Before the Wind

By Kimberly KBJ

PART TWO

CHAPTER SIX

John Prescott's fingers stroked his cheek, feeling the demarcation of a grisly scar that would be an enduring reminder of a woman who with savage rage rendered him disfigured. She had paid dearly for her foolhardy attempts to escape and to cause him harm. A death-hand gripped the soft, perfect throat with a fervor that brought a pleasure to him as he heard the brittle-bone snap. Prescott was too smart to let his fate be determined by meddlesome, prying eyes, unlike his father.

She had been his first killing and would have been alive today, if she had allowed him his pleasures and did not fight back as his mother had fought. The snap of her neck, and the craze-eyed laughter of his father filled the tenement that night as his mother's corpse sat slumped against the jaundice-yellow bedroom wall, flecks of peeling paint caught in her hair like yellowed eggshells, wide-eyed terror and slackened mouth still opened with a half-scream silenced by death. No one came to help her even him a boy of seven years. John Prescott watched his father hang; the sentence in his hands, guilty by his testament and his father's eyes held a terror as the black hood covered him, too much a coward even in death.

Sent to an older uncle with strange predilections, one being the affections of young boys; Prescott endured these depravities and his sufferings rewarded, becoming the sole heir to a significant fortune and a produce business that continued to flourish under his watchful, frugal eye. Only John Evans had dared to cheat him and would pay for this imprudent behavior soon. His wealth never flaunted as he kept to himself, people only knowing of him as a merchant and that discretion allowed him mobility that would serve him handily for the tasks before him. The harlot would pay along with John Evans and that half-breed, plainsman, whatever the name; would suffer significantly for their transgressions against him.

Plans detailed and infallible; each aspect worked out in his mind, lamplight over stairways snuffed out and forgotten, alleyways not traveled, windows left open and door locks broken, everything reviewed with a meticulous eye. All particulars finely plotted; evidence to remain implicating the woman. As thrilling and challenging as a business venture; he would not fail for he learned his lesson well. Failure meant punishment at the hand of his uncle, sadistic and painful; harsh lessons learned.

John Prescott watched her room from the alley that ran alongside the hardware store; the day's shipment placed there for the night. The stacked crates allowed him suitable shelter as he searched the boardwalk and road. All good citizens were in their homes enjoying family dinners, quiet conversations, and a fragment of something unapproachable and untouchable made him shudder as he brought arms around himself. Anger sliced through him and he pounded the crates with kid-gloved fists and then recovered, stole to her room. Adroit as he was as a child hiding from his uncle, stealing away into the night becoming only a shadow, fear propelling him out windows, down ledges, on rooftops. Pergolas and trellises were his allies, his saviors; they would serve him well now.

She was bathing when he entered her room, her screams muffled by his hand tight around her mouth and she knew death found her today. Bridget was not afraid; death had been on her shoulders for many years and the wanting of it had always been strong, but circumstances had changed, she had changed and she did not want to leave him. Bridget struggled to hold on to life, to fight for bright hopes and happiness that could be hers. As she battled, through a watery vision, she saw him with homespun kindness and earth- innocence, blue eyes and hair long like that of the People and a smile that made her want to hold him to her and then she saw no more.

He heard voices coming closer . . . on the steps . . . down the hall and he looked at the slattern, her eyes wide in death; closing them as he brought his face near whispering, "Harsh lesson learned." Leaving through a window, shadow blending with shadow, he returned to his room, unnoticed.

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John Dunne paced the hallway above the saloon, resting his young graceful hands on the haft of his Colts and then gripped the molded brim of his bowler hat removing it with a nervous impatience. Not wholly distraught, feeling certain that Judge Travis would seek justice for the woman. With abiding trust that right would prevail, J.D. managed a smile, grateful that another person's end would not be on his head, now his only concern was regaining Vin's good will.

Miss O'Brien had been quiet all night and J.D. had only left for a brief spell to acquire dinner, not hearing anything from the room on his return; assured that she was sleeping. Shrill giggles and then a man's deep raucous laughter brought J.D. to the top of the stairs; looking down at the empty saloon seeing no one, but Buck and several hurdy gurdy girls lounging about on the steps. Amply built and almighty attractive, the women sat on the gunman's lap running hands over and through every place on his long-legged frame.

"Come on, Buck." Adjusting his brown notched-collar vest and pulling on his coat, J.D. called out to the gunman. "Dang it, Buck. I'm tired."

Buck craned his head up towards J.D. and gave a full resplendent smile that flashed from under his meticulously groomed mustache. "Hey, Kid." When a wandering hand found a choice spot, Buck whooped and shimmied down a step. "Whoa, there darlin' if ya keep handlin' me like that we're goin' t' need t' get a room." Giving each a full-lipped fiery kiss, Buck opened one eye, catching a peek at J.D. who paced the hallway above mumbling to himself. "Well ladies, duty calls, but I'll be lookin' forward t' seein' each 'n every one of ya this evenin'."

Overtures and a well-placed hand made it difficult to part company, but J.D.'s occasional grunting and muttering broke the seducement; Wilmington called out his farewells up the length of staircase.

"Well, here I am J.D." Buck placed an arm around the kid and guided him towards Bridget's room. " How was *yer* night?"

"Too long." J.D. yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "It's been quiet all night." Buck nodded and knocked on the door; J.D. by his side. "Buck . . ." J.D. hesitated and looked up at the gunman.

"Yeah, Kid?" Buck knocked harder on the door when she did not answer, looking at J.D. distracted.

"Do y'think everything will be okay?" Dark eyes lost; Buck stopped knocking and turned to face J.D.

"Everythin's goin' t' be jes' fine, J.D. I guarantee it." Buck cuffed J.D. on the shoulder with affection. "The Judge'll stand up fer Bridget."

"And Vin, Buck?" J.D. dropped his head and studied the floor, afraid to show his face, his emotions that close.

Buck gripped J.D.'s shoulders and gave him a shake, prompting the kid to lift his eyes to the gunman. "Give it time, J.D." Buck cocked his head, intense and direct, as he spoke. "Vin is a good man 'n he cares 'bout ya."

"He ain't never goin' t' forgive me, Buck. Never."

Without thinking the lanky cowboy grabbed hold of J.D. in a bullet-quick, though kind hug, no words spoken after, but J.D. was grateful to Buck and he smiled and gave a nod. Buck smiled back and began knocking on the door harder.

"Miz O'Brien are ya alright?" Buck talked through the door. "C'n ya open up, we jes' want t' talk t' ya for a bit 'n then we won't bother ya again. Alright, Bridget darlin'?" Dropping his head to his chest, Buck adjusted his hat with his slender, capable hands and then smoothed down his full dark mustache as he waited.

"Something's not right. Look out J.D, I'm goin' to kick the door in."

"What!!?" J.D. tensed and his eyes widened with alarm. "What do ya need t' do that for?"

Hammering at the door with fisted hands, Buck twisted, turned and jolted the door handle with a panicked intensity. He rammed his broad-boned shoulder into the intractable wood, over and over until it cracked and splintered around the lock and frame. Hanging fast to the handle, Buck stumbled into the room and stopped up short. "Oh my Lord!" Buck brought his hand up to his hat letting it fall down his back, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. "Oh, my Lord!" Disbelief filled him, but the horrifying sight could not be disputed.

"What's the matter, Buck?" J.D. pushed passed the gunman bringing his hands up to his mouth, gagging. Floating in water . . . she was dead. Beautiful in an odd way; her hair like mink, black as night covered her. Thank the Lord it covered her. He never saw hair so long. Her eyes were closed; maybe she was sleeping. "Buck . . .is . . . is . . . she . . . dead?"

"Go get Nathan, J.D." Buck knelt by the tub picking up a glass bottle. "Now!!"

J.D. jumped at the sharp tone of the gunman's voice, walking backward out the door too afraid to turn his back on the dead woman. "Dead." Saying it out loud only made it worse and he put his hand to his mouth, gagging as he ran down the steps through the saloon and over to Nathan's clinic.

Alone, Buck looked around the room adorned with feminine touches; lace curtains, floral upholstered chair and a cast iron bed painted white. Simple eyelet bedding and ruffles on pillow edges evoked sweetness and an innocence contrary to a workingwoman's life. He grabbed at a quilt of pale blues and yellows lying at the foot of the bed, and a tormented groan caught in his throat as he read the embroidered needlework. Stitched in proud blue script: Bridget Rose b. September the 1st, 1852.

Raising himself up as he brought the patchwork quilt to his face, Buck breathed in the scent of her, wiping a tear. He mourned for all of them at that moment; the ones too young with their unsullied naiveté, the ones too old, drug-ravaged at thirty. All too familiar with the melancholy that gripped most; he thought of Rachel, a fiery red-haired beauty and Elizabeth Jane, full of sweet innocence. Strychnine and chloroform tendered them peace. He walked to the tub draping the quilt over it as the empty glass bottle dropped to the floor. "Dammit, Bridget. You ain't hardly lived long enough."

Buck knelt by the tin tub for what seemed like hours only lifting his head when a hand gripped his slouched shoulder. "Sweet Jesus." Nathan knelt down alongside Buck and moved the quilt back a bit, but not enough to expose her. Reaching for the bottle Buck held out to him with a quivering hand, the healer read the label. "Laudanum."

Standing, Buck reached a hand out to J.D.'s shoulder watching the boy with concern. The kid appeared rattled that was plain to see, but Buck had no time for straddling fences; someone needed to get Chris and Vin. Buck ran a nervous hand through his dense black hair. Vin; Lord Almighty.

"J.D., ya need t' go get Chris." Not mentioning the tracker, afraid to upset the kid knowing that J.D. had plenty of worry on him already.

"I can't, Buck." J.D. stood bone-rigid, his feet immovable. "I won't go out there, Buck. You can't make me go."

Buck walked over to the kid not wanting to spook him, seeing that he was near tears. J.D. lifted his head, wide-eyed with horrifying bewilderment, his mouth opened, but he made no sound and then frantic gagging. Buck rushed over to him and placed a calming hand on the boy's shoulder. "Take it easy, J.D."

"I killed her Buck. Killed her like I done t' Annie and don't try t' deny it 'cause it's true." "J.D., ya didn't do anythin' wrong."

Her veil of hair like black silk mesmerized him and he could not turn his eyes away; being both repelled and entranced.

"Ya done no such thing, J.D. Wasn't yer fault." Buck gripped J.D.'s shoulders turning him away from the tub and Bridget. "She did this t' herself. Josiah claims that she's b'n runnin' for a long time. Bridget jes' got tired of runnin' is all 'n I hope t' God she's finally found herself peace."

"It don't matter what ya say Buck. It won't change the facts. If I hadn't b'n all fired up tryin' t' find that paper on her, she'd still be alive today."

"J.D. . . ." Buck reached out his hand to the kid, but J.D. balked at the touch.

"Leave me be, Buck." J.D. ran out the door leaving Buck stunned and then recovering chased after him.

Nathan's brow furrowed as he watched Buck and J.D. rush from the room and felt a wash of relief when Josiah appeared, his massive frame obstructing the hallway's light as he stood in the doorway. Josiah bowed down his head when he caught sight of Bridget's slacken features, still beautiful even in death. A *haunting* beauty that no doubt will do just that to many of them, Vin mostly. Merciful God, how he worried on Vin. What of the boy, J.D.? What will become of him? Not so long ago, he carried the burden of another woman's death. Why do you torment him so? Josiah struggled to hold back his anger knowing his propensity to lash out at God during times of adversity. He needed to keep his wits, to be strong for Vin and J.D.

Josiah was broken-hearted at the sight of her having come to enjoy their evening walks and spirited talks of literature and life. An educated woman with a quick mind, so much to offer this world, believing that she was stronger than this having endured so much already. It just didn't make sense to him, but her death was as real as him breathing.

"Did she leave this world peaceable, Brother Nathan?" Josiah walked towards the tub, but averted his eyes not wishing to disgrace her in death, though the raven hair drew him.

Nathan stood up, bone-stiff and sunken-eyed as he handed the bottle to Josiah. "Looks like she done drunk the whole thing. Heart slows, breathin' slows, too. That alone c'n kill yuh. Musta slipped down inta the water and drowned, unaware." Nathan gripped the bottle in his strong earth-brown hands. "'Twas peaceable, Josiah."

"Yuh want t' help get her outta here." Steadying himself, Nathan pulled back the quilt and handed it to Josiah as he lifted Bridget with aching care. Emotions writhed around them as they worked, while their tender hands swaddled her, laying her on the bed. "Best get her down t' the undertakers."

With a hangdog heart, Josiah nodded to Nathan lifting the diminutive bundle into his arms, leaving the room in a grim death-walk.

*****************************

The pounding of hooves on bedrock cut into him and the puffs of dry dust burned his eyes as they rode towards the town that appeared to shimmer and melt in the late morning sun. Vin felt the gunman's needle-sharp eyes pierce him as they cantered side by side, keeping his gaze on the zenith of a distant hill rather than respond to the unvoiced concern of those eyes. Wielding all his strength, he was able to fight Nettie's strong-voiced resistance to his departure and her desire to keep him abed for a day or two more. Chris was strangely quiet during their good-intentioned struggle and that unsettled Vin, but he quelled his fretting like sandbags against a rising tide.

The sickish blood-scent of decay caught at his stomach as he saw the remains of prey lying in the sun-yellowed grasses on the side of the road. Kneeing Peso, he quickened his pace and breathed deep into a passing swell of sweet air that calmed the queasy disquiet within him. Still those eyes watched him like steadfast sentinels searing him with a firebrand intensity. Trusting this man with his life from the get go, but oftentimes soul-whipped by his bitter words; he still remained at the gunman's side. Aware of the devil-anger that possessed Chris at times, Vin held no malice towards the man. Larabee like rock and Vin chiseling through the layers, finding the core of the gunfighter to be shale-soft; Vin stayed at the knowing.

Colorless and dust-dry, the buildings creaked and moaned against the assault of sudden desert winds as Russian thistle rolled and spun an erratic course along the dirt-packed road. Quiet in a way that made goose-skin rise up on him and his gut clench tight, Vin turned to Chris as they both eyed the town, waiting. Wood signs clapping against store fronts as townsfolk tucked up coat collars and pulled down hats to protect against the dirt-pelting wind and still no *tells* of the men.

Chris and Vin dismounted, tethering their horses and stood on the boardwalk studying the town as they caught sight of Josiah and Nathan rising like ghosts from the undertaker's doorway. Grainy gusts snatched at Vin's hat as he walked across the roadbed with Chris at his side, giving a hurried vague look to each other. Then turned back to Nathan and Josiah who stood graveyard-silent shadowing pinewood coffins that rested against the aged-gray clapboard of the building front. Nathan's huge roaming hands grappled for his hat as a gust flapped and pulled at its brim while Josiah shrugged down into his coat; a mad desire to be hurled away on the passing wind-burst. Rooted in place as the wind growled in his ears, Josiah waited for Vin and Chris, gathering words to balm the soul.

"Somethin' wrong?" Chris angled himself in front of Vin; a protective instinct mounting. The scent and breath of the tracker close; a charge humming through Vin like a lightning bolt not yet struck. Hair rising up on the gunman as he heard the preacher discharge a soul-gripping despair.

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord." * Job 1:21 As he spoke, Josiah brought up his hand and placed it on Vin's shoulder, feeling the rapid-quick breath spasm through the man's narrow frame. "She's gone, Brother Vin. She's finally free. Escaping the burdens, the travails of this unkind world. Gone to a better place. Bridget has found her peace."

"No." Flat, cold and unbelieving.

"Vin, it's true, son, and denyin' this won't bring her back." Strong hands on the defiant, angry shoulders.

"How?" The word strangled in his throat and then loosed, sounding cracked and raw.

"Laudanum . . . drowned." The preacher held firm to Vin, feeling the core of him contort and groan in silent, still anguish.

"She wouldn't of done that." Vin twisted away from Josiah, fading into the murky blackness of the undertaker's showroom and pushed aside the crimson draperies that hung like rivulets of blood weeping down walls, soaking into the cold merciless planked flooring.

Lamp sconces around the room glowed with an eerie light and cast ghost-shadows as Vin approached a humble, wooden table. Awls, saws, and clamps dangled with bloodthirsty menace from a scrolled chandelier above him, causing Vin to duck his head and with an awful panic reached towards the corpse-white cotton cloth. Gut-punched as he looked down at her, his legs buckled unable to hold him, but then hands strong on his arms righting him. Jaw clenched and eyes glazed, Vin studied the face tracking for signs of foul play. Breath stilled as he saw the bruises around her mouth and further down upon the pale-smooth shoulders.

"Nathan, there." Vin brushed his finger with a gentle touch around her lips. "Bruises 'n here too, on her shoulders. Ya see it?" Hearing no response, only the soft thumping sounds of shuffling feet and a tight, high-strung cough that jerked up Vin's head with bristly annoyance.

"Vin, the brusin' that yuh see was from a few days ago." Nathan squared himself in front of the tracker. "She done killed herself, Vin. Ain't nothin' goin' t' change that fact."

"No, she wouldn't of done it, Nathan." Vin's voice a whisper.

Chris stood close to Vin now and spoke, "How do you know that, Vin? How do you know what she would or wouldn't do? Ya haven't known her all that long?"

"Long enough, Larabee." Not to be whipsawed by Nathan or Chris' words, Vin steadied his thoughts and breathing. "I b'lieve Bridget was killed 'n I don't give a damn if'n ya don't b'lieve it as true. Where was that fancy fella last night? Why the hell didn't ya put him in jail?"

Knowing Vin was not able to listen to reason; Chris nodded to Nathan and Josiah to leave him to it and placed his hand on Tanner's shoulder. "Vin, I know it's not easy seein' her this way, but it's done with and we got things needing t' be taken care of. Travis is in an all fired hurry t' get on with things. And ya know as well as I do that we couldn't hold that man. Bridget cut him. We were lucky he didn't want her jailed." Chris squeezed Vin's shoulder and gave him a pat as he brought the cloth back over her, shifting the tracker away from the table with a gentle nudge. "Let's get out of here, Vin. Josiah will take care of everything. You need t' get some rest. Nettie'd have my head, if you took a turn on us."

Startled wild blue eyes stared at Chris for a moment and then a nod given, showing a distance too wide to traverse and Chris worried on that as they left in a black, gaping silence.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

The funeral procession advanced with slow, disconsolate steps as the bagpipe whined and wheezed strains of Amazing Grace. The cherry wood casing of the hearse, deep polished, shone with a dazzling luster that seemed out of place in the dull-dust town, although the working girl's frippery rivaled its flash. J.D. would have been amused at the unusual sight, but he knew that he would never feel lighthearted again. He watched with black morose eyes while Josiah, slow-stepped behind the wagon, his chest adorned with a ceremonial cross that glinted in the light, flicking an accusatory glare towards J.D. The scene all too familiar; J.D. touched a nervous hand to the curved brim of his bowler hat and proceeded at a distance behind the dismal masses moving towards the cemetery.

The dry stir of winds snatched at the long brown hair, swirling loose over Vin's face, impassive as earthy stone. The shading of oak trees sheltered him in his sorrow as he rooted himself into the gray coarseness of its bark. A shadow to his right and knowing it was J.D. only brought more sadness to Vin's heart. Blame heavy on the kid, evident as he hid himself among the brush and Vin chose at that moment to no longer be angry.

Chris, Mary and Nathan to Josiah's right and Buck with the women offering condolence as Nettie and Casey stood solemn; their vigil more for Vin's sake. Ezra chose to sleep-in, but no one thought unfavorable of him as he had organized and covered the cost of the funeral with humble anonymity. Murmuring prayer as worry skittered among them; their heads turned and eyes searched for the man more than likely hid away, not able or willing to accept comfort. Buck caught sight of J.D., a pitiful lump of boy hiding in the scrub and bramble, torturing himself for no purpose that Buck could figure. Closing his eyes, Buck pressed himself tight into the soft, sweet, pliable flesh of the surrounding women that nurtured him a calm like that of a child at his mother's breast, thinking of nothing else.

Josiah's eulogy, soul-passionate and stirring, reached the tree-lined edges of the graveyard, capturing the two lost men in its misery and Vin shut his eyes with the aching of it.

Closing the Bible with a slow, heavy thud, the preacher lifted his gray-flecked head and spoke: "I want t' share a verse with you now, that Brother Vin had shared with me some time ago. It's hauntingly poetic 'n comfortin' in its simplicity."

Standing beside Chris, Mary raised her moon-white hand to her eyes and dabbed at the tears that came at those words, grieving for Vin. The gunman stood quiet and black as a shadow dance against the pale-light sky, his emotions like breath against candle-flame flickering with fitful agitation. Almost not felt, zephyr-light across his knuckles and then strong like the woman beside him, stroking his hand with a tender-silk touch as that of a longed-for and familiar lover.

Quiet, but for the weeping of women, Josiah began:

"I sleep with the moon and sun,
I fly among the stars.
Do not weep for me.
I am home."

Throat strangled tight with tears not shed, J.D. searched the tree-line and spotting Vin became still like an animal catching scent, his heart thrumming, readying for flight and then with a rabbit-quick glance, J.D. saw Vin had faded or never was like that of dried willow brush smoke.

**********************

Vin carried several pouches of untanned buffalo hide called parfleche, a fur quiver trimmed with beading and deerskin filled with arrows made from dogwood, flint arrowheads and owl feathers. A bow made from the Osage orange tree tightly wrapped with buffalo sinew clutched in his hand along with a pair of deerskin leggings and moccasins that had thick buffalo hide soles. Vin, already clad in leggings tied around his belt and moccasins, piled the clothing into J.D.'s lap and with a quick nod, spoke: "Be ready."

All eyes on Vin as he left the saloon, looking more Indian than white and the men finally finding their voices. Josiah first with a slow, rumbling laugh that grew louder and the men joining in, while J.D. sat stunned then smiling broad, knowing Vin was no longer angry.

Buck slapped J.D. on the back, jubilant, with a loud whoop and tilted his handsome face to him and grinned. "Told ya that boy would come 'round. He's a good man, J.D. 'n a good friend. Ya listen 'n learn, ya hear me? Make me proud."

A fixed, wide smile on J.D.'s face as he floated from his chair, extending his hand around the table to each man, thanking them as he gathered up the strange clothing and flew hawk-swift out the batwing doors, for once not annoyed at the men's laughter.

***************

The land like dun-colored camel-humps curved up then leveled flat at haphazard intervals. Skyline taunted close than far; distances beguiling J.D.'s unskilled eyes. Seeming to be a lifetime away or at least too far to walk, J.D. focused on crags and crests of scaly steel-gray dragon mountains that rested their jaggy claws on the edge of the yellow-grass coverlet. Generous, mother-mountains that sustained life with their outpouring of sweet waters; snow and rain made from the clouds. Vin told him this before and J.D. whispered a thank you as he sipped a hint of water from the hide-sheathed canteen.

Still, Vin did not speak as they walked through short yellow grasses that appeared to stand in uniformed attention from his distant view. Restless curiosity jangled at him, screaming to be released, to question, but J.D. held back and waited. When Vin became still, so did J.D. When Vin crouch-walked, so did J.D. Snake-crawling up rises and waiting, a year's time of waiting, then head lifted, hidden in the play of dried yellow strands looking towards nothing.

Coming to a river, J.D. watched as Vin studied the bank and mud bar, squatting, rising, walking along the edges and signing to J.D. Graceful-quiet, J.D. stepped light and deliberate on the loose pebbled soil, reaching Vin and waited.

"Animals have diff'rent tracks. This here is the antelope. Ya c'n tell by the sharp point at the front of the hoof." Rising from his squat, Vin pointed towards more mud-prints. "Deer prints. B'hind the print of the deer are two markings that are made by two small hoofs." Again rising and grabbing hold of a branches, pointing to leaves. "The deer was feedin'. It seems t' be movin' scattered-like, not in a straight path, not afraid. 'N there it crossed over t' the other side of the river."

Darkness thickening around them, Vin nodded to J.D. "We'll camp 'n eat down river aways." Vin smiled at the kid for the first time and J.D. wanted to leap at the sight, but then just a small nod back, though showing a smile that near split open his face.

A small smokeless "Indian" fire served to roast the dried meat that Vin carried in his parfleche, that along with water and some pemmican was their meal. J.D. cozying up into his blanket thumped himself back against a small boulder and studied the brush that sheltered their camp. The meal was eaten in silence and J.D. wondered if Vin would ever speak again, but then his question answered as Vin's raspy growl of a voice pawed its way into his pondering.

"When I's a little feller livin' with the People, my pa took me huntin' fer a coupla days 'n taught me things that I'd like t' teach ya. If'n yer agreeable t' that." Vin waited as J.D. sat upright, closer to the fire and nodded his head, 'yes'.

"Alright." Vin sat cross-legged and stared out into the expansive ebony night. "Most important thing t' r'member is t' always be brave. Never fear anythin'." Vin grinned at that and looked close at J.D. "That's easier said." Then a graveled, low laugh as J.D. joined in with him. "Best t' listen than talk, 'specially 'round elders. Learn from 'em all ya c'n. Always be honest, nev'r lie, not even in jokin'. Learn t' hunt well t' feed yer people." Vin raised himself up into a squat and added more willow brush into the small fire, letting his elbows rest on his legs as his sinewy arms hung loose in front of him. "Keep yer friends close 'n give yer life fer 'em if'n it comes t' it. Think of y'self last." Vin sighed and looked at J.D. "That's 'nough fer now."

The fickle bird-breezes twittered and swooped through the thirl of brush; a quick teasing then gone and back again. Vin and J.D. with open-eyed night dreams watched the hypnotic ember-glow, strangely unfinished without its companionate smoke. Vin's mind skirred back, tasting the pemmican made by his mother's hand and listening to the huge, rumbly, gentle voice of Black Bear, handsome and regal with his loamy earth-scent and molasses-smooth face. Squatting near the same dull-cherry smokeless flames, only now Vin the learner, the wilds' mysteries coming to him with a natural ease.

Back now, Vin poked at the fire, a weeping, yearning sigh released, as he rubbed methodic and slow across the scars on his jaggy-scored wrist. "We best git movin'. Come mornin' we'll be huntin' game."

"I thought we were going to camp here, Vin?" Perplexed why Vin wanted to leave the shelter of their camp, not thrilled with the idea of wandering around in the dark without his guns at the ready. Failing the first lesson already, J.D. chanted to himself, be brave . . . be brave, repeating over and over as he gathered his blanket, canteen and parfleche, be brave . . . be brave . . . hoping that would make it happen.

"We're goin' t' move camp jes' in case someone saw us here 'n gits a notion t' jump us in the night." Vin tied up his belongings around his waist and hung the quiver and bow on his shoulder. "Let's mosey."

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Tar black, the gunman flowed into a chair loose and easy while a cheroot dangled from his slack, calm lips; a thin, quiet smile growing as he heard the gangling, familiar strut of an old friend.

"Evenin', Chris."

"Buck." Drawing deep on the cheroot, the cherry spark glared on the inhale and then dulled as the gunman released the smoke in a slow, reedy line. Buck watched the gray cloud thicken around them and sat down with a satisfied, smooth slide into the chair next to the gunman.

"B'n thinkin'." Buck shifted and smiled over at the gunman.

"That's dangerous." Chris grinned up at Buck, cat-eyed bright in the moon's glow. Slow and easy, a dance remembered between friends and then a small scrap of a laugh, growing loose and unbroken.

"Ya don't think Vin brought the kid out there t' kill him do ya?" Serious as he turned towards Chris and then shaking his head at the thought. "Nah."

"I don't recall him bringing his gun with him." Tempted by a devil-laugh that struggled to break free, Chris coughed it back and then spoke. "Does have that knife, though."

"Damn good with that knife, ain't he?" Buck smiled, happy now to play the game, thinking how long it had been and how good it felt.

"None better." Chris choked out a laugh and Buck joined him.

"Easy there, fella." Buck brought up his huge paw of a hand and tapped Chris on the back until the choking and laughter ebbed and they both let loose a sigh. Easy quiet filled the space between them.

"Ya think Vin's all right?" Buck reached down to the whiskey bottle and took a long, burning pull.

"Ya know Vin. Ain't he always?" Chris grabbed for the bottle, not wanting to worry on Vin.

"Things seem t' be eatin' at the boy, though. Even b'fore Bridget dyin'." Buck grabbed back the bottle.

"The war." Chris took a long draw on the cheroot and turned to Buck. "Something's playin' on him. Not our business, though."

Buck's eyes darkened at the words spoken and shook his head. "Nothin' wrong with friends showin' concern fer their friends."

"Wrong if they don't want it, Buck." Chris rose up brittle-cold from the chair.

"Ya talkin' 'bout yerself here, Chris or Vin?" Buck stood dead on to Chris, anger rising as he felt his stomach meet his heart.

"Don't matter which, just leave it be, Buck." Chris bent down, black fluid snatching the bottle and drank, long: raw, burning and slamming hard into his gut.

"I'll leave it be, Chris. I learned quick." Buck sat down resigned and angry, but wanting to bring peace. "What d'ya think they're up t', Vin 'n J.D., I mean?"

"Not sure." Wanting to be easy again, Chris sat back down next to Buck. "J.D.'s learnin' a thing or two, I expect."

Buck smiled. "Yeah. Lucky kid. Gotta damn fine teacher."

"None better." Chris lit up a cheroot, handing the bottle to Buck with a grin. "What the hell else do ya think he's got in that wagon?"

Laughter, low and easy, as the dance resumed.

**********************

CHAPTER EIGHT

A load of elk meat tied to their backs, chalky-faced grins and long hair flying wild on both; the wind tugging at them as Vin and J.D. made their way down the main road. Buck saw them first and called to the other men in the saloon to come double-quick. Black hair making J.D.'s dust-dingy face appear cadaver-white with snatches of dark bristles around the edges. Vin's blue eyes sparking bright and golden-hued whiskers catching the sun with the turn of his head as he talked with the kid the entire length of the town's road. The men grinned, watching as Tanner bobbed his head and laughed aloud at something J.D. said and eye-balled each other amazed. Ezra shook his head, yanking at his shirt cuffs and allowed a smile to come as sweet and smooth as a brandy julep. "It appears that Mr. Dunne has absconded with our resident tracker and replaced him with this charlatan. I have never seen Vin look so, shall we say, effervescent."

Josiah watched the two young men with riveted fascination. "Brother Vin does appear a mite bubbly, don't he?"

Buck laughed and slapped Josiah across his broad-backed shoulders. "That boy is darn near floatin'." Nathan nodded his head in agreement as he leaned against the rail watching. Chris stepped off the boardwalk and grinned at the two men. "You boys look like ya could use somethin' t' wash down that dust." His grin getting wider watching the pleasure in the tracker's eyes. "Ezra's buyin'."

"Hell, in that case I'll have me a few." Tanner untied the stripped and cut elk wrapped in hide from his back and nodded to J.D. to do the same. "We'll git the meat over t' the restaurant see if'n they can store it fer awhile 'til we c'n git it t' the families that c'n use it."

Nathan stepped forward. "I'll do that for yuh, Vin. You 'n J.D. look like yuh b'n walkin' all day. Go git y'self somethin' t' drink 'n set for a spell. Yuh still shoulda b'n restin' afta that knock t' yuh head."

Vin grinned at the healer. "My head's jes' fine, Nathan. Didn't fall down once, did I J.D.?"

"He was just fine, Nathan. Hell, never saw an arrow fly so straight 'n far. Took down that cow like nothin'. Snuck up on 'em and even when they caught scent, he got her running across the river." Chris watched Vin the whole time J.D. talked about the hunt, smiling as the man's face flushed with the open admiration of the kid, knowing Vin was fighting his instinct to take flight.

"I wasn't talkin' 'bout that J.D., but it does mean that he ain't got blurred vision no more." Nathan continued to watch Vin and brought his hand out to touch behind the tracker's ear. Vin jumped back at the intrusion. " I'd 'preciate it, Nathan 'n you too, J.D. not t' be talkin' 'bout me like I ain't even standin' here."

"Sorry, Vin." J.D. lowered his head, but had a hard time containing his smile. It had been the best time with Vin, better than he could have imagined and knowing Vin taught him things and told him things about his life, well that was something J.D. would cherish. A brother teaching his brother and J.D. glowed brighter than the desert's summer sun.

"No harm. Let's git that beer." Cuffing J.D. on the back, Vin sent up a thin whirlwind of dust into the air.

"You boys drink up, then get a bath." Walking alongside Vin as he spoke, Chris paused causing the marksman to look at him. "Travis wants us to meet at the hotel. You up for that?" Whip-sharp eyes that could stripe with a glimpse, but never that way when he looked at Vin . . . never.

Vin was still as calm water, then nodding. "I reckon."

"All right then. Let's get that drink." Hand settling on Tanner's shoulder as they entered the saloon. "Best get to that bath quick. You and J.D. smell riper than a coupla polecats."

Rough, feigned-edgy laughter and then, "Go t' hell, Larabee."

*****************

An anemic-red wool carpet lay pale on the hotel lobby floor worn and dulled from trampling dust and dirt. Centered on the rug was a dark wood pedestal table adorned with a porcelain vase brimming with yellow lupine, purple foxglove, forsythia and statice. Ornate kerosene oil lamps hung from the ceiling that cast a warm, rich glow through the room. A Victorian lamp with crystal glass baubles shaped like starry droplets set smartly on a side table near a decorative wood chair.

Vin entered the dining room and stood quiet amid the tables covered with linen-white cloths being readied for the evening diners, heart pounding with the memory of Bridget and his last time in a fancy restaurant. He ran his damp palms down the legs of his brown whipcord trousers and fretted with the buttons on his red bib-front shirt. The brown bandanna seemed to chokehold him and he needed to get some air. Chocolate-brown wide leather suspenders clung to his lean torso and his hair still damp nestled and curled itself against the nape of his neck as his blue eyes searched the room. Spotting Orrin Travis, dressed in his usual austere, black suit, Vin with a loose-jointed gait made his way over to the Judge. Travis directed Tanner with a quick jut of his chin to a side room that annexed the dining room. Vin nodded and entered the chamber, greeted by the boys pouring themselves drinks of fine Scotch whiskey left for their indulgence.

The men sat about a grand, cherry wood table that ran almost the length of the room. Ten Windsor chairs surrounded it, four on each side and one a piece at each end. Vin sat close to the door with his back to the wall; a mite too civilized for a parley wanting to be at the town's shadowy saloons with its gunmetal-sweat and *gutwarmers*.

Ezra spoke to Vin with words that Vin didn't even attempt to understand, his mind again in that distant place that seemed to whorl down upon him without reason or understanding. She had done this to him, but Vin knew that it was on the rise before Bridget. Questions pointed as arrows seemed to bore into him and Vin could find no escape. Slings and arrows . . . something Josiah said once. Slings and arrows . . . his mind was not his own of late and it frightened him. A man that thought straight and clear, except that one time when he was not clear, he was not strong and chose a path that was of a coward. He had decided to let that go, not to question it, but it haunted him, now . . . that he was not what he believed himself to be, that Bridget was not as he *sensed* her to be . . . like gun flash . . . Chris' voice beside him and a slap on his back as a thin, shiny glass brimming with a gold-tone liquor set in his slender hand. A somber nod and a darkly, small smile, feeling Chris peel him with those razor-eyes and Vin turned away until he could think again without the haunting.

A need to be with a woman came to him from some lonely desire just then, and he would go to the maidens this night. Knowing it was not with the intentions of love or marriage that he came, but still each wanted to be his choice, to be with him. Coupling, as natural to Vin as all things of his world and he had no shame of his desires or physicalness. The whisperings of the women when he came to them in his dark, quiet way brought a flush to his face, but a deep part within enjoying their attention. Vin swallowed down the liquor, smooth and easy, as it settled itself in the bowels of him and he relaxed himself into the hard wood of the Windsor chair, thrusting his right leg forward, always allowing himself quick readiness to his mare's leg. Reaching for the bottle, Vin poured another and raised the glass to Larabee, showing fine white-teeth that brought reassurance to the hair-trigger gunman as Chris returned the smile.

Six faces turned to the door, hearing the sound of men's voices in confidential, old friend tones that made the men look to each other questioning Travis' association with whoever was with him. Vin with head down watching the light play off the shades of whiskey, did not look to Travis right away and only when he heard Larabee mutter an "Oh, boy," did he raise up his head.

A black mist grew like some primordial killing-force that was not of his control; a lethal-coil of sinew and bone sprang from the chair as Vin clutched at the throat of the man beside Travis. Shocking the Judge by his actions, Orrin reached for Tanner and then abruptly pushed aside with an elbow to his stomach. Chris and Josiah twisted Vin from his victim who struggled to catch a mouthful of air, but none came to the man as the killing-hand clamped tight around his throat. Josiah wrapped his huge arms around the narrow, sturdy torso of the tracker growling orders to Vin's rabid-marred mind. Still, Vin did not bow until Chris grabbed Tanner's wrists with both hands and wrenched with full-bodied strength. The death-grip loosened, releasing the man as he fell to the sleek, oak flooring with a shuddering sob and groan, gasping in deep pulls of air.

Josiah hauled the struggling marksman from the room, through the now crowded hotel lobby and deposited him down onto the boardwalk. It took all the older man's capacity and his breathing labored from the kicking, clawing cat-a-mountain that writhed and exploded in his arms. Black as a shadowing crow, Chris stood dangerously silent watching the manic pacing of Tanner and said nothing for a long stretch as Josiah gained back his breath and strength. Currents of anger sparked from the static gunman and the pulsating tracker. Josiah placed himself between the men and spoke, reaching for the younger man's shoulder, forcing him stop his pacing. "I'm goin' back inside. Talk t' Chris." Turning to leave, Josiah studied the gunman and felt relief to see a calm in the oftentimes-turbulent eyes.

Vin dropped down into a squat, still coiled like a savage wild cat, but contained in that moment; no movement, only the quick rises and falls of his chest. His heart flogging against his torso and then pounding into his ears as he took breath and calmed. "He kilt her 'n I have ev'ry right t' kill him fer it."

Chris lowered himself down next to the tracker and placed a calming hand on the knee of the younger man beside him. "Why is it so damn hard for you to accept the fact that Bridget killed herself, Vin? I don't understand, but I want t', can you tell me?"

Vin brushed off the hand on his knee. "Nothin' t' understand, Larabee. Ain't nothin' wrong with me. That man's a stone killer 'n I ain't 'bout t' work fer him."

"What about the People, Vin? Ain't that more important than your accusations and your anger?" Allegiance strong for the Kwahadi, for all the People, Chris waited knowing Vin would only have one choice.

"Cch . . . ain't right t' be usin' that against me, Larabee. Y' know how I feel 'bout all that damn business." Vin stood and paced again.

"Then let's make it right." Chris rose and watched the tracker. "We'll work it *all* out. All right, Vin?"

A deadfall before him and knowing it with every fiber in him, but nodded his head in agreement following Larabee back inside.

John Prescott took a shaky, deep drink of Scotch and sat down with trembling foal-legs. His white-blonde hair fell with a boyish sweep across his forehead and touched the long lashes that framed the blue eyes. Like Janus, two-faces appeared, cherubic-purity, yet corrupted with a scar-jagged hideousness. Josiah felt evil rise before him like a cold, shivering wall; dream-eyes foretelling of the serpent's betrayal and knew that they may very well be joining allegiance with the devil, himself. Vin felt it. Vin knew it. Maybe they should take heed . . . maybe.

Chris entered with Vin beside him. "Tanner wants t' apologize for trying t' . . . well . . . t' kill ya." The men muffled laughter as Chris hesitated and then pushed the tracker forward. "You can understand how he was feeling, seeing you tried t' hurt that girl a few days ago."

Again, a nudge to Vin who glared at the gunman and then spoke, "Sorry."

"We're not too fond of men that hurt woman." Chris sat down across from the scarred-face man, pulling Tanner with him. Nodding towards a chair, his eyes shouted 'sit'. Tanner continued to glare and sat.

"Apology accepted. I understand Mr. Tanner's actions completely, though I fear you Gentlemen misunderstood what occurred with the woman and myself. It was she that tried to cause me harm, though I hold no malice. I heard the poor woman died recently. I'm truly sorry." John Prescott remained controlled, though he seethed inside, revenge strong in his heart.

Judge Travis rose nodding at Chris and Vin; face plainly showing that he would put up with no more foolhardy behavior. "Now that Mr. Tanner has regained his senses, we will begin, but I would like to have a word with the two of you later. This is Mr. John Prescott. For reasons of his own, he will be financing this evidence-gathering trip. I will give him the floor to explain all the details."

Prescott rose and drank down the remaining alcohol, his hands still shaky like wind-blown leaves. Bruising evident now around his neck and jawbone; Vin smiled at that and poured a drink, throwing it back.

"Introductions are not necessary because I have researched all your backgrounds or as much as I could procure. Mr. Tanner, you seem to have appeared out-of-thin air." John Prescott taunted with eyes bright as crazed blue moons, enjoying himself. Where others had brawn, he had intelligence and knew how to attack his prey. He watched the plainsman shift in his chair, watched as his breathing increased and saw a flicker of anxiety plainly in the eyes. Clearly the man was hiding *something* and it would be *something* Prescott would find out before this trip ended. Yes, revenge would be his twofold. Well, Mr. Tanner . . . Harsh lessons learned.

John Prescott cleared his throat, poured a drink and put it to his lips; hands steady now. With a two-faced smile that gave a chill up Josiah's spine, Prescott stood before them with his boyish-beauty. Wolf in sheep's clothing prattled singsong through the preacher's mind as he watched the mad, blue eyes drown Vin in their devil-glow.

"We are going on a cattle drive, Gentlemen. We will take the Denver and Rio Grande up to Albuquerque and then board the Southern, Atlantic and Pacific to Texas. Our destination will be Tascosa." A sharp intake of breath from the men and naked-fear on J.D.'s face, buried away quick, but Prescott saw it. "Is there something wrong, Gentlemen?"

"Why Tascosa?" Chris and Travis studied each other then, and Chris understood as he searched those gray, penetrating eyes. Travis knew . . . he would watch Vin's back. Chris nodded and settled back in the chair with a mollified smile.

"The cattle'll more 'n likely be comin' in from the Panhandle. We c'n take the Tascosa-Dodge City trail down aways 'n then split off t' Fort Sill."

"That's right, Mr. Tanner. Are you familiar with the area?"

"Some." Tanner snatched the bottle, pouring a drink, raising it to Prescott and sipped it with a dead-eyed calm.

Prescott smiled and continued. "There we will buy cattle that we will sell to John Evans. The miscreant that normally buys the cattle from these *cattle thieves* has graciously stepped down and has organized the purchase for us. I will not go into details about how those events came into play, but rest assured we will not be bothered by the gentleman, I use that term loosely, again." Travis cleared his throat at that, not wanting to know what tactics Prescott used, questioning whether the end justified the means. He would keep a firm hand on Prescott, knowing his motives were solely vengeful.

"The Indians receive 10 1/2 lb. of beef per week per person. A representative from The Board of Indian Commissions has reported to President Grant the abysmal condition of the cattle being brought into the reservations. Some cattle were in such poor condition that an Indian only could retain hide from it. The Representative stated that if a knife was run along the backbone of the cattle not even a pound of beef could be had. Though, they claim it is only a problem during the winter months with range-fed cattle becoming thinner and weaker, I believe that to be untrue. Also, claiming that rations are held up in Caddo due to poor weather is highly doubtful. My shipment was intentionally held up and left to spoil because a better price was negotiated with another Produce Company. I lost a few thousand dollars, which is a minor inconvenience to me, but Mr. Evans should be held accountable for his actions. It is rumored that he is paying up to twelve thousand dollars a year to a Caleb Marsh and Secretary William Belknap. A payment given to retain his lucrative post-tradership. We know that the cattle being sold is carrion and we will have the evidence at the purchase of that cattle. We will see what price is paid and we will also see how John Evans bilks the Government and gains himself a tidy little profit. This is when Judge Travis will step in and gently persuade Mr. Evans to share all he knows of this corruption. And that Gentlemen will be the task ahead us. Any questions?" John Prescott again poured himself a drink and sipped it content that everything was falling into place and he would soon be the victor.

CHAPTER NINE

The meeting had ended with little tumult while Ezra's thoughts were on the lovely Miss Abigail Roberts, hoping to catch a moment or two with her before the evening's end. A woman who showed little deference to social propriety, Ezra knew Abby would not be the least self-conscious dining alone. Keen, jewel-eyes swept the dining room thinking of John Prescott, an interesting fellow, a tad repugnant with his deviant proclivity towards women, although a man of intelligence and financially . . . to put it bluntly, filthy rich. It might serve them well if he befriended the man, especially for Mr. Tanner's sake, an apparent animosity between the two men, and if he benefited from that association so much the better. Opportunities seemed to be at every turn of late and Ezra could not quell the exhilaration of it all. Abigail Roberts, a fine wealthy and (many thanks to a generous God), beautiful woman, seemed to enjoy his company and appeared to have no other suitors, leaving the possibilities limitless. To his amazement, Lady Luck truly might be smiling upon him in this dusty little burg and telling Maude of his success, well that would be the sweetest triumph of all.

With a blissful tug at his lapels, then a delicate run of his fingers along hat brim, Ezra smiled with distant, fanciful eyes. A nod of his head to Tanner who studied him as he sat with Travis and Larabee, eyes squinted and self-possessed, made Ezra wonder if the man had the uncanny ability to read minds. Ezra would put nothing passed that man and made a hasty departure with a wink and a salute with finger to hat. All things come to those who wait and he had all the patience in the world. Yes, patience was his middle name, Ezra P. for Patience Standish. The gaming tables might offer him a pleasant diversion while waiting for his mother lode.

"Vin, you all right with this whole thing?" A light touch to Vin's forearm that rested on the table, as Chris traveled the tracker's line of vision and spotted Ezra practically prancing into the hotel lobby. "What's goin' on with Standish?" Always suspicious when it came to the gambler, though proving his loyalty more than once; Chris knew a man's weakness could divide or destroy allegiance.

"I ain't sure, but it cain't be good." A full, wide smile lightening up Vin's features that seemed to remain sullen and brooding after his encounter with Prescott. Travis coughed out a laugh and rubbed at his sandpapery eyes as he grabbed at the bottle and poured each man a full glass of Scotch.

"Well, Standish is the least of our worries and I need to know I can count on you men." The Judge searched Vin's face as he thrummed the table with his fingers and ran a curved thumb over the rim of the glass. "I know that Prescott is a weasel of a man, but this is what the committee gave me to work with and seeing it's costing the Government nothing there was no way I could argue against it. So there we are." Travis raised up the glass and threw back the shot, taking in a gasp of air as the alcohol filled his belly. "Can I count on you, Mr. Tanner . . . Vin?"

"Don't go on the worry 'bout me, Judge. I'll watch yer back 'n the boys. Goes without sayin'." Vin lifted his glass to the Judge and Chris. "I'll b' watchin' Prescott real close like, though. You c'n count on that."

"All right, Vin, but no trouble. Ya hear me." Chris' grabbed hold of Vin's arm, worry about Tascosa and worry about Prescott. "Come t' me first before you do anything, promise me that." A tighter grip on the tracker's arm and firebrand-eyes burning into him as Vin raised up his head matching the gunman's intensity. "Your word, Vin. I want your word."

A long wait then, Chris pouring another drink as a slow, soft rasp of voice hovered in the air then rested with a calming ease upon the gunman. "Y' got it, Larabee."

"All right."

Chris and Travis nodded as the Judge pushed back his chair. A growl released as he rose, angry at the protesting joints and stiffness in his back and extended out his hand to Vin and Chris with a firm grip, knowing he couldn't ask for better men by his side.

"Good night, Gentlemen. Hopefully, we'll get on with this business within a day or two."

****************************

She saw him then, all alone and more beautiful than any man she had ever known or dreamed about; a hawk not lashed by jess and leash, a look in his eyes of wisdom hard learned. Abigail Roberts needed to be with him and in her thirty-two years of joy and turmoil, of abundance and loss, nothing mattered to her except that very desire. She had loved only one man in her life, but lost him to the war. Betrothed before his departure, so in love as only love could be at eighteen and devastated, almost to lose herself in grief that took years to overcome. Not looking to love again, she married a kindly, older man that gave her his world, though Abigail had wealth of her own and needed none of his. William Roberts offered her love, but never demanded her love in return. Though she did care for him, she did not allow herself that luxury, too afraid of the inevitable hurt which did come, no matter how hard she fought against it, at his death two years ago.

This time she refused to hide away and after almost a year of cajoling, pleading and demanding, her family acquiesced in her *adventure* out in the savage west. Abby left two days later to her mother's tears, her father's stern disapproving face, her sister Jane's absolute shock and her older brother Patrick's huge, embracing hug that buoyed her at that moment when resolve broken and fear beating at her stronger than her heart, almost caused her to change her mind. Here she stood, a woman of means and widowed, ready to act as shameless as a sporting woman and damned if she cared.

Closer he came with that loose, easy stride that brought her heart to dancing and fluttering faster than a high-strung thoroughbred's and she took in a breath to gain calm. Too old to worry about deportment and too lonely to care, she knew this was a moment in her life that she wanted to have; a memory to hold dear like an old photograph to be viewed over and over through her lonely, bitter-winter years. Dear God, would he have her? Would he want to be with her? How assuming of her to think that she could just have him like that. Had life been that easy for her? Had things been given to her without any thought on her part as to cost or difficulty? She had always had beaus and had been considered a desirable and, dare she say, beautiful woman, but was it a beauty that a man raised in majestic and glorious lands be able to see, to be able to look beyond the shallow silk and pearls? Would he even remember *her*?

"Evenin' Miz Abigail."

"Good Evening, Mr. Tanner." Her heart so loud, she feared he would hear it. Joy so obvious, she feared he would see it. Foolish, foolish woman! Younger than her, she saw that at the restaurant, but did that matter? Would he find her *too* old? The bluest eyes regarded her with a curious glint and a tilt of his head as gentle-drifts of hair whiffed across his shoulders with the passing breezes.

"It's a mite late t' be wanderin' alone." Vin paused and watched her again, thinking that she had pleasing eyes. He had noticed that at the restaurant, going rigid-cold for a moment at those memories, and then relaxing at her smile. Doe-eyes, kind and gentle. "I c'n walk ya back t' the hotel if'n ya like?"

"That would be lovely, Mr. Tanner. Thank you."

"Vin, call me Vin."

"All right, Vin and please call me Abby."

They walked in a wind-scattering silence to the hotel as Vin watched the moonlight dance on her yellow-gold hair, flying free and loose, creating curly tendrils that encircled her flawless face unfamiliar to the sun; he thought of his sun-scrubbed features spattered with bristles aware of their disparity.

Abigail glided whisper-light to the hotel stairs fringed with an iron-scrolled railing on its left edge, waiting. With no immediate understanding of what to do, Vin stood rooted to the oak flooring.

"Come up." She knew her face was the shade of a muted burgundy rose as it always turned when she was incredibly ashamed or incredibly incensed. Maybe, she was both at herself, but she could not stop the words. It was her heart that seemed to override all rational thought like a solar eclipse, all sense blotted out and she prayed it would not alight for a very long time.

"I don't rightly think I should." Vin shrugged and did not continue.

"I know it's not appropriate for a woman to invite a gentleman to her room, but I have never been one to worry about what others thought." Abigail held out her hand to him as he stood stone-still like an artisan's statue, edges and angles of his sculptured face prominent in the hotel light. She watched him not aware of the hotel guests espying them with curious stares as they stepped passed on their way to their rooms.

Nearly ten o'clock, as the hotel manager finished off his duties and began instructing the night desk clerk while he made impatient, judgmental glances at the well-heeled woman and the town regulator who was, by his display earlier this evening, the most ill-bred and ill-natured of the lot.

"Be with me." That was it, she could say nothing more, offer nothing more, as she had prostrated herself at that moment. Vulnerable and open; she held her breath, hoping that this dream would not be destroyed.

A gaping yawn of time and then Vin took her hand, nodding; a lonely desire strong in him, too. Hands held as they walked the steps, never looking back at the manager's disapproving shake of head or the night clerk's seamy laughter.

****************************

The curves and swells of morning light nudged its way through the gravel-pocked, sun-blanched window shutters as Vin dressed with silent, sad intent pulling on his boots and raising up his suspenders that crisscrossed his lean torso, enclasping his well-drawn shoulders. She watched his cloudy profile against pale light granting him his quiet escape; easier for both this way and Abby closed her eyes, tugging up the bed linen tight around her neck. Sweet passion, bow and sway of grasses, attar of river and earth, possessively clutched to her heart; he gave her all she would ever aspire.

"Abby . . . I . . ." A whispery, gentle voice and then guttered out as Vin stood before the bed overflowing with puff-soft pillows, quilted-fabric bolsters and opulent silk coverings. He smiled as he saw the golden curls and delicate face peeking out from under the linens.

Abby looked at him. "It's all right, Vin."

"I cain't . . . not now." Back bowed as he reached to her, a weight upon him of a deep longing, but turning from it.

"Don't regret this. That would pain me more." Abby smiled, offering him release. "Go, it's fine. I'm fine."

A tender grasp to her shoulder with a shuddering, despairing sigh, leaving her softly, quietly like the gentle breezes in spring.

**********************

Ezra Standish entered the hotel lobby fashionably attired; an emerald green frock coat, black silk shawl-collared vest, black string tie adorning a snow-white shirt with an understated Perry collar and molded brim, black hat that sat with striking aplomb upon his reddish-brown hair. His foxy eyebrows rose high with keen eyes sparking greener and his soft features sharpened as he observed the room. The hotel manager extended a curt nod and Ezra made note of this as he ascended the stairs, impressed with the intricate details of the scrolled railing and the well-appointed lobby. Growth was evident in the short time he had been in Four Corners and it pleased him to see possibilities and polish settling upon the dust-coated town.

Pausing for a moment at Abigail's door, adjusting his coat and pulling at the sleek, smooth silk vest, Ezra nodded with self-appreciation and raised his hand to knock. Interrupted by a voice behind him that caused Ezra to spin on his heels, he turned to catch sight of John Prescott. Intuitive at first glance, Ezra shivered down the chill that surfaced and offered up a copious smile and amiable hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Prescott." Ezra withdrew his hand and abstractedly rubbed it down his pants' leg as if trying to rid himself of something sinister.

"Good morning, Mr. Standish." John Prescott tweaked up his white-blonde, almost transparent eyebrows with a conspiring smile that suggested to Ezra an inappropriate confidentiality, alerting him to grievous consequences. "I see you and Mr. Tanner share the same taste in women or should I say share the same women." A hand rose to Ezra's shoulder with a feigned, cordial press of palm and then a quick pat to Standish's back, elated as he watched the impact of his words on the man.

Ezra reeled back, imaginings too vivid as he continued to smile and laugh along with Prescott. An awful fascination made him speak. "I think you're mistaken, Mr. Prescott. Mr. Tanner has only just met the woman that we speak of, which I must say is quite inappropriate to be speaking of her at all, once before and he is most certainly *not * the young lady's sort. He's a bit wild and woolly as they say and I am quite positive you are mistaken." Ezra turned to the door satisfied and secure in his explanation.

"As you say, Mr. Standish, I must be incorrect. No woman of breeding would allow a man such as Mr. Tanner into their bed. I could almost believe him to be an outlaw of sorts, a wanted man, but I am sure that I have been influenced greatly by dime-store novels. He is a constable and works for Judge Travis. My imagination has been running wild since coming west. Very romantic and untamed . . . I see that it brings that out in the women as well." John Prescott smiled, slow and thick with cruelty as he turned away from the silenced gambler. "Good day, Mr. Standish."

Ezra pulled at his coat lapels and adjusted his hat, deciding to take it off and brought up his hand to knock, thinking better of it, he left.

*******************

Chestnut hair upright and straight as a rooster comb perched on his head, string tie loosened and his coat haphazardly tossed across a chair, most resting on the saloon floor amassing dusty footprints from the gathering crowd as Ezra Standish got drunk . . . malodorous, reeking . . . stinking drunk. The men had entered one by one, each lifting a brow and voicing silent amaze at the rumpled figure that slumped over the bar with one arm dangling at his side and then twitching high above his rusty Mohawk Indian-hair as he drooped and lulled over the wide wooden bar.

With one eye squinted and head angled low and tilted towards the men, Ezra called out to them as he weaved and tottered through the evening throng. "Good Evening, Gentlemen." Though inebriated, Ezra's diction was impeccable. Sidling up to the table, neither looking nor aware that there was no chair present, Ezra sat and landed with a dust-raising thud on his posterior. Vin Tanner rolled back on his heel at the sight his thumb hooked into his gun belt, giving out a laugh before he walked over to the gambler, extending out his hand.

"Well, if it isn't Lothario, himself. Are you through seducing and bedding all the women in Four Corners?" Ezra refused the hand up and reached for the side of the table, raising himself sloppily from the floor.

"I thought that was my job?" Buck grinned and stepped over the struggling man, pulling him up by his arms, settling him on a chair.

Forehead resting on the cool wood tabletop, Ezra let his arms sway alongside the chair, his fingers touching the floor. "Mr. Tanner seems to be in the running. You best watch out, Mr. Wilmington, you have gotten yourself some competition."

"What the hell's that 'spose t' mean, Ezra?" Vin did not appreciate being talked about, especially about him and women. Certain things were private and with Vin *most* things were; Standish was treading on dangerous ground.

"Why you and Miss Roberts, of course and you and Miss O'Brien, God rest her soul, and you and I'm sure countless other women who've seemed to have fallen for your barbaric charms that escape me as to what they might be. It appears that slovenly mountain men are quite sought after by women."

"Standish, you best watch what ya say from here on out. I know yer drunk 'n not amind t' what yer sayin' so I'll let it go fer now, but you keep on with that talk, I'll cut ya so ya won't nev'r be feelin' a need fer a woman again." Vin sat down and Chris placed a glass in front of him, pouring Vin a whiskey and one for himself.

With a grin, Chris lit up a cheroot and blew the smoke towards Ezra who appeared to be changing colors quicker than a chameleon and settling itself on an appalling green. "If I was you Ezra, I'd be careful of what I was saying from here on out."

"I do not appreciate threats against my manhood and I do not appreciate being made a fool by a Neanderthal." With unsteady legs, Ezra rose from the chair, saluting to the men as J.D. placed Ezra's coat over his shoulders.

Chris looked over at Vin who sat silent, containing his anger. "I'm thinkin' I jes' b'n insulted by that fancy man 'n I've got half a mind t' drop 'im where he stands."

"I can understand that." Chris kept his tone even and calm aware that the tracker might be half serious. "I'm thinkin' maybe you should wait until he sobers up a mite. He's so drunk, he won't hardly feel a thing and shoot that's no fun at all."

Vin poured a drink and tossed it back, letting out a growling gasp. "I reckon ya got a point." Vin nodded to Chris and stood. "What happened b'tween me 'n Abigail ain't no one's concern. She ain't tied t' me, she ain't tied to Standish 'n I ain't feelin' that I owe that man any words, or anybody else. I expect this will be the end of it." Vin looked at each of the men and brought his fingers up to his hatbrim, nodded and then turned to leave. Passing Ezra on the way out, Vin paused a moment. "Standish, you don't own her, so leave it be now."

"Mr. Tanner, I no longer have an interest in so wanton a woman, no matter how much money she may possess." Ezra gagged and ran from the saloon, not sure if his retching was brought on by the over-indulgence of Tequila or by his words; regret overpowering him as he knelt in the dust and grime of the alley, feeling quite friendless at that moment and deservedly so.

Tanner heard Standish, knowing he was sicker than a man deserved to be, but he was not feeling charitable, turning his back on the gambler and his misery.

********************

CHAPTER TEN

Vin worked in hurried, competent bursts, hauling sacks of supplies onto the chaff-strewn wagonbed, brushing aside debris with quick, contained movements. A nod to Mary who stood watching as he continued to work, his thoughts on the journey and not liking the *feel* of it. The Tascosa-Dodge City Trail or Western Trail would be easy enough, but leaving their mounts in Four Corners did not set right with Vin, not having been without Peso since the War. A sharp eye for good cowponies; learning from Black Bear that a man's survival depended on a fast, sturdy horse in the hunt and in war, and knowing J.D. was a fair hand with horses quelled some of his concerns. Tascosa had a fine livery or two and remudas came into town often. They had to hope for decent horseflesh and a fair price.

Vin had been on a few cattle drives after the War, wandering back to Texas a man with no home, family or direction, meeting up with Charlie Goodnight who offered him a job after learning of Vin's knowledge of Comanches and his way with horses. Goodnight signed Vin on as their wrangler for the first cattle drive west across Texas and into New Mexico following the Butterfield Overland Route. Seventeen at the time, but most cowpunchers were about that age and some younger; earning sometimes only $5.00 a month while *grown* men were paid $25.00 a month or more. By trail's end, Vin had eaten most of Texas and a large chunk of New Mexico, never once believing he would ever get all the dust and dirt off or out of him. It was tough, bone-aching work that restored Vin, nurturing his mind and his body; becoming wolf-lean, no longer looking like an imprisoned starveling and the death-white of his skin now shone a tawny-gold from the desert sun. It had been good for Vin, but still restless he wandered back to the Canadian.

Wistful-eyed, Vin watched the town around him wake as he leaned quiet against the loaded wagon, knowing he wanted to come back, knowing for the first time in his life where he wanted to stay.

*************

Mary Travis entered the saloon in quiet thoughtfulness; Vin had just then headed out to Nettie's with a wagonload of supplies, perhaps a month's worth or more. Coffee beans, flour, bacon, tea and white sugar; a luxury and Mary knowing that Vin wanted to please Nettie and her sweet tooth or rather his sweet tooth, smiling at that. The homestead's garden crops were thriving with potatoes, beans, corn, squash and turnips and along with two milking cows, hogs, sheep and chickens; Nettie and Casey should fare well while Vin was away.

The visit to the homestead yesterday with Abby Roberts was pleasant and Mary was overjoyed to have a female companion closer to her age. Though Nettie and Gloria Potter were dear, Abby had so many stories to share about New York and the world that Mary loathed to admit that she missed. A fleeting pang of things lost as she remembered her childhood back East and Stephen, but pushing that aside as her vision fell upon the man that brought a passion to her that only her work seemed to give after her husband's death. Mary stood silent in soft drifts of memories, watching the men.

Buck sat with his lanky form draped loose and long over a chair placing a slender, able hand over his filled belly as J.D. buried himself head first into his plate scooping up eggs, rolling his eyes at the cowboy's stories and knowing Buck was a breed all his own. Josiah, Chris and Nathan half-listened to Buck and J.D. as they ate lazily wrapped in the early morning glow that flickered its way into the hazy saloon with an occasional eye towards the gambler. Curved spine uncharacteristically slouched in the unforgiving wood chair, hat covering his undoubtedly bleary, blood-red eyes, Ezra languished with a quiet drama, releasing an intermittent groan that brought a wide grin to Chris' face and choked laughter to the men.

Mary watched them amused and pleased at the calming ease that the men shared with each other as she walked towards their table. Chris looked up at her, though already knowing she was there; the scent of jasmine, honeysuckle and sweet breezes enfolded him in a tender embrace. Her charms were not unnoticed by the gunman; a man that still longed for a woman's touch, but Chris needed to keep Mary at a distance, not yet ready for what she could offer him.

"Mary." Chris rose and reached for a chair at the next table, placing it near him.

"Chris, boys." Bright blue eyes as soft as spring days studied the men. "I unearthed some facts for the Judge about John Prescott and he requested that I share it with you. Though he felt it was best to discuss it without Vin present. If you're not comfortable with that, I'll understand, but I do agree with Orrin because of the incriminating nature of the information."

Chris nodded. "Let's hear it."

"Abigail Roberts in passing mentioned that she knew a man that was staying at the hotel. A man by the name of John Prescott. She knew him from New York and from Long Branch where she was summering."

"Long Branch?" Chris raised a quizzical eyebrow to Mary and turned towards the muffled voice of the gambler.

"Long Branch, New Jersey." Ezra sat up with difficulty as he released a moan and brought up a smooth, refined hand to his mouth, abashed as a quiet belch escaped. "Please excuse me." Ezra continued. "Long Branch where anyone who is anyone in Washington and the surrounding area summer. It appears Mr. Tanner will have that good fortune, unlike myself."

"Don't make me shoot you, Ezra." Chris hid his amusement from Standish, but the man's sarcastic humor made the gunman grin more times than he would like to admit.

"That would be most kind of you; a man in my abysmal condition would find that far more expedient than this slow, excruciatingly painful death." Ezra curled his spine slowly back into the chair, placing his head into his hand.

"Not feeling too good there eh, Ezra?" A wide grin on Buck's handsome face that matched the grins on the other men as they watched the gambler roll his eyes at the remark.

"That would be an understatement, Mr. Wilmington. If I was to choose at this moment a million dollars on a proverbial silver platter or death, the latter would be preferable."

"That bad, eh?" Buck still grinning ran his hand through his hair contemplating the different remedies for hangovers.

"Yes, Mr. Wilmington, that bad." Ezra brought down his hat over his eyes and folded his hands across his stomach.

"Why don't ya try canned tomatoes. I heard it works." Buck genuinely trying to find a cure for the ill man.

"One more word, Mr. Wilmington and I will have to shoot *you*." Ezra held up his hand no longer wanting to hear any more remedies that were apt to make him sicker than he was feeling at the moment.

"Are you boys done?" Lips puckered with impatience as Chris angled his head towards Buck piercing him with ice-dagger eyes.

Buck winced at the look, defenseless against its wounding capability; bruised as he sagged down in his chair, looking towards Chris and then turning away with a nod. "We're done."

"Go ahead, Mary." Chris watched Buck for a moment and then dipped down his head releasing a slow, atoning breath. Buck understood and gave a quick, faint wink to the gunman.

"As I was saying, Abby knows Prescott from Long Beach. It seems that there was a similar incident involving a working woman and Prescott. That's how he received the scar across his cheek. The woman was found dead a few days later. The murder is still unsolved and John Prescott was never brought in for questioning. Abby believes people may have been paid off, but there was never any proof of that. Being a journalist, I don't believe in coincidence, but Orrin's hands are tied . . . lack of evidence. You can see now why it was best not to tell Vin. He already has tried to kill Prescott once, God knows what he will do when he hears this. Just be careful. I'm worried for Vin, for all of you. Orrin is considering forgetting the whole affair." Mary looked around to each of the men with concern.

"He's just one man." Nathan leaned forward considering Mary's words before speaking. "Mighta kilt that other woman, but Miz O'Brien done kilt herself. Hate t' have Vin still goin' on 'bout that. He's gotta accept that fact 'n this whole business is goin' t' set 'im off again. Don't think we should say anythin' t' him 'n ain't no way we should turn our backs on helpin' the Indians 'n the Government 'cause of Prescott."

Josiah was silent, thoughts elsewhere on Bridget and Vin. He had sent off a letter to Colorado Springs searching for her family, but it came back unopened; hoping to return the embroidered patchwork quilt to her family and to inform them of Bridget's death. The women had taken care of Bridget's effects, though she did not have much. Josiah had searched for her rosary beads, wanting to place them in her hands to keep with her, but could not find them. Where did they go? He had questioned the women, but no one knew of them. Josiah's brow creased as a vision of snakes and crows bedeviled him, goose-skin rising as he wrapped his bear-arms around himself, shivering with stark dread; Buck's voice pulling him from his grievous ghost-dreams.

"Nathan's right. Hell, what's that weasel goin' t' do t' us. Seven against one seems like better odds than we ever had b'fore. Shoot, even the kid here c'n take him." Buck let out a laugh and hunkered down low in his chair with a cocky smile, placing his hand in the high front of his gray wool pants. "Shoot, Mary c'n take him."

All the men laughed at that and Mary's eyes flashed with spirit. "Bring him on, Boys!"

"Hold on there, little lady, we need him in one piece." Buck winked at Mary, grinning.

"I'll let ya at 'im when we get back." Chris smiled; eyes sparking with a rare, relaxed humor.

"I'll hold you to that, Chris." Mary stood for a moment looking at each man conveying her worry with quiet, intense blue eyes. "Promise me you'll all take care."

"We will Miz Travis and don't worry 'bout the Judge. We'll watch out for him." J.D.'s youthful sincerity brought a smile to the men and to Mary.

"Thank you J.D., I know you will." Mary nodded, looking one last time at the men and turned on her heels, disappearing through the batwing doors.

**********************

The fresh bacon hissed and popped in the heated fat as Nettie flipped the long strips, talking to Vin as she cooked. Spooning the grease over several eggs coating them as the heat sealed in the running yolk soon to be sopped up with homemade bread spread to overflowing with sweet butter; Vin's stomach talked to him as he waited with a hard-learned patience always half-remembering the ache of starvation. Vin added chips and wood to the Franklin cast iron stove stoking the fire, as Nettie removed the eggs and bacon, placing it on the table.

"Come on 'n sit yerself down b'fore it gets cold, Son." Nettie walked over to Vin and put her hand through his back suspender turning him around to the table. "I'll be takin' care of that. GO."

"Yes, ma'am." Vin grinned as the whiff of bacon and eggs curled around him; a comfort coming to him and slid himself down into the wooden chair, head low as he snatched up the utensil, digging into the eggs. Grabbing up the enamel cup with coffee brewed strong the way Vin loved it; Nettie watched him with a satisfied smile and turned back to the stove removing the bread, cutting it in large, wide slices. Bringing it to the table with a heaping of sweet butter, Vin looked up at Nettie with grateful, appreciative eyes that filled her with a sadness knowing more times than not Vin went without most things. Most things that he should have had: love, home, family, a Ma. Nettie would give those things to him, even if he bucked and fought the bit the whole time.

Settling herself into a chair across from Vin, watching as he looked up at her with a sweet, soft closed-lip smile that gentled his handsome, but oftentimes sharp, hawk-drawn features. Lines crinkling around the edges of his eyes as he smiled, earned from days of desert sun and withering winds of the plains. Withy fingers smothered her hand, no words still only a nod and then a tilt of his head as he spoke: "Thank you, Miz Nettie . . . fer everythin'."

"Yer more than welcome, Son, but I should b' thankin' you. Yer spoilin' this old woman." A gentle pat to his hand as she continued. " I've b'n takin' care of m'self fer so long, I've fergotten how nice it is t' have a man get supplies 'n work 'round the homestead. Don't think I could do without ya now, gettin' too used to this kindly behavior." A wide smile lit up Nettie's seasoned face bringing an exquisite, quiet beauty to her plain features.

"No need to go on the worry, Miz Nettie. I ain't fixin' on goin' anywhere, not jes' yet, anyway." Vin wiped his mouth with the back of his red flannel shirtsleeve and stood, wiping his hands down the legs of his high-front butternut pants. "I reckon I'll check 'round 'n see if anythin' needs mendin' 'fore I leave town."

Nettie nodded, silent worry as she ran her hand through her tufted white hair. "Headin' off t' Tascosa?" Vin stilled, sharply lifting his head to the fretting of her words and waited. "Mary told me yesterday. She came vistin' with Gloria 'n a young gal, Abigail Roberts." Eyes squinted at Nettie, not quite sure what to say; never having to answer to another except to his deep-rooted morality.

"I cain't tell ya not t' be goin' because I ain't yer Ma, but if I was I'd hog-tie ya b'fore I'd let ya go 'n I still have a mind t' do it, Ma or not." Nettie stood facing Vin, fear and defiance flaring in her pale eyes.

"I'll b' right as rain, Miz Nettie." Vin pressed his hand to her small-boned shoulder; long fingers gentle, but with a high-strung edge to them. "I need t' know that ya ain't worryin' on me." Imploring blue eyes tracked her face and Nettie nodded, relenting, never wanting to bring sadness to his heart. An aged-strong hand rose up to his, clutching it as she walked Vin over to the hearth and nodded to the rocker, curving her rigid spine into the graceful lines of her mother's Hepplewhite chair. Vin sat, torso whipcord-tense, again waiting for Nettie to speak.

"I cain't help, but worry, Vin." Eyes steadfast and crystal-sharp, Nettie stared into the feeble spluttering of flames as it chewed at the small mound of wood in the hearth. "But, I've faith in God that He'll be keepin' ya out of harm's way. I need ya t' come back home, whole 'n safe."

"On my word, Miz Nettie." Reaching over to Nettie with slender fingers that fluttered bird-light over her hand and then a gentle touch as Vin felt Nettie's strength, wanting with all his heart to come back to her.

"Cain't ask fer more than that." Nettie patted his hand, holding fast as Vin stood. "Set back down there fer awhile. Them chores c'n wait." Smiling as Vin abided her words, more so at the questioning expression on his face, knowing he was not a man comfortable with idle talk. Nettie wanted him near for a while. "That Abigail Roberts is goin' t' buy Cody Porter's homestead. It's good land, but most were too afraid t' touch it, afraid of Guy Royal."

"What the hell is she doin' that fer?" Heart thrumming and unsure why as he waited for Nettie to speak.

"Yer lookin' like yer 'bout t' have an apoplexy." Nettie angled her head at the agitated man, curious. "Wonderin' the same thing m'self 'bout why a wealthy, attractive woman would want t' live in such an unforgivin' land. I c'n tell she has a lot of heart though. Mary seems t' like her. We'll be seein' soon 'nough if this was just a passin' fancy."

"Don't b'long here." Vin stood adding wood to the fire, turning back to Nettie.

"Do ya know the woman, Son?" Nettie folded her hands on her lap, watching the man struggle with something. Vin always spoke the truth to her. The good Lord never made a more honest man.

"Don't know her 'xactly. Met her a coupla times." Vin lowered his eyes and turned away.

Nettie sensed that Vin was keeping something from her, but a grown man had a right to his secrets; much more to it then. "Appears you *know* more of her than yer wantin' t' tell."

"Nettie . . ." Vin's steps seesawed in front of her, unsure. Not comfortable just sitting, Vin needed to be outside working with his hands, not thinking so much to make his head hurt with the worrying of everything.

"Aft'r my husband died, I was alone, no family here 'bouts. Casey hadn't yet come t' live with me. Never felt more alone in my life." Nettie paused, watching as Vin squatted down by the fire; his ears and eyes alert to her words letting them wrap around him like a loving touch. Cherishing every nuance: a smile, a laugh, a momentary touch, kind words. Overlooked by most, but bringing back a dusky memory to Vin that tumbled over him and carried him away, heart-hammering fear to be so near such strong affection for him and him for others.

"I r'member the day he came. My husband Thomas had b'n dead near three years that spring. I's still a young woman 'n havin' needs." Nettie smiled as she watched Vin shift away from her, a flush creeping up into his well-favored face. "No need t' be bashful, Vin Tanner. We're both a grown man 'n woman 'n we've lived 'n seen more of life than most. I'll not sidestep 'round ya 'n yer sensibilities." A quiet, small nod of his head and Nettie continued.

"He was like you in many ways, lovin' the land, freedom, not one t' be fettered. People talked, people'll always talk, but I paid them no mind. I was happy 'n I wasn't lonely anymore. He stayed on through the winter 'n int' the spring, but then I woke one day t' find he'd left. Stayed as long as he could. I nev'r asked more than that from him." Nettie ran a hand through her hair, eyes young at that moment, seeing him there on her porch; both strong, not yet withered by sadness or time.

"I always b'lieved God sent him t' me. Sounds foolish, I know, but the truth of it bein' he came at a time when I's ready t' sell the homestead 'n go back t' my family. I stayed 'cause of him. Took away my loneliness 'n gave me the strength 'n the sense t' see that this land, this place was my home 'n I's strong, stronger than whatever life brought t' me. Things happen fer reasons we might never b' able t' understand, but the Almighty does 'n that's where we've got t' put our faith, our trust. Don't judge y'self so harshly, Vin Tanner. Yer a good man."

Nettie stood, the gritty creaking of knees and spine, bringing her to momentary pause in her movement, as Vin reached over catching her elbow in his hand. "Do ya know why I told ya all this, Son?"

Blue eyes drifting in thought and then sharp-eyed looking back at Nettie. "I b'lieve I do, Miz Nettie. Leastwise, I'm tryin' ta."

Nettie nodded and spoke: "No shame or sin in the needin' t' be with someone, even if it's just a night. We ain't meant t' go through life alone 'n folks that claim they don't need no one are just lyin' t' themselves."

"I reckon I nev'r had me a choice 'til now. I ain't nev'r b'n so close t' people as I am to you 'n the boys. Cain't rightly 'member much 'bout my Ma, some though. Mostly feelin' loved 'n safe. Didn't have 'nough time with the People 'fore I was took away. Seems t' me what's been mine, always got took. Now they took my name, the only thing I had left. I need that back fer my Ma 'n fer me. Cain't think of much else 'til I git it."

"I know, Son. I just don't want them takin' yer life, too." Nettie hung her head, lifting it at the gentle touch on her shoulder and then embracing him, too frightened to let him go.