Author's notes, 7/1/01: Blame it on an upcoming high school reunion, but I suddenly got tackled by a one of those tough Western Jackrabbits of a plot bunny who wondered exactly how Chris and Buck met. As usually, he mutated into this story. I hope you enjoy it.
I wish to extend thanks to Shallan for helping me bat the rabbit into shape, my old friend Wolfpup for betaing, to Elizabeth and Lady Angel for posting it for me, and a big thanks to Mog for creating the Mag 7:ATF universe and setting it practically in my own back yard.
Please send any comments to spacecloud@juno.com
Enjoy the ride.
Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours and probably con you out of all your food.
Please do not reproduce, copy, or otherwise use any part of this story without permission from the author.
Rated PG-13
"Hey, Team 3 caught those guys selling boot-leg cigarettes last night," JD declared as he entered the conference room.
"About time," Nathan snorted.
"It did appear to take an extensive period to apprehend those minor miscreants," Ezra commented.
"Who are these desperados, JD?" Vin asked with a grin.
"Three local guys named Cragston. Twins James--"
Buck's head shot up from the file he was reading to insert, "and Joseph and their cousin--"
"Deke," Chris finished.
JD's eyes grew wide. "How'd you know?"
Buck and Chris exchanged glances. "They're why Chris and I met, JD," Buck explained with a grin.
"Really?" JD glanced between the two older men. It was new information. The other four members of Team 7 also perked up their ears.
Chris sat up in his chair and smirked. "If I remember right, it was three against one because Buck smiled at Deke's girlfriend."
"Knew there'd be a woman involved," JD grinned.
"I didn't smile at her," Buck protested, shooting JD a playful glare. "She smiled at me, and she was his ex-girlfriend at the time."
"Three on one?" Josiah questioned with a smile. "Doesn't sound like something Buck would need help with."
"I already had my arm in a sling," Buck explained. "I could only punch with one hand."
"So when I saw the school bullies beating up the new kid, I decided to even the odds," Chris chuckled.
"So did ya win?" Vin drawled, already guessing the answer.
"Yep." Chris then tapped the file in front of him. "Let's get back to work."
Buck leaned back, his mind only half on the plans as memories flowed over him.
Buck Wilmington laid his forehead briefly on the top of his locker. Only two months ago he had expected to attend his junior year in Las Vegas with his friends, playing football and charming the red haired Charlotte Rose. Instead, he was in Arvada, Colorado, desperately lonely and hurting and wondering what had happened to his life.
The last four weeks had been the hardest of his sixteen years. He missed his mom so much. With her gone, it felt like all the color had been drained from his once sunlit life. Yet she had taught him to always be 'strong enough to do the right thing'. So here he was, under Ricker's protective custody and praying he would remember something, anything that would lead to his mother's killer.
After adjusting the sling around his neck, Buck reached in one-handed to pull his trigonometry book out of the locker. He loved history, liked biology, tolerated grammar, but really hated math. He hoped Ricker knew something about triangles, because it certainly sounded like Greek to him. It was hard enough transferring to a new school without flunking a major subject within the first two weeks. Feeling another headache coming on, Buck closed the door, spun the dial, and walked down the hall. He faintly returned the bright smile of a pretty girl near the principal's office as he pushed out into the Colorado sunshine.
Unknown to him, Deke Cragston thought Susanne Slathery was his girl. He didn't like seeing her smile at the new kid. Considering the new kid was taller than he and caught the eye of over half the girls in the high school only made it worse. Deke didn't like competition. It was time to teach the new kid his place. With a wave to his two cousins, Deke followed the guy out the door.
Chris Larabee sighed as he shifted his gym bag on his shoulder. He was glad he did his cross-country runs early each morning, giving him the afternoons to do his homework. It seemed like every teacher in the school suddenly had woken up and decided the kids didn't have enough to do. Waving at his friends, the teen walked out the gym-side door to take the sidewalk to the student parking lot. The lanky blond had been inside long enough and needed the fresh air.
He heard a shout as he rounded the corner. Deke Cragston was pushing the new kid up against the building's bricks, his cousins egging him on. Chris frowned. He remembered the guy from history class, where he'd answered Ms. Marshall's question about the first colony in the U.S. It went against all of Chris' beliefs in fair play to see three on one, especially considering the one was already hurt. Chris dropped his bag by the corner and strolled up behind the bullies. "What crap are you pulling now, Cragston?"
"This ain't your fight, Larabee," Deke snarled, still pressing his victim up against the rough brick.
"Seems a little uneven, don't you think?" Chris inquired politely.
"He was flirting with my girl," Deke replied as if that explained everything.
"What girl?" the new kid asked in honest confusion.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Susie isn't your girl anymore. She dropped you like the trash you are last week."
"She's still my girl!" Deke demanded.
"Who's Susie?" the new kid asked.
"Plus isn't it rather cowardly to pick on a guy in a sling?" Chris continued, eyeing Joe and Jim Cragston as they stepped closer.
"I ain't a coward!" With that shout, Deke threw a punch at Buck's face as the cousins attempted to jump Chris.
Chris ducked, allowing the twins' momentum to slam into each other. With a couple well-placed jabs, both boys were on the ground crying and Chris was able to turn back to Deke and the new kid.
Considering the new guy's left arm was strapped to his body, he hadn't done too bad. He was still standing and from the look of Cragston's face, he'd gotten in a couple of good shots with his right hand. However, Chris could see he was wobbling, with blood flowing from his nose. As Deke shoved the new kid into the brick wall again, Chris grabbed his shirt from behind and spun him around to face him. He threw a punch to Deke's middle, then drew him up eye level. "This ends now," Chris ordered, glaring. "Or I'll tell the whole school what a damn coward you are, picking on a guy who can't even use his left arm, and he's still beating you up."
Deke gulped. Larabee's glare actually had ice in it. He nodded and immediately turned to run once Chris released him. His cousins scrambled after him.
Once he was certain the trio wouldn't return, Chris turned back to the new kid. He still laid where he had fallen, partially propped up against the bricks. His harsh breathing and the way he held his left shoulder shouted louder than words that he was hurting. Chris trotted over to check him out.
Pure agony was radiating from Buck's collar bone. The hits against the brick had awakened the healing injury with vengeance. All he wanted to do was take the pain meds in his backpack, crawl into bed, and forget today had happened. If only his mom could be waiting at home to take care of him. More than ever, Buck wanted her presence.
"Where do you hurt?"
Buck looked up into a pair of huge green eyes and pulled himself together. "Mostly just my shoulder."
The blond helped him to sit up. "Do we need to take you to the hospital?"
"No." Buck, remembering his last hospital visit, barely prevented a shudder. "It'll be okay. Just wasn't ready to get banged around again."
The other guy nodded as he handed him a wad of kleenex he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket. "How's the nose feel?"
"Sore, but okay." Buck placed the kleenex under his nose. Just before he tilted his head back, a big, yellow blur caught his eye. "Ah, man."
"What?" his rescuer asked.
"There goes my bus." Closing his eyes, he debated the merits of trying to reach Ricker or search for a city bus stop.
"I can give you a ride home," the blond told him. He held out his right hand. "Chris Larabee."
Dropping the bloody kleenex, Buck took the hand and shook it. "Buck Wilmington. And I'd appreciate the ride."
"No problem." Chris helped him to his feet.
Chris glanced over to the passenger in his beat-up Ford Bronco. Buck's face looked pale under his mop of dark, wavy hair. Still wondering if he should take his new friend to the hospital, Chris quietly asked, "Your folks home?" The sharp eyes didn't miss Buck's slight wince at the question.
"My foster dad will get in sometime after six." A police captain, Ricker had told Buck during breakfast he would probably be late. No stranger to TV dinners, Buck had simply nodded and said he'd fend for himself. At the moment, even a can of soup didn't sound appealing.
Chris frowned. "It's not even three yet." He passed the turnoff to Ricker's condo. "Why don't I take you home with me?"
Buck's head turned as he watched his street disappear. "I'll be okay. I just figured I'd take my pain medicine and sleep."
That worried Chris even more. He didn't know if Buck should be alone if he was hurting that bad. "Nah, you can sack out on my lower bunk if you need to."
"Won't your folks mind?"
"Nah. Dad likes having my friends over, and our housekeeper Sofia loves having more people to feed."
Buck simply nodded, hurting too much to argue. He wasn't sure he was up to meeting a lot of people, but it probably would be better than crying himself to sleep again. He glanced around, realizing they were almost out of the city. "Where you live?"
"Got a place in the foothills," Chris explained. "We have a few horses, couple of steers, garden patch. And a stream out back, though it's dry right now."
"Sounds nice," Buck replied, a touch of wistfulness slipping through the edge of pain in the voice. "A friend of Mom's taught me how to ride, but I haven't been on a horse since he sold the ranch a couple of years ago." The memory of those long-ago picnics out in the desert with Mom and Uncle Tims eased a bit of the grief.
"We'll have to go once your shoulder's healed," Chris invited, hearing the wistfulness. "How'd you hurt it?" Chris didn't miss how his new friend tensed up again.
"Busted my collarbone falling down some stairs." Buck didn't want to think about it, so he turned his head to study the deep red rocks of the hogback.Chris' eyes narrowed. Noting the 'Mom', the fact Buck now lived with a foster father, and took a fall, he wondered if his new friend had been abused. Deciding to play it by ear, he was happy to spot their mailbox with a brass stallion rearing on the top. "Well, here's home."
Buck climbed out of the Bronco and instantly was glad he had come. The place looked cool and inviting. Huge cottonwoods draped their leaf-covered branches over the house and barn, while a sharp whinny in a nearby paddock pulled Buck's attention to the gelding happy to see Chris come home.
In the yard, a tall, wiry man watched them approach. "Hi son," he called out, intently studying the teen with Chris. Years of experience in the Navy had given him the ability to size up people quickly. Noting the pain, both mental and physical, in the young face, he decided not to mention the rule that Chris was suppose to let him know when he brought friends home. "Who's your friend?"
Chris smiled, knowing his father was giving him an unspoken chance to explain. "Buck Wilmington. Buck, this is my dad, Michael Larabee."
Buck politely held out a hand. "Hello, Mr. Larabee."
Michael shook the hand, noting the blood still around his slightly swollen nose. "What happened to you, son?"
As it took a moment for Buck to realize he was talking to him, Chris piped up, "The Cragstons were bullying him because Susie smiled at him. Since his shoulder's hurt and his foster dad isn't home, I thought I'd bring him here."
Michael nodded, realizing his son was also sensing the vulnerability of the young man and brought him to the safest place he knew. Gratified his son felt that way, the older Larabee set the shovel against the fence. "Then let's clean you up and tell Sofia we've got one more for dinner."
Chris paused a moment from his stall-cleaning to watch Buck rub Melody's nose. The little Morgan mare seemed to sense the sadness in the young man, nuzzling him gently in sympathy. Seeing the soft smile slip across his face made Chris doubly glad he had brought him home.
While Chris cleaned stalls, Buck had one-handedly carried cans of grain for each horse. Earlier, Mr. Larabee had helped redo the sling, while round, dark haired Sofia had been delighted to provide both growing teens cheese, crackers and fruit. Now that his meds had dulled the pain from the shoulder, Buck felt better than he had in a long time. Rubbing her brown nose with his good hand, he enjoyed the sympathetic attention from Melody. It had been so long since he had been around horses.
Setting the pitchfork to the side, Chris brushed a stray bit of straw off his head. "Well, guess I'd better get cleaned up and start my homework."
Buck softly groaned. "Me, too. I have a ton of Trig, and I don't understand it at all."
"I can take a look and see if I can help," Chris offered. "My biggest problem is picking a person for our history paper."
"Really?" Buck glanced at Chris in confusion. "But there are so many great people to choose from during the Revolutionary War."
Chris shrugged. "I get so bogged down with the so-and-so did such-and-such on that date, I'm not sure what's going on."
"There's your problem," Buck told him seriously. "My mom always said to think about it like a story. Each historical figure has their own story about when something out-of-the-ordinary happened in their life and how they handled it."
"A story?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, a story that our ancestors handed down to us because we need to know where we come from to help us understand where we're going and what we should do in a crisis." Buck's enthusiam broke out in a smile. "I always loved hearing stories about the good ole days in Vegas, especially about the wild west days."
Chris smiled. "Dad tells stories like that. His great-grandpa came out here as a gold miner, then ended up working on wagon trains that carried the gold down the mountains and then brought supplies back up."
"Cool. Do you think your dad could tell them to me?"
"Sure." Chris smiled as he led Buck back into the house.
It had turned out to be a good day after all. With his stomach full of Sofia's good dinner, his trig homework done thanks to help from Chris, and the enjoyment of listening to Chris and his Dad talk about the day, Buck hadn't felt so content in a long time. Even the pain in his shoulder had eased into a dull ache. Sitting on the floor next to his new friend with his back against couch, Buck was ready to watch Starsky and Hutch and simply relax.
Chris stretched from his seat on the floor as the commercial rolled across the TV screen. "Hey Buck, you want any more of Sofia's cake?" He glanced over to discover his new friend was sound asleep, head resting against the couch. The teen felt a strange twist in his gut. There was just something about the other guy that made Chris want to protect him. Why, or from what, he wasn't quite sure. But he could tell Buck was lost and hurting, and he seemed like too nice a guy to be hurting so much.
Standing up, Chris yanked the afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over Buck. With another stretch of his growing frame, he walked to the kitchen, intent on getting more cake.
"... are bullies. They picked on Chris when we first moved out here five years ago, until Chris gave the instigator a black eye. Several of us parents have complained, but they usually don't do more than slap those kids on the wrist."
Chris paused just behind the entryway, wondering who his father was talking to.
"Well, the timing certainly could be better. Buck's barely been in Colorado for three weeks, and he just hasn't been ready to meet people yet."
Chris' brow wrinkled, wondering if the mystery voice was Buck's foster Dad.
"How did you get this one, Paul? Poor kid looks like he's been through the wars."
"Well, I can't tell you everything for Buck's protection. I can say that a few weeks ago, I was visiting an old army buddy, who's also a detective, when a homicide came up. Buck's mother was stabbed numerous times in their own home."
Eyes wide and stomach clenching, Chris froze before he could take another step.
"Ah, hell! Was the kid there?"
"From what my friend's pieced together, Buck had just finished his shift at the town's movie theater and was walking up the stairs to their apartment when someone, we suspect the killer, shoved him. Kid took a pretty nasty fall and one of their neighbors found him a few minutes later at the bottom of the stairs. By the time we got there, they were rushing his failing mother out to the ambulance. The poor kid was nearly hysterical, fighting the paramedics working on him while trying to reach her. I'd actually seen him before; he was bussing tables at the restaurant across from my hotel, and he had given me directions a few times. He had struck me as a friendly, energetic young man. So I calmed him down and went with him to the hospital."
"Poor kid."
"It gets worse. Even though Buck hasn't been able to remember anything about who pushed him, someone attempted to hurt him at the hospital. The PD there fear the killer thinks the kid saw him, though it was so dark on that stairwell, I'm surprised Buck could see well enough to find the apartment. Add in all the crap coming out in the papers about the kid's mother, my friend and I decided it was better simply to get him out of town. Since Grace and I had fostered kids when she was alive, we were able to make the arrangements for me to take him."
"What about his mother?"
"They lost her in the ambulance. Real shame. She was only 33 and a very beautiful woman judging from her pictures. Apparently, she was a well-liked single mother with no other family. Everyone said she was absolutely dedicated to Buck. I can tell she did a good job, because Buck's a terrific kid. The problem is that to support herself and her son, she was a lead dancer in a topless show."
"Ah, damn. I bet the papers are having a field day."
"Yeah. And that kid's too badly hurt and grieving to handle it."
In the silence that followed, Chris quietly thought over what he had just heard. It explained so much, though the idea of someone's mom dancing topless was kinda weird. However, Chris knew how hard his own Dad worked to support him, and Billy Wilson's mom needed government help on top of two menial jobs to support her family.
"Well, if you ever need to have someone look after Buck, just send him over. He and Chris seem to have hit it off."
"I'd appreciate it, Mike. Buck's been alone too much lately. I've tried to make time for him, but I'm still catching up from my break. Unfortunately, the crooks don't take vacation."
Deciding he'd eavesdropped enough, Chris made himself casually walk in. "Hey Dad. Any cake left?"
"A few pieces," Mike replied. He waved at the huge man sitting at the counter with him. "Chris, this is Captain Paul Ricker. He's Buck's foster father and we went to school together. Paul, this is my son, Chris."
"Hello, sir," Chris greeted politely. "Buck's asleep in the living room. I can go wake him up if you like."
"I'd appreciate that, son. And thanks for taking care of him this afternoon."
"Not a problem." Chris gave him a smug smile. "Buck wasn't doing too bad by himself. If he hadn't had his arm in a sling, I think he would have finished off Deke without a scratch."
A few minutes later, Chris was back with a droopy-eyed Buck, carrying his backpack for him. Ricker smiled at the teen. "Ready to go?"
Buck nodded. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Larabee," he added politely.
"Anytime, Buck."
Ricker took the backpack and gently guided the sleepy Buck with a hand on his back.
"See you tomorrow in History," Chris called after them.
Once the car had left the driveway, Mike quietly asked, "How much did you hear?"
Blushing with guilt, Chris admitted, "That Buck's mom was murdered, and Buck was hurt by the killer."
Mike nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think?"
"I remember how I felt when Mom died while you were out at sea." Seeing the pain in his father's eyes, Chris rushed ahead. "And I'm angry, wondering why anyone would kill a woman, no matter what she did for a living." Chris paused, taking a breath. "Wondering what I can do to make it easier on Buck."
A swell of pride filled Mike's chest. His son was growing up into a decent man before his eyes. "Whenever a buddy is hurting, son, all you can do is protect his backside until he's ready to face the world again. With Buck cut off from all his buddies back home, he's going to need a friend here. But I do want you to make me a promise." Chris tilted his head to the side and nodded. "I want you to keep an eye out whenever you and Buck are together. If you see anyone suspicious hanging around, get Buck to a place with lots of people and call the police."
"Just in case his mom's killer tracks him here?" Chris asked.
"Right."
"Will do." Chris felt a rise of determination within his soul. He would not let Buck be hurt anymore if he could help it.
Chris dribbled the ball back and forth between his hands. With a fake to the left, he spun past the skinny Billy Wilson, then sent a hard bouncing pass around Jake Merl to Buck, who with his long frame easily made the lay-up. "Game point!" he enthused.
"Ah man," Jake complained. "You two are going to clean up at the try-outs next week."
Buck smiled in pleasure. It felt good to have his shoulder back up to speed. "Yeah, we're gonna go down town." He winked at Joanie Wilson, who was waiting for her brother. She giggled at the attention.
Chris chuckled as he walked to his bag. He liked to see Buck having fun. The darkness that had dogged his friend when they had first met was finally easing, revealing a friendly and energetic personality that balanced Chris' more introverted tendencies. Buck had even managed to drag Chris to a dance last week, a feat never accomplished before. It had pleased Chris' father to no end.
Yanking out his water bottle, Chris noticed a dark LTD sitting around the block from their outdoor court. Thinking a moment, he realized he had seen the same car at the school yesterday. He took a deep drink from the bottle as he covertly memorized the license plate.
"Hey Larabee, ready to go?" Buck asked eagerly as he patted him on the shoulder.
Chris took a moment to swallow his water and think. He didn't want to scare Buck, or worse, remind him of his mother's death. Yet he had promised his father he'd stay aware and he certainly didn't want anything to happen to Buck. "How about we hit King Soops on our way to your place?"
"Sure," Buck readily agreed. "We could pick up some of those pre-made pizzas for dinner." He lifted his face to the blue sky. "Besides, might as well enjoy the sunshine while I keep waiting for one of those Colorado snowstorms you keep telling me about." Buck had seen it snow once in Nevada, but it had been so magical, he was looking forward to seeing it again.
Chris chuckled again as he tossed Buck his jacket. "Don't worry. It'll snow soon, then be all melted three days later." He resisted the urge to look at the car again as he led Buck through the park and towards the main through-road. The teen then purposely dropped his keys, allowing him an excuse to look behind him. The car had circled the park and was back on their tails.
"What's wrong, Chris," Buck asked softly, picking up on his friend's tension.
"Don't look, but there's a dark blue LTD following us from the park."
Buck nodded, then jokingly spun, bouncing the basketball to Chris. After receiving both the ball and a glare from Chris, Buck casually dropped back beside his friend. "Yeah, I see it. You know, it looks kinda familiar."
"I saw it yesterday when we got out of school," Chris suggested.
Buck's brow wrinkled as he thought. "Come to think of it, it was parked near the Wilson's last night when Ricker picked me up.
"Damn," Chris quietly swore. He suddenly remembered seeing it there, too.
In a very quiet voice, Buck reluctantly admitted, "Chris, my mom was killed in Las Vegas, and the cops think I might have seen the murderer."
"I know," Chris softly assured him. At Buck's astonished look, Chris explained, "I overheard Dad and Ricker talking one night." Taking a deep breath, Chris asked, "Is Ricker home?"
Buck shook his head. "He had to check in this morning on some investigations."
"Then let's get to a phone and call him."
The next block was one of the longest Buck had ever walked. Every muscle in his body tightened, pleading to give in to his flight response. His back prickled, waiting for an attack from the dark shape he vaguely remembered. Images of his mother on the stretcher, paramedics trying to stop the dark blood soaking her blouse and shorts, flashed across his vision. The only thing that kept him from running in terror was the anchoring presence by his side. Chris gave Buck the calm courage to walk without giving away their suspicions to their hunter.
Still, it was a relief to see the red and white sign of the local grocery store. Even better to walk through its sliding doors to the safety within. However, Buck didn't take his first real breath until Ricker answered the phone.
Chris sat next to Buck in the manager's office, waiting for Ricker to pick them up. He felt his stomach clench as he glanced at his friend. The quiet Buck was back, his blue eyes dark and stormy. Chris could almost see the grief straining to get out. He didn't like to see his friend hurting so bad. He just didn't know what to do to help.
Both teens looked up when Ricker walked in. Quietly, Chris asked, "Did you catch him?"
Sitting in the chair opposite the boys, Ricker shook his head. "Took off as soon as he spotted the patrol car." He comfortingly squeezed both boys' shoulders, rubbing Buck's until the youth raised sad eyes to meet his. "You did the right thing, coming here and calling me. Can you tell me anything else about the car or the driver."
"Couldn't see the driver," Chris reported, shaking his head. "The windows were too dark. The license was Colorado, FHI-347."
"Had a circular crack in the windshield on the passenger's side," Buck quietly remembered, "and I think the antenna was slightly bent near the top."
"And you're sure you saw it at the school yesterday?" Ricker asked.
Chris nodded. Buck shrugged. "I really didn't see it at the school, but I saw it at the Wilson's. Just didn't think anything of it at the time."
"Nothing really clicked until I saw it at the park." Chris looked Ricker in the eye. "What now?"
Giving his ward's shoulder another squeeze, Ricker gently explained, "I'm taking you two home. Until we find this car, I don't want you out in the open, okay son?"
Buck nodded, again not speaking. Chris could see his own worry about his friend reflected in the veteran cop's eyes.
Chris glanced across the aisle. Buck sat slouched, his growing frame already straining the small high school chairs. The dark cloud that had reappeared Saturday was still hanging over him. Even though History was Buck's favorite subject, Chris was willing to bet his friend had not heard a word of Miss Ingle's talk. He'd also bet that Buck had been stuck in Ricker's condo all weekend, dwelling on his mother's death.
Buck's gloom matched the weather outside. As always, Front Range weather was fickle. In spite of the sunshine and 78 degree temperatures of yesterday, a cold front had back-doored into the state during the night, bringing with it freezing temperatures and boiling clouds. Chris watched as snow hit the classroom window. He glanced back at Buck. His friend hadn't noticed yet, and he wasn't even sure Buck would care anymore. But it was worth a shot.
When the bell rang, Chris lightly kicked Buck's ankle. At Buck's puzzled frown, Chris grinned and nodded towards the window. Buck glanced at the window, then back at Chris. "What's that?"
"Snow."
"Snow?" Buck's eyes widened as he stood up and walked over for a closer look. The snow he remembered had been light flakes, drifting lazily through the air. This looked more like huge white clumps, hitting the ground as hard and as fast as possible. "I thought snow came down in little flakes."
Chris smiled as he joined him. "This is the heavy, wet stuff we get in the fall or spring."
Buck couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Man, I can't even see the cars in the parking lot from here."
"Hopefully, it lets up soon." Chris glanced at the clock. "If the wind starts blowing, we could be in for a blizzard." He stepped back to his chair to grab his book and papers.
"A blizzard?" Buck repeated as he followed. He had only read about such storms. He couldn't even imagine being in one. His eyes were round with awe as he followed Chris out the door.
"Maybe." Chris quietly smiled to himself. Apparently, someone upstairs was also trying to cheer up Buck.
By lunchtime, the snow was still falling heavily and the superintendent decided it was better to send kids home than risk getting stuck at school. Closing his locker, Chris spotted Buck at one of the pay phones. He trotted over and tapped his friend on the shoulder. He silently mouthed, "What's up?"
Buck sighed and pulled the phone away from his mouth. "I'm not suppose to go home without an escort, but the police are so busy with the weather, Ricker can't find anyone to pick me up."
Chris thought a moment. He really didn't want Buck to sit alone at Ricker's condo, either. "Why don't you come home with me? With this storm, Buckley's sure to shut down to essential personnel, so Dad ought to be home soon himself."
Relaying the information, a small smile slipped across Buck's face. "Really? Thanks, Ricker." Buck hung up the phone and turned. "He says it'll be okay."
"Cool. Let's get going before even the Bronco can't get through." Then Chris paused, looking at the light windbreaker Buck wore. "That's not your only jacket, is it?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Chris could only shake his head at the bewildered face. "We'll have to work on that."
"Work on what?" Buck asked as he picked up his bag and followed Chris out the doors. His question was answered by a blast of cold, outside air. Buck nearly slipped on the sidewalk in his rush to reach the comparable warmth of Chris' vehicle.
The ride was also an eye-opener for the former Las Vegas resident. It was the first time he had seen Chris put the Bronco into four wheel drive, and even the added traction wasn't much use on the slick pavement. While the intentional donuts in the parking lot were fun, the unintentional fishtails on the main road were not. Wide-eyed, Buck studied the snow covered trees, lights, cars and signs. It was like magic to see everything blanketed in white.
Once Chris pulled into the ranch's circle drive, he glanced at the empty spaces. "Doesn't look like Dad's home, and Sofia's probably stuck at her sister's."
Buck watched, fascinated, as snow began to pile up on the windshield. "This is so cool."
"Yeah, as in freezing." Chris lightly hit Buck in the shoulder as he reached for his gym bag. "I'll dig up one of Dad's old coats, then you can help me make sure the barn's secured."
"Cool," Buck repeated as he climbed out of the Bronco. He swiftly, yet carefully, picked his way through the snowdrifts as he followed Chris inside. Neither teen noticed the dark car carefully parking down the lane.
Chris turned from latching the main barn door. His father's old winter coat hung loosely on his friend, but Buck didn't seem to mind. In fact, Buck was almost back to normal, brushing clumps of snow out of his hair and forming a melting ball with it. It didn't take a genius to see the gleam in the blue eyes and figure out the young man's plans. Then suddenly, Chris noticed a dark shape slipping between hay bales, positioning itself behind the unaware teen. "Buck! Move!"
Startled, Buck jumped to the right, flinging the snow. An arm holding a large hunting knife sliced the air where his back had been just moments before. With a yelp, Buck grabbed the twine of a nearby bale and hefted it towards the figure. As the sound of a body hitting the ground thumped in his ears, Chris grabbed Buck's arm. They dashed up the narrow wooden ladder into the hay loft. By the time the intruder had pushed back the bale and followed the teens, they had disappeared.
As the man's cowboy boots thudded against the wooden loft floor, Chris quietly memorized the pale features from his narrow viewpoint. He and Buck had managed to slide under the wooden pallet set on four large bricks in the corner. There was barely enough space for them to fit, but with the loose hay surrounding them, Chris was certain the bastard couldn't see them. Feeling Buck start to tremble next to him, Chris tightened his grip around his waist. If they could stay silent and still, they had a chance.
Next to him, Buck bit his lip. With his cheek pressed against the rough wood, his main view was of the man's boots. It was enough. Suddenly, Buck recognized the dark leather and the silver chains draped over the top. Those were the boots he had seen the night he had laid at the bottom of the stairs, too stunned to move after his fall. They were the boots of his mother's killer. Of its own accord, Buck's body started to tremble as the horrors of that night replayed in his mind. Then a comforting squeeze penetrated the pain. Chris was with him. He couldn't allow himself to do anything that would bring the killer's attention to his friend. Buck's bite on his lip drew blood as he forced his body to still.
Together, the teens silently watched as the man grabbed a pitchfork and began to poke at the hay bales that filled most of the area. They barely breathed as the ring of metal hitting the wood near the pallet rang in their ears. Chris prayed with all his heart that the pitchfork wasn't strong enough to break their protection.
Then they heard another sound. "Chris! Buck! You in here?" It was Michael Larabee.
Chris felt his stomach clench. He couldn't let the invader reach his dad unaware. Next to him, the thought of his mother's killer hurting Mr. Larabee struck Buck even harder. The two young men exchanged looks, the same thought bouncing back and forth from each mind. They waited until their hunter had moved forward towards the sound, then in synchronized motion, they lifted and threw the pallet at him.
"Dad! The killer's here!" Chris shouted. He gave Buck a shove towards the ladder, picking up the pitch fork as Buck scrambled down the rungs. Hitting the pallet with the tool to provide them a few extra seconds, Chris then tossed it aside and scurried after Buck.
Chris' foot had barely touched the soft dirt when an arm latched onto him and yanked him to the left. He found himself tight against his father's side, Buck similarly protected on the other. To the right, he heard Ricker's voice. "Freeze! Arvada PD!"
"I don't want any trouble, officer," a greasy voice announced. Chris felt his father's arms tighten even harder as steps eased down the ladder. Then two sharp shots penetrated the air. A knife landed at Buck's feet just moments before a body fell into a heap at the foot of the ladder.
Michael then gently spoke in his son's ear. "Chris, get Buck back to the house."
Pausing, Chris finally tore his eyes away from the body and looked at Buck. His friend's eyes were wide in shock and he was beginning to tremble again. Taking a deep breath, he draped an arm around Buck's shoulders and walked him out of the barn.
Once inside the mud room, Chris took another deep breath. He felt safer in the house. He turned to Buck. It was obvious he was on autopilot, taking off and hanging up the borrowed coat while staring at the wall. "Buck?"
"That was him, Chris. He's the one that...killed..." Buck suddenly collapsed to his knees, tears welling in his eyes as he trembled.
Chris knelt next to his friend. "I know." As Buck began to sob, Chris roughly pulled him into his shoulder. "I know." Chris didn't know how long they knelt there, only that he was covering his hurting buddy's backside.
Later, Chris sipped his tea as he watched Buck in the living room. His friend was wrapped in a blanket, blue eyes staring ahead at the fireplace.
They had been so damn lucky. Ricker had arrived around the same time as his father, both immediately noticing the car that had terrorized he and Buck a few days earlier. Together, they had tracked the boys to the barn. They devised a plan for Michael to distract the killer from the boys and allow Ricker to get into place. When the killer lifted his knife to throw at Buck, Ricker had been forced to shoot. Chris was simply grateful the man would no longer be a threat to his friend.
However, there was more going on than just a physical threat. Even five years later, Chris remembered what it was like to lose his mother, and he had his father for support. Buck did not even have that safety net. Worried, Chris quietly sat next to him. After a few moments, Buck softly whispered, "Thanks."
"Thanks for what?" Chris asked, honestly puzzled.
"For protecting me. For keeping me calm. For saving my life."
Chris shrugged. "That's what friends do."
Buck turned his head to meet Chris' eyes. "Then I am your friend for life."
"Friends for life," Chris emphasized the plural. They shook hands, making the vow official.
The meeting over, the various members of Team 7 stood, stretched and wandered out of the conference room. Chris stayed seated, scribbling notes. Then he looked up. Buck was standing beside him, a slight twist to his lips. "Friend for life."
In a flash, Chris thought of everything that had happened since they were sixteen. Life had drifted them apart and then thrown them back together. They had stood by each other's side through honors, embarrassments, triumphs, failures, weddings, and way too many funerals. At each twist and turn, Buck had stayed with him, even when most sane people would have cut and run. Returning the gesture, Chris offered his hand. "Friends for life."
Buck gripped it hard, confirming with his eyes that the vow was still as strong as when he had made it nearly twenty-six years before. Chris' eyes agreed. Then Buck smiled and walked back through the conference room door.
The End
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