PATHOS  RUNS  HIGH by C.V. Puerro
Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Essay On Man - Alexander Pope. 1688-1744.

As the stage neared town, JD became more restless. They had been gone a full week, and, though he didn't know if anything in town had changed, he felt that he had. Seven days of being laid up with a cowboy brimming over with vim and vigor was enough to change any man, JD figured, smiling at the memories.

Vin reached over with his foot and nudged his friend's boot. JD smiled bigger but didn't say anything.

"Excited 'bout bein' back?" the tracker asked. JD nodded; though, he was sorry to be leaving Cutter's Creek as well — he knew the privacy they'd shared there wouldn't be as readily available back in town. "Well, I wired Chris 'fore we left, so there oughta be a welcomin' committee fer ya."

Vin was right. As they turned the corner and pulled down the street, JD could see his five friends gathered on the boardwalk just outside the Butterfield Stage Line office. He thought Casey might be there waiting, too, but he didn't see her — and he wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. JD still hadn't figured out what he was going to say to her, how he wanted things to be, or how things might be with Vin still a part of it all.

As soon as the coach came to a halt, Vin swung the door wide and hopped down, he then turned to assist JD, who made a face at having to be helped but allowed the man to place his hands under his arms, supporting most of his weight. He felt like a little kid — no, worse, he felt like a little girl! And right there for the whole town to see.

The driver tossed the kid's crutches down to Buck who'd come running over. Vin moved his one arm underneath JD's and helped him over to the boardwalk, but as soon as they were up the few stairs, Chris came up behind them.

"Vin. Let Buck do that," the gunslinger said, his voice oddly harsh. JD frowned but didn't know what to make of things.

"It's okay, Chris. I don't mind," Vin explained.

Chris's mouth went tight as he very quietly said, "We need to talk. Now." The man then turned his back and walked toward the saloon where his already-saddled horse was waiting. Without another look at the group, he mounted and road off up the street.

Buck stepped over and took JD from Vin. He got the kid settled with his crutches while Nathan began questioning him about his injury and all that the doctor from Cutter's Creek had done and said.

Vin unhitched his horse and JD's from the back of the stage — JD watched the tracker lead them off towards the livery.

Once inside, Vin stripped first JD's horse, then his own. He brushed down the pair and picked their hooves, all the while wondering what was up with Chris. While he didn't expect the man to come running up to him, giving him flowers and hugging him, he thought a firm hand shake or a pat on the shoulder wasn't too much to ask. No one would think twice about a gesture like that, especially after him being gone for a whole week.

Vin certainly did not expect the cold-green eyes which met his, nor the edge to the tone of his voice. What the hell had happened while they'd been gone? And why had Chris headed for his ranch instead of pulling Vin over to the relative privacy of the sheriff's office?

No, there was only one reason to head for the ranch: a long, slow fuck — or several short, quick ones. Vin smiled — a week playing with the kid was still a week away from Chris.

But that still didn't explain the man's attitude. Unless Chris was trying too hard to cover up his feelings. Afraid someone might guess what the pair had going on. But he'd never acted that way before. Not Chris Larabee. Not the man who was cool as butter in the dead middle of January.

Vin gave the horses each a large handful of alfalfa. He then went off in search of Tiny, shortly finding the man just outside at the back corral, shoveling manure.

"Tiny, ya got a horse I kin borrow? It was a long trip down from Cutter's Creek and I don't wanna wear Peso out."

"Sure thing. Take Quinn."

Vin moved his hand to the brim of his hat. "Much obliged."

Tiny nodded as Vin headed back into the barn to saddle up the other horse, a black gelding with a white blaze — practically Peso's twin, Vin noted, except for the extra while sock on his rear hoof.

Then he headed off to see what was up with Chris.

Buck muscled the kid up the stairs of the boarding house, managing, quite unintentionally, to bang the kid's bad knee into the wall not just once or twice, but three times. The man was almost a half foot taller than Vin and, as such, his grip under the kid's arm was not as easy nor secure as the tracker's had been. JD almost wished Buck had just picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him up the stairs, as he was fairly sure sacks of potatoes routinely receive more delicate handling from less well-intentioned souls.

Josiah followed up the stairs, but not too closely, prepared to catch the lad if Buck should let him slip. And Nathan brought up the rear, carrying both the crutches and his bag of tools and remedies. Ezra had begged off from the arduous climb, promising to check on JD later, once he'd had a chance to rest from his long journey.

"Until then, I shall retire to the sheriff's office, should anything require my attention," the gambler had said with the tip of a freshly brushed hat, his ruby cufflinks gleaming in the late afternoon sun, then he turned and sauntered across the dry, dusty street.

Buck would have bothered JD for a good hour had Nathan not shooed him and Josiah away, saying the kid needed rest now, not company. Still, Nathan had insisted on examining JD's knee, so he'd spent a long half hour unwrapping the bandage, making the kid move his leg, then smearing a new layer of liniment over the still swollen joint before wrapping it back up.

When the door finally shut behind the healer, JD was glad for the peace. He settled himself down under the covers and quickly fell asleep, his body too tired to miss its now familiar and comfortable bedmate.

Vin hitched his horse next to Chris's, then entered the shack through the already open door, closing it behind him when he saw Chris standing near the opposite wall.

The ride over had given the tracker time to think and then, when he couldn't figure out what was wrong, he had begun to stew. "What's this all about?" Vin asked tersely.

Chris was silent for a moment, glaring, arms loose at his sides. "You fucked him, didn't you?"

Vin furrowed his brow — had Chris said what he thought Chris had said? "What?"

"JD. You fucked him." It wasn't a question.

"Ya know I did."

"Up in Cutter's Creek."

"Yeah. So?"

"Every-God-damned-day-you-were-gone," the gunslinger spat the words out one syllable at a time.

Vin's mouth dropped open at the tone of the accusation, but then anger rose up from the pit of his stomach until his jaw clenched shut. Through gritted teeth, he lied, "Sometimes twice."

"Don't you dare give me that shit, Tanner," Chris warned, pointing a finger hard at him.

What the hell was wrong with this man? Vin couldn't even begin to fathom what it might be. "What's got into you?"

"Nothin'."

Vin let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't have ta take this," he declared as he reached for the doorknob.

But Chris was across the room in an instant, his hand on the door, slamming it shut the few inches Vin had managed to open it. His arm and body now barring the only exit.

"What'da ya want from me, Larabee?" Now it was Vin's turn to spit words into this growing fire.

But Chris just stood there. His stance couldn't have been more threatening if he'd raised his gun and pointed it at Vin's chest. Their eyes were locked and Chris's green orbs burned right through Vin. Then he moved a fraction of an inch closer and, in a hoarse whisper, ordered, "Fuck me."

Then his lips were pressed hard against Vin's as he shoved the younger man against the door with all of his strength. Vin tried to push him away. This was crazy! This wasn't the Chris Larabee he knew — coolest hand he'd ever encountered. This man was filled with more anger and desperation than Vin had ever been witness to.

But as he continued to try to leverage Chris away from him, the gunslinger was fighting first with the buckle on Vin's gun belt, then with the buttons on his trousers. Only when he'd won those battles did Chris break their kiss as he tore Vin's jacket from him and wrestled the suspenders off his shoulder.

"What the hell's the matter with ya?" Vin asked again, finally grabbing and shaking the older man's shoulders.

For a moment it seemed like the old calm returned to his red-rimmed green eyes, but it was gone the next instant when, in a voice low and harsh, Chris demanded, "Fuck me now."

He moved to the table, and then ripped down his own pants. He grabbed the small pot of lard they always used and held it out to Vin. "Do it!"

With lips set into a scowl, Vin took the several steps needed to close the distance between them. He scooped up two fingers of the white tallow as Chris turned around and bent over the table. Vin shoved the greasy fingers firmly between the man's thighs, smearing the lard up from his sacs. When he reached Chris's anus, he drove both fingers inside, not bothering to prepare the man in any way for the invasion.

Chris cried out, grabbing onto the edges of the table, but he did not protest. Vin rammed his fingers in and out, harder each time, until he heard Chris yell again. He then withdrew, freeing his own cock from his loosened pants and wiping the remaining white grease onto it. With his thumb and forefinger, he quickly spread the lard over the entire shaft with one swipe.

Then, holding his cock firmly in the one hand, while gripping Chris's hip with the other, he guided the tip to the man's anus, then, with all of his weight behind it, he shoved the rock hard shaft deep into the other man. Chris yelled, louder than before, but Vin didn't care. Holding onto the man's hips, with fingers digging hard into the flesh just above the bones, Vin pulled partially out before ramming his cock in again. With each thrust, Vin's anger at the man grew. With each drive, he thought only of wanting to hear the man cry out in pain again.

He pushed himself in, even harder, then again, harder still. He could feel his short nails tearing into the other man's flesh, but he kept his grip firm as he thrust again, this time shoving the table a few inches into the far wall — the loud bang seemed to fill the air around them as a fine layer of dust sprinkled down from the rafters.

But it didn't faze either of them. Vin continued to ram himself into the other man's body while Chris continued to grunt and cry out, finally ordering, "Harder!"

As if that were even possible, but Vin did his damned all to make the gunslinger regret the word.

But finally, Chris cried out, in a tone familiar to the tracker — higher pitched and clipped — then he heard Chris utter a ragged sigh before sucking in a lung full of air and crying out again. Vin could see that the man's knuckles were white from the force with which he was still gripping the table edge, despite the fact that Vin had stopped trying to hurt him.

When the tracker finally felt the older man relax, he withdrew himself. He grabbed a towel from the shelf near the stove and wiped the blood-tinged gleam away from his still-hard erection; he had no desire to complete the job. There was no satisfaction in what they had done, at least not for Vin, nor would he allow there to be.

As Chris lay spent on the table, Vin buttoned up his pants, grabbed his gun belt and jacket, then headed for the door. He flung the wood panel open with a bang, and then crossed to his horse, throwing his belt and jacket over the horn before mounting.

As he rode off, the tracker's keen ears heard something far behind him, but he didn't stop or turn around to look.

Vin.

The name hung in the growing distance between the two men.

A loud rap on the door to his room startled JD awake. The long, rough stage ride down from Cutter's Creek had worn him thin and he was tired of all the visitors.

A second rapping sounded, more firmly than the first.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then tried to sit up and rest against the headboard before calling, "Come in."

The door opened and Casey strode in, not even hesitating about entering his private room. Her eyes were as wild as her loose hair and JD was suddenly afraid.

"Nettie found this," were the first words out of her mouth as she held up the brown bandanna he had given her after their first and, so far, only time together.

JD's eyes grew wide, the feeling of fear he'd had washed completely over his body. If Mrs. Wells had found the scarf, had she also figured out why Casey had it??

"Did ya know it needed mendin'?" Casey asked, pointing out the newly repaired corner. JD shook his head, he hadn't noticed.

"Neither did I. But, Nettie sure as hell did." JD was surprised to hear the girl cuss; it wasn't part of her usual nature. "Know what she asked me?"

JD thought he must look like a deer caught in the sight of a rifle, because he sure felt that way. If Nettie had found out he'd spoiled her niece, what might she do to him? Hell, what wouldn't she do to him?!

"She asked me when VIN had dropped it by fer mendin'."

The name hung in the air between them. Vin. How the hell was he going to explain this to the girl? Did she already suspect? If so — gawd! — did Nettie? And once she knew, whom else might she tell? Would the whole damn town show up to run him out of the territory?

"Well?" Casey asked impatiently, as if she were having to repeat herself.

"Casey, I...." But he had no idea what to say.

"I'm sorry I ever slept with ya, JD Dunne," she finally spat as she balled up the bandanna and threw it at him. It harmlessly hit him in the face, and then slipped down into his lap, just in time for him to see the door slamming shut as Casey stormed off, leaving him alone again.

Not five minutes later, another knock sounded on the door. JD didn't know if he wanted to answer it this time, but he did. "It's open."

The knob turned and the door swung slowly aside, allowing Vin Tanner into the room, his hat in his hand.

"How ya feelin', kid?" he asked after closing the door. He stepped over to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge near the foot. Then he saw it, the brown bandanna. JD was absently fingering the newly mended edge.

Vin nodded. "That's why she punched me."

"Huh?"

"Casey. I passed her on the boardwalk. Didn't say nothin', just hauled off and socked me a good one, then kept on walkin'."

JD sighed. "I'm sorry, Vin. I'm sorry 'bout everythin'."

Vin scooted up the bed some, taking JD's hand. "Nothin' ta be sorry fer."

"Nettie saw the bandanna, knew it was yers. Casey came here ta give it back ta me."

"Do they know?" Vin spoke quietly and JD knew what he was asking. He shrugged, because, though he feared that they did, he simply wasn't sure.

Vin hung his head and stared at the blanket. JD stared down at their hands, their fingers lazily entwined. The silence between them was palpable. JD didn't know what to do, or even what to think. He hadn't made up his mind about Casey, and now it looked like he wouldn't have to. That left him with Vin, if Vin still wanted him, if they didn't get strung up, beat up, or locked up for being together.

How could a whole, wonderful week of being cooped up in that Cutter's Creek hotel room with Vin suddenly end up like this? JD felt like crying, only for once it had nothing to do with the ache in his injured knee.

Vin squeezed the kid's hand as he leaned in and quickly pressed his lips against JD's. "Git some rest," he then said as he stood and left the room without even pausing to look back.

For the second time JD found himself staring at the empty, lonely space in front of his bedroom door. Then that feeling of fear he'd had earlier returned, only this time he was sure it had to do with Vin.

Against both the Cutter's Creek doctor's and Nathan's specific orders, the kid struggled to get out of bed. Sitting on the edge, he threw off his nightshirt then managed to pull on his trousers — the pair with the one ripped-out side-seam the doc had so thoughtfully provided him — then he grabbed for his crutches, nearly falling in the attempt. But, once standing, he slipped his feet into his unlaced shoes and headed carefully toward the door.

It was a difficult struggle down the stairs, but JD was glad he hadn't seen anyone, because he knew they would have helped him — helped him right back to bed — and he had to find Vin.

Outside, the street was both deserted and dry, so he avoided the boardwalk and its troublesome steps. By the time he reached the end of the street, he was really starting to get the hang of using the crutches — it was the furthest he'd traveled unassisted since falling from his horse.

When he turned the corner, he saw the tracker standing at the back of his wagon, tossing some items onto the ground, while stuffing others into a bag he was holding open. "Vin?"

The man whipped around, dropping the bag to the ground while moving to draw his gun, but he stopped when recognition set in. "JD? Wh— what are ya doin' outta bed?"

Vin walked over to the kid, ready to escort him back upstairs, but the kid stopped him with a single question. "Are ya packin' ta leave?"

Vin's shoulders sank, and then he nodded. He helped the kid over to the wagon so he could sit down on the tailgate. Vin stood in front of him, absently running a finger over the material covering the kid's good knee.

"I'm comin' with ya," JD finally spoke.

"No, yer not."

JD was crestfallen and he knew it was something he couldn't hide from his features, even if he tried. "Don't ya want me to?"

"Ain't that kid. It's just ... aw, hell." Vin fell silent, obviously not knowing how to explain it to JD, but JD took a guess at what it might be, what it was that the tracker was having such a hard time saying.

"Yer leavin' 'cuz of me. 'Cuz of what we've been doin' together."

Vin stared hard at the younger man, anger flaring for a moment in his eyes, but then it was gone again. "I don't regret what we done, JD. Don't ever think I do."

Vin continued to stare at JD and the kid met his gaze, not know what to say. Finally, Vin closed the space between them and kissed him. JD's hands moved straight up to tangle in the tracker's hair, wanting to keep him close, especially now. There was no room in his mind for thoughts of their location — in the middle of the street within full view from both rooms at the hotel and above Digger Dave's saloon — or thoughts of the intensity of the slivered wane-moon that bore down on them from crystal clear skies.

Finally, Vin pulled back. He absently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and he quickly scanned the area around them before giving JD a sheepish little smile. " Guess we oughtn'ta be doin' that, least not out here."

JD nodded, then allowed Vin to help him off the wagon. They headed back to the boarding house, with the kid showing off to Vin his improved skill with the crutches and Vin having to assist with his balance only twice.

Once inside JD's room, Vin helped him strip, then threw him his nightshirt before getting him tucked comfortable back into bed. Vin headed for the door, but JD stopped him. "So, why are ya goin'?"

Vin remained with his back to JD for a long time, but finally he turned and stared at the younger man. JD waited with his brows raised. He had to know and he hoped Vin would tell him.

Finally, Vin stepped to the bed and sat down, pulling off his boots, extinguished the lamp on the side table, then he lay down. He snuggled up on JD's left side, with his head tucked against the kid's shoulder and their left legs entwined, now a familiar position to them both after their weeklong sojourn in Cutter's Creek.

"I'm a wanted man, JD. Ya know that," he finally spoke in the darkness.

JD almost made a joke about him being the one wanting the tracker, but somehow he restrained himself, sensing that if Vin was going to talk, he couldn't be interrupted.

"I just think the longer I stay the harder it's gonna be ta git that settled. And the more danger I'm puttin' ya fellers in just by bein' here. So, that's where I'm headed: Tascosa." The tracker fell silent again and JD knew he had said all he was going to.

"I could help ya, Vin. By the time we hit Texas, my knee'll be all better, and, well, this ain't somethin' ya need ta be doin' alone."

"'Fraid it is, kid."

"So, when are ya leavin'?" JD asked. Maybe if it wasn't for a few days, or even weeks, he hoped, then Vin might change his mind — it's happened before.

"Tomorrow."

"Can't ya at least wait 'til I'm all healed? Otherwise, the town'll be short both yer guns and mine." Maybe appealing to his sense of justice was the way to go, the kid reasoned.

"I'm sure the others kin handle it, JD. They managed fine while we were gone."

"Yeah, but Buck said nothin' happened while we were gone. Ya know as soon as somethin' does—"

"JD," Vin stopped him with a hand gentle on his mouth. "I'm tired. I know yer tired. Let's just sleep on this and talk about it in the mornin', okay?"

JD nodded and Vin removed his hand. "Just promise ya won't leave in the middle of the night," JD said, though he wasn't sure if he was asking him not to leave his bed or simply not to leave town.

"Promise," was all Vin said as he snuggled closer against JD.

The turning of the doorknob startled JD awake. Instantly he realized that Vin was no longer beside him in bed.

"Yoohoo, JD?" a familiar voice came quietly into the room. "Just ol' Buck." The door was slowly being pushed open by the man's shoulder, as he snickered at his own little joke: "Hope ya don't have no lady in there—" But when he finally popped his head into the room, Buck spied the tracker sitting on the floor. "Vin?"

JD only then realized why his bed was empty. He leaned over and saw Vin holstering his sawed-off Winchester.

"Hey there, Vin. Ya didn't spend the whole night on the floor, did ya?" Buck asked with an artless grin.

But Vin didn't reply, as he stood up and began slipping on his boots.

"'Cuz now that yer back, ya don't have ta worry 'bout the kid no more. See, I'm right next door, here" — he knocked on the wallpaper — "just a holler away. And ol' JD knows how thin these wall are, don't ya?" the older man laughed at his sexual innuendo, but no one joined him.

"Well, all right then," Buck said, almost offended by the stilted air in the room. "JD, I'm gonna head over ta the saloon. What do ya want me ta bring ya back?"

"Thanks, but I ain't hungry, Buck."

"Now, JD. Ya gotta eat. Don't think Nathan would approve of ya missin' meals in yer condit—."

"Buck, he said he ain't hungry," Vin interrupted.

"Whoa, there, Vin. Just concerned fer the kid," Buck explained, his hands up in mock surrender.

"He ain't no kid, Buck. And he kin make his own decisions. Why don't ya try lettin' him?" And those were Vin's last words as he pushed past the taller man into the hallway, without even a good-bye to JD.

"What's got inta him?" Buck turned his attention to JD, but the younger man just shook his head. He didn't think he could explain it, even if he could understand it, which he didn't.

"Thanks for comin' by, Buck, but I'm okay."

Buck nodded, then left the kid, closing the door behind him.

JD sat and mulled over what he and Vin had talked about the night before, but he quickly dozed off again, not realizing how much his knee injury was taking out of him.

Vin strode off down the street. He was still angry with Chris and he'd taken it out on Buck, and maybe even a little bit on JD, and this bothered him. When had things gotten so complicated? So out of hand?

He rounded the corner, returning to his wagon, but when he reached it a familiar figure stepped into view. "What are ya doin' here, Chris?"

"Come to talk," the man, dressed from head to toe in black, said quietly.

"Ain't nothin' ta talk 'bout. Not after that shit ya pulled yesterday," Vin retorted as he picked up the bag he'd left on the ground the night before, tossing it into the back of his wagon. He then began sorting through the remaining loose items that he'd accumulated during his stay in this town.

"That's exactly what we gotta talk about."

Vin stopped what he was doing and turned to face the man. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"I'm sorry, Vin." And the tracker waited for more, but it didn't seem to be coming, so he just nodded and turned back to his wagon. "Don't turn your back on me," Chris ordered in a harsh voice.

Vin whipped around, his long hair lashing across his face with the sudden movement. "Listen here, Larabee," he began in a low, rough whisper. "No matter what ya think, I ain't yer whore. And I ain't yer damn property. Ya used ta know that." Vin stared the other man down until Chris's dull, bloodshot eyes dropped to the ground. He looked haggard, worn to the bone — Vin didn't think he'd ever seen him like this before.

"I did know it. I do. But," Chris began, the odd word catching in his dry throat. "Thinking about you every day you were gone — about you being with someone else instead of me — it started eating at me before I even realized it."

"That still don't give ya the right," Vin fumed at the explanation. What was the expression? Too little, too late. He didn't need this sort of horseshit in his life, especially not from people who oughta know better, people like Chris Larabee.

"I know. I'm sorry. Truly."

The two men just stood there in the deserted, early-morning street, neither one looking at the other anymore. Vin waited for what was to come next, but nothing did.

"That it? Well, that ain't enough. Not after yesterday." Vin stalked away from his wagon, but Chris caught his left arm, spinning him back around. "Git yer hand off of me," Vin spat, pulling his placing his right palm on his rifle and pivoting the holster up until the barrel was pointed at the other man's belly.

"Dammit, Vin. Ya ain't gonna shoot me."

He felt Chris's grip tighten on his arm, so he cocked the weapon. "Ya really wanna find out?"

Chris then released him and Vin walked away down the street. "Vin. Come back here." He heard the man call after him, the desperation clear in his voice. "Please."

"Go ta hell, Larabee," he mumbled under his breath.

When JD woke again, the sunlight was slanting in through his little window, so he knew the morning was getting late. He struggled to sit up and winced at the pain that shot through his knee during the process. He rubbed the bandage, realizing he was long over-due for an application of liniment.

He wished he had someone there to help him — Nathan at the very least, but, better yet Vin, who'd become quite the expert during the past week. But he was alone and he didn't expect Buck to be hanging out in his room, waiting for JD to call on him.

He rolled gently onto his stomach, then reached over to the room's lone chair and tried to grab for his saddlebags that were propped up against one of the front legs. They were just out of his reach, so his scooted himself a little closer to the edge of the bed.

Finally his fingers made contact, but not before he almost toppled onto his head. He caught himself just in time, and then hauled both the saddlebags and himself back into bed. He dug through the pockets looking for the tin of liniment, but instead found his copy of Tom Sawyer.

He and Vin had made it through chapter twenty-four, two-thirds from the end, before they had packed up and headed back to town. JD suddenly wondered if they would ever have the chance to finish it.

The kid opened the book, flipping through it to glance at the infrequent drawings. But when he arrived at Chapter 21, he stopped, then turned the pages one at a time until he found the poem Vin had liked, at least the kid assumed he liked it, having asked JD to read it out loud three times before he'd allowed him to continue on with the chapter.

It was entitled "A Vision" and credited to a volume of Prose and Poetry, by a Western Lady. JD read over the piece again, trying to comprehend it — poetry that did not rhyme was not something he had spent much time on in the past.

A VISION

Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single star quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning reveled in angry mood through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene.

For the first time, the description formed a picture in his mind — a vast plain, distant thunder, and Vin standing alone, the wild wind whipping his hair about his face.

In that moment, JD made up his mind to find Vin, suddenly afraid again. He realized that while the tracker had promised not to leave during the night, he had said nothing of the morning.

JD dressed as quickly as he was able, which wasn't nearly quick enough for the impatient young man. He struggled with the pants, nearly falling three times before he was finally able to pull them on and secure them around his waist. He left his shirt hanging, cinching it with his gun belt, and then shoved his arms into his jacket.

He hobbled down the stairs on his crutches, losing one in the process and nearly tumbling down after it. But, he caught the handrail in time and was able to use it to steady himself the rest of the way, finally retrieving the errant crutch when he reached the bottom.

The coolness of the previous evening was long gone from the air as JD stepped outside. He headed straight for the street as he'd done the night before, knowing he didn't have the time or desire to contend with the steps at the end of each boardwalk.

He pitched himself forward at a breakneck pace, up the street heading for the location Vin kept his wagon, but when he rounded the corner, the side street was vacant. JD's heart sunk deep into the pit of his stomach.

NO! JD wanted to scream, but his throat was clogged with helpless tears and anger.

He stood there, alone, in the middle of the empty street for only a moment before reacting.

He swung himself around and missed planting his crutch, saving himself from a face full of dirt by instinctively putting his right foot firmly on the ground. The pain from his knee injury shot straight up his body, but still could not wrench a cry from his tight throat.

He hobbled for a minute, but as soon as the worst of the pain began to subside, JD made his way back down the street, not as frantically as before, but just as determined.

As he passed the saloon, he heard some shouting, but he had neither the time nor the interest to stop and see what it was all about. He kept on, finally reaching the livery where his horse was stabled, along with horses belonging to the other folks who lived in town, including his six companions.

JD immediately noticed the stall at the end was empty — the stall where Vin's horse Peso was kept. The stable owner was pitching hay to the remaining horses.

"Mornin', Tiny," JD said as he leaned his crutches in the corner and retrieved his tack from the shelf.

"JD? I hear'd ya was laid up. What are ya doin' here?"

"I'm fine, Tiny. Just bumped my knee." The kid hobbled down to the stall where Milagro was kept and began brushing him down. "Say, did Vin take Peso out this mornin'?" he tried to sound casual, knowing that if someone thought you wanted information, they were less likely to freely offer it.

The short, very stout man nodded. "Few hours ago. Give him two of my mules, too. Said he had some haulin' ta do."

The mules would be for moving the wagon, JD reckoned. And he took his horse because he wasn't just moving the wagon around the corner. Damn. He really had left!! This thought angered JD, but the next thought saddened him. He hadn't even said good-bye.

Not ten minutes later, JD had his gelding ready to go. He lead the horse outside, then swung up into the saddle, thankful he knew the trick and didn't have to rely on using the stirrups like most other people.

From his new vantage point, JD gazed down the street and saw a man come tumbling out of the saloon, kicking up a small cloud of dust when he landed. That arguing he'd heard before must finally have gotten out of hand. Still, he didn't have time. One of the other men would have to deal with it today.

He spurred his horse into a gallop, planning to give the fallen man a wide birth, until he recognized him — Buck.

Buck saw JD, too, and was immediately on his feet, flagging him down.

"What the hell are ya doin', JD?!"

The kid could see that Buck's lip was bloodied, but he didn't have time to ask what the problem was. He had to get after Vin, before the man got too far for the kid to track — it was going to be hard enough as it was.

"Get outta my way, Buck. I ain't got time."

"Well, ya damn-well better make time. Now git down off that horse 'fore I wrestle ya off!"

"Buck, I mean it. Lemme pass." JD kept backing his horse up, trying to stay out of reach of the larger man's long arms, knowing Buck would make a grab for the reins if he got within reach.

"What the hell has gotten inta everyone 'round here?" Buck started complaining, flailing his arms about as he advanced on JD. "Vin actin' like a schoolboy sassin' his elders. Chris drinkin' like the day Sarah died. And now you, actin' the damn fool up on that horse with yer bad knee. Git down, boy!!"

JD shook his head, he could turn back and circle around, but that would just take more time. No, he couldn't waste anymore. He faded his horse left, but then swung right around Buck, as he spurred his horse back to a gallop. Buck didn't even lay a hand on him.

"JD! Dammit, boy! You come back here!" he heard the older man yelling after him, but he didn't turn back, though he knew there would be hell to pay for it later.

Vin unhitched the two mules and led them into the paddock. His wagon was safely tucked into the barn, where no prying eyes might accidentally spot it. Not that anyone would be looking for him here.

The kid had been right. Now wasn't the time to head back to Tascosa. In the mood he'd been nursing, he was liable to get himself shot, or worse, as soon as he crossed the border into the neighboring state. Still, he just couldn't hang around town — not with Chris there still acting like he was.

What the hell had gotten into that man? Vin wondered for the hundredth time. It just didn't make any sense. A week ago everything was fine. This all was obviously about JD, but why? He'd told Chris what happened between them that first night. Chris hadn't seemed to mind when he said he might like to be with the kid again. Hell, the man had even joked about it before he and the kid had headed off for Cutter's Creek. So, what the hell changed during those six days he and JD were gone?

"Dammit," he cursed out loud. He hated this. That had been the best part of his relationship with Chris — no strings, no jealousy, no lies, and no shit. Now Chris pulls this. "Have a nice trip to hell, Larabee, but ya ain't draggin' me there with ya. I've already been and I ain't goin' back!"

Vin slammed shut the barn door, inadvertently startling his horse and the two mules. With a dejected head hung, he then brought over some hay for the two mules, and they were quickly pacified, but Peso was another story. He shied when Vin came near him, but the tracker held out his hand, which contained a small, white candy. Peso sniffed the air, but still would not approach. He then spoke to him very softly: "Here, Peso. Come on. It's yer favorite. Peppermint...."

Slowly, the horse stretched out his neck, finally taking two hesitant steps, until he was able to gobble the candy from the tracker's out-stretched hand. Vin grabbed his halter, then stroked him behind the jaw. The horse quickly forgave him and allowed Vin to lead him to the barn where they found a nice stall just for him. A fork full of alfalfa later and he and his horse were again firm friends.

Vin eased the barn door shut this time, then headed for the house. He didn't expect much inside; Mary Travis didn't get out to her homestead much, so it wasn't exactly prepared for visitors. Still, Vin knew he could make due, especially with the supplies he had in the wagon. As he entered the small house, he hoped Mary wouldn't mind him squatting for a while, until things settled down and he worked out in his mind what needed doing.

JD was well on his way to Texas before he began to wonder if he was even going in the right direction. He thought he knew the way, but after two hours with no sign of Vin or his wagon, JD started worrying.

But he knew he had to stay calm, so he tried to think things through. The most Vin had on him, he reckoned, was four hours. And he knew he could travel about twice as fast on his horse as Vin could in a wagon pulled by two mules. He guessed that meant he had another two hours at the outside before he caught up to the man. Gauging the sky, JD thought they'd meet before sunset — which would mean they could turn around and make it back to town before midnight. Or, better yet, they could camp for the night — one more night together — then return in the morning. Either way, they'd have to come up with something to tell the others.

Thinking about camping made JD suddenly hungry for the supper they would have, realizing that he'd rushed off without breakfast, and without his saddlebags, in which he usually kept a bit of hard tack or jerky. Hell, he didn't even have his canteen. Still, Vin would have supplies, he knew.

The afternoon sun continued to beat down on the kid, until he finally got so hot he had to take his jacket off. He slung it over the horn of his saddle and kept on, still hoping for some sign that he was getting nearer to Vin.

After another hour, the pain in JD's leg was bad. It ached something fierce, so he tried to slip it from the stirrup, to stretch it out a bit, but he couldn't even make that simple movement. With his hand, he grasped the material of his trousers and tried to use it to pull his leg free, but even this was difficult with the split up the side seam of that pant leg.

Finally, his leg came free and he slipped out of the saddle, luckily catching himself from falling too far by grabbing onto the horn, and then the cantle, and physically hauling himself back into the seat. But that had expended much of his remaining energy. He tried to stretch his leg out, but it just hurt too much, and now he couldn't manage to get his foot back into the stirrup.

The kid was beginning to think this whole thing had been a really bad idea. Why hadn't he listened to Buck when the man had ordered him from his horse?? What made him think he could even convince Vin to return to town, if he even managed to catch up to him?

Hell, he didn't even know the real reason he was headed for Tascosa — besides clearing his name. Why now? Vin hadn't explained that to him. And he still feared it had to do with him, because of what had happened between them, or because Nettie and Casey may have found out.

Still, he would have to make Vin come back. Somehow. Promise that they would never be together again, if that's what it took, and to try to come up with some explanation for Nettie and Casey, so they wouldn't think badly of him or Vin. Then things could go back to the way they were. They could all stay together, work together, protecting the town. Just like before.

JD didn't want to think about moving on just yet. He knew that what he'd found here, in this town, hundreds of miles from where he'd been born and raised, was his destiny. He belonged, he was liked, he was needed, and he made a difference. And he would do everything in his power to keep things just as they'd been.

And with that declaration, a cold sweat broke out over the kid's skin and he lulled forward in the saddle, his hat toppling to the ground unnoticed as the sun continued to beat down on him in his near-exhausted state.

The day was warm, very warm, and though Vin was sitting in the shade, blowing on his harmonica, he felt the heat. He unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt, and allowed the light breeze to caress his skin. He remembered JD's fingers on the same spot. How soft his touch was, how gentle and hesitant, even after a week of them sharing the same bed.

He smiled at the memory of their time together in Cutter's Creek. He couldn't remember having such fun — just mindless abandon, like being a kid again with no responsibilities and all the time in the world. He hadn't felt that way in ... well, hell, he couldn't ever remember feeling that way. Life had just never been that easy for him. But it had been good to play with JD. To forget for a while who he was and the harsh realities of his real life.

He wanted to forget again.

He undid the buttons on his pants and slipped his hand inside. An added benefit to no one knowing he was here was knowing no one knew he was here — there would be no accidental interruptions. Though, his own hand down his pants would be a hellava lot easier to explain than his hand down JD's pants, which it nearly had been when Buck had busted in on them that morning. Thank goodness JD's bed was smaller than the hotel bed in Cutter's Creek — rolling over had plopped him right down on the floor. So, it was no wonder Buck had assumed that was where he'd slept.

Still, another morning romp with JD would have been nice. He thought about the kid as he began to stroke his own shaft. He remembered JD's hands touching him there, his fingers curled around, caressing the underside with their tips and the top with his palm. It was a touch he couldn't quite replicate himself. Still, he imagined the feeling easily as his own hand glided up and down.

He pushed his pants down a bit, then reached in with his left hand to fondle his testicles. His were just a bit smaller than JD's he decided, just as his cock was just a bit longer. Still, JD had been long enough, and wide. He smiled again as he continued to pleasure himself. He loved the feeling of JD inside of him, thrusting in and out, burying himself deep, and then withdrawing. The feeling of his shaft caressing the tight, circular opening — of the young man's cock striking against his insides, waves of bliss washing over his body.

He was rubbing his cock harder now, thoughts of JD swirling through his mind. Wondering if he would ever feel the kid's touch again, feel him moving inside, the touches, the kisses.... Vin squeezed his sac as he felt the heat growing within his belly, as well as the tingling and the tensing. He increased his cadence, rubbing up and down, faster, gripping harder, until, in a sudden spasm, his jism came shooting out in several short bursts.

He continued to milk his cock for several more minutes — the flesh there was now tender, sensitive, but he enjoyed the pleasure the mild pain brought.

He sat for a long time after that with his eyes closed. Imagining he was with JD again, the two of them lounging in bed after an intense coupling. Vin spooned up next to JD, caressing his arm or his stomach. JD tangling his fingers in his hair.

Complete and utter abandon, with no tomorrow, no yesterday. Just that moment, shared between them.

Vin opened his eyes after a while and stared at the land before him. From where he sat on the porch he could see the distant hills rising just beyond an out-cropping of oaks. This Travis land was about the most beautiful spot he'd seen in the entire territory and he thought it was a shame that no one was out here often enough to enjoy it. But, like Chris's old plot of land, the one he'd worked with Sarah, where they'd raised Adam, until the terrible fire ... this land, too, held painful memories, of the murder of Mary's husband and her son's witnessing of it. It wasn't likely anyone would be homesteading here for a long while.

As much as he didn't want to, as much as he'd left town to avoid it, he continued to think about Chris. He and the gunman were so different; they'd both lost family, but Chris still blamed himself for Sarah's and Adam's death. Vin was only a little feller when his parents died, both from sickness — his only crime was out living them, and that was hardly a thing for a boy, let alone a man, to feel guilty about. It was just a part of life — living with the Kiowa had taught him that.

He honestly couldn't fathom what it must be like for Chris, living every day, thinking about his murdered wife and son, feeling helpless that he hadn't been there to prevent it, and still helpless that he hadn't been able to track down the killer. But did that have anything to do with the way he'd treated Vin yesterday?

Could it?

Hell, he knew the history, the whole group did now, pretty much thanks to Buck. Those two went way back, before Adam, before the farm, before Sarah. They'd been the best of friends, inseparable, according to Buck. But all that changed after the fire. Chris and Buck had gone down to Mexico, and he had allowed Buck to talk him into staying an extra night. That was the night his family had been murdered. Buck understood why Chris blamed him, more than he understood why Chris blamed himself.

It had caused a large rift between the two men — Buck had tried to help Chris through the hard times, but Chris wanted to wallow in it, needed to, according to Chris. Finally Buck moved on, feeling he was causing more pain than he was easing.

In hindsight, Vin realized that he was undoubtedly the first person Chris had truly allowed into his life since the fire. That night on the bluffs just beyond sight of the Seminole village, Vin had shared himself with Chris and Chris had done the same.

It was true. Vin wasn't Chris's whore — and he realized that he never had been. There was more to it than that. Much more. Their relationship was unlike anything else Vin had ever known — it stabilized them, bore them up, gave them incentive to go on, allowed them to let others in, and enabled them both to really live.

And Vin was suddenly afraid that he'd lost all of that. Maybe Chris was afraid of that, too. Had that week of separation filled Chris's mind with doubt, fear ... jealousy? He'd lost Sarah, the last person he'd let into his life — was it so unreasonable to think the fear, however unfounded, of losing Vin, too, had driven him over the edge?

It would certainly explain his behavior — the anger, the desperation, the physical need.

Damn.

Vin pulled his pants up, grabbed his gun belt off the bench, and then headed for the barn to saddle Peso. He had to get back to town before Chris did something else he'd regret. But before he reached the building, he heard hoof beats approaching. He cocked his sawed-off Winchester and held it at his side until the rider came into view.

"Buck?"

"Vin?"

"What are ya doin' out here?" the tracker asked, surprised.

"Lookin' fer you. What the hell are you doin'?" Buck looked around the homestead, knowing full well it was Mary Travis's land.

Vin shrugged. He didn't really want to get into it with Buck. Not now, probably not ever. The man's history with Chris complicated things....

"Is JD with ya?"

"No. Why?" ...Not to mention Buck's over-protectiveness of JD.

Buck shook his head. "Damn fool tore outta town this mornin' on his horse."

"With his bad knee?"

Buck nodded the truth of it. "When we found yer wagon gone, we all figgered he'd took out after ya. Ya know how that kid gits when he suspects someone might be thinkin' 'bout breakin' up the team." The older man then stared hard at the tracker. "Ya ain't breakin' up the team, are ya, Vin?"

Vin dropped his gaze to the ground for a minute. Was he? Could he?

Then he looked at Buck again. "I was just headin' back. Let me git saddled up."

Not fifteen minutes later, the two men were riding back towards town. "We each took a differ'nt direction, agreein' ta meet back in town at three o'clock. We should be the last ones back."

They weren't.

"Where's Chris?" was Buck's first question when he saw the others, minus their leader and the kid, gathered outside the sheriff's office.

"He headed east and he's not back yet," Josiah stated for Vin's benefit. The tracker knew where the kid was headed. JD had gone after him, thinking Vin was on his way to Tascosa.

"Suppose we outta wait a while longer?" Nathan asked the group, but Vin shook his head.

"Chris woulda been back on time, unless he'd found JD ... or there was trouble," Vin stated what he thought was the obvious.

"You mean 'and there was trouble.'" Ezra corrected, echoing all the men's thoughts about JD's luck in these matters.

"Let's ride," and they all followed Vin's lead.

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