Thanks to my pard Heidi for giving it the once over.
Disclaimer: Don't own them but I can dream.
Note: This is just a short fun piece of fluff I hope.
Yosemite met the dark clad gunslinger as he dismounted his horse at the entrance to the livery. "Morning, Mr. Larabee."
"Yosemite," the blond, never one for much conversation, nodded in greeting. "Thanks," he added as the liveryman took the reins to his black and led him into the stable. Yosemite only waved as he disappeared into the darkened depths.
The tall, lean leader of the town regulators moved off, walking down the street towards the saloon. He'd spent the last few days at his cabin just outside town just to get a break. Being responsible for the law and order of the town sure made a lot of demands on a person and he welcomed the chance for the brief respite. Though he wouldn't admit it to others, and he only did so reluctantly to himself, he did miss his friends while he was away. Chris looked forward to catching up with them and sharing a drink or two. Casting his assessing green eyes around as he strode to the center of town, he was glad that all looked calm. It did not appear, on the service at least, that his fellow lawman encountered any problems while he'd been away.
Over the last few months the reputation of the town's seven watchmen expanded and the town was experiencing a burst of growth, as citizens felt safer in moving there. That growth was evident as Larabee stepped past a multitude of people moving about the town doing their daily business. Most still tended to give the stern leader a wide berth, fearful of his rightfully earned killer reputation. The dark clothing complete with the full black duster billowing behind him did nothing to lessen the severity of his persona. Many thought it was the devil himself cutting a wide swatch through the town as he strode with purposeful strides. Those more familiar with the gunslinger's presence nodded a polite greeting to the man, which he returned with a curt nod or a tip of the hat to the ladies. If he noticed those ladies turn and follow the progress of his tight black jeans, the stern countenance stayed firmly in place on the man's face, showed no outward sign of the attention
He crossed the street to the entrance of the saloon. Stepping up to the boardwalk in front of his destination, he grabbed the wooden support pole attached to the overhang shading the entry. He winced, pulling his hand back quickly and examined it closely. There in the pad of his right hand index finger laid the dark menacing shadow of a large splinter.
"Damn!"
Looking at the small piece of wood buried within his flesh, he wondered where he'd picked up damaging offender. It could have been just now as he reached to steady himself stepping up on the boardwalk or during the last few days when he worked on his cabin. Frowning, he pressed lightly on the tip of his finger, scowling further at the slight tingle of pain. If it was over the last few days, then the wound could be infected. It was already in a bad location as it was on his trigger finger.
"Hey Chris." The enthusiastic greeting from the youngest of their group interrupted the blond and his contemplation of his medical dilemma.
"JD."
The youth moved up beside his idol, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt as he rocked back on the heels of his boots and surveyed the bustling of the people moving about their business around them. Satisfied that all was well, he noticed Larabee frowning at his hand. Leaning over, he peered at the now slightly swollen appendage that could draw a gun from its leather holster quicker than most people could blink. A feat he lived in awe of the man over and practiced everyday to emulate. JD winced at the sight of the dark specter of pain that assumed residency in the pad of his hero's index finger.
A green eye slanted over to gaze upon the youth standing beside him. He could tell by the boy's posture that he was aching to ask him a question. He cocked an eyebrow in silent permission for JD to ask what he was dying to but managed to restrain.
"I hate those," JD declared in sympathy.
The solemn gunfighter's mouth quirked up in a half smile. He turned back to contemplating his finger and tried deciding how he was going to get the offensive object out with the least amount of damage and pain.
"My ma use to sing to me when she'd have to take one out." A wistful statement crossed the young man's face as he thought of his dear, departed mother. "It took my mind off of it and it didn't hurt as much."
"You goin' to sing to me, JD?" Larabee smirked.
Dunne's eyes grew round and his face flamed red as he realized what he'd said. "Ahhh . . .no," JD stammered. He saw his salvation at hand as Casey rode into town, pulling her horse to a stop in front of Mrs. Potter's store. "Hey, Casey," JD called across the street. He stepped off the boardwalk and headed toward the young girl. "Good luck with that, Chris." He called over his shoulder, grateful he had a reason to escape the blond leader before he embarrassed himself further.
Larabee shook his head as he watched the two young people meet across the street. He turned his attention back to his finger and contemplating his choices on how to get the tiny piece of wood out of his finger. Should he try to push it back out the way it entered? If he could grab a tip of it, he could just pull it out. Or would it be better to cut the skin over it open and take it out that way? It was hard to imagine such a small problem could hurt so much. Not to mention this was his trigger finger, and that his very life could depend on the health of this digit. A voice shook him from his musings.
"Good morning, Mr. Larabee."
Chris turned to the blonde woman that appeared at his side. Politely he tipped his hat, issuing a silent curse at the shooting pain that shot through his finger as he touched the brim of his hat in greeting to her. "Mrs. Travis."
Soft dove gray eyes turned up to him along with a bright smile. "Is everything all right?" Part of her was concerned that it looked liked something was really bothering the man, the other half wondering if there was a story behind it. The newspaper reporter in her never rested; she was always on the alert for news.
"Everything's fine, ma'am." Larabee kept his solemn mask in place.
"I trust you'll let me know if something was amiss." The blonde woman examined the lean man before her for any hint of a change in his demeanor.
His cool green eyes casually studied the slim form beside him, seeing her calculating mind regarding him with deep intensity. He admired her spirit and for a brief flicker of time recognized her beauty. Another bright smile reminded him of the painful past that kept him at a casual distance. "I'm sure you'll be the first to know ma'am," he replied coolly.
Her smile faltered at his continued distance. Nodding her head, she made to continue her way back to her newspaper office. "Nice to see you back in town, Mr. Larabee. Good day."
"Ma'am." Again, he reached up to tip his hat and regretted the action immediately. The two hits on it sent it to throbbing most painfully now.
"Hey, Stud." The gunslinger jolted from following and privately appreciating the retreating form of the beautiful blonde by a hearty slap on the back and the jovial greeting from his best friend.
"Buck."
The ladies man caught the direction his friend's gaze was on and silently congratulated the man for coming out of his state of morning with such fine taste. He was tempted to try for the pretty newspaperwoman himself but anyone in town could see she only had eyes for the quiet blond leader. And that his leader, no matter what he said or did, had eyes for her. Buck cared too much for Chris to ever stick himself between his friend and someone that he cared for.
"Glad to see ya back, pard." By the green-eyed glare he received from his friend, he knew the man caught the double meaning behind his words.
"There's nothing there, Buck." Larabee dismissed the matchmaker turning his attention back to his injured digit. The lovely red color surrounding the entry point only made him testier.
Wilmington only smiled, knowing with the looks the two tried hiding from each other, it was only a matter of time before they came to their senses. He caught the careful study his friend gave his finger. "What's up, pard?" He grabbed his friend's hand and pulled it up for a look. Sucking in a quick breath he winced in sympathy, "Ewww, I bet that hurts."
Larabee snatched his hand back, shooting a glare at the few curious onlookers who showed interest in the display. The glare sufficed in making them return to their business and stop watching.
The jovial man broadened his grin. "Injury like that can do you a world of good, Stud." He elbowed Chris in the ribs ignoring yet another green-eyed glare aimed his way. He cocked his head in the direction Mary Travis departed earlier. "Little hurt like that will have the females swarming to offer aid and comfort."
"Don't need aid and comfort, Buck."
The taller man clutched one hand to his chest the other clinched his friends shoulder. "You don't know what you're missing, pard. Almost makes me wish I could take the injury for you. Miss Molly would be so anxious to help out." Buck sighed as he envisioned the ways the buxom barmaid could help him get over the pain of such an injury.
"Don't you have a patrol to do, Buck?" Larabee didn't really need advice on getting a woman to swoon at his feet. He couldn't get it through his well-meaning friend's head that he was not interested in pursuing anything at this time; he did admit to himself he liked looking.
The laughing mustached man sauntered off toward the livery. "One day, Stud, you're going to follow ole Buck's advice."
The blond shook his head and smiled as he watched his oldest friend swagger down the street, stopping to properly greet every woman that walked near his path. He knew the rogue would never change. His smile grew wistful as he thought on their friendship. He was glad the years were kind and the man remained as he was, as goodhearted and generous as when he first met him. It was that formidable spirit that helped pull him out of his darkest times and he was more grateful than the man would ever know.
"Mr. Larabee, welcome back to our humble protectorate."
Chris cocked his head to the side, noting the dapper dressed man that now stood beside him. "Ezra."
In a magnanimous mood, since his dealings from the night before left the gambler quite flush, he smiled upon the usually stern leader. His scheming ways often brought out the man's ire, aimed directly at him. For that reason, Standish was not one to seek out an exchange of pleasantries with the man. Today, however, he felt adventurous and wanted to see where such inroads might lead him.
"I take it this fine day finds you well, sir."
With a slight chuckle at the man's uncharacteristic approach and a shrug of his shoulders, he glanced once again at this finger. "I suppose."
Standish saw the dark spot on the index finger of the gunslinger's hand, surrounded now by a tinge of red. Circumspectly, Ezra rubbed his thumbs over the tips of his fingertips. He shuddered in sympathy and in gratitude that his delicate hands rarely suffered from such a malady. Such an injury after all could be hazardous in his profession and ruin his feel for the cards.
"May I be of assistance, Mr. Larabee?"
The blond quirked a suspicious brow towards the gambler trying to consider at his angle. He knew Standish rarely volunteered his services, no matter how minor, unless something was in it for him. "I think I can handle it."
"What procedure have you decided upon for eradicating yourself of that painful malady?" Though Standish's hands rarely suffered from the usual maladies of those more use to manual labor, he knew the slight injury had to be painful. And it was the man's trigger finger, no less, even more devastating.
"I'm still thinking on that." Larabee turned his attention back to the troublesome piece of wood.
"Perhaps I could aid you in your decision?" Standish's smiled as a way to turn this situation around to his favor began to materialize in his quick thinking mind.
"How's that?" Larabee frowned at the slighter man, seeing the calculating demeanor appear.
"I could conduct a poll." Ezra's smile grew as he saw the growing chance at another windfall. "Surely many souls such as yourself have suffered this similar malady and can offer the best advice toward its removal." And the gambler thought, he could take bets on the side as to which procedure Larabee might choose. Yes, another quick way to increase his bank account.
Larabee's frown deepened. No way in hell was he going to allow Standish to bandy this situation all over town. This was just a splinter. Allowing the conman to work one of his schemes with it, no way.
He leveled one of his best green-eyed glares toward the man. "Don't you have jail duty about now?"
Standish recognized the angry glare and swallowed hard. Guess the man wasn't up to a little levity; well, was he ever? Knowing he would not get any help from the man, Ezra pulled on his jacket lapels to straight his garment. He brushed some dust from the sleeves of the deep red coat, raised a two-finger salute to the edge of his hat to the man and started down the boardwalk toward the jail.
Larabee began watching the man's progress as he departed but he caught the movement of another large man heading his way from the opposite direction. Josiah Sanchez was ambling down the boardwalk carrying several small boxes.
The gunslinger nodded in Josiah's direction. "Josiah."
"Chris," the large man sighed deeply as he moved up to stand beside the leader. "Fine day," he declared as he took in a deep breath and smiled in satisfaction as he gazed around the town. Silently he gave his thanks for the peaceful normalcy.
Not really caring for how his day was going, Larabee shrugged, "If you say so." He pointed toward the boxes the large man carried. "Supplies?"
Sanchez bobbed his head once in agreement. "Nails." Josiah noticed the redness and caught the leader's finger in huge hand, turning it over to expose the wounded digit. "The crosses we bear."
Snatching his hand back from another well-meaning friend, he sighed in exasperation. He was not up for the spiritual man's riddles on a good day; today his head was beginning to throb and he had no wish to work to decipher the meanings. "It's just a splinter."
Shaking the packages in his hands slightly to rattle the nails within he stated, "The Lord's son Jesus found himself sacrificed on but a splinter of a tree."
The blond dragged a weary hand down his face, regretting that action too as the wounded finger dragged across the stiff whiskers shadowing his chin. "Josiah. . ." he sighed.
Josiah grinned and patted the man on the back of his dark covered shoulder; "Man finds it hard to accept help to be healed. Whether it be of the spirit or the body." Grinning wisely, the man moved off toward the church at the end of town he was restoring. Work he did as his own penance for his spiritual healing.
Larabee shook his head after the man; he had a strange host of friends. Looking down at his finger once more, their dark skinned healer came to mind. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of the man earlier except for the excuse that he kept getting distracted in his thoughts. Nathan's clinic was sure to have something he could use to remove the tiny wound maker with ease.
He turned suddenly, the duster flaring out behind him as he moved with renewed purpose toward the clinic above the livery. Mounting the stairs quickly, he moved along the upper balcony to the door of the healer's quarters. Knocking with authority, there was little waiting before he heard the welcome, "Come in" from behind the door.
"Hey Chris." Nathan smiled as the man entered. Then realizing the leader was never one for social visits, he frowned as his thoughts turned to a more sinister meaning. "Somebody hurt?"
Chris shook his head tersely, allowing a half smile at the irony of the situation. "Not especially."
Frowning further at the man's cryptic answer, Nathan quirked a questioning eyebrow toward his friend and waited for more.
Larabee held out the tiny wound that had quickly ruined his day.
Nathan examined the dark shape buried in the now inflamed flesh on the pad of the man's trigger finger. "Yes, we need to take care of this quickly, can't have infection set in further."
The dark skinned healer moved quickly around his small clinic. He spread a clean towel out over the table in the center of the room he sometimes used for operations. Moving to the apothecary cabinet to the side along the clinic walls, he pulled several instruments from the drawers and laid them out carefully on top of the towel. Chris eyed the collection of delicate silver tools warily. With efficient purpose, Nathan filled his large ceramic bowl with hot water kept in readiness on his stove and placed it on his operating table. Finally he moved back to the cabinet, reaching up to one of the higher shelves to bring down his bottle of carbolic. It would be needed to clean the wound thoroughly and prevent further infection. He knew the leader depended on that trigger finger. They all did; the skill Larabee showed with a gun saved them all from time to time.
Satisfied all was in readiness, Jackson turned to his patient. Glancing a confused look around the room, he realized he was alone. He moved to the door, opening it to glance outside. The rapid retreat of the leader was marked as the black duster billowed behind the swift moving form. Shaking his head, Nathan realized he was going to have to track down the man and see that he tended to the wound before it did serious damage. These men could be so stubborn about their own health.
Larabee stormed down the boardwalk back toward his original destination. He was beyond need of a drink now. This was ridiculous that he felt felled by such a minor irritation. He was amazed at the production of a major operation Jackson was prepared to go through for its extraction. No thought needed to go into it now. He intended to get a couple of drinks then just grab the damn thing and pull it out. Shaking his head, he could not believe he'd allowed such a minor task cloud his thinking for most of the day.
Nearing the saloon, he noted a lean young man moving with easy strides from the opposite direction. Dressed in tanned buckskin trousers and a fringed jacket, he tipped his Calvary slouch hat to several ladies that passed him, smiling shyly at their flattered giggles. The sight usually brought a smile to stern leader's face but now the ire over this mishap ruled his features.
As the two men neared their shared destination the younger man raised his blue twinkling eyes to take in the dark storm cloud moving his way. Not sensing any danger threatening the town he figured it was something personal challenging his friend's disposition. He smirked and the eyes took on more of a hint of mischievousness as he wondered how long it would take him to erase the man's scowl. He planned his usual greeting to gauge the depth of the man's ire.
"Hey... "
Larabee pointed an irritated finger in younger man's face not giving him a chance to continue. "Don't start, Tanner!"
The grin grew. Just like that story Josiah told one time. Some guy named Daniel in a pit with a bunch of lions. Yep working with Larabee was like taming those lions at times. Sure kept things interesting. The young man's grinned broadened as he chuckled at his friend's predicament. The finger he pointed showed the splinter in all its inflamed glory. Didn't take much to rile the man. The challenge of getting the man to reveal his softer human nature was almost as challenging as a hunt.
The blond should have been warned by the mischievous twinkle shining from his friend's eyes. Before he knew what happened, the hunter had pulled the knife from the scabbard at his waist and grabbed the gunman's trigger finger. With practiced ease, he skimmed the knife to the end of the dark wound, pushing the offending object back up toward the entry point. Deftly grabbing the end, the tracker slid the embedded object out, releasing his friend's hand as he did so.
Sliding the knife back into place, he winked at the astonished blonde. "Drink?" The younger man moved off and began to push his way into the saloon through the batwing doors.
Larabee glanced down at his finger. Tentatively touching the tip he was relieved to find the shooting pain gone and redness not as bad as it first appeared with the offensive weapon sitting in the middle of the wound. All that could penetrate his mind at the moment was one of Standish's favorite lines, feeling bewildered himself at the ease and quickness of it all, 'What just happened here?'
"Coming, cowboy?"
The black hat snapped up as the blond glared after his friend's disappearing back into the saloon. One of these days he was going to shoot him a skinny assed, no account tracker. He rubbed his finger over the tip of his finger again. Moving from his bewildered state to finally follow his friend inside and get that anticipated drink, he shook his head. Smiling. A genuine smile. . .one that reached his eyes to set off a matching twinkle that could rival his blue-eyed friend's as he thought, 'But not today.'
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