Main Character: Ezra Standish
Rating: Rating: PG13, some language
Universe: Alternative Old West
Series: Home is Where the Heart Is
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. You'll only get some Cheez Doodles and a bag of muffins.
Comments: Didn't write Ezra with his sexy Southern accent this time. I'm a Southern girl myself, and it's easier to think and talk in Southern than to write it after years of English class for ėproper English' lessons. And yes, Ms. Canary, I don't write in complete sentences! Oh, and I'm going on the premise that Serpents was the last show. The Obsession story just didn't seem like the ending show to me even though Obsession is listed last on episode guides. It made no mention of anything that had happened in Serpents or made closure on its topics. So here's my hack at it!
John Watson and CBS own The Magnificent Seven and all of its characters. I seek, nor shall receive, profit from this narrative.
Six months had gone by since the explosion at the pass and Chris and Vin were slowly dragging themselves out of the bottle. Vin never got in very deep to begin with, so he was the first to bounce back. Chris took a little longer once he stopped slopping down the whiskey with every breath he took.
It was also when they found out something very disturbing.
Maude Standish finally came to town looking for her son. She was very excited about some job down in Cactus Plains, Texas.
It didn't take them long to find out that she never sent the telegram to send Ezra's belongings to her in Chicago.
They told her of his death, but not about the mysterious telegram.
Josiah stayed close to her for two days as she came to his church and then saw her to the stage when it left town. She never asked for any of his belongings.
"What does this mean?" asked JD. He was horrified. Who took Ezra's things? Could some vulture have taken advantage of them and stolen Ezra's stuff?
"Something's not right," muttered Vin.
They were all at the saloon together for the first time in six months. All were sober and were wearing clean clothing.
"What are we going to do?" asked Buck.
Chris shrugged. "What can we do? It's been a while. Whoever sent the telegram and got the stuff is probably long gone by now."
Josiah turned to JD. "Where was that telegram from again?"
"I think it was Kirby's Creek. I'll check. I still got the telegram at the office. Anyone heard of a Kirby's Creek?"
Vin thought on it. "I think it's to the south of here. Maybe we can send a few wires. See what we can find out."
Chris shrugged again. "Whatever. Probably too late now."
They later sent their wires and found out that an M. Standish had checked into the local hotel, but it was a man and not a woman. They also found out that money was wired from Chicago to the town's local bank.
"Probably sold off Ezra's stuff in Chicago and got the money sent to him," growled Nathan. "Vultures like that make a man sick. Making money off of dead folks things."
Josiah held up another wire. "The local law in Kirby's Creek says the man picked up the money from the bank as Maude's lawyer and then left town. The bank manager says his paperwork was in order and looked official. He hasn't been back to town since."
"Well, there you go," slumped Chris. "We'll not likely ever find out who he was or where he is."
Buck nodded and put a hand on JD's shoulder. "Things just sometimes happen. Bad things. Sometimes you just need to let it go."
JD heaved a sigh. Yeah, the West was big. How could they find one man who stole their dead friend's things? It would be almost impossible.
It was pushed away in the next week as a crime wave hit the town. Everything from an attempted bank robbery to cattle thieves. Some they caught and some they didn't.
Josiah blamed it on the number Six. Six wasn't a mystic number like Seven. They needed their seventh to do the job like they had before. Josiah prayed for the safety of all their souls and for the first time, the others joined him.
Two weeks later and two hundred miles to the south, a small herd of cattle was approaching Silverton. Since it was daytime, the sheriff and his deputy decided to head out and check out the herd. Maybe talk to the trail boss and head off any trouble that the cowboys might stir up once they were released to go into town.
Dev was waiting on his buckskin as the sheriff got down and chatted with the boss. He let his eyes rove over the cowboys in camp and over some of the nearby cattle. His rampant emotions still clouded his ability to read people to some extent, but he could tell that the cowboys were nervous. He flipped a brim at his boss and then took a slow ride out to the main body of cattle that were being bedded down until the next morning. Except for the two nighthawks, the cowboys were going to take the night for a little carousing at the local saloon.
As Dev rode, he suddenly pulled up and his heart dropped to his stomach. He rode a little closer and looked again.
Oh, Dear Lord! What was he going to do?
Right in from of him was a Bar-LK cow. Lance Kane was a rancher near his former town and Mr. Kane only sold to the Army. What was a bunch of cowboys doing with one of his cows?
He looked around and found at least ten others animals with the same brand.
Good Lord!
His deep burning pain was back and his breath was short. It had lessened somewhat in these past few months as he had settled into his new life as Dev Haywood. He had never really examined his feelings too closely, afraid of what he might find inside of himself. But the pain was certainly back in full force now.
Ezra pulled on everything his mother ever taught him to keep his face straight and his posture casual in front of the cowboys that were eyeing him.
He quietly rode back to his boss.
They were halfway back to town when he made his decision.
"Cole," he said. Cole was short for Colman. That's what everyone called the sheriff. "Cole, I think they stole some of those cattle."
Cole shifted in his saddle to look at his deputy and saw nothing but a burning intensity. "How you figure?"
"Back some time ago I used to live near the Bar-LK. He would never sell to anyone but the Army. I might be wrong though. Times might be tight. Maybe you should wire the town when we get back and ask if they've dealt with any rustling in the past two-three weeks."
Cole studied him a minute more. "All right. We should be back in time before the office closes." Dev's heart was in this throat the whole hour it took to get a response back from his old town.
"Well, here it is, Dev. They did have some cow thieves up yonder. Looks like we need to go back and investigate some more."
Ezra held up a hand that was no longer the pristine hand that dealt out cards in his former life. "Now, Cole. I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe we should wait until they hit the town and get a little whiskey in them. Maybe catch a few of them in the ladies' quarters. Maybe catch the boss over at the hotel having a nice meal other than beans and bacon."
Cole tipped his head. "That sounds good enough. I didn't want to go back out there anyway."
Dev smiled a crooked smile, his gold tooth showing. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but we'll still have to go out and get the nighthawks watching the herd." He paused. "Got anyone you can deputize temporally?"
"Yeah, a few."
"I think we might need them tonight."
Things went quick after nightfall. The cowboys were picked up in all states of inebriation and dress. The boss was right were Dev said he would be, getting some food that was not cooked on the trail. The extra deputies and the sheriff rode out and rounded up the ones left behind with the herd while Dev watched the ones at the jail. Only the sheriff, one deputy and the two trussed up nighthawks returned to town. The rest were left out with the herd for safekeeping.
Dev's heart was pounding as Cole sent the wire to his old town telling that the cow thieves were in custody. His pain felt like it was ripping his heart completely out when the response was that three of the town's peacekeepers would go to Wild Woman and travel by train into Percy and then ride down to pick up the prisoners.
What the hell was he going to do now!
He stayed in the jailhouse with the fifteen prisoners that filled the cells to capacity. He did nothing but think all night.
He couldn't be in town when the others arrived. He was dead to them. He purposely let them believe he was dead. If it was Chris Larabee that found him, then he was really a dead man.
They would be here in five days. Three days for the men to travel to Wild Woman and hitch a ride on the train to Percy and then two days to ride to Silverton. Five days to make up his mind as to what he was going to do.
On the forth night he went to Cole.
"Cole," he spoke.
The sheriff looked up. "Yeah, Dev?"
"I need some time off."
"Time off," the sheriff was puzzled. Dev Haywood never shirked a day of his duties since he was hired on as deputy. He was even instrumental in several of their big arrests. Sometimes Cole thought that maybe Dev had done this kind of work before. He even put up with the prodding of a gunny that was running around town trying to stir Dev up into a gunfight. Nye was some lowlife that some considered to be fast with a gun and even faster with his temper.
Before Cole could say anymore, Lester Benson, the town drunk, busted into the jail. "Sheriff! Emy Nye just walked into the saloon and said he'd take either of you law dogs that cared to meet him."
Now Dev was caught. Cole was no gunfighter. Emery Nye was.
But Dev Haywood wanted to be out of town by nightfall to miss seeing his old associates from the north.
Nye was good. Dev was better. He was always good with his guns and an exceptional shot. You had to be when you were a professional gambler/con man. No one ever noticed that fact because he didn't want them to know. Let men like Chris Larabee get reputations and reputation seekers.
But Cole was a good man. He shouldn't die because Dev couldn't be man enough to be in town to meet his former friends.
Cole stood up. "All right, Dev. You can take a few days off—"
Dev held up his right hand and used his left to put Cole back in his seat. "No, Cole. You're a good man, but not good enough to face Emy Nye. I'll go down. You stay here and watch our guests."
Cole contemplated Dev's body language for a moment. It was as tense as strung barbed wire. Cole seemed to understand his deputy was in some sort of pain.
"Thank you, Dev," he said softly. "You come back in one piece. Anything after that will be gravy."
Dev nodded and went down the street.
Nathan Jackson, Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington rode hard to get to the town of Silverton. Chris was not happy leaving his town behind with only three watchers. He wanted to get there and back as quick as possible. So, they were a half day ahead of time and rode into Silverton at nightfall.
As they rode into the darkened streets of Silverton, a man named Dev Haywood was headed for the saloon to meet with Emy Nye.
"Hey, there's the jail over there," commented Buck. He pointed to their right. They all reigned over and got down. Chris knocked once on the door before letting themselves in. Better to knock and warn whoever was in there that they had company than to get a chest full of buckshot.
Sheriff Colman looked up from his desk. A shotgun was on it in front of him and his hand was on the piece at his side. "Yes?"
Chris stepped forward. "I'm Chris Larabee, and this is Nathan Jackson and Buck Wilmington. We're the ones for the prisoners. The cattle rustlers."
Cole's eyes got wide. This was the help he needed for Dev. "You're Chris Larabee? The gunfighter?"
Chris got a little irritated. He was just arriving from a hard ride for a bunch of prisoners that would take five more days to get back to his town for trial. "Yeah."
"Thank God. My deputy just left here to go face down Emy Nye. He left me here to watch the prisoners. He's fast, but I don't know if he's up to Nye's standard."
Chris's mind whirled. "Emy Nye, from Bluefield?"
"Yeah, he showed up here about two days ago trying to bait my deputy into a gunfight. Hasn't worked until now."
"Your deputy any good?" asked Buck.
The sheriff just shrugged.
Emy Nye was no one to fool with. Chris turned on his heel and went out the door with the sheriff shouting after him. "It's on the left side of the street, and four buildings down!"
Buck and Nathan hurried out after him.
The saloon was quiet. No one moved. Mainly because the customers had fled out the back door as soon as Dev Haywood came in the front. The bartender was flat on the floor behind his bar. The swamper was also belly down to the wood.
Dev came in with a watchful eye for trouble and told Emy Nye flatly to get out of his town.
Nye was standing with his back to the bar and Haywood was still at the doorway, slightly to the left to cover his back in case someone came up behind him.
Nye's hand was close to his cross draw Colt on his left hip. Haywood's hand was hanging just below the handle of his Remington.
"You're not good enough, Nye," said Dev softly. "Just ride like I told you."
That's when Chris Larabee, Nathan Jackson and Buck Wilmington flew up to the door and then stayed on the boardwalk and sidestepped to the solid wall. It was too late to interfere. The fight was on.
"You yellow, depuuuty," asked Nye as he drawled out his words. He laughed, switched his chaw to the other side of his mouth and spit on the floor. "I've been tryin' to get your yellow hide to draw on me for two days now. Must not be much to you?"
"I'm yellow enough to kill you where you stand if you don't back off, Nye," replied the soft Southern voice.
Chris looked at Buck who looked at Nathan. That was a familiar voice.
"If I was a gamblin' man, I'd surely bet on myself. I do have a good winnin' streak goin'. Killed myself some deputies from here to Bluefield," sneered out Nye.
"Well, sir, since I abhor gambling and leave nothing to chance, my money would not be wasted on such a bet." Dev stayed still, knowing the slightest move would send them both into drawing. "If you are set on this course of action, then it seems to me that we must soon decide who is going to die."
Now the three men outside of the saloon in the dark were vitalized. Shivers went up and down their spines like someone walking over their graves. Or maybe, someone walking over a friend's grave.
Buck turned to Chris and whispered, "Is that?"
Chris shook his head. "I don't know. Sounds like."
Nathan shook his head at the meaning of all this. "Shouldn't we go in?"
Chris, ever the gunfighter, shook his head. "Too late for that. We'll find out after it's all over."
Nye's eyes narrowed. This deputy was a lot cooler than the others he had killed. But it didn't matter, he would win in the end. He always did.
He drew.
It was fast, real fast.
Not fast enough.
He was dead before he hit the floor, a blue hole in his forehead.
Dev staggered back, a deep bullet burn to his right leg, just above his knee. That was as far as Nye got his gun before the sudden shock of death made his finger pull the trigger.
'Oh, Lord! That hurt!' Dev mentally cursed some more as blood poured out of his leg and he staggered back until he was pressed flat against the wall for support. He then slid to the floor.
Dev looked up from his leg and called over to Sam, the saloon's swamper. "Go down and tell Cole I'm fine. And get Deck, he's got another customer that needs planting."
"Sure thing, Dev," said the swamper as he took off his apron. He saw he would have a little trouble getting out of the saloon because of the three men that were rooted to the boardwalk outside. "Excuse me, but Deputy Haywood wants me to go to the sheriff's office."
Chris nodded numbly and allowed the man to pass. He slowly entered the saloon with Nathan and Buck practically riding his back. They looked down at the man sitting on the floor with a grip on his bleeding leg. They were there for a moment before the deputy looked up from the floor.
"Hey, Cole, I though I told you to stay—" his voice cut off as his throat constricted at the sight of his three old associates. He closed his eyes tightly against the breath-stealing pain.
He was a dead man. If his eyes weren't lying to him, there stood Chris Larabee in front of him.
"Ezra?" The name was whispered out in Chris' husky voice.
Devin Haywood, otherwise know as Ezra P. Standish, winced. Here it comes.
He gasped in pain and surprise as he was suddenly pulled up from the floor and gripped into one of the tightest hugs he ever received in his life. No even his mother had ever hugged him in this way. His eyes popped open to find himself looking at Chris' black-covered shoulder. He felt two hands on his shoulders and figured they belonged to Nathan and Buck.
What the hell? Why wasn't he dead by now?
"Mr. Larabee," he whispered out. "Chris?"
He was shoved back suddenly and he was shocked to see tears in Chris' eyes. Strong hands pushed Nathan's and Buck's hands away from Ezra so Chris could grip his shoulders. He was then slowly and methodically shook by Chris. "Where the hell have you been, Ezra. We thought you were dead!"
Looking into Chris' eyes intensified the pain and suddenly he knew what it was. He knew what was causing the glowing coal in his gut.
Guilt.
And ... longing?
He felt guilt for running out on his friends twice. Guilt for letting them down when they trusted him, needed him. Guilt that he caused his friends to no longer trust him to watch their backs in a fight. Guilt that he let them believe he was dead rather than face them again.
And at the root of it all was a longing to belong. He felt a need for a new family and a place to call home. A place that was carelessly discarded when he had taken that money.
He needed these men and it hurt that every day he was near them, his former actions caused them to stay away from him. And because of his own feelings of guilt, he had allowed it to happen without question. Allowed himself to drift further away from them rather than study on his emotions.
This whole trip was from guilt.
This whole new life, this new lie he was living, was all because of his guilt of letting down his friends and the hurt in his soul because of it.
Lord, but he had missed them.
With a silent tear running down his cheek he looked Chris Larabee straight in the eye. Chris was shocked that the usually reserved gambler was looking at him with such clear desperation.
He turned his head from staring into the upset Southerner's bottomless eyes when he saw a flash of pain cross Ezra's face and looked at Nathan. "Go get your bag, Nate. Let's see if we can't do something about his leg."
Buck went over to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Chris pushed the shorter man away again and Buck forced him to down the drink. It left him a little breathless as he swiped at the tear track on his flushed face.
"Let's sit down for a moment, Ez," said Buck gently.
They took him to the nearest table, but they could have sat any one of them. The saloon was cleared out.
Only the bartender remained now that the swamper had gone to talk to the sheriff and he looked concerned. The man in black with Dev looked like a rough customer. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and took it over to the table as an excuse to get a closer look. "You all right, Devin? I can get the sheriff to hurry down if you want?" "That's all right, Pete. These are some friends of mine," he whispered through his hoarse voice.
Pete went back to the bar and kept a silent watch.
Nathan came back with his bag, used one of his knives to cut open Ezra's pant leg after untying the rawhide that held the Remington's holster in place to move it out of the way. It was a deep bullet burn and it was bleeding like a bloodletting at a hog slaughter.
Buck kept his hand on Ezra's left arm that was resting on the table like Ezra might suddenly disappear into thin air. Chris sat almost as close.
"Why, Ezra?" asked Chris in a quiet voice. This was no time for anger or resentment or the pain Ezra's leaving had caused these past months. All that mattered was this chance to get back his teammate, a part of his family. What he wanted to know was what drove Ezra away to begin with.
Ezra kept his head down, staring at the table top. "I let you down. Twice. Then when we were at the pass, you didn't trust me to get you out." He closed his eyes. "After I knew you all were alive after the explosion, I left knowing the distrust would get someone killed eventually. I couldn't have lived with that." He paused and drew in a shuddering. "You can't have teamwork without trust. It was better to let you think that I'd died. You gentlemen wouldn't have me around like a bad peso and I could start over."
Nathan poured a little whiskey on a cloth and held it against the burn. Ezra hissed.
"That's a load of bullshit, Ezra," snapped out Chris. His anger was now starting to kindle despite himself and his intentions to remain calm. "We've been nothing but a bunch of second rate hired guns since you left us. There was no team without you. When we thought you were dead ..."
Ezra was silent a moment, he opened his eyes but kept them on the table top. "But you didn't trust me at the pass," he whispered out.
Chris closed his eyes for a second, sighed heavily and reined in his anger. How was he going to fix this? This had started that day at the pass. No, wait. This had started the day after the money incident.
Buck's hand tightened on Ezra's arm. "I know you think you let us down, pard, but you didn't. You always came back. You saved us both times." He huffed a brief laugh. "You even saved us at the pass. We would've bought the farm if you hadn't driven us back to those cliff rocks and tried to blow yourself to Georgia." Buck's voice softened. "You need to come back again. We need you to come back again."
Another tear rolled out of Ezra right eye and down to his jaw. "I was just so alone there. After ... after ... well, Nathan had Josiah, JD had Buck and, Chris ... ," he looked up at Chris, his cheek glinting from a new tear, "Chris, you had Vin. I didn't have anyone."
"Now, Ezra, that's not true— "
Ezra held up his right hand. "The only contact between us was a once a week poker game, a few whiskeys during the week and the job. And since the thing with the money ... ya'll have been avoiding me." He put his right hand over the center of his chest to feel his heart hammering away. He was finally giving in to the boiling emotions inside of him and the deep burning pain. He wanted his emotions back, he wanted to let go of all that training that had been drilled into him since he was three years old. With that in mind, he did something his mother always advised against. He put all his money in the pot and went for broke.
"Most of the time I was sitting with strangers in the saloon. I know that I deserved it. The way I so reprehensibly treated your trust in me these past two years. But every time you turned away from me or cut me with a look, it ... hurt. I couldn't take it anymore."
More silent tears streaked down his face as he bowed his head again. Lord, it was hard to talk like this and feel like this, but he was going to give it his best try. He was crying in front of three former friends in public even though it was going against a lifetime of training. Finally, some of that deep burning pain in his soul was slowly seeping out.
Chris shook his head. God, the damage they had caused to Ezra with a well-meaning gesture that was meant to let him heal in body and soul. "It wasn't that we didn't trust you. We just thought you needed a little time to yourself, to sort out what had happened. You almost died that day saving Mary, Ezra." Chris tipped his head down to look into Ezra's face. "I never thought for one minute that I couldn't trust you after what you did for us. Sure, you had a lapse in judgement when you took that money. Who hasn't on this team? And you came back to us and did the right thing, even though some of us made it hard on you to do it." Ezra kept his eyes down, trying to believe what Chris was saying and not listen to that little voice in the back of his head that told him that it was all a lie. "I was just a jackass at the cliffs. I should have listened to you, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. And thinking like you were, you saved us anyway." He nodded to himself. "And now you've saved us again, Ezra," said Chris quietly. "We let those cattle thieves get away. You found them and you got word to us."
Ezra shook his head, not knowing what else to say, his right hand falling to lay open palmed on the table in front of him in silent supplication to Chris. His left arm still tightly gripped by Buck and Nathan's hand still on his wound.
Chris slowly put out a hand to cover Ezra's. "We need you back, Ezra. I'm so damn sorry if we didn't let you know before, but we need you. You're one of us. You're family."
Ezra lifted his eyes up to Chris' and saw the emotion, saw the bond clearly for the first time. He looked at the other two men in surprise. The same emotion was in each of their faces.
"The others ... ," he started.
"Feel the same way, pard," said Buck. "We all want you back."
At hearing those words, that burning deep pain in his soul and gut left him. That broken thing inside of him became whole once again. All that was left behind was the bond he felt for these men he dared to want as his family.
Going for broke had finally worked out for him.
It was a relief to finally lay all his cards out on the table and throw away that well used poker face that shut off his emotions from the others in the Seven. The face that now lay uncovered with every emotion to be read in his eyes was a new Ezra Standish. The one that should have been if it hadn't been for Maude Standish's ėlessons'.
Cole skittered into the saloon and stopped short. His deputy was smiling and had tears running down his face at the same time and the three lawmen from up north looked like they were also on the verge of crying.
"Dev? You doing all right? I left Sam down at the jail to keep watch for me."
Ezra looked up with his intense light green eyes that glistened with tears and used his left hand to rub them away. Buck allowed the arm to escape his tight grip but clamped down on it again as the arm was lowered back down. Chris still had Ezra's right hand covered on the table. Nathan was finished swabbing his wound and was binding it with a soft cloth. "Yeah," he sniffed, "I'm fine Cole. These are my friends. Chris Larabee, Nathan Jackson and Buck Wilmington."
"Yeah, I met them at the jail and sent them down to help you out with Nye." The sheriff ran his eyes over the men again and noticed that each man, in some way, was touching his deputy. "You known them long?"
Buck laughed at that. "Sure, he's known us for almost three years now."
Cole quirked a lip at Buck and then turned back to his deputy. Ezra looked down at his gold star. He pulled his hand away from Chris and unpinned it. With a shaking hand he handed it to the sheriff. "I think you need a new deputy, Cole. I won't be staying here after all."
"But, Dev, your ranch —"
His old friends looked at Ezra in surprise. He ignored them for a moment. "I'll sell it off. I'll take the horses back with me. Maybe get a place around my old town. There's plenty of real estate up there." He then turned to grin his old grin at Chris. "It doesn't really matter where I end up living, at the saloon or at a ranch. Like my grandfather used to say, ėHome is where the heart is'.
"All right, Dev."
Ezra suddenly allowed his smile to turn into a smirk. "And my name's not Dev Haywood. It's Ezra P. Standish."
Cole's mouth suddenly dropped. "Standish?" he almost squalled. The sheriff just happened to be a fan of dime novels. That's how he knew Chris Larabee and the other two. "As in the Magnificent Seven? The Gambler?"
"Well," Ezra looked down at his work clothes, "I certainly don't look it now, but I used to be."
The sheriff smiled and shook Ezra's hand. "I knew you'd been in the law business before. You handled yourself right well. You ever need a job, just come on back down. Anytime," and with that the sheriff left, his head full of the things he'd heard about the Magnificent Seven.
Chris turned all his attention on Ezra. "A ranch, huh. And a horse ranch at that. You must be the one that sent for your stallion."
Ezra just smirked again.
Before they left the town of Silverton with the prisoners, Ezra quickly packed his saddle bags, sold off his ranch and then had a little sit down with Cole. Devin Haywood was to die here in Silverton. The name of Ezra Standish was not to be breathed to anyone. His small reputation as a gunfighter could follow him back up north and he wanted to keep that from happening. Cole swore to not tell a soul and they said their final goodbyes.
Then Ezra picked up his horses and rode out of Silverton and back to his old life with a new outlook on life.
Vin, Josiah and JD were all anxious. Anxious ever since the other three had left for Silverton. Once you lost one of your family, you got a little more jumpy about losing another member.
They sat in the jail and worried. They sat in the saloon and worried. Sometimes they even sat in the church and worried.
They received a telegram five days ago saying that the prisoners had been picked up. Fifteen of them. With only three guards for the prisoners on the five-day trip back home. Vin, J.D. and Josiah were about to go saddle up and go looking for the them when they heard horses outside the jailhouse. JD was the first to the door and out into the street.
Three dusty guards got down and prodded the sullen rustlers into the jail cells to wait for Judge Travis to come for the trial. The Bar-LK cattle were coming back slower with a few hands hired from Silverton with some money wired down from Lance Kane.
Vin, Josiah and JD sighed a sound of relief when all the prisoners were locked in the cells and the other three members of their team were finally back home safe.
Only the other three members of the team were grinning at them like idiots.
Josiah was about to demand to know what was going on when Chris pointed down the street.
Ezra was coming up the main street on his buckskin with his stallion and three mares trailing along behind him on a soft lead rope held in his left hand. He had been going at a slightly slower pace than the others to baby his prized pregnant mares on the trail. But even then, without an order from Chris, he acted as a rear guard on the long trip back, his gun never far from his hand. His eyes watchful for the safety of his rediscovered friends.
JD was about to ask who Chris was pointing at since Ezra was still in his ranch working clothes and on a strange horse. Josiah, however, was not so slow on the uptake. He whopped a mighty sound and rushed off of the boardwalk. By the time Ezra pulled up his horses and got down to tie them to the post, the ex-preacher was sweeping the shorter man up in the air and twirling him around.
"Josiah!" shouted the man in a familiar Southern accent.
The sound of Ezra's distinctive voice broke Vin and JD out of their puzzlement. They both dove off the walk and entered the fray as well.
Chris just smiled as Buck leaned an arm on his shoulder. Nathan just shook his head in amusement.
"What you thinking, pard," asked Buck of Chris.
Chris' smile just got bigger. "I'm thinking Ez's grandfather had it right. Home is where the heart is and I'm sure damn glad our hearts are whole again."
The End
January 16, 2003
Upcoming: Revenge is Sweet - Part Two of Home is Where the Heart Is