to the lamp as Chris let himself out the door.
He snuffed the light and walked to the window, his stockinged feet quiet
on the boards. Vin sat on a box across the street, and Chris' spurs jingled
as he stepped onto the boardwalk before crossing the dirt. Tanner looked
up and smiled, and Buck snickered, amazingly light at heart. Chris didn't
pause though, just stepped up onto the boards beside the man and turned
toward the saloon. Buck almost felt sorry for Tanner, because Chris Larabee
didn't have much in the way of a soul to offer a man, right now.
He shrugged, dropping the curtain and moving to relight the lamp. He
pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and pushed his feet into his boots,
thinking ahead. JD was probably in the saloon already, eating dinner with
Josiah and Nathan, and Ynez was there waiting to be adored so she could
have some fun treating him like a mangy dog. Ezra would be stealing people's
money at the poker tables, and Chris and Vin... who knew what they'd get
up to, the next few weeks? He buttoned his shirt and slid on his coat,
predicting many overnight scouting rides in their future.
Glancing in the mirror, he finger-combed his hair and brushed his moustache
smooth, running his palm along his jaw. Definite whiskers, about which
JD would complain, until he started to moan and groan and carry on. Chris
did have a point; if Buck hadn't seduced him, JD Dunne wouldn't have ever
imagined how good the things two men could get up to were. But then, he
was reasonably sure the same could be said of Vin, and Buck knew Chris
Larabee well enough to know he'd be on that tracker like a hawk on a field
mouse.
Buck figured there was nothing wrong with a little sweet indulgence
for both of them, until JD finally got his gumption up to spend quality
time with the fairer sex, and until Chris did, well, whatever Chris was
going to do.
Grinning playfully at his reflection, he muttered, "You old dog," to
his own image. Then he grabbed his hat and headed out the door, thinking
on what new tricks he might teach his young pup later on this evenin'.
The End
