CHAPTER ONE
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Let those be put to shame and brought to dishonor
who seek after my life;
Let those be turned back and brought to confusion who plot my hurt.
Let them be like chaff before the wind, and let the angel of the Lord chase
them.
Psalm 35: 4, 5
Music and laughter rose above the crowd and gave a sound wallop like a physical blow to Tanner as he entered the saloon from the stillness of night. He saw the gunman seated in the corner, a small, tight smile on the man’s face and a quick raise of a glass to Tanner to join him. Making his way through drummers and cowhands, Tanner sat alongside Chris Larabee with a spare and perfect ease fusing into the glow of the yellowish lamplight. Tanner shifted to watch the drunks grabbing at the saloon girls who were snugly corseted and wore paint on their lips, tawdry and gay. Amusement was strong in the gunman as he watched the marksman eye the brash women and just that quick changed to confusion when he heard Tanner's breath catch and his gaze hold firmly on something Larabee couldn’t decipher.
Sable was the color calling to him; sable with a touch of auburn that glowed when the light of the lamps danced over it. Raven black hair like the color of the maidens who would come to him in the night, showing a love unlike any white woman. A touch of the wild running through them, unbridled, and offering a man more pleasure than he could take or deserve.
Tanner rose from his chair, unaware of the other men watching as he walked towards the woman. He watched her slender fingers run through slick-greased hair of a drunken jack-a-dandy with a scar, razor-deep and ugly, tracking down the length of his face. Her eyes were the darkest blue and changed to black in the low light. Drawn to her with a feeling deeper than he had known in sometime, sensing the wild and unrest in her that called to him, she needed him to set her free. Her dark blue eyes pierced him and she watched as he walked like water, swift and quiet, knowing he was a man of the People.
Their eyes locked for a moment and she wrenched away from his gaze with a shudder, reaching for the dandy. She whispered in the man’s ear, laughing and traced the scar of his face letting her fingers linger, while Vin stood cat-quiet waiting. He knew she would go to a room and give herself without love or care. He turned and walked back to the table of his friends to sit again in the shadows, watching her walk away as she stole a furtive glance his way.
"Well damn, Vin. Ya got eyes fer that gal?" Buck slouched down extending out his long legs. His hat hung down his back and his eyes held a mischievous glint. An enigma, Ezra had called the tracker and Buck had let the word roll over his tongue several times, liking the sound of it. Seeing Vin stare at that girl like he had never seen a woman before, and bold as brass like he never had been towards a woman, an enigma seemed just about right. Yeah, that boy was a damn puzzlement.
Tanner looked at Buck , his eyes squinted, offering a smile that gave nothing away, and then lifted his beer taking a big swallow. Chris stared at Vin with pale-eyed curiosity, wondering what trail he was tracking with the woman, a true beauty, but dangerous in her ways; dangerous and volatile like still waters with eddies under the surface. He worried for Vin knowing he gave his heart easily, though he was as wary as a pup kicked too hard and too often.
A grin caught at Chris' lips as he contemplated the man beside him, liking that he couldn't quite figure him out entirely. Always a man who thrived on challenges and Vin was just that. A friend, the truth of that proved many a time and Chris knowing deep in his heart Vin would give his life for him without question. Chris grabbed hold of his shot glass and downed the whiskey letting it burn deep in him and enjoying the sensation of feeling something besides anger and grief.
Buck watched the smile dance on Chris' face and felt giddy at the sight; Vin had a way of bringing life back to Chris and didn't even know it. The lanky cowboy sat back in his chair looking at the faces around the table as each man absorbed in thought, unknowingly watched Vin's every move; his actions utmost in their minds. Buck glanced at Chris, both unable to harness their grins as they watched the men, watching Vin. Aware of being stared at Vin studied his beer with false interest, feeling their eyes on him and not liking it one bit, but showing little concern. Damn!
Buck gave a laugh that broke the men out of their reverie, and they cleared their throats and grabbed up their beers. Josiah chuckled along with Buck trying to push down the myriad of questions nipping at him. Curiosity would lead a man into nothing, but trouble; a Pandora's Box best kept closed. Josiah stole a glance at Vin who was looking like he was about to run and the preacher used his words like a lasso, keeping the tracker from taking flight.
"Never saw a finer lookin' woman." Josiah spoke with ease, betraying the inquisitive undercurrents that pulled at him.
Vin, with deliberate hesitation, lifted his head, his hat brim rising, the shadows no longer hiding his eyes. The men watched as alarm brushed over the tracker's face and disappeared in barely a breath. He looked at Josiah a long while and then quick-jerked back his head bringing up his chin as a smile came to him. "None finer."
"Do you know anythin' about her, Vin?" Buck leaned in towards the tracker with a conspiratorial air. "Ya know her?" The gunman sat back and lifted his beer, waiting for a reply.
The men instantly stopped and turned their attention back to Vin, waiting along with Buck. Chris saw the unease in Vin, but chose not to interfere, for now. Tanner was a grown man and could take care of himself.
Vin felt trapped good by his rash behavior and knew he couldn't escape from the men without giving an answer. Anger started to flare up in him and he took a calming breath before drinking down the last of his beer. He looked directly at Buck as he placed the mug down on the table with a loud thud, causing the remains of foamy beer to splatter. Vin raised his hand to his mouth and licked the drops of beer from it, keeping his eyes on Buck the entire time. He shifted in his chair and slouched himself down in an offhand manner and quietly spoke, "No."
Chris couldn't contain his laughter watching the disappointment on Buck's and the men's faces. They should know better than to expect more than that from Vin. Buck rubbed his hands over his face with resignation. Trying to rile up the tracker was near impossible and he had better things to do with his time, namely Miz Irene. Buck reached back for his hat placing it on his full head of dark hair and winked at the men before rising from his chair. "Well boys, I'm goin' t' get t' *know* a few women, m'self." With a nod, Buck stood and called to the saloon girls, their faces showing delight as the handsome, affable gunman strutted their way.
J.D. watched Buck walk away with a grin on his smooth face. "That Buck, he's got a way don't he?"
The men laughed at that adding their thoughts on the rogue as an amiable silence settled over them. Vin relaxed, grateful the men were focused on something else. J.D. watched Vin shift back into the shadows. "Vin, you want me t' get ya a beer?"
"Sure, J.D. Thank ya." Vin remained hidden, but lifted up his head and smiled at the kid.
J.D. returned the smile as he started towards the bar and then stopped abruptly, turning back to Vin. "I just thought of something I heard 'bout that woman." J.D.'s eyes grew wide at the memory. "Didcha know they say she might have killed her husband?" J.D. creased his brow, trying to remember what other talk he might have heard.
Josiah looked over at Vin and then looked back at J.D. "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor, J.D."
"Might not be false, Josiah." J.D. flushed at Josiah's words. "And they say she was living with the Indians . . . that's right, now I remember, I think they said the Cheyenne."
"That's 'nough J.D." Josiah stood up and took J.D. by the arm, escorting him to the bar.
"Hey, Josiah. Cut it out." J.D. was baffled at the big man's behavior. "What's the matter with ya?"
"Well, J.D., maybe now is not the time to be spreading tales." Josiah and J.D. sidled up to the bar and raised their fingers to the bartender indicating the need for more beers for the men. "Brother Vin seems to have an interest in the woman and it don't seem right talkin' about her like that."
J.D. stared at Josiah and nodded his head in understanding. "I guess you're right, Josiah. I wasn't thinkin' about that. I only wanted to let Vin know what I heard about her." J.D. paused for a moment looking at the beers placed in front of him by the barkeep. "She's a saloon girl, Josiah." J.D. turned towards the taller man. "What's Vin want with a saloon girl?"
Josiah lifted his head and studied the bottles aligning the shelves behind the bar. Alcohol of varying colors were dispensed in glass vessels and rested below a mirror reflecting the dim lamplight of the saloon. Josiah cleared his throat and looked at J.D. with intense blue eyes. "He who is without sin cast the first stone."
"I know what you're saying, Josiah . . . but, it don't change the fact that she's a . . ." J.D. could not bring himself to finish.
"A whore, J.D.?" Josiah looked sadly at J.D. "Mary Magdalene was a prostitute and Jesus bore her no malice. Judge and ye shall be judged, J.D."
"Oh heck, Josiah, I know Buck's ma was a . . . one of them. So, I know that I shouldn't judge, but I just don't think they're what you would call the marryin' kind." J.D. was ashamed of himself for thinking like this, but he could not accept a woman giving herself in that way for money. "I'm sorry, Josiah. But, I can't change the way I feel. Not about this."
"Rest easy about one thing J.D., Brother Vin and marriage are a long way off."
"I hope your right Josiah, 'cause that woman scares me." J.D. shivered as he envisioned the dark-haired woman scalping her husband while he lay sleeping. Josiah's smooth voice and rumbling laughter interrupted his thoughts.
"Don't let Brother Buck hear ya sayin' you're afraid of women 'cause you'll never have a moment's peace." Josiah looked at J.D. with a smile in his eyes and a broad grin on his face. He laughed good-naturedly at the youth as he saw J.D.'s eyes grow large at the truth of Josiah's words. Life would be intolerable, if Buck heard him talking like that.
"Thanks, Josiah." J.D. slapped Josiah's shoulder in gratitude, knowing he should be more careful of the words. Get him nothing, but trouble, thank God, he learned fast.
Vin watched Josiah and J.D. as they talked at the bar, not wanting to look at Larabee who sat like stone beside him. He had opened a can of worms, and he wasn't even sure of his path with this woman. Vin startled at the sound of Chris clearing his throat and settled at the cough that followed. He sat back and turned to look at Chris huddled over his glass of whiskey with eyes, grim and troubled.
"What's goin' on, Vin?" Chris raised his head with each word spoken bringing his body upright as he brought the glass to his lips and drank down the whiskey waiting for the fire to fill him, swift and hot like a lava flow. He waited while Vin collected his thoughts, not wanting to ask again.
"Ain't nothin' goin' on, Chris." Vin was not in the mind to talk of the woman or his actions, not knowing what it was about, himself. "I made the mistake of lettin' people git int' my business. Won't happen again." Vin sat back in the shadows, pulling his hat brim down further on his face and turned away from Chris and his questions.
A brittle tension filled Chris at Vin's words and his eyes flashed with an anger he could not control. "No one's in your business, Tanner." Chris' voice dripped ice-cold and dangerous. "The hell with you!" Gripping the empty glass, white-knuckled, he took in short, quick angry breaths.
"Dammit, Larabee." Vin became disturbed for allowing the situation to lead to angry feelings between them. "Not what I meant t' say, just a mite edgy is all." Vin sat up and placed his elbows on the table, propping his face up with his hands, looking keen-eyed at Chris.
"Alright, Vin." Chris settled back as his breathing slowed and he reached towards the beer handed to him by Josiah.
J.D. stepped from behind the preacher and placed the beers on the table as he looked over at Nathan, shaken and unsettled. The healer had been quiet through Vin's and Chris' discourse, wary of the direction the heated words might lead and was grateful to see that the men had settled. Nathan grabbed at the beer placed in front of him and drank it fast, clearing away the nerves that had been sitting on his chest, tight and troublesome.
As Josiah and J.D. sat at the table joining the men, they stopped up short at the sound of a distant scream as primal and unnerving as a wild thing trapped that sent a chill through everyone in the saloon. A quiet as powerful as death hung in the smoky haze of the room and each person drew in a breath and waited, listening to the unearthly wailing and then the rage-filled cursing of its' assailant.
Vin's head snapped up towards the staircase leading to the rooms above the saloon and pushed back his chair with the backs of his legs, running swift and intent towards the stairs with his Mare's leg drawn. The men, gaining their senses, raced after Vin who moved with a sure-footed quickness, elusive as wind. As they reached the landing, Buck joined them, half-dressed and tousled, as he stumbled from his room, struggling to put on his boots at a run.
Vin reached the door first, as he listened to the cursing and sobbing from inside and brought up his booted foot, kicking with intensity born of anger and fear at the gnawing picture of a woman being beaten at the hand of a drunken coward. Locked!! Vin aimed his mare's leg at the handle, firing and slammed his shoulder into the solid wood door with unneeded force, drawing his weapon at the stunned man who straddled the woman on the cast iron bed.
"Git off her." Vin growled at the man as he brought his Mare's leg barrel directly into the dandy's hideously scarred face. The man continued cursing, but raised himself with an awkward obedience from the woman as he grabbed his pants from the bed, covering himself and seething with a bridled rage.
Chris stood beside Vin, hoping to bring a calm to the tracker; his own anger barely controlled. Vin looked over towards the bed, concerned as he noted the tremors that shook the delicate, alabaster shoulders of the woman. Her hair worn loose now wrapped its' length around her, covering her protectively from the eyes of the men. The color of sable drew them, as it had Vin and each man could not help, but gape at the beauty of the woman with eyes, blue-black; face, heart-shaped and pale as milk; lips, full and perfectly colored with little need of paint. She was a tiny sprite of a thing, no taller than a young girl not fully grown, but they saw a strength in her eyes, fearful but, defiant.
Vin walked toward the woman and stood over her for a moment as his heart beat strong in his ears. He was close to it again and it overwhelmed him. The wild took his breath away and they looked at each other knowing the call was as clear to her as it was to him. Blue eyes locked and a trust came that quick over her and she smiled up at the man that might be her savior.
"You all right, Miz . . ." Vin let his words trail off, hoping to get a name. She nodded her head that she was fine as her gaze transfixed on the man clad in aged-soft buckskin pants, contrasting red band-collar shirt half-hidden by a worn hide coat and long, wavy, brown hair that had a scattering of light in it like the colors of prairie wheat. She shook her head gaining her wit and looked over towards the scarred-face man; her eyes glinted with anger as she spoke, "Bridget Rose O'Brien."
"Your beauty is a wellspring of inspiration. A muse for a thousand Irish poets." Josiah could not contain his awe at the sight of her. "Bridget Rose, the fairest lass of Ireland."
"Josiah, enough!" Chris turned to Josiah in anger with his Colt still trained on the man. "Nathan, get over here and look at this fool's arm. Looks like the fair lass knows how to use a knife."
"Well, I should say it's about time you gentlemen noticed me bleeding over here." The man spoke with a haughty northern accent and pointed an accusing finger towards the woman shivering in the bed, too ashamed to move in her undress with all the men gathered around her. "That harlot purposely slashed me with a knife and she's lucky I didn't cause her further harm."
Vin leaped towards the man, grabbing him by the hair as he shoved the mare's leg into his neck, pushing it deep into flesh and tendons causing him to flinch. "Shut yer mouth." His grip on the slick-greased hair of the Easterner grew firmer and his blue eyes squinted with a palpable rage. "I got no problem killin' a man that hurts women."
"Vin, I need t' look at his arm." Nathan placed his large hand gently on the tracker's shoulder, feeling the sinewy knots of tension under the lean man's skin. "Come on now, Vin. He ain't gonna hurt nobody no more."
Slowly the mare's leg lowered and Vin backed off, nodding at Nathan, allowing the healer room to examine the slash that ran down the man's arm. Blood dripped down his hand and pooled on the floor, staining the hard wood and small white rug as it blended with the reds of the roses, distorting them.
"That ill-bred half-breed almost broke my neck." The jack-a-dandy sniveled as he massaged the bruises that were already beginning to show.
"If you don't keep your mouth shut, I'll let him." Chris walked over to Nathan who was looking at the knife wound, wrapping it with a cloth. "Can we get him out of here and over to the clinic." Chris' lifted his eyes up towards the woman and looked back at Nathan. "I think she needs a little privacy." Nathan nodded at Chris and walked towards the bed.
"Are yuh all right, Miz O'Brien, did he hurt yuh bad?" Nathan's kind brown eyes appraised the woman for signs of injury.
Bridget looked up at Nathan with blue eyes hidden by wavy strands of sable hair. "I'm fine." She looked away and hugged her arms around herself, hoping that these men would soon leave.
"Jus' looks like yuh got a little bruisin' on yuh cheek." Nathan nodded trying to catch her eye. "Jus' git y'self some rest 'n yuh'll feel better."
She raised her head looking at Nathan, showing her appreciation with a weak smile. "Thank you for your concern." Nathan patted her shoulder resting his hand there for a moment, trying not to cause her discomfort, but needing to reassure her that everything would be all right.
Buck grabbed J.D. by the shoulders and turned him towards the door with Josiah and Nathan following behind them. Chris grabbed the scarred-face man roughly by the arm, dragging him across the room as he desperately tried to pull on his pants.
"Give me a moment, please. I'm not decent." The Easterner grunted in pain as Chris threw him on the ground.
"Ya got that right, mister." Vin hissed through clenched teeth, still angry at the man's actions.
"Hurry up!" Chris kicked at the man who sat on the floor pulling on his pants and boots. He looked towards Vin standing by the far side of the bed, watching as Vin's eyes drifted to the window and back to the woman. "Comin', Vin?"
Vin shifted his feet unsure of his next move and walked toward Chris. They looked at each other a moment and Vin nodded. "In a bit."
"Alright." Chris nodded his head and turned towards the door, but before leaving he called over his shoulder to Vin with a smirk. "Watch your back."
Vin chuffed at that as a smile crossed his angular features. "Always do, Pard. Always do."
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Bridget watched him with sorrowful eyes as he walked towards the bed, wariness within her, but a need to trust him, stronger. He was beautiful; distinctive high-set cheekbones, delicately etched angular jaw flowing into a strong square chin, and eyes the color of sky on days clear and cloudless, spirit and earth, sinew and bone; she could not control a nervous excitement that danced through her. A fluttering like a million angel wings touched her within, softly . . . gently, making her feel young again. She watched him as he holstered his weapon and like liquid, walked to the window; eyes alert, head still, seeing all below with little movement, except that of his penetrating, keen, blue eyes.
Seeing that his attention was on the dusty road and boardwalk below, Bridget moved from the bed, wrapping a worn comforter around her body, still unclothed, which brought her a deep sadness, knowing he knew she was undressed and had been with a man, had been with many men. She stopped caring about what others thought long ago, but this was different, he was different and it made her want to tell him the reason she came to be this way. It made her want to care again, to live again and that truly frightened her.
Vin heard the telltale sounds of her climbing from the bed, keeping his eyes averted to give her privacy and not until he heard the creaking from the weight of her return to it, did he bring himself to face her. He removed his hat and ran his hands through his hair as he sat down in a nearby chair, covered in a gay, floral chintz that made her smile to see. An untamed plainsman and man of the People, covered in dust of long ago trails and blood of long ago kills, sitting awkwardly in a chair that was a bit too soft and a bit too genteel and she laughed at the sight of it.
A wide grin covered Vin's face, knowing that she was laughing good-naturedly at him, and he brought up his head to watch her and to listen. It was a soft sound at first, but then becoming louder as a girlish delight swept her away, and the laughter sprang from her like music.
"I guess I'm a mite out of place settin' in this fancy chair." Vin shifted himself in the cushions, sinking deeper with the movement. He laughed along with her, at his discomfort and was grateful to see that she was still able to carry joy within her. The laughter gave her comeliness more fetching than Vin thought was possible.
"You don't have to stay." Her laughter stopped at once like a candle flame snuffed out, and only the hazy memory of happiness floated around them like smoke.
"Reckon I don't." Vin looked at her closely, tilting his head with a grin on his handsome features. "I'd like t'stay just 'till ya fall asleep, if'n that's all right with ya?"
"Why?" Her arms drawn across her chest caused wrinkles to form in the delicate fabric of the white, cotton nightgown. She wriggled herself down into the bed, bringing the covers up to her neck, trying to avoid his eyes.
Vin rose with a raw-boned grace from the overstuffed chair, and stood over the bed with single-minded determination, hoping to find the words that would explain why he needed to be here with her. He didn't know . . . couldn't rightly say, but he sensed he needed to find the answers for her, so that she had something to trust, something to hold fast to and he would allow himself to be *that* for her.
"Cain't really say why, just that I need t' do this." Vin reached his hand out to her; caution long since gone, and she released her grasp on the comforter, raising her hand up to him. His gentle, slender fingers enclosed around it, as he offered reassurance with a firm squeeze.
Bridget closed her eyes as Vin held tight to her hand, and she slept with a peacefulness that had not been hers for many years. He watched her for hours while she slept, and then left, closing the door behind him, soundlessly. She woke to find him gone and felt a sadness at the parting; bringing her to bury her face into her pillow as she wept.
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The memory of her brought Vin awake with a groan as he dreamed of sable hair,
long and silky, eyes haunted, and it bore to mind a time in Ezra's room when he
saw it in himself, like lightning striking a cattle herd, quick and
frightening. He had gone to wake the gambler for the morning rounds, pounding
on the door with good-humored zeal, waking the conman from his repose, as Ezra
called it, and laughed when he heard the moaning and grumbling from the
gambler's room, pounding all the harder. Hotel guest's peered from behind their
doors with annoyance, inquiring about the noise as they cast disdainful stares
in Vin's direction. He gave each a smile that would charm the bloomers off a
woman, as Buck would fondly say, and tipped his hat to them with a friendly
'Good Morning'.
Ezra opened the door with due haste when he heard Vin, chatting with the *neighbors* and dragged the dusty plainsman into his impeccably maintained room. "Do not sit down, anywhere." Ezra looked at Vin disgusted at the sight of his attire. "Look at yourself, Mr. Tanner." He thrust a small metal mirror into Vin's hand and gripping the tracker's wrist, raised up the mirror to the handsome, but unkempt face.
Vin smiled at Ezra and was about to force the mirror away when he caught his eyes, just for a moment, an insignificant pause of time, so fleeting that someone less astute would have overlooked it. Vin saw it and he pushed the mirror away, leaving Ezra perplexed and dismayed, hoping that his chiding did not hurt the man.
Vin turned away from Ezra afraid that the perceptive gambler would see it as easily as he saw it. "I know what I look like, Ezra." Vin walked to the door then, and left Ezra troubled by the tracker's sudden ill-tempered bearing. Stunned for a moment, Ezra chased after Vin calling out to him.
"Mr. Tanner, I hope you did not take offense to anything I might have said. I was merely trying to point out the state of your appearance, which greatly warranted a needed bath. I unfortunately know from my own sufferings how dusty the thoroughfares can be. Truly unkind to a man's accouterments."
Vin stopped to listen to Ezra with his head at an angle, deciphering the gambler's prattle and he shook his head in disbelief when the conman finished. "No offense taken, Ezra." Vin gave a quick grin, tipped his hat and left Ezra in the hallway, disgruntled at the ungodly hour of being awakened, standing in his silk pajamas of a hunter green color that enhanced the sleep-tousled red highlights of his hair, as the hotel guests, once again looked curiously at the goings-on. Ezra watched Vin leave, relieved that the cloud passed the tracker and then became aware of his *neighbors* watching. He gave a gold-toothed smile with a jaunty salute and shut the door behind him. Haunted. Vin never had a word for it until he saw it in her eyes and he never wanted to see it again.
"Cain't lay here forever." Vin stretched out his lean body and felt the wind on his face and as it blew through his hair. The tattered white cloth covering the front of his wagon danced lightly in the breeze giving it a false beauty. Vin grabbed for his canteen sheathed in buffalo hide and rinsed his mouth with water and wiped his face with a damp bandanna. He would take a needed bath after breakfast and check on the woman . . . on Bridget.
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Vin made his way over to the saloon watching the slumbering town as he moved with capable precision, though showing a loose-limb ease, boots soundless on the wooden boardwalk. He hesitated at the batwing doors; apprehension sharp within him and then angered by his foolishness went on through.
She wasn't there, so he ate with a distracted urgency and left. Why did he care? Didn't need this in his life. Damn, where was she? Uncertainty led Vin down the boardwalk with an agitated stride that made J.D. glance up from his knife-throwing giving a not too gentle kick to Buck's rangy leg, awakening the gunman with a jolt. Buck cursed and rubbed his calf ready to draw on the perpetrator. "Dammit, J.D., what's the matter with ya?" Buck kneaded his long, nimble fingers up and down his leg. "I swear it feels like ya stuck me with that kiddy knife of yours." He stared at J.D. hard. "What's the matter with ya, boy?"
J.D. wasn't listening as he concentrated on Vin and stood trying to follow the tracker's path, slapping his leg in frustration when Vin was almost out of his view. Buck stretched up his long-boned frame, adjusting his hat and coat as he stood looking like a spirited stallion. He pulled J.D. around towards him, knocking the bowler hat off the kid's head and doing it mostly out of irritation at being awakened from a dream that had him sharing time with not one, but three lovely ladies . . . and he smiled a secret smile at the recollection, but was still a mite angry at J.D.
"Cut it out, Buck! I can't see Vin." JD picked up his hat with a distracted quick motion not taking his eyes from the tracker; all too familiar with finding his bowler hat on the ground or flung far and wide, even shot full of holes. "Look, Buck." J.D. nudged Buck with his elbow, annoyed that the gunman was not finding Vin's behavior odd. Vin never moved quick unless there was trouble, usually walking with a loose, easy stride that J.D. imagined to be like that of the Indians that Vin knew as a boy. "Can't ya see it, Buck?" J.D. turned to look at the man beside him. "Something's wrong with Vin."
Buck cuffed J.D. on the shoulder as he sat back down lifting up the front legs of the wooden chair and resting the back of it against the jail front. Buck watched J.D. with a smirk on his handsome features; blue eyes filled with a teasing glint. "Nothin' wrong with Vin that a good woman can't cure."
J.D. spun around towards Buck, his hazel eyes wide-open with dread. "Not *that* woman, Buck."
The gunman laughed loudly at J.D.'s words. "J.D. *that* woman is the finest lookin' filly I ever laid eyes on and Vin would be lucky to share her bed."
"No." J.D. walked into the jail leaving Buck perplexed. What the hell has gone and got into that boy? Lifting his lanky form out of the chair, he stretched listening to the cracking of vertebra, shaking his head at the sounds of impending old age and walked into the jail not in the humor of having a heart-to-heart talk with the kid.
"What's got int' ya, J.D.?" Buck sat on the desk swinging his leg back and forth, kicking the front of it with his boot heel. J.D. leaned back in the wooden swivel chair, hands behind his head. Buck grinned at him. "Not too far back J.D. If memory serves me right you landed on yer . . . that's right." Buck laughed as J.D. leaned forward; annoyance conveyed in his rigid posture. "Dang it Buck, did you come in here to ride me or what?"
"I'm trying t' find out what's eatin' you 'bout this woman?" Buck leaned in towards J.D. grabbing at the wanted posters that the kid perused with dutiful sensibility. "Cut that out J.D. and answer me 'fore I get angry at cha."
"Nothin' t' say, Buck." J.D. leaned back again and then thought better of it, knowing if he fell he'd never hear the end of it. Wasn't bad enough that Buck told all the men that it happened in the first place and Ezra seeing him fall, too. Hell, just his luck to have it happen again.
Buck stood and began pacing around the jail, arms flailing with irritation, slapping them on his thighs with impatience. "Spill it, J.D." The gunman hovered over the desk, placing his hands on each corner of it and leaned his head in as he drilled the kid with his unshakable gaze. "I'm goin' t' ask ya again, what's got your drawers in a knot over this woman?"
"She's a murderer, Buck." J.D. rose from his chair and walked towards the gun rack, recalling his first day as*sheriff*. It didn't take long for him to look the fool when those James' men came a calling; what a laugh they had when the cylinder of his Colt went rolling across the floor . . . shoot!! Now, Buck will have a good laugh with the boys over him thinking that the woman was a murderer. He'll just have to get proof of it before Vin got himself into a heap of trouble. Not like Vin hasn't had women trouble before. Hell, he almost got himself killed by a jealous husband not that long ago. J.D. shook his head and sighed, waiting for Buck to tell him how wrong he was and how he didn't have a lick of sense.
"J.D." Softness came to Buck's voice as he walked over to the boy. "You ain't got proof, only some fool talk." He reached out to J.D. and placed his hand on the kid's shoulder. "It's not the first time an innocent person's been accused of a crime and it won't be the last."
J.D. looked at Buck. "I know that, but I just have a feeling 'bout her and I don't want to see Vin get hurt."
Buck smiled and lowered his head bringing his hand up to his hat and adjusting it before he spoke. The kid amazed him most of the time . . . got plenty of heart. "Vin c'n take care of himself, J.D." Giving a pat to J.D.'s shoulder, Buck struggled to say the right thing not wanting J.D. to think he was dismissing his feelings. "Ya can't go 'round accusin' people of killin' folks, I know your worried 'bout Vin, but I don't think that little bit of a woman is goin' t' hurt him."
J.D. shrugged off Buck's hand, walking away with angry strides out the door and stood watching the town. He caught a flash of red shirt and saw Vin walking into the bathhouse. Buck stood beside J.D. hoping to cajole him into a better mood, but before he had a chance to speak, J.D. pointed with excitement towards the bathhouse. "He's taking a bath, Buck."
"Vin's b'n known t' take a bath from time t' time, J.D." Buck smiled down at J.D. who was looking ready to bust a seam.
"He's taking a bath for *that* woman." J.D. ran back into the jail and sat down at the desk, snatching up the pile of wanted posters and pulling open the desk drawers with a determination. "She's in here I know it."
"Okay, J.D." Buck threw up his hands in resignation. "You do what ya need t' do, but I'm warning ya 'bout this." Buck rapped on the desktop hard with his knuckles, getting J.D.'s attention. "You listenin', J.D.?" J.D. nodded and waited for Buck to continue. "Take my advice, though ya never do." Buck pulled at his mustache looking down at the kid . . . too damn young, but brighter than most. "Don't bother Vin 'bout this, ya hear me?" Earnest blue eyes stared at J.D. "Leave it be, until you're sure. Ya got that?" Buck waited for a reply.
J.D. nodded and began stacking the posters in a neat pile. "I got it, Buck. Don't bother Vin until I'm sure about things. Fine, I won't bother anybody, but you'll see I'm right 'bout this. You'll see."
"Fine. We'll see, but ya know J.D., what ya find out might hurt Vin more." Buck's eyes reflected sadness as he turned to leave, pulling on the lapels of his coat and setting his hat farther down on his head. "You think on that." J.D. put his head in his hands feeling torn over Buck's words as he watched the lanky gunman walk out the door, but then continued looking through the posters, undeterred.
*******************
The church was nothing more than dingy clapboard and shattered windows here and there, allowing the venturesome sparrows to nest within it. Josiah listened to their songs coming from the rafters, smiling as he planed and sanded the pews. Simple tasks offered Josiah peace and he relished these quiet moments feeling a bit like Joseph as he worked with his hands restoring the sanctuary. Josiah stretched up his back releasing the tense muscles from his labors and intoned the Lord's Prayer as he worked the stiffness from his joints. He closed his eyes not seeing the woman as she walked in the church, and startled as she stood before him with an uncertain demeanor. Her attire was of a simple cotton dark blue dress and her sable hair, plaited and coiled around her head, emphasized her elegantly boned features and eyes of the deepest blue. She was that of a China doll, but the eyes were of the wrong shape and shade. Josiah thought this with quick-speed as he reached out to her and brought her towards a finished pew.
He struggled to find his voice, taken by her beauty and felt like a floundering adolescent. Always the fool for a beautiful face, but never lacking his oratory skills, Josiah was at a loss why this woman smitten him so. He noted the exquisite ivory rosary beads she held wrapped in her hands and knew that she was not a stranger to prayer. A soul like himself sat before him, tortured by the weight of worldly sin and needing atonement, but never allowing the comfort of salvation. Her eyes cast down did not rise to look at him, until he spoke her name with softness and a compassion that Josiah knew was necessary to keep her from fleeing.
"Bridget Rose O'Brien, I am truly blessed this fine morning." Josiah eased down his mountainous frame on the narrow bench. They sat in silence for a moment and then Josiah reached his ample hand to her shoulder. "It might help to unburden yourself." Josiah sat with quiet patience looking down at his hands placed in his lap.
A soft wisp of a voice laced with a hint of an Irish lilt floated up to Josiah bringing a smile to him. He had not noticed it before and it delighted him to hear. Bridget looked at Josiah gaining confidence as she saw only kindness in his eyes. "Would you listen to my confession?"
Josiah cleared his throat and raised his leg up placing his foot on the pew turning sideways to rest his arm along the back of it. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb along his brow and temples, reflecting on her words. "I'm not a priest, Bridget."
She dropped her head down unsure of what to do, gripping her hands tight around the beads, her distress apparent. "Maybe it's for the best." Resignation was deep and thick in her voice as she rose to leave. She did not deserve absolution and the sign was strong that it would never be hers to gain. The courage to enter a church after so many years away and so much sinning done, left her weary and now to discover that she would not have the opportunity to make amends, left her shaken.
"I'm here t' listen and I'll try t' give guidance to the best of my ability." Josiah reached out his hand, resting them solidly on hers, silent and intent, guiding her back. Bridget turned away from Josiah, lifting a white lace shawl over her head as she made the sign of the cross with a faith, desperate and strong. She began to speak in a soft, shaky voice.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been . . ."
Josiah smiled and brought a gentle hand to her shoulder. "Just talk to me, Bridget. In your own words." She looked at Josiah a long time and smiled, realizing that ceremony was not necessary and was as out of place as she in her faith.
"It's been a long time since I put my trust in people." She stood and walked to the altar, mesmerized by the profusion of light that blazed from the assorted candelabras. Her mind's eye saw him standing beside her, holding her hand telling her to trust again and she smiled at the warmth that filled her as she thought of him.
Josiah watched her face and saw a spark in her eyes, knowing what put it there. He approached her and stood watching the flames, hypnotic and calming. "Until Vin?"
His words caught her by surprise, wondering if it was that plain to see and she looked away, no reply given.
Josiah grinned at her discomfort. "He does have that way 'bout him."
"I've no right to think of him at all." Bridget faced Josiah with sadness and then he watched as she closed herself away from him, unapproachable. "When I speak of things, you'll not want him near me . . . nor do I want him to be."
"Bridget, only God can judge us." Josiah tried to reach her, but she had turned inside herself, locked away. "Talk to me, please."
An impregnable wall between them until Bridget finally spoke. "I see you wear a beaded necklace with an amulet. I was told that you are a friend to the People."
Josiah acknowledged this with a nod. "I have knowledge of Cherokee law and have sought enlightenment from a Cherokee holy man. I know something of the Navajo and Cheyenne. My respect for the beliefs of the People is strong."
Josiah's words compelled Bridget to speak of her past. "I was taken captive by the Cheyenne in the spring of '70, but was emancipated in '73. It was not easy for me in the beginning. The women were not kind to me, and I was afraid . . . so very afraid that when a warrior came to me and took me for his wife, I did not fight him, though I was a married woman in the eyes of God." Bridget brought her hands to her face and covered her eyes as if to hide from the memories that seemed to gather her up and forever hold her captive. "I am called Anovaoo'o."
Josiah had not heard the Cheyenne dialect in many years and he thought of them with a sad heart, knowing their fate would be like that of the Comanche and Kiowa and all the tribes of this land. "A girl beautiful. It is befitting."
"My husband Ho'neeho'esta, Fire Wolf, was killed when they came for me." Bridget spoke in almost a whisper as if she were alone in the church telling the story only for her ears, no longer aware of Josiah. "I loved him."
"Love is a powerful thing. No sin in loving." Bridget drew in her breath startled by Josiah's voice, as though just remembering where she was, her memories so strong.
"I went back to Colorado Springs and tried to start over with Michael, but it was just so different, the town growing every day, so many people and they all knew of me." She sat down; her words tiring her. "He was angry at me, started hurting me." Her blue eyes darkened with memory and a cold-brittleness wrapped around her. "Because I gave myself to another man, he couldn't live with that, he couldn't live with me. He'd rather I was dead and one day he tried to kill me, so I killed him."
"I'm so sorry, Bridget." Tears stung the corners of Josiah's eyes, being a kindhearted soul, and he brought up his hands to rub them away. "You were only protecting yourself. That is not murder in the eyes of God or the law."
"They won't believe me." Her voice was flat, emotionless. "I ran away and became the strumpet, he thought I was, they all thought I was. An Indian whore." Bitterness rose up in her and she slammed her fist hard on the wooden pew and brought it to her mouth trying to soothe the hurt like a mother kissing away the pain from a child.
"You chose to punish yourself then, believing them to be right?" More a statement than a question, Josiah hoping she would see the truth in it. "Is this the life you believe you deserve?"
Bridget raised her head up with clear eyes; tears no longer a part of her. "Yes." Her penance was of her making, lying down beside countless men, punishing the body as much as her soul. Their hands on flesh flayed her, pain well deserved and she relished it, accepted it. Wanting to die in the depths of their wicked open mouth kisses, tongues like serpents gliding over her flesh without her consent and none needed, they had bought her, body and soul. Foul and filth, she gladly accepted into her bed; atonement was that much closer at hand. Repulsed by the touch of them as they fondled and groped the most secret parts of her, making herself feel their touch, their breath and the intimacy of them in her, believing her sins cleansed, but finding only hatred of them that took her and of herself.
Josiah shook his head and then raised it to the rafters, hoping to find enlightenment to lead her out of the darkness. How could a man of sin hope to give guidance to a soul as lost as he had been not so long ago? Laying rock upon rock in the desert as atonement for his past transgressions. What foolish ideas the mind devises to save one's sanity! His sweat brought no peace, his soul still as black as desert nights and rocks became walls that served no purpose, leaving him as empty as the wastelands before him.
He saw death upon her, desiring to give her life and knowing that Vin Tanner might be just that to her. Yes, Tanner had an enviable strength of spirit, listening to the voice of his conscience, never condemning or questioning, believing in his well-grounded moral code. Did Vin sense this in her as he did with so many in need? Was that the reason he was drawn to her, to save her from herself?
Bridget interrupted his reflections, her voice like bitterweed. "I'm a murderer and a whore."
"That's not who you are, but what other's perceive you t' be, what circumstance has forced ya t' become. You are good, Bridget. You are good. And don't ever forget that!" Josiah's face held a strong-jawed grin. "The time has come t' forgive yourself 'n t' start livin' again."
"Two men have died because of me. Those sins are not easily absolved. You may say that I am good, but there are many more who will speak otherwise." Bridget held the rosary close to her, marking prayer with each bead in her fingers, though offering little relief.
"This town'll be yer redemption as it was mine. Hope is not lost. Know this 'n choose life." Josiah crooked out his arm to her, still wearing a wide grin. "Enough talk, let's eat, shall we?"
Bridget laughed, Josiah's warmth billowing over her, catching her up in it. "Let's eat." Laughing, she took his arm and they walked from the church, unaware of Vin watching them as they left.
********************
A new, blue bib-front shirt edged in white piping, leather suspenders, clean brown wool pants and polished boots did nothing, but make Vin feel all the more foolish as he watched Josiah and Bridget laughing together, sharing tales like lost lovers found as they walked towards the restaurant, arm in arm. Educated and skilled in words, the preacher had an appeal that Vin knew most women could not resist and he slapped his leg in frustration, not wanting to go up against Josiah for her affection. He would let it be, knowing he had little to offer . . . only moments, only today and knowing that was not enough to give. Josiah was the better man and could offer a woman security, affection and most important, a home.
Her button-top shoes quick-stepped along the boardwalk keeping time with Josiah's long strides that carried her further away from him as he stood there all spit and polish, hair combed back neat and tidy behind his ears, hat hanging down his back, hide coat left behind in his wagon. He was unaware of the men standing beside him, and he swore to himself in slow realization as the scent of cheroot smoke wrapped around him. Not in the mind to face them, but knowing the choice was not his; he stood hip-cocked and casual, but with battle-grit defiance.
"Yer gal got herself a new man there, Vin?" Buck strutted around Chris and J.D. to stand in front of the marksman, grinning big and loving the life that tendered him these moments of folly. Chris stood watching amused, but guarded with eyes like greenstone glinting, his fine-boned features grinning.
"Ain't my gal, Bucklin." Vin let a smile play across his face, but his hands fisted at his sides, betrayed the calm of his stance. "Leave be on it, now." More a warning as his eyes took on a dangerous cast and his tone snapped with a brittle-edged tension. Chris heard it and started forward, trying to stop Buck from stepping into a rattler's nest, but was too late as Buck sniffed around Vin, appraising his appearance with a grin that would likely land him flat on his . . . Chris thoughts were interrupted by a low growl and Buck still not heeding the peril before him.
"Yer lookin' mighty pretty there, Vin." Buck tucked back his long brown coat as he placed his graceful hands on his narrow hips, moving around the tracker with a long-legged swagger. "Prettier than a plumed quail struttin' his tail feathers."
"Easy now, Pard. Ain't nothin' goin' on here fer ya t' be gettin' all worked up 'bout." Graveled and low scarcely able to hear, but the intent plain as he spoke.
Chris placed himself between Buck and Vin. "Back off, Buck."
"Shoot, Chris. Jes' havin' a little fun is all." Not one to pass up a good time, but knowing Vin's heart lay bare as he stood there looking like a shiny new penny; Buck gave a playful wink and a pat to the tracker's shoulder, turning towards the saloon. "J.D.'s buyin', boys."
"Like hell I am, Buck." J.D. chased after the rangy gunman, gesturing, cursing and kicking up dirt to no avail, as Buck smiled down at him and placed a long-armed grip around the kid's shoulders, dragging him through the batwing doors.
Silence settled like dust between them and Chris shifted himself, resting his hand on the butt of his colt and stared hard at Vin. "Go talk t' her." A smile came to him watching Vin's expression change as quick as desert lands. Vin wanted to hide away, but the trust in Chris made him give a slow smile as he walked towards the restaurant. Pale green eyes followed Tanner as he hesitated at the door, and then straightening his shoulders gained courage, walked through and out of sight. Grinning wide and with a shake of his head, Chris walked towards the saloon for a well-deserved whiskey.
********************
Left open, the French doors draped with fine-spun lace allowed diners and air to flow unhampered. The breeze caught at his hair and he brought up his hand to press the long strands back in place, as he looked bird-like around the dining room, eyes and head moving quick and keen, flight foremost in his thoughts. Abigail Roberts could not help smiling at the man who stood with quiet intensity in the doorway looking ready to flee. The layers of expensive fabric, silk with crinoline beneath, passed over the shining oak flooring like rustling leaves and he jerked up his head at the sound as the color of garnet and the scent of tea rose snared him.
Pomegranate and earth came to mind as she walked up to him and grabbed his arm, guiding him into the room. Many of the townsfolk looked up with approving glances as they watched the handsome, but disparate couple walk through the dining room. Dumbstruck and too embarrassed to protest, Vin walked with the young woman until she turned to him, brown eyes, impish and bright. "Thank you for escorting me to my table." She kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek and felt a bit light-headed at her brazen behavior. "I'm waiting for Mr. Standish, but your company in the meantime is certainly an unexpected delight."
Vin finally found his tongue, though it felt dry and thick in his mouth. "I'm lookin' fer a Mr. Josiah Sanchez." He ducked down his head not knowing what to do and finally pulled out a plush-cushioned chair made of a cherry wood with Queen Anne styling from the table, noting this she sat down giving a pert nod, and thanked him for being quite the gentleman.
Earth eyes, doe-gentle and hair blonde, worn loose with curls rolling down her back entwined with bits of pearls. A woman of quality, that he saw right off and his memories dark and bleak, stole back to a time in Richmond, just out of Beaumont and sick from being around men and lands unfamiliar. The scratching started not too long after that, skin nearly peeled off from the itch, whelps long and red. Body lice they said, everyone's full of them, gets as big as wheat grain. They laughed at his shame and he learned to live with the lice like all good soldiers. From Richmond to Pennsylvania, hanging his clothes over small fires of leaves and the heat making them fall off, the big ones snapping and cracking loud like popping corn. He was dirty and would always be dirty. As out of place as one man could be, his eyes darted towards the opened door and freedom. Without speaking, he turned away from her, but was pulled back by a firm, but gentle grip on his wrist. "You're not leaving me now, are you?" She smiled up at him. "Please sit for a moment. You seem to be a bit out of sorts."
"No thank ya, Miz." He needed to leave, couldn't breathe and then relief came to him in the guise of a dandyish gambler. Ezra Standish walked through the doors; splendidly attired with a ruffled white shirt, brocade vest, understated black frock coat and finely crafted hat. Ezra looked across the room and felt a transitory burst of jealousy, seeing Vin Tanner holding the hand of *his* Abigail, but scoffed at the idea of a man who had once lived with savages to be a threat to him for the affections of a woman with money and breeding.
He glided across the room with an air of charming assurance and placed a friendly hand on Tanner's shoulder while disengaging the lovely lady's fingers from around the wrist of the tracker, brushing a kiss across her cheek. Ezra, sharp-sighted, noted that *she* was holding on to the marksman and knew that the only remedy would be the prompt removal of Vin Tanner from their presence.
"Well, well, Mr. Tanner, I see you have been ever the gentleman, watching over this fair maiden." Ezra sidestepped around the man who bore an appealing ruggedness and sat with a practiced grace, his coat tails flying out behind him with a dramatic flair. Vin wanted to laugh or make a remark, thoughts of peacocks and shotguns came to mind, but all he could think on was getting away from them double-quick. "Mr. Tanner, I do not believe you have been formally introduced. This is Miss Abigail Roberts from New York City. Good fortune has smiled upon us for Miss Roberts intends to keep residence in Four Corners."
Abigail held out her hand to Vin and taking it in his own he watched her as she smiled up at him with a genuine fondness. In that moment, he finally felt ease and he smiled at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Vin Tanner. Pleased t' meet ya Miz Abigail."
Though only a pause, less than a heartbeat, Ezra grew unsettled at the depth of their gaze and cleared his throat, feeling a welcomed relief when their hands dropped and they looked towards him. "Are you meeting someone, Mr. Tanner? I did notice Mr. Sanchez and a lovely lady dining on the veranda."
Vin looked towards the back of the dining room and saw more glass-paned doors leading to the outside. Hell, any place would be better than eating in here with the fancy napkins, too many forks and such, crystal glasses and coffee cups the size of thimbles.
"Excuse me, then." Vin brought up his fingers to his forehead, forgetting that his hat hung down his back and then gave a grin, etching lines alongside his mouth and jawbone. Abigail felt the measured beats of her heart change its' rhythm, bringing her hand to her chest, charmed by this extraordinary man and Ezra cursed to himself at the sight.
"Yes, you best hurry it along, Mr. Tanner. It appears Mr. Sanchez is garnering the fair lady's favor, leaving you at a tremendous disadvantage."
Eyes clouding and doubts circling him like vultures over carrion, easier to walk away, but knowing he had faced worse fears and proved himself not a coward. He squared his shoulders and reached down to his Mare's leg out of habit, feeling it's reassuring weight and walked through the dining room, catching sight of sable and blue through the glass.
Watching Josiah and Bridget together, the mating buffalo came to mind; the males prancing, raising their tails and hump hairs, wallowing, and kicking up dust, hoping to catch the attention of the females. Vying for a woman's affections was not Vin's way. The battering of buffalo horns had lain to ruin many a male, hurt and lost, shunned from the herd, exiled and left to die. Women could make men do the damnedest things and he shook his head; the sense of being caught up in something that would, by all rights, cause him to look more the fool than he was looking right now.
The fate of the exiled would not be his and he turned away, rushing passed fancy clothing, idle chatter, chinking sounds of silverware and crystal and a female voice that called to him, most likely Miss Abigail. Not stopping and not noticing the waitress laden with plates brimming with beef, potatoes, fried chicken and gravies; all things imaginable to cause a cacophony of clattering plates and a pooling of juices, chicken and beef on fine linens, flooring and irate diners alike. Vin was unscathed outwardly, mumbling his apologies and hearing the voices offering pardon, but did not look into the faces as he walked out onto the boardwalk, taking in breaths that offered small comfort. Disgraced and shaken, Vin leaned forward placing his hands on his bent knees, allowing himself to calm. No longer 'in true', he would ride out tonight, where he could right himself, regain the balance that kept him alive and to damn all things that would try to undermine that.
Grooved and gouged, pitted and worn deep near the stoops, the eye of the tracker never at rest; studying the boardwalk as he worked to steady his breathing. His mind raced with the hurried beat of his heart, bringing him back to a time when he was just a boy, not quite fifteen. He wasn't the youngest; he had seen younger dead, dying lying in shallow graves, stripped naked alongside men, and most full of disease. On the battlefield, he had prowled a dead Yank, and found him to be as 'poor' as himself, not having much to offer for the taking. A haversack with nothing, but letters, most likely from a sweetheart or mother. He would use them for kindling; sentiment was no longer a part of him. Survival was his only thought, he would worry about his humanity tomorrow, but not today or surely he would find only death. This had carried him in good stead through his life, and the only answer to give, if he found himself thinking on those killed by his hand, would be that he lived, that he was still alive.
Vin knew that those who lived a quiet life and had never known violence could not answer with truth of how they would be in facing that violence. Most chose to live, to survive, feeling the wild, the primal as old as the earth. It was in him before the Comanche, before he sprung from his mother's womb; it was in him strong and powerful and the truth of that he never denied. Yet, he was not afraid of death, to risk life to help others. War had not been without courage and compassion, sometimes offered by his hand, not being able to walk away from the weak, a need in him to protect others as strong as the need to protect oneself. He was a warrior, a hunter, and a survivor and only at death would he be judged right or wrong. He was not afraid of judgment, trusting the earth-call, the primal, and the deepest part of him to be true.
His path remained steady, even in war, never rendering unnecessary harm, merciful most times, except in the heat of battle. His focus was that of a soldier fighting for Texas, the only lands he had known, the only place he had called home; neither influenced by politics nor religion, knowing very little about the causes, only that his homeland needed defending and that he chose to do. It gave him a place, a purpose, somewhere to be and though filled with hardship; he belonged to it and he did it well.
She had shaken him; thrown him off course and he needed to find his way again. Things had become muddled, confused; he would return when he found the right trail. A true path was a means for his survival and he would afford himself nothing less. Vin's eyes scanned the distance, feeling a calm come to him having made that decision and nodded his head as if to bear out his thoughts. A proud man, not made a fool by anyone, and here he was doing it to himself. Damn. It was time to get gone now.
*********************************
Vin had set up camp for the night among some cottonwoods and a small creek. He had lit out of town, not palavering with Larabee, used to being his own man without constraints. As he rested against his saddle, he looked towards Peso taking in the sight of the gelding, memories strong. It was the only good thing that came from it, the only good thing.
Something had brought him to East Texas, Jasper County, on the edge of dense forests and the Neches River. Beaumont rang familiar to Vin, but not knowing why and there he signed on with the 5th Texas Infantry, but almost was put off because of his age, though he claimed being sixteen and because of his roots, because he was unsure. It was a tough fight to gain enlistment at the beginning of war with patriotism running high. Vin was afraid he would be turned away, but was given a pat on the shoulder and a hand shake with words spoken: "Ya'll damn well talk like a Texan, so ya'll must be Texan, though not a very educated one." Vin bristled at those words and he recalled telling the Captain, to give him a knife and leave him on the plains and he would see just how uneducated he was; can't learn surviving from some damn books. The Captain laughed and told Vin that he would be their scout, so as not to be a liar and the memory brought a satisfied smile to Vin's face, knowing the Captain not once laughed at him again.
They had offered Vin a long range telescopic rifle for outpost sharpshooting, but Vin preferred to scout and to keep the carbine he had, which would be better protection, if the need for crawling through brush and tight spots was necessary. He had been at the Second Manassas, Gettysburg, Chancellorsville and everything in between, taking a shot to the arm and another time in the leg that brought him to request transfer to the 8th Texas Cavalry; not being sure that he could keep up with the infantry. Vin signed with Terry's Texas Rangers soon after, and with a few dollars bought a poor excuse for a horse and a saddle with hopes of trading along the way; the civil word used, though usually meant forcing a swap at gunpoint.
Vin called everyone 'Pard', being quiet and keeping to himself most times, never asking names, but he recalled a man out of Houston, Texas went by the name of Tucker; good-looking, lanky and light-haired. His horse was a beauty; a black blazed-face gelding brought with him from Texas; quick, sure-footed and strong of heart, never wavering under heavy fire. A shot to the head took down Tucker at the battle of Chickamauga, still alive, but brain oozing. Vin offered him comfort, but dearly wanted to shoot him right out and end his suffering; but man does not show the same compassion for man as they do to a wounded animal. Tucker died two days later, but before that time, Vin had gone to see how he was faring and Tucker, aware of his fate, gave Vin the gelding, knowing Vin's admiration was strong. Peso was his name and it was the only good thing that came from the war.
He had slept in the open pretty much all of his life, the gelding his only companion but, now he had found a home and people he cared for and he believed cared for him. Vin was of two worlds; the tamed and the untamed, the hunter and the hunted, the warrior and the protector, wise of this world, yet innocent, desiring roots, but a need to run free. He learned to live with the struggle within himself, understanding the disparity as plain as the good and evil within each man. Studying the stars brought him a comfort and he knew his place was here with the earth and sky. She should be with Josiah and that would be all right, that would be just fine. It would be a better life for her and he closed his eyes to the disquiet, finding his true course again.
*******************************
Orrin Travis sat rigid and straight-backed in the jailhouse chair, as unyielding in posture as he was in upholding the law. Glasses perched on his nose with features sharp and dark eyes alert; he watched the men gather around him. Orrin looked towards Larabee who hung by the door, watching the road. "Is Mr. Tanner coming?" Travis was impatient to get down to business and he wasn't sure of the men's cooperation.
"Not sure where he is." Chris turned away from the door and stood in front of the desk. "Rode out a few days ago." Travis took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with fingers aged, but pliant, as familiar with gun as gavel. Pushing up from the chair with joints gritty and stiff, he waited for Larabee's temper to surface. "What's going on Judge?" Chris sat on the desktop and stared hard at the older man. "We're all here and I think we have a right to know what you want from us."
Travis placed his hands on his hips, looking at the men with eyes squinted, unwavering. He shifted his feet and took out his watch staring at the face and then placed it back in his vest pocket. Clearing his throat and giving a slight cough, he sat down with a slow deliberate motion as he spoke. "Alright."
J.D. had lifted his head up from the handful of posters at the Judge's words. He had been plowing through them for two days now and had come up with nothing, but aching eyes. Maybe he was wrong about the woman. Josiah seemed to be getting real friendly with her, taking evening walks together since she took that job with Mrs. Goodin, the town's seamstress. Somehow it didn't feel right anymore, trying to prove that she was a wanted murderer. He thought for sure that Miss O'Brien had affections for Vin, so why was Josiah courting her? That don't seem right at all. And where had Vin gone? Ezra mentioned something about an incident at the restaurant and how Vin had run off unsettled. It sounded pretty funny, Vin getting all tangled up with dishes, waitresses and flying food, but none of the men seemed to be laughing about it, and Josiah seemed downright upset. He would have to ask Buck about it all later.
His pondering interrupted by an elbow to the ribs that made him let out a loud grunt and a curse as he rubbed his side. "Dang it, Buck." The tall gunman wrinkled his brow, bringing his dark eyebrows together in a frown. "Be quiet, boy and listen." Grabbing at the wanted posters as he spoke. "And put those things down."
Ezra, Nathan and Josiah stood silent, patience waning as the Judge looked over at J.D. and Buck, waiting for their attention before he began. Stern eyes showed irritation and he tweaked up his eyebrows. "Are we ready, gentlemen?"
Buck and J.D. shifted their feet, flustered at being reproached by the Judge, not so much in words, but by the irrefutable look of disapproval.
"Sorry, Judge." J.D. looked towards the Judge with repentant eyes, bringing a smile to Orrin at the boy's genuineness. He coughed, recovering his stern deportment and continued on with the business.
"Now, listen up, gentlemen." The men encircled the work-worn desk, attentive. "Mr. John Prescott, of Prescott Produce & Goods, will be arriving in Four Corners shortly."
Chris sneered and turned to face Travis, disgusted, impatience evident. "What's that got t' do with us, Judge?" Eyes fixed on the older man. "I'm not in the habit of being anyone's watchdog."
The Judge countered; eyes just as impatient. "Not watchdogs, more like business associates."
"Why?" Chris stood, walking towards the window, disinterest apparent. "We signed on t' watch this town, nothin' more."
The Judge remained calm, knowing Chris struggled with demons that gripped him hard and oftentimes won. Neither time nor patience for other people's troubles; the weight of his own enough to bear, spurring rage for things not avenged. Travis knew all this, but also knew that a man of conviction, a righteous man still was strong in Chris, though he fought hard to deny this truth. The Judge's eyes softened, watching the man so like his son, Stephen in many ways. Life had not been kind to either, both losing so much, and the Judge not knowing which suffering was worse; to die losing everything dear or to live losing everything dear.
"This is important, Chris or I wouldn't have asked." Travis waited as Larabee lifted his head up to him, nodded and sat back on the desk.
"I have just returned from Washington after a private meeting with a few Senators. They have been concerned over rumors regarding money changing hands involving Reservation post traderships. President Grant's brother has been mentioned and, the Secretary of War, William Belknap." The Judge waited for concerns or questions. The men were silent, not surprised by the information, especially Standish who was all too familiar with greed and ill-gotten gains.
"Senator Joseph Blackburn of Kentucky is one of five government officials requesting I look into this matter involving a John Evans at Fort Sill in connection with Caleb Marsh and William Belknap. This will mean having to travel to Indian Territory. All the details will be worked out shortly and Prescott will be setting up his contacts. We will need John Evans to implicate all those involved."
Ezra Standish pulled on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and with concentrated exaggeration brushed his garnet frock coat with a supple hand, appraising it with careful scrutiny. His razor-sharp mind was working on odds and angles as he listened to the Judge. Washington was truly the mecca of wealth and corruption. His talents dearly squandered in this abysmal land, the Great American Desert, deemed unfit for humankind. No wonder Maude thought he had lost his mind; so much opportunity and graft for the resourceful and the ambitious, surely a man of his attributes and skills would fare well.
Rockefeller, who accumulated fortune with a self-possessed, understated ease and Gould, who possessed a calculating mind able to remain unscathed and gained profit from the Black Friday debacle, if only he could join alliance with the likes of those men. He shook his head ruefully, knowing that desire would not make it so and worse yet, his allegiance to this town and these men seemed to root him in place, a hold he did not understand and often questioned, but still remained.
"Well, Judge Travis may I be so bold as to inquire what would motivate someone such as myself to traverse this barren wasteland?" Words soft as silk and eyes bright, Ezra watched the Judge's features contort with exasperation at the flagrant avarice of the gambler. Standish fully prepared for this reaction felt only minor displeasure at the Judge's so very apparent repugnance.
"Would $10.00 a day plus expenses motivate you?" Travis turned to the other men, waiting for their reactions and knowing Standish would be gathering steam, filled with questions.
Stunned smiles and backslaps shared among the men was all the response Travis needed; assured of their cooperation, he turned his attention to Larabee. "Well Chris, how does that stand with you?" Keen eyes appraised the gunman as Chris sat with head down, tracing the knife gouges and lines in the desk with a long, slender finger. "Are you in?"
Chris' head rose and looked towards the men, black hat obscuring Travis' view causing an impatience to rise in him. He waited, rewarded with a full smile on the gunfighter's face and a nod of agreement. "Hell, yeah. I'm in." The men all whooped at the words spoken, except for Ezra who would never debase himself in such an uncivilized fashion, only flashing a gold-toothed smile with an enthusiastic clap of hands.
"I found it!" J.D. interrupted the celebration as he dropped the wanted posters on the wood floor, scattering around him, all but one. "This is her! Oh! My God, this is her!"
Josiah rushed forward and gave a stern look, blue eyes flashing with anger. "Give it here, J.D." His ample hand clamped down on J.D.'s shoulder and in that moment the young sheriff felt fear. What had he done? He had never been on the wrong side of the Preacher, but had seen his rage unleashed on others. J.D. looked down at the poster and handed it over without raising his head, remorse filling him. In his excitement of finding the long sought after paper he had forgotten the Judge. He looked up at Buck who stood, hands on hips, disheartened, shaking his head.
Josiah tried to hide away the wanted poster from Travis, but knew it was too late and questions would be forthcoming. The Judge would have to uphold the law no matter the men's allegiance to Bridget. What will Vin say? What will he do? Josiah closed his eyes and rubbed his hands across them. My Lord, J.D., what have you done?
The men were silent, skittish, eyes darting back and forth, each man avoiding the Judge's stare. It was too late, as Travis rose and walked over to Josiah. "Let's have it, Mr. Sanchez." Chris nodded his head to Josiah, knowing they had little choice in the matter.
Orrin Travis studied the poster, noting the youth and attractiveness of the wanted woman. "I assume you men are acquainted?" He waited for answers, but none were forthcoming. "Young sheriff, what do you know about this?"
J.D. wanted to cry, hadn't felt that way since his mother died, since he killed Annie. Buck saw it and moved in front of the kid, guarding him from the imposing figure that approached. " We know her." Buck continued with a glance over at Josiah; an apology conveyed with a shrug of shoulders. "Josiah knows about her circumstances." Josiah nodded and looked towards the window, his blue eyes distant as he spoke. "Vin cares for the girl and he doesn't know anythin' 'bout this." He turned his gaze to the Judge. "I'd hate t' see him hurt."
Travis nodded his head; dark eyes meeting blue, then turning away with hands clasped behind his back in thought. "Tell me about her." The Judge sat down; shoulders slumped, feeling the burden of his profession. Rubbing his eyes, Travis waited for details, but knowing prison and trial were in this woman's future.
"She is a woman sorely wronged, a case of abuse and a need to protect herself lead to the death of her husband. Falsely accused, she fled." Josiah paused, close-set blue eyes fixed on the Judge, foreseeing the inevitable.
"You know I have no choice in the matter. A fugitive of the law has been brought to my attention and unfortunately, I cannot now in good conscious turn a blind eye." The Judge rose from the chair, weary and saddened. "Sheriff Dunne, I'll need you to bring her in."
J.D. had been quiet, grateful for Buck's presence at his side. He noted only looks of concern from Ezra and Chris, and thankfully saw no animosity. Walking towards the door, he glanced at the Judge with a quick, shameful turn of his head and stopped for a moment by Josiah, eyes pleading for understanding and forgiveness. Josiah raised his head up to the ceiling, holding his gaze there for what seemed to J.D. to be an eternity, and gave a sad smile. "It's alright, son. We all make wrong choices now 'n again. No need to feel burdened."
J.D. swallowed hard, speechless. He took a few deep breaths, before walking out the door. "I'm sorry." J.D. looked at each man. "I'm sorry."
"What the hell happened here?" Buck was incredulous. "One minute we're ready t' throw a damn party 'n now we're lookin' like death just knocked on the door." Grabbing off his hat, he slapped it against his leg in anger. "Dammit all t' hell." He walked up to Chris, worried. "Can ya keep Tanner from killin' the kid?" Eyes locked, anger discernible in the gunfighter. "I don't know if I should, Buck." Chris' eyes still held Buck's, cold and unwavering. "Do you?"
Buck turned away, loyalty and affection for J.D. strong, but knowing the kid made a fool mistake. "Just doesn't use his head. Always running off half-cocked. B'n tryin' t' teach that boy." Buck's head dropped down with his words as he thought of J.D. Chris placed a hand on Buck's shoulder giving a sympathetic squeeze and with a distracted, sorrowful nod, Buck walked out the door after J.D.
Nathan shook his head as he watched Buck leave and Ezra for once was speechless as he looked at each man. He shook his head and ran his hands through his well-groomed hair. "Good Lord . . . Good Lord."
Orrin Travis looked up at the men and with a deep sigh, spoke. "I expect you men to keep this from turning into a powder keg." Feeling the stiffness in his joints from sitting too long, he rose from the chair and with a nod of his head walked out the door.
***********************************
Vin studied the men surrounding J.D. who sat with his head down; long Indian-black hair falling into his eyes, hat in one hand and a paper gripped in the other. Judge Travis stood back from the men, eyes pensive with brow furrowed, his comportment tense. Buck's hand rested on J.D.'s shoulder while Chris hung back with his head down, his face hidden by the brim of his hat. Josiah stared towards the saloon, gazing at the rooms above and Ezra paced and pulled at his shirt cuffs, while Nathan stood alongside J.D. Something was wrong.
Quiet and unnoticed, Vin sat watching, his heart pattering loud and forceful inside his chest. Eyes blue-bright and penetrating read unrest, the signs of trouble particular to each man: Ezra's preening, Chris' downcast head, Josiah's deliberations, and J.D., Buck and Nathan, sorrow so heavy, it weighed them down.
"Boys." The men startled at the soft rasp; their heads rose up all at once, eyes wide open and then recovering quickly. Vin saw it then, hiding something from him. His heart would not slow and the air felt too solid to breathe; Vin struggled to stay at ease. "Everthin' alright?"
Travis walked up to the tracker watching the man, weighing his words, not sure of Tanner's response, dearly not wanting to fight him or cause him any harm.
"Judge?" Vin saw the cautious posture of the Judge and was feeling like he was about to get hauled off to Tascosa for sure, and gripped Peso's reins, ready to run. Was that it? Was it the bounty on his head? He knew it would catch up with him one day, and today was no different from any other. Nothing could prepare him for having to leave this town and these men.
"Vin, why don't you get down?" The Judge's voice was gentle, kind and it confused Vin all the more. He was fretful now, but all the men were here, none dead. Was it Nettie? Did something happen to Nettie? Vin dismounted feeling his knees almost buckle with the dread as he struggled to find his voice. "Is it Miz Nettie, Judge? Is she alright?"
Chris walked over to Vin's side when he heard the worry and fear in the tracker's voice. "Nettie's fine, Vin." Eyes locked and Vin swallowed hard. "Tell me."
"We've arrested Bridget O'Brien for murder." Unbelieving, Vin searched Chris' face; a small smile came to him, hoping this was a joke, a mistake. "Fer murder?" Vin shook his head. "She ain't no more guilty than I . . ." Chris shoved Vin up on to the boardwalk, interrupting him. "Dammit, Larabee git yer hands off me."
Judge Travis lowered his head, thoughtful. He would have to talk to Chris; there were things that needed saying. "Vin, let's step inside, shall we?"
Vin looked at each of the men and saw the truth in their eyes. Murder. His feet carried him towards the jail, but his mind was elsewhere not sure what to expect and not knowing what to say to her. The only thing he knew was that he would not let her be imprisoned. He would not let her die. Hell, he already had a price on his head and if he could save her, he would risk being hunted for the rest of his life.
His head cast down; not noticing J.D. in his path, collided with him. Regaining their balance, Vin smiled. "Sorry, kid. Didn't see ya." J.D. didn't move, his stance fearful, but determined. "It's my fault, Vin." Vin let out a quiet chuff and then shook his head. "Not yer fault, J.D., I wasn't lookin' is all." J.D. would not move and Vin stared at him, confusion in his blue eyes.
"Vin, it's my fault 'bout Bridget. I was so sure . . . just wanted to prove . . . that she was . . . that I was right. I found the wanted poster and the Judge saw it. He had no choice, but to arrest her." J.D. said it all in a single breath and waited for Vin to kick him, punch him or worse shoot him, but nothing happened. Vin stood looking at J.D. for a long while and then shaking his head walked into the jail. J.D.'s shoulders drooped, silence; he hadn't expected that and it hurt worse than being shot one hundred times. Buck squeezed J.D.'s shoulder and gave his back a gentle pat. "He'll come 'round, J.D."
Dark eyes looked up into Buck's and the gunman cringed; heartbroken, the kid was heartbroken and Buck hated to see it, needed to fix it. It took all his power not to go in and drag out Tanner, but he knew Vin had a right to feel the way he did and he hated all of it. Things needed to get righted just about now and he hoped it'd be real soon.
***********************************************
"Git her out of there." Vin's heart went to his throat when he saw her curled up on the bunk. Bridget did not look up at him when she heard his voice. She had wanted to tell him about everything, but not this way. What must he think of her? A whore and a murderer. How could she even have hoped that he could be a friend to her?
Her raven hair worn loose wrapped around her, hiding her away from all those that condemned her. Chastisement and damnation were as familiar to her as taking breath. It would be over soon and she would face judgment, almost gladdened, for the running wore her down, no longer caring. She had not lived really in years, though it seemed after meeting these men, meeting Vin things might be different. Compassion had been strong in Josiah claiming himself to be a sinner and not a man that judged; Nathan had always been kind to her, the heart of a healer; and Buck, so full of life and love of women, always pleasant and attentive. Ezra was courteous always the gentleman, but more preoccupied with the gaming tables than her concerns and Chris would watch her with those soul-piercing eyes, not trusting her outright and she understood this, knowing he worried for Vin. Of them all J.D. was the honest one, the one that saw her misdeeds and knew that she needed to serve penance as the Church had taught her. Contrition and tears would not rid the blackness of her soul, only in death would she be redeemed, if the Lord was merciful.
Bridget could feel him there, warmth of spirit -- strong and steadfast, and her heart jumped with untenable hope. His hat hung down his back and he wore a blue shirt that brought notice to his eyes that showed desperation, anger and a sadness that went down to his soul. Bridget turned herself away from him and those damnable eyes that cut into her heart. She could not bear to see him so sad and she had caused it. Why did he care so about her, when she cared nothing about herself?
"Bridget, I'm gittin' ya outta here." Vin's voice only a raspy whisper, so the Judge and Chris would not hear. "Ya hear me, Bridget?" His hands gripped the bars, desperate to free her; it was all he could think about, all he felt. Trapped, freedom taken away, no man should bear this nor woman. Wronged more times than he could count, most times he walked away, not all things were worth fighting. She had been wronged; he knew this without knowing the why and wherefore. Man's justice and laws, Travis' measuring stick, was not always Vin's. The earth-call told him to take her and run. He would get her to freedom and then return for his punishment. The deepest part of him knew this to be right and true.
"No."
Vin cocked his head trying to catch the soft wisp of her voice. Her head was pillowed in her arms; face down into the mildewed mattress.
"Talk t' me, Bridget!" Vin's pleas reached the men who sat, stood and leaned around the old desk trying to give him time alone with the woman. J.D.'s head hung down even lower at Vin's appeals. It would never be right again, and another death would be on his hands. Lord, help him.
Looking towards the cell, J.D. sucked in a breath and he bolted forward as Vin ran towards the keys that hung on a large peg. J.D. heard the hammer of the mare's leg cock near his ear and a voice that would haunt him, Vin's voice, death-cold and vengeful.
"Back off, J.D." Vin pushed the kid aside and took the keys, watching the men not wanting to cause anyone hurt.
Judge Travis stood up and walked towards Vin with authoritative calm; a man used to being listened to and obeyed. Chris stood by Travis' side, willing the tracker to regain his senses. Damn woman! Shoot Tanner, losing your head again, over a damn woman! Chris could not understand this noble nature that seemed to get Tanner into more trouble, turning his back on the men. That angered Chris and Vin standing there with a gun trained on them made him rage. There was something deep in Vin that drove him sometimes beyond reason and Chris knew he was not thinking, only reacting to what he saw as a grievous injustice and his need to correct it, to hell with his own life. Well, not on his watch. Chris would shoot Tanner before he let him walk out of there making more trouble for himself. One bounty was one too much. If Tanner didn't have the sense to protect himself, Chris would do it for him and to hell with everything else.
"Not goin' t' happen, Vin. I'm not lettin' you go anywhere." Chris stood easy, knowing reason was on his side. Green eyes cat-calm, waited for a whisper of movement, watching as Vin took a step back. Chris rushed forward and raised the butt of his gun, catching the tracker on the side of his head, bringing him down. Vin fell hard and Chris caught him before he landed on the wooden floor as Buck hastened over to Chris grabbing the subdued man's legs.
"Lock him up." Grim-faced and resolute, Orrin Travis reached for the keys that had fallen to the ground. Buck hesitated, but Chris understood, nodding to Buck to do just that.
"Just for now, Boys. We can't have Mr. Tanner getting himself into trouble." Travis gave a weary smile. "When he's thinking more clearly, I'll release him."
The cell door creaked sending a chill through Buck. Vin would be madder than a wet hen when he came around and more than likely have a headache to boot. Chris placed Vin down with solicitous care that Buck smiled to see and watched as Chris covered the tracker with a blanket. The gunman patted Vin's shoulder as he stood, and turned an angry glare towards the woman he blamed for this fix, softening as he watched her lie sobbing with her face pressed into her arms. Sarah would cry like that when she didn't want him to hear, but he always knew when she felt sorrowed and he would take her in his arms until she finished. Who will comfort you, Bridget? Has anyone ever comforted you? Watching Vin for a time, Chris nodded his head, understanding it now and he closed his eyes, sadness claiming him at the knowing.
**************************************************************
The brick walls suffocated him as the feeble light of day made its way through the barred windows. Backbone bowed coiling into himself, his uniform nearly worn off, pants torn at the knees, spindly arms and elbows jutting from his shirt and his hair, always long, now grew passed his shoulders crawling with lice, no longer noticed.
He lay stone still on the numbing, bone-creaking concrete, too close as they pressed into him for warmth, suffocating him and he could not sleep, only skirred moments. No longer speaking, even threatened at gunpoint; all desire to live quit him and he crawled inside himself, inside his mind as he dreamed and planned his escape. Crazy Johnny Reb kid and he knew it as truth.
Barrels of boiled beef tormented his hungry stomach, but knowing the sight of it would make him retch as he pressed close to the meager fire that offered little warmth. Brick walls and barred windows . . . Vin woke with a start at the sight and a fear came to him that he had not known in a long time.
Trapped, he needed to get out . . . get out. He couldn't breathe . . . the prison sink in the concrete floor overflowing with waste gave off a stench that roiled his stomach . . . he lurched from the bunk, grabbing for the bucket left in the cell. Sickness gripped him, retching until his stomach was empty and only gut-rupturing heaves persisted as though he could not rid himself of the vile that held him captive. Being so distraught he did not notice the gentle stroking on the curve of his rigid spine and then recoiled at the touch; his mind still in other places and she soothed him until he found his way back.
Bridget watched Vin, troubled, offering him a ladle of water and he walked towards the bars, allowing her to pour the liquid in his mouth. Eyes closed as he drank, she studied his face; tawny-smooth skin covered by whiskers that glowed golden in the lantern light and the way the hair curled around his ears, so long it touched his shoulders. Her eyes took in the true even line of his nose and the square, strong chin, the angles of his jaw and the curve of his lips, memorizing every bit of him, locking it in her heart.
"Are you alright, now?" With a gentle touch Bridget brought her hand to Vin's face and he opened his eyes to her, nodding his head. "Why don't you lie down?" Vin complied, staring at her with eyes, distant and unfocused. "Close your eyes and rest." Like a mother's touch her voice soothed him and he abided her words. The shivering started shortly after and Bridget called to him, trying to rouse him. His mutterings were incoherent only catching words here and there. Chattanooga, boiled beef, cold as hell . . . cold. She listened and wanted to hold him in her arms, to bring him comfort. Bridget called out to the guard posted as the men had left during the late hours of the night. She couldn't see him at the desk and shouted louder to draw his attention.
*******************************
Nettie Wells burst through the door, Spencer Carbine in tow with Tom Hatcher on her heels. "I can't let ya do that, Miz Wells. Chris Larabee will have my head."
"You best let that boy go, Tom Hatcher." Nettie raised up the carbine aiming at the shaken guard torn as to what to do. A frontier woman's strength and a fierce determination confronted Chris Larabee and Judge Travis as they barreled through the door. They had caught a glimpse of white hair and carbine and knew Tom could not hold off the strong-minded woman.
"Chris Larabee, you let that boy go and you let him go now." Nettie was not in the mind to hear any excuses; just Vin Tanner released. "Yer startin' t' git my dander up, Mr. Larabee. What do you plan on doin' about it?"
A full-tooth smile broke out on Chris' face as he watched the feisty woman point her carbine dead on at his heart. Not doubting she had full intention of protecting Vin, no matter what it took.
"Calm down, Nettie. I was plannin' on lettin' him out today." Nettie still didn't budge, angered as she looked towards the Judge. "I cain't believe you'd be a party to this foolishness, Judge Travis."
Orrin Travis walked towards the white-haired woman who bore a deceitful fragility, a tough old bird; he saw it in her face, in her bearing and laughing to himself, in her Spencer Carbine. "The decision was mine. Mr. Tanner tried to attempt a prison break."
"Prison break, my fanny. I don't care if he stole yer horse and stripped ya naked, get that boy out of there now." Nettie was through talking and walked towards the cells. A fear tightened around her when she saw Vin's prone body on the bunk, no movement from him even with the noise and fuss just passed. Eyes sharp studied the woman, quite fetching and defenseless, a powerful combination that took in the kind heart of Vin, for sure. Not to be taken in also with that sweet smile, Nettie walked to Vin's cell, watching him with concern.
"Thank God you're here. I've been calling for the guard." Bridget gripped the bars, intent on the man muttering and shivering under a blanket in the heat of summer. "I'm Brid . . ." Nettie interrupted her with a hand raised up with evident disapproval.
"I know who you are and I know what you do. And I know yer the woman who's t'blame fer this whole mess." Nettie would not allow this doxy to bring harm to Vin, even though that boy walked into these messes all on his own. When it came to women, Vin Tanner had less sense then a love-struck schoolboy.
A mother's ire, Bridget read it plain on the woman and she took no offense, only wanting help for Vin. "Something's wrong. He woke up disoriented and he's not making sense at all. He spoke of Chattanooga and the rest I couldn't really piece together. Please help him."
Alarm quicken through Nettie, listening to the pleas of the woman and seeing Vin shudder under blankets in the oppressive heat of the jail. "Mr. Larabee." Nettie's voice grew louder in her unease. "Chris, git in here, now and have someone fetch Nathan."
**************************
"Vin, c'n yuh hear me?" Nathan knelt next to the bunk and placed his hand on Vin's forehead. "His skin's cool and moist. Colorin' is gray and his pulse is slow." Nathan started to take off the hide coat and raised his head to Chris to give a hand. The gunman lifted up Vin while Nathan worked to release the coat from around the lean man. As Chris rested the tracker down, Nathan felt around the nape of Vin's neck and side of his head. Nettie sat on the end of the bunk watching the healer size up Vin's symptoms, holding tight to his leg.
"Got a good size knot behind his ear. Shoulda checked on him last night." Nathan raised his frame up to his full height and walked over to Bridget who watched with silent worry, her hands gripping the bars feeling helpless and responsible for this selfless man's condition. Denying nothing for she always faced the truth of her sins, she looked towards Nettie who was watching her and for a moment Bridget thought she had seen a flicker of compassion in her aged face. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed less severe and her lips no longer held a straight-line tension; Bridget felt gratitude fill her and smiled at the woman who held Vin so dear.
"Miz O'Brien, when did Vin get sick?" Nathan picked up the bucket and passed it over to J.D. who stood outside the cell, guilt so strong no task was too unpleasant, he would do anything to make things right.
"Several hours before sunrise. He seemed to be somewhere else, frightened terribly like a penned animal. The dream was as real as my standing here and he had a look of such repulsion, something so offensive was haunting him it caused him to be ill. I placed my hand on him for a few moments and he backed away not seeing me." Looking at the man lying so silent, Bridget took a breath and continued; knowing all details no matter how small might be of help. "I gave him water and told him to lie down, to rest and he did so, but I still felt as though he wasn't with me. He spoke of Chattanooga and of all things, boiled beef and saying he was cold. He was shivering so, that I called for the guard, but he didn't hear me. Thank God, Miss Wells finally came in, I was at such a loss."
Trying to make sense of Bridget's words, piecing together beef, being cold and Chattanooga, not knowing when Vin had been in Tennessee, if at all. Josiah turned to look at Ezra wanting to question the shrewd Southerner, his genius for riddle-solving had always offered enlightenment and then stunned as he noted the apparent high regard on the face of Standish as he observed the unconscious man. Buck's mouth gaped wide-open at the sight, his dark brows spiked above his questioning eyes and J.D. and Josiah laughed at the gunman's understandable bewilderment. Vin and Ezra's relationship had always been a mystery to the men, both reserved and using humor most times to distract those that would press too hard or get too close; the comforts of friendship seldom entertained and now only beginning to trust the other men with fragmentary pieces of their lives. This making Vin and Chris' relationship all the more mystifying knowing Vin was forthright about the price on his head; faith that strong, instincts so well-honed to know that his trust would not be betrayed.
Josiah cleared his throat and placed an immense, but soul-gentle hand on the shoulder of the gambler. "Brother Ezra, it seems you may have an understanding of Brother Vin's ramblings."
Ezra nodded not turning away from Vin. Though a proud son of the South, Ezra did not enlist in the Confederate Army, his skills best served elsewhere. Endeavoring to fleece every 'Yank' that made their way to Louisiana and Mississippi, often passing on vital information to the higher echelon of the Confederate military. A fine Kentucky bourbon and words, ice-smooth and slick, seduced unsuspecting, pompous bigwigs, businessmen making their fortune on the misfortune of others and Union Generals and Colonels that took pleasure in the sound of their voices. He plied them well and stole away with dates, positions, tactics and military strength. Knowing Vin Tanner was a man of noble ideals and strict sensibilities of right and wrong; no doubt would view Ezra's war participation with scorn, using words alluding to his reptilian nature, snakes and slithering. A smile caught at Standish's mouth bringing a light to his emerald-bright eyes, hearing the raspy drawl.
"Ya gonna share it with us, Ezra?" Buck smoothed down his mustache and pulled at his coat, impatient and worried.
"Chattanooga had a Union prison." Ezra was quiet waiting for the men to grasp his words. "I knew Mr. Tanner was of true southern lineage. I believe I knew of a Tanner family in Shreveport, rather wealthy, may be long lost relatives. I'll have to broach the subject with Mr. Tanner when he's feeling less under the weather."
J.D. stared at Buck and Josiah who had been quiet as Ezra editorialized on the marksman. "Vin was in the war?" Excitement and hero-admiration glowed in the dark eyes. "Vin was a 'Reb'? He had to be just a kid."
The scruffy gray-flecked head of the preacher dropped towards his chest, thoughts of war forever taking breath in men who had served, no matter how deeply buried. His ruin came during the Mexican War and he fought to keep those ghosts at rest. A young boy Vin surely had to be, not more that twelve at the start. How long could he have been at war? How many horrors haunt him? Josiah rubbed his eyes, knowing once enlisted a man did not run away from war, if he did not wish to hide and change his name. Vin would never run and Josiah sighed wishing lighthearted days had touched Vin rather than the torments of war.
"A man like Vin'd nev'r fight for the South." Nathan was angry. "I c'n understand a man like you, Ezra, but not Vin." Nathan knelt by the tracker bringing the ladle to his lips.
Ezra showed no malice though the green of his eyes heightened in hue, understanding Nathan's anger, more offended by the implication that he was of a baneful nature, that all who had fought for the Confederacy were of this tendency. "I take umbrage at that, Mr. Jackson. I will have you know that many men of good conscious and unfailing moral character fought for their homeland, fought for the Confederacy. Mr. Tanner was a mere youth when he enlisted to bear arms against the Union and I dare say it was not with the intention of fighting for slavery, but rather fighting for, I presume, Texas. Mr. Tanner, no doubt, would be deeply aggrieved if you thought that of him."
Nathan had hurt Standish, he could see it in the rigidity of his spine and eyes that betrayed his feelings, so unusual for a man that learned the tools of the confidence trade at his mother's knee. It was not Standish's fault for that; it was his upbringing, as Nathan could no more blame himself for being born a slave. Vin's life was not for him to judge, but knowing the nature of the man that lay before him he had sorely harmed both men with his condemnation.
"Nathan, it's not the time for this." Irritation ran through Chris, angered that he had caused Vin harm. "What's wrong with him?"
"The confusion 'n vomitin' prob'ly's from the blow t' the head, but the heat exhaustion is causin' him some grief. A few days rest and liquids, he'll be good as new. I think we should git him outta here, if it aggrieves him t' be locked up."
Nettie stood up defiance in her eyes. "He's comin' home with me. Just help me git him t' my wagon." No arguing with her, it was plain on her face and no one did, not even Larabee who wanted to keep Tanner under lock and key, knowing that was the only way to keep him from trouble.
"Alright, Nettie, but I'm goin' t' be keepin' ya company just 'til I know Vin's not goin' t' do anythin' foolish." Chris motioned for Josiah to come help lift up the tracker. Nathan grabbed up his coat and hat and walked to Nettie explaining the care that Vin would need.
"Just rest, Miz Nettie and plenty of liquids. He might have blurred vision and more than not he'll have a real good headache, nothin' t' worry 'bout though, just make sure he gets rest. Mebbe, you c'n get him t' talk 'bout what's got him so shook." Nathan then turned to Ezra, brown eyes clear and direct, not a man afraid to admit when he was wrong, he extended his hand to the gambler. "Sorry, Ezra. It was wrong of me t' say the things I said. But, just so yuh know this'll more 'n likely be the only time yuh hear me say this t' yuh."
"Apology accepted, my good man." Ezra did not allow Nathan's qualified apology upset him, accepting Nathan's words with good-natured humor.
Chris and Josiah rested Vin down on a few blankets; he was sleeping now, somewhat quiet with only a few mutterings and Chris called to J.D. to get his black and Vin's gelding saddled and ready to go. Nettie stood by Chris before he climbed into the wagon bed holding fast to his arm; concern discernible in her grip. "Let the woman out." Chris jerked up his head, ready to argue and not amused. "No, can't do that, Nettie."
"Hear me out, Chris. Yer worried 'bout Vin doin' somethin' foolish, well mark my words, he'll be lightin' out when he c'n 'n he'll be up t' the same things, if he knows she's still jailed. Have the boys keep 'n eye t' her. She won't go anywhere. Just git her out of there 'n mebbe we c'n keep this fool boy from causing himself any more trouble."
With head down and eyes on Vin, he nodded to Nettie agreeing with the sense of it and walked into the jail to talk to the men. Nettie smiled as she climbed into the seat, her body stiffer than yesterday, but still not ready for pasture. Turning to look at the well-favored face of the young man, so important to her it hurt; she ran her hand through her tufted white hair hoping that the release of the woman would bide them time enough to talk some sense into the boy.
Their eyes marked him like a target, not allowing him to leave Casey's room and he was growing restless, though would never defy Nettie. He stared at the vast wooden headboard above him, studied the chafed-worn walls that shadowed with the flickering of lantern light hung from a ceiling hook, and squinted his eyes at the sun's rays peeking at him here and there from small breaks in the wooden structure. Truth be told the homestead was not much at all for all the years spent toiling, but Vin felt surrounded by riches in that moment than he ever had felt.
Two people outside his door spoke in hushed tones and Vin knew it for concern. Nettie like earth and Chris like fire -- different and sometimes hard to keep contained in the same room, but both caring for him. Their voices muffled loud then soft as he drifted in a foggy sleep. Nettie'd be in soon enough to flood him with water, tea and broth, worry in her reprimands of taking better care and getting proper rest and he would smile at her, distant, feeling as if he was still in some place that scared him more than death. Nettie would pat his arm in a reassuring motherly way, watching his face until she saw it slacken in sleep. Vin rested quiet knowing Nettie was near, seeing her plain in his dreams with pale-blue eyes that sparked in a wizened face, having a beauty that Vin only remembered seeing one time in his life; boy-memories that were sweet and gentle, almost mythical in his heart.
Nettie sat down in her Hepplewhite chair while Chris sat across in the rocker, both quiet. The fieldstone fireplace's mantle overflowed with candles and oil lamps trying to bring light into the dreary room, though daylight was still strong. The few windows covered with stark curtains of burlap allowed very little light to flow through them. An oil lamp glowed on a simple table covered with a delicate lace doily that sat below the window, the only indulgence seen throughout the room; although, the oak sideboard was an impressive piece held only simple dishes and yellowware crockery. Nettie had nestled away a few surviving pieces of Spode china, placed in the cupboard stored for Casey; that and the homestead would be the child's and Nettie made clear that Vin would always have a place.
A low moan, Chris and Nettie jerked up their heads together and Nettie rose with quick concern from her chair looking towards Chris as she opened the door. A tangle of blanket and twisted limbs sprawled restless across the bed twitching as if struggling with demons more real than dreamed.
****Almost spring, knowing his birthday came after the snows were gone, remembering this and that he was born in the year of '49. His ma told him and he held on to it like his name, Vin Tanner. Never forgetting, May of 1849. He would be fifteen; too old and too young all at the same time. Alone now, he took out the stolen kitchen knife, sharpened with a quiet intensity during the night while the others slept around him. His escape in his hands . . . and he brought the knife up not wavering and lowered it to his wrist, cutting as he heard his death song. Today he would die. Blood ran like freedom calling and rest would soon be his . . . and then terrified . . . hands held him down, grabbing him as he struggled, shouting, finding his voice, screaming at them to let him die. ****
Nettie walked towards the bed and reached to touch the writhing body, but Chris held her back, knowing that Vin was somewhere deadly. A shake of his head answered the question not voiced, and he stepped behind the tracker and reached out his hands, placing them strong on Vin's shoulders. Eyes opened wide at the touch and he struggled to make sense of the here and now and the long ago haunting of demons. It was not plain to Vin and he bucked himself up and grabbed at the hands that pinned him and growled with curses that would no doubt cause him distress at the realization that Nettie was near. Chris and Nettie called to Vin, as he fought Chris like mad, clawing at the gunman, more animal than man and that frightened Chris not knowing Vin's terrors. Sweat dripping and the room pungent with the scent of it as both men struggled against each other and Nettie stood helpless watching with her hand pressed to her mouth alarmed at the sight. Not a woman to accept being powerless, she climbed on the bed with a spunk that defied her age and placed her hand on Vin's face bringing his eyes to meet hers.
"Vin Tanner you quit fightin' us now, ya hear me?" Eyes blinked at her still confused, but he heard the voice.
"Ma?" Vin settled and brought up his hand to the hand on his face with a gentle stroke that stirred Nettie's heart and she wiped the tear that ran down his whiskered cheek. Chris ran an unsteady hand through strands of bone-straight blonde hair that fell into his eyes during the struggle and listened as Vin called out to his mother; the longing so eloquent that Chris turned his head away not being able to watch Vin as he clutched at the notion that his mother was with him.
"Sshh, you're safe now, Son." Nettie sat with her back to the headboard, resting Vin into her arms. "Chris, git water. He's lost a powerful amount of fluid. Don't think that'll help him at all."
She was here with him . . . his Ma. She would stopped them from hurting him . . . she would take him home. Ma . . . Ma . . .
Chris returned to the room and handed Nettie the tin cup of water, wondering where Vin had been in his madness, all too familiar with visions that drove a man to the edge of darkness. Vin was still not with them and Chris hoped the rest and needed fluids would make him right again. Chris closed his eyes to battlefields and blood, faces young and old, injuries barbaric to the sight. No man should be trapped in those horrors and Chris turned away as Nettie held tight to Vin while he slept.
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Vin woke to the moonlight that touched his face as it slipped its way through the narrow opening of the burlap curtains. He felt awkward lying in Casey's bed not being sick or dying and not rightly sure what had happened. Just remembered Larabee coming at him and nothing after that . . . dreams though, bad ones and then his ma coming, that was agreeable. He smiled at the recollection of the warm arms around him while he slept. Was that a dream? It felt as real as him lying here now, but his mind telling him it had to be just that . . .dreams. It was quiet no more voices and Vin brought his legs out from the wrappings of blankets and quilts, smiling down at them feeling Nettie's loving touch with the placing of each one. Vin reached for his laced-front calico shirt folded neatly on the side table and breathed in the scent of breezes and pinyon as he brought the shirt up to his face; Nettie.
Wool socks silent on the planked flooring as Vin made his way into the gathering room adjusting his eyes to the shadowed moonlight and flickering of firelight; aware of Larabee sleeping near the hearthstone bundled up in comfort that he more than likely could not refuse.
Vin smoothed his hands along the detailed carvings and sleek wood of Nettie's Hepplewhite chair as he made his way to the cast iron stove, getting himself a cup of coffee and a biscuit. Chris did not stir as Vin eased himself down into the rocker, watching the light of the fire while he ate the biscuit and drank the coffee with a deep hunger. His vision blurred for a moment and he closed his eyes then opened them, bringing the fire back into focus. Finishing off the biscuit and drinking down the coffee, Vin rested his head back against the chair, wincing as the hard wood made contact and he rubbed the tender area, trying to bring back the missing time.
Chris lay quiet studying Vin as he stared into the flames of the fire, relieved seeing him eating and alert; guilt had been heavy on him.
"Ya gonna talk or ya gonna jes' watch me?" A silence then and only the crackling and popping of wood in flames broke the quiet. Their breathing slow, but their thoughts flying fast and uneasy, each one feeling like they let the other down.
Chris rose up on his elbows and cocked his head up looking towards Vin with a grin. "I was just thinkin' I'm mighty glad ya got yourself a damn hard head."
Vin grinned back at the gunman, shaking his head and rubbing behind his ear with a grimace. " I reckon I should be madder than hell at ya."
"I reckon you should." Chris still grinning sat up facing the tracker, watching his eyes that glinted with a wry humor.
"I reckon ya should be feelin' the same towards me." An apology for turning his gun on Chris and the boys without having to say it outright, but his bearing making it plain.
"I reckon I should." Chris smiled up at Vin, waiting to see what was coming next. The tracker had a way about him, making Chris smile in spite of his black moods and feel easy even when things where unsettled.
"Still don't change anythin'." Vin stood bracing himself against the rocker when dizziness came over him, closing his eyes, opening them when it passed and then walking toward the stove.
"Want some coffee?" Vin reached for a tin cup and poured coffee for himself and the gunman, tossing a biscuit in Chris' direction and placing one in his mouth as he walked back with the cups of coffee. It was near midnight and Chris felt tired, but he knew that Vin wanted to talk or at least wanted his company for a while.
"I talked to the Judge and he's going to make sure Bridget gets a fair trial." Chris hesitated, watching Vin as he lowered himself into the rocker.
"Cch . . ." Vin tried to swallow back his distrust in the legal process, being all too familiar with so called circumstantial evidence, having to fight like hell to get out of Tascosa before he ended up swinging without a trial. "Don't rightly know if even the Judge c'n git 'er off. When folks git a hankerin' fer a hangin' they cain't hardly think straight."
"Judge is goin' t' see if she can be tried in Four Corners for the murder of her husband, but after we get back." Chris took a long sip of his coffee waiting for Vin's response. Travis could not delay getting to Fort Sill; the senatorial committee was pressuring the Judge to get the information they needed to stop another corrupt bureaucrat in Grant's continually tainted administration. Ulysses S. Grant was a great leader in war; a hero, but his political career was riddled with inferior choices in cabinet members, offering positions based on kindness shown to him in the past and nepotism. Sincere in his desire to punish the guilty, but seeming to be the last to know what was happening behind his own doors.
Placing his cup down on the side of the rocker, Vin bit into the biscuit with white straight teeth not speaking until he finished chewing and reached to the cup, slowly taking a sip and then rested it down on his lap. "Ya'll goin' somewhere?"
"Travis needs us t' help him bring down some corrupt politicians. Something t' do with the traderships on the reservations. Makin' money off the backs of the Indians and the government." Chris shifted himself and took a swig of coffee; waiting for the tracker's furor knowing his loyalty to the People was strong.
A flash of anger as the tracker stood slapping his leg and running his hand through his hair. "The People are dependent on the damn government fer everythin' now. No buffalo fer them to hunt 'n some damn Congressman came up with some fool law that the Comanche cain't go int' Texas, cain't cross the Red t' git t' the only place that there's some herds left. Cain't hunt so they ain't got nothin' t' trade with the Comancheros 'n the cattle that they're bringin' int' the reservation are the worst of the lot, but they're payin' top dollar fer that carrion. Now yer tellin' me it's because of some corruption goin' on in Washington. That they're makin' money off the People while women 'n children are starvin'. Government's tryin' t' turn the People int' farmers 'n makin' 'em work land that ain't fit fer it. Ain't no corn or anythin' else goin' t' grow on that land." Dizziness overcame the tracker and he reached out for the Hepplewhite chair; sitting down hard as he rested his elbows on his knees and clutched his head with his hands, eyes closed against the light.
Chris bolted up from the planked floor and reached his hand out to Vin. "Take it easy." Picking up the tin cups, Chris got more coffee and a biscuit each. Sitting down in the rocker, he handed over the cup and biscuit to the tracker, giving him time to settle down before speaking. "Are you alright, Vin?" Guilt playing on the gunman carried in his voice.
"Don't go on the worry, brought this on m'self. Wasn't thinkin' straight 'n ya had a right t' do what ya done. I shoulda trusted you 'n the boys." His head was aching him now more than ever and he was sick from the biscuits and coffee, but Vin didn't want to let on to Chris that he was feeling poorly. "Gittin' late, Chris. How 'bout we palaver in the mornin'?"
Stretching up his arms with a wide yawn and then raising himself out of the rocker, Chris nodded at the tracker. "Sounds good t' me, Cowboy. Go get y'self some rest, you look like you could use it."
No wry comment as Vin shuffled in the direction of Casey's room, looking a little unsteady to the gunman. Vin called over his shoulder before he entered the room. "Feel like I could use it too. G'night, Chris."
"Night, Vin." Chris banked the fire before he settled back down in the comfort of too many blankets and quilts, but it felt good at that as he rested into them. The conversation went well and Chris seemed satisfied that Vin was thinking clearer about the woman. Vin trusted them and that was the most important thing, his faith that they'll make it right. Lord, Almighty . . . don't let them fail that man. Chris adjusted the blankets with agitation and finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.
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