It was early evening when the two men finally rode back into town, and the only thing on Ezra's mind was sleep. His headache had eventually disappeared and his vision had cleared, but he'd been left with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that made it hard for him to even stay in the saddle.
Buck had kept a careful eye on Ezra all the way home and was relieved when they finally rode into town. He'd tried to get the gambler to go straight to his room, promising to take care of Rebel for him, but he'd stubbornly refused. By the time they'd finished seeing to the horses and had headed back toward the saloon, Ezra was nearly staggering with the fatigue that seemed to sap what little energy he had left.
Pushing through the bat-wing doors, Ezra headed straight for the stairs and slowly made his way up to the second floor. Buck stood listening until he heard him enter his room and close the door, and then turned and made his way over to the table where the rest of the seven sat finishing up their dinner.
Nathan stared worriedly in the direction of Ezra's room, and then frowned at Buck as he wearily eased himself down on the chair JD pushed out for him. "He all right?"
Buck gratefully accepted the shot of whiskey Josiah passed him. "Yeah, he's just tired. Didn't sleep too well last night... you know how he gets after spendin' too much time away from that featherbed of his." Buck made light of Ezra's condition, wishing all the while he could tell them how worried he was about the gambler.
"The delivery go okay?" Chris asked, sliding his plate over in front of Buck when he saw him eyeing the chicken leg he hadn't eaten.
Buck nodded. "Piece of cake." Forcing his concern for Ezra to the back of his mind and carefully leaving out any mention of the gambler's nightmare and headache, he proceeded to give the others a detailed account of their trip to Jasper.
Ezra closed his door and slumped back against it, dropping his gear beside him on the floor... he was too tired to even think about taking care of it. Normally, the first place he'd head after time on the trail would be the bathhouse for a nice, long, relaxing soak, but tonight it was completely out of the question. Glancing at the pitcher of water and basin on his dresser, Ezra wearily shook his head. Even simply rinsing off was beyond his capabilities at the moment. The headache had left him so drained, he felt as though he could easily sleep for a week.
Pushing himself away from the door, Ezra stumbled over to his bed and collapsed on the edge, barely keeping himself upright long enough to remove his outer clothing and guns. He uncharacteristically let his clothes drop to the floor before turning and sprawling face-down on the mattress. Ezra groped behind him for the quilt, but merely succeeded in pulling it partway across his hips before slipping into a deep, and thankfully, dreamless sleep.
Ezra never even stirred when Buck slipped into the room around midnight to check on him. The former lawman quietly picked up the discarded clothing and draped them over the chair, frowning at that indication of just how exhausted Ezra had been.
Moving over to the bed, Buck was relieved to see that Ezra seemed to be sleeping soundly. Hopefully he'd be free of the awful nightmares, at least for tonight. Buck looked down at the gambler and wished he could loosen his clothing to make him more comfortable, but Ezra was lying on his stomach and it would be impossible to do it without taking a chance on waking him up. So instead, he settled for easing the quilt up over him and turning down the lamp. After one last look at his young friend, Buck left... more determined than ever to find a way to get him to talk to Nathan.
Ezra did make it through that first night back without a repeat of his nightmare, but, unfortunately, it was only a brief respite. The horrible dreams and the blinding headaches returned a few nights later, and they had been increasing in frequency and intensity ever since.
Buck had talked himself blue in the face that next day, trying to convince Ezra that he should at least let Nathan take a look at him. He'd finally been forced to back off when the gambler had angrily shouted at him that he was fine and didn't need another mother nagging at him, the one he had was bad enough.
Ezra had immediately apologized, but Buck knew that if he kept pushing, he risked damaging the closeness he and the younger man had begun to enjoy since his accident. So Buck offered his own apology and dropped the subject, but continued to keep a close eye on Ezra, watching carefully for any signs that the nightmares and headaches were still bothering him.
But Buck forgot what an accomplished con man the Southerner was. Knowing Buck was watching him, Ezra successfully hid the truth of what was happening from him for several weeks. He did his job when needed... luckily for him they were blessed with a rare period of peace in the small town... no robberies, only a few drunken ranch hands attempting to destroy the saloon. He even managed to hold it together long enough at night to join in their regular poker games. Ezra lost more than usual, but they all chalked it up to the fact that he was finally moving slowly into the family and assumed he was just letting them win some of their money back as a gesture of friendship.
Ezra struggled to maintain an appearance of normalcy while around the others, but once alone in his room, the facade was dropped, and he succumbed to the effects of his restless, pain-wracked nights... collapsing on the bed in exhaustion and getting what little sleep he could manage before the horror of his dreams began again.
It was three long weeks before Buck finally started to notice a difference in Ezra. He was sleeping even later than usual in the mornings, and dark circles had begun to form under his eyes... eyes that normally sparkled with humor and intelligence, but which were now lifeless and dull. Most noticeable were the long silences that befell the Southerner. Usually when they were all gathered together, he was an eager participant in the lively conversations and friendly bantering, but now he merely sat shuffling his cards, seemingly ignoring what was going on around him. Buck realized Ezra must still be having the nightmares and cursed himself for underestimating the gambler's skill at hiding what he was truly feeling.
Buck had seen the others watching Ezra the night before and knew they must have noticed the difference in him, too. He decided it was time to push the issue with the younger man and force him to get help. Ezra was still sleeping when he left out on morning patrol, but Buck had made up his mind that upon his return, he would sit him down and give him an ultimatum... either Ezra told Nathan and the others what was happening to him... or he would.
It was only about an hour after Buck rode out that the period of peace the town and the Seven had been enjoying abruptly came to an end.
Shots rang out from inside the bank, alerting five of the town's peacekeepers that there was trouble.
JD burst out of the jail just in time to see three rough-looking, armed men running from the bank followed closely by Mr. Harlen, the bank manager, who collapsed on the boardwalk, clutching his bleeding arm. "Help!! The bank's been robbed!"
The young peacekeeper managed to get off a couple of rounds, wounding one of the outlaws and sending the other two scrambling for cover before bullets began flying in his direction, forcing him back into the jail. Crouching beside the door and peering out, he spotted the others.
Josiah was making his way down the street from the church, and Nathan was ducked down behind the railings that encircled the clinic's landing. Both men were attempting to draw the bandits' attention away from JD.
Vin and Chris were in front of the saloon, taking cover behind whatever they could find as they slowly made their way closer to the action. Suddenly, one of the robbers made a break for it and disappeared into the alley that led to the side street behind the bank and saloon. Vin made his intentions to head the man off known to Chris and doubled back to disappear through the bat-wing doors.
Ezra stirred restlessly in his sleep, struggling against the blankets that had tangled around his legs, pinning him to the bed. His features were contorted with fear as he was caught in the relentless grip of another nightmare, until finally, the sounds of gunfire and yelling in the street loosened its hold on him, and he jerked awake.
Still groggy and confused, Ezra sat in the middle of the bed trying to shake off the remnants of his dream. <<Gunshots? Were they real or part of my nightmare?>> The answer became clear when more shots filled the air, and he heard Chris's worried voice calling out to JD.
Ezra dragged himself out from under the covers and pushed himself to the side of the bed. Thankful for once that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes, he hurriedly pulled on his boots, and after grabbing his gun, ran out the door.
Just as Ezra reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Vin rushed into the saloon. "Mr. Tanner? What's goin'—" Ezra's question was cut off as the first blinding pains of another headache speared through his brain. Uttering a strangled cry, he fell to his knees... one hand clutching at his head while the other clung to the railing in a desperate attempt to keep himself from tumbling down the stairs.
Vin looked up, worry etched on his face as he saw the gambler in an obvious state of distress. "Ezra?! Ya hit?!" He changed direction and headed for the stairs, forgetting momentarily about the man he'd been chasing in his haste to get to the Southerner.
Ezra heard Vin and forced his eyes open, battling against the crippling pain in his head as he tried to focus on the tracker. His vision cleared momentarily, and what he saw sent a shiver of fear racing up his spine. The outlaw Vin had been after was moving up behind him, gun out and aimed at his back.
"Vin... behind..." Ezra's teeth were clenched in agony, and his mumbled warning to the approaching sharpshooter went unheard as another volley of gunfire exploded out in the street. Ezra raised his gun and tried to get a clear shot at the stranger creeping across the floor of the saloon, but his vision suddenly blurred as another wave of pain struck, and he had to hold his fire or take the risk of hitting Vin instead.
Vin misunderstood the gambler's actions and continued toward the stairs. "It's me, Ezra... don't shoot. Just take it easy."
"Behind... you...." Ezra gasped out the words and saw comprehension finally dawn in Vin's blue eyes... but it was too late. Just as the other man turned around and raised his gun, the robber fired. "No!!!" Ezra's anguished cry as he saw Vin go down was echoed by Chris when he ran through the door and saw his best friend lying bleeding on the floor with the outlaw standing over him.
"Vin!!" The stranger whirled at the sound of the gunfighter's shout and tried to bring his gun up in time, but Chris was fueled by rage and wasted no time in putting a bullet straight through his heart. Hurrying to the fallen tracker's side, he knelt down and began checking him over, relieved to see that he was conscious and alert.
Vin gritted his teeth against the pain and grabbed Chris's arm. "Ezra? 'S he okay?"
<<Oh God... not Ezra, too!>> Chris's head shot up, and he frantically searched for the gambler. His heart nearly stopped when he spotted Ezra as he half-stumbled and half-fell down the stairs trying to get to Vin.
Ezra's gun still hung limply in his hand, forgotten as he fought against the throbbing pain in his head and the queasiness that was rapidly building in his stomach. His legs finally gave out on him, and he slid down the last few steps, landing in a graceless heap at the bottom.
"Ezra! Where you hit?!" Chris couldn't see any blood on him, but he was obviously hurt. He started to rise to go to the gambler, but stopped when he saw him shake his head.
Ezra tried to answer Chris, but all he could manage was a softly slurred... "sick"... as he curled up on himself. He sat with one arm wrapped around his head and the other clutching at his stomach as he tried to hold back the flood of vomit that was threatening to erupt.
"Why the hell didn't you shoot then?! You both could've been killed!" Chris's voice shook with the thought of how close he'd just come to losing two of his friends. Turning his attention back to Vin, he pressed tightly against the wound in the ex-bounty hunter's arm as he tried to staunch the flow of blood that was rapidly darkening his sleeve.
"I'm s-sorry... I—" Ezra's apology and explanation were cut off as another wave of nausea washed over him, and he was forced to take several deep breaths to control it. He heard someone enter the saloon and looked up to see Nathan striding across the room toward them. Ezra knew immediately by the look on the healer's face that he had heard Chris's words and was ready to blame him, as usual,for what had happened, and he realized that he just wasn't in any condition to fight it this time.
So when Nathan gave him a thinly veiled look of disgust and announced his idea of what was wrong with him, "Ya got a damned hangover, don't ya, Ezra?" Ezra merely nodded, pushed himself to his feet, and hurried toward the back of the saloon, desperate to reach the relative privacy of the alley before he lost control in front of the others. Ezra barely made it down the steps before he fell to his knees and began helplessly emptying his stomach into the dirt.
Buck rode back into town just as JD and Josiah were dragging their two prisoners toward the jail. "What the hell happened?! I thought I heard gunshots an' got here as fast as I could!"
"These two misguided souls and a friend of theirs attempted to rob our fine bank. As you can see, they were unsuccessful." Josiah grabbed the man JD was holding and pushed them both ahead of him into the jail. "You two better go check on Chris and Vin in the saloon. Nathan went runnin' in there a few minutes ago and hasn't come back out yet."
Buck quickly dismounted and started across the street with JD. "Where's Ezra? Is he all right?"
JD shrugged and looked surprised. "I don't know. It all happened so fast, it was hard to keep track of where everybody was. I don't remember seein' him though."
Buck hurried his pace and was practically running by the time he hit the bat-wing doors with JD right on his heels.
Nathan glanced up when Ezra hurried out of the saloon and shook his head. "Damn fool... serves 'im right for gettin' drunk in the first place."
Vin angrily pushed the healer away and pulled himself up onto a chair. "He ain't got a damned hangover, Nathan... he's sick. An' if ya weren't always tryin' t' find fault with 'im, you'd have realized that somethin's wrong. He's been lookin' an' actin' poorly for a while now." Ezra wasn't the only one who'd noticed the looks and snide remarks Nathan occasionally aimed at him, Vin had noticed as well... and he was beginning to get damned sick of them. He turned his head toward Chris. "He was hurtin' bad when I first spotted 'im on the stairs, an' I don't think he could see good 'nough t' shoot... looked like he was havin' trouble focusin' his eyes."
Buck and JD came bolting through the door just in time to hear the exchange between the three men. Buck's heart sank as he heard Vin's words... Ezra must have had another attack.
"Damn, Vin, you okay?" JD asked anxiously.
"I'm fine, kid... it's just a scratch." Vin shifted his gaze to Buck and correctly read the worried expression in his eyes. "You know what's wrong with Ezra, don't ya, Buck. He make ya promise not t' tell?"
Buck was about to answer the sharpshooter when Nathan interrupted him. "Ya saw 'im nod when I asked 'im... he's got a hangover. He prob'ly stayed up half the night playin' cards an' drinkin'." Nathan was busy wrapping the tracker's bandanna around his arm as a temporary bandage and failed to see the look of concern the others exchanged behind his back.
"Hell, Nathan, he was prob'ly jus' agreein' with ya 'cause he knew it weren't no use tryin' t' convince ya he hadn't been drinkin'. No wonder he don't never come t' ya when he's sick... I wouldn't either if I was him." Vin usually kept his mouth shut and stayed out of the others' disagreements, but Nathan had developed a blind spot when it came to Ezra, and it was hard not to point it out to him now and then.
"Where is he now?" Buck steeled himself against the urge to ask Nathan when the last time was that he had actually seen Ezra drunk. He could practically guarantee that the healer wouldn't be able to remember since the gambler very rarely drank more than he could handle. He was tempted to call Nathan on it, but he'd seen the regret and confusion in his eyes after hearing Vin's words of protest and just didn't have the heart to add to it. They all knew Nathan didn't mean half of what he said about Ezra... something had to be wrong to make the gentle healer act the way he was, but he'd have to wait and try and figure it out later... right now, Ezra needed him.
Chris nodded toward the back and moved to accompany Buck. "He looked like he was about to be sick when he ran outta here. You gonna need some help with him?"
Buck shook his head as he turned to leave. "Nah, he ain't gonna be too happy 'bout me seein' 'im in that condition... it'd embarrass the hell out of 'im if you were there, too."
Chris stopped, but gave Buck a warning look. "All right, but you make sure you tell him that as soon as he's feelin' better, one of you is gonna explain what's goin' on. And, Buck? Tell him... tell him I'm sorry for blowin' up at him." Chris wearily lowered himself onto a chair next to Vin and glared at the tracker. "Between Ezra and this one, I think I aged about thirty years today."
Buck nodded as he slipped out into the alley. An apology from Chris Larabee? Hell, that might be more of a shock than poor Ezra could handle right now, but at least it might help push him into talking to the others about his problem, and Buck knew he was going to need all the help he could get to convince Ezra to do that.
Ezra sat slumped over on the steps behind the saloon with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging limply between them. He heard someone step out the door and settle down beside him, but simply didn't have the energy to lift his head and see who it was. It was taking all his strength just to endure the bouts of sickness that didn't seem to want to quit. He just prayed it wasn't Nathan... he knew he wasn't up to dealing with his holier-than-thou attitude at the moment. Suddenly he felt a hand touch his back and begin rubbing gently in a soothing, circular motion. He heaved a ragged sigh of relief. "Buck?"
"Yeah, pard. How ya doin'?" Buck's voice was as soft and gentle as his touch and went a long way toward easing the Southerner's pain. "Was it another nightmare?"
Ezra nodded as he began gulping air in an effort to fight off the next wave of nausea that was building at an alarming rate. "Vin? Is he...."
"He's fine, Ezra, just grazed his arm's all. How 'bout you? Still feelin' sick to your stomach?" Buck felt Ezra shudder beneath his hand and got his arms around the smaller man just in time to keep him from toppling over onto the ground as he was racked with another violent spate of vomiting. "Damn... I guess that answers that question. Hang on, Ezra, I got ya."
Buck felt his own stomach clench as Ezra continued to retch and gag uncontrollably, and both men were immensely relieved when the attack finally passed. Buck tightened his hold on him once it stopped and eased him back against his chest as he removed his bandanna and began mopping the sweat off the gambler's face and neck.
Ezra moaned softly and weakly tried to squirm out of Buck's grip, but the older man refused to let him go. "Just rest easy for a bit. It ain't gonna kill ya to accept some help for a change. If I let go of ya now, you're gonna end up on your face in the dirt."
Realizing Buck was right... he didn't even have enough strength to lift his head... Ezra quit struggling and reluctantly allowed his friend to take care of him.
Buck waited until he felt Ezra's breathing even out before he allowed him to pull away, keeping one arm around the gambler's shoulders until he was sure he was steady enough to sit on his own. "You okay now, pard?"
Ezra nodded as he rubbed gently at his forehead, trying to ease away the last of the headache. His stomach still felt a little unsettled and sore, but he was fairly certain that the worst of the ordeal was over. Ezra looked sideways at Buck and gave him an embarrassed grin. "We seem to be makin' a habit of this. I'm sorry if I seemed ungrateful for your help, Buck... it's just hard for me to—"
Buck cut off Ezra's apology with a shake of his head. "Don't worry, pard, you can make it up to me the next time I tie one on. Then it'll be your turn to hold my head when I start throwin' up all over the—" Buck saw the Southerner's face turn a delicate shade of green and immediately began to apologize. "Damn... sorry, Ezra. Ya gonna be all right?"
Ezra closed his eyes and took shallow breaths until his stomach finally began to settle again. "I think so... just give me a few more minutes."
Buck rubbed his hand slowly across Ezra's back while he watched the gambler carefully. Once he saw his color improve, Buck stopped fussing over him and leaned back against the steps. "Chris wanted me to tell ya he's sorry 'bout yellin' at ya. He was just spooked at how close we come to losin' you an' Vin."
Ezra glanced at Buck in surprise and then turned away, the guilt he felt for allowing Vin to be injured sending a blush of shame to his cheeks. "He had every right to be angry with me... I very nearly got Mr. Tanner killed today."
"Ezra, no one's blamin' ya for Vin gettin' hurt 'cept you." Buck hated seeing Ezra do this to himself.
"No one?" Ezra's words held a touch of sarcasm, and Buck knew immediately who he was referring to.
"Aw, come on, Ezra... Nathan knows he was wrong now. Vin made sure of that." Buck leaned over so he could see the gambler's face. "Why'd ya let 'im think he was right about ya havin' a hangover, pard?"
Ezra sighed and tiredly rubbed his eyes. The exhaustion that always overwhelmed him after one of his headaches was settling in, and he knew he needed to get to his bed soon or risk collapsing where he sat. "Three very good reasons, Mr. Wilmington. Firstly, I was simply too ill and in too much pain to argue with him. Secondly, I've found that Mr. Jackson's brand of self- righteousness is virtually impossible to defend myself against... and last, but definitely not least... he was right."
"Damn it, Ezra—"
Ezra held up a shaky hand to stop Buck's words of protest and continued. "I know... his reason for my dereliction of duty was wrong, but his accusation that I failed to live up to my responsibilities was absolutely correct."
Buck laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Ezra, come on now... it ain't your fault ya keep havin' the nightmares an' gettin' those headaches. How can ya possibly blame yourself for that?"
Ezra shook his head. "But I should have foreseen the danger I would be puttin' the rest of you in if one of them struck when I was needed... which is exactly what occurred today." Ezra turned his head and stared at Buck, the horror of what had almost happened reflected clearly in his jade green eyes. "Vin could have died because of me, Buck. How can any of you possibly forgive me for that? How can I forgive myself?"
Buck felt the tremors that ran through the over-wrought gambler and tightened his grip on his shoulder. "I told ya, Ezra, none of us... an' especially not Vin... blames you for what happened. We're all just worried about ya."
Ezra pushed himself to his feet, grabbing quickly at one of the support posts as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. Once the dizziness passed, he looked at Buck and smiled sadly. "Well, as soon as I freshen up, I'll put their minds at ease by revealin' the true cause of my infirmity this mornin', and then I'll further ensure the safety of all of you by resigning my position as fellow peacekeeper and announcin' my intention of leavin' this dusty little town."
Buck just sat and stared, too shocked by the Southerner's words to say or do anything, but he quickly shook it off and jumped up to grab Ezra's arm before he could enter the saloon. "What in the hell are you talkin' about?! You ain't leavin' here... where would you go, an' how the hell would ya manage on your own with those headaches?! You're liable to get yourself killed out there alone like that!"
Ezra jerked his arm out of Buck's grip and turned to stare angrily at him. "Better me than one of you! How the hell would I live with myself if I stayed and let that happen?! Besides, I've been alone all of my life... it's what I'm used to...." Ezra's voice trailed off as he realized all he'd be giving up. Six friends who cared for him and allowed him to share their life, and the home and family he'd always wished for.
Suddenly, Ezra was swept by a deep feeling of loss that left him so shaken, he was forced to grab onto the door frame to keep from falling. It made him physically ill to even think about leaving them all behind, but he knew he had made the right decision. He couldn't... he wouldn't... put their lives at risk again.
Buck saw his legs buckle and moved in to slip a supportive arm around his waist. "Come on, pard, let's get you up to bed so you can rest for a bit. Then we'll tell the others, an' we'll all figure out what we're gonna do."
Ezra had no choice but to accept Buck's help, but he quickly made it known that he wasn't changing his mind. "There's nothin' to figure out. I'll be departin' in the mornin', and that's all there is to it."
Buck wanted to argue with the stubborn gambler and convince him he wasn't going anywhere, but he could see how hard Ezra was fighting against his emotions and the fatigue that was threatening to drag him under, and decided now wasn't the time. Instead, he wisely ignored Ezra's last statement, and taking most of the smaller man's weight on himself, maneuvered him into the saloon's kitchen.
Buck left him leaning against the wall while he went to let the others know that Ezra was doing better and that he was taking him up to bed, then returned to help the groggy Southerner up the back stairs. He was nearly asleep on his feet when they finally got to his room, and it only took Buck a few minutes to get him settled comfortably beneath the covers.
Ezra raised his head and peered blearily out from under the blankets when he heard Buck slide a chair next to the bed. He frowned and immediately began protesting when he realized that the other man intended to stay. "I am not in need of a babysitter, Mr. Wilmington."
"I know that, but I just figured I'd stick around in case ya had a nightmare. Maybe if I can get ya woke up quick enough, ya won't get another one of them damned headaches." Grinning, Buck reached out and gently pushed Ezra's head back down on the pillows. "Now quit layin' there scowlin' at me an' get some sleep."
Ezra tried to resist, but he was just too spent to put up much of a fight. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, he really didn't want to be alone right now. So after a few token grumbles about Buck's mother hen tendencies, he closed his eyes and quickly drifted off into a restful and dreamless sleep.
Once Buck had reassured them that Ezra was going to be okay, the others had finally left the saloon. Chris sent JD to fetch the undertaker so he could take care of the body that still lay under a tablecloth near the bar, while he headed over to check on Josiah and the prisoners.
It had taken some mild threatening, but Nathan had finally managed to get Vin to accompany him over to the clinic so that he could clean up his bullet wound and bandage it properly.
Vin sat on a chair at Nathan's, one hand keeping a white-knuckled grip on the seat while the healer stitched up his arm. In an attempt to keep his mind off the pain, he focused his gaze on his friend's serious face and let his thoughts wander over the rocky relationship that existed between the former slave and the cocky Southerner.
Nathan and Ezra's friendship had never been an easy one, but they had managed to get past most of their differences over the nearly three years they'd worked together by learning to acknowledge and accept each other's shortcomings. Occasionally they butted heads over something the gambler had done that didn't quite live up to Nathan's rigid moral standards, but it had been happening less and less... until Ezra had his accident.
While Ezra was suffering from his amnesia, lost in the mind of his five year old self, Nathan had been exceedingly kind and compassionate when dealing with the Southerner. However, once he'd regained his memory, Nathan's attitude toward Ezra had gradually worsened. Their hard-won friendship was slowly being eroded by his determination to find fault with everything Ezra said and did.
Vin was puzzling over what had caused the change in Nathan when he suddenly realized the healer had finished stitching his wound and was staring curiously back at him. Vin blushed and ducked his head in embarrassment, mumbling a hasty apology as he kept his eyes turned away from the other man.
"Somethin' wrong?" Nathan asked as he wrapped a clean bandage around Vin's upper arm. "Was I hurtin' ya?"
Vin shook his head and looked back up at Nathan. He started to explain why he'd been staring, but then hesitated, not wanting to pry into something that really wasn't any of his business.
"Ya got somethin' ya wanna talk t' me 'bout, Vin?" Nathan stared at the hesitant tracker for a moment and then felt the heat of his own embarrassment warm his cheeks as he realized what the younger man probably had on his mind. Ezra. He should have seen it coming after Vin's reaction to the comments he'd made about the gambler back in the saloon.
Vin saw awareness appear in the healer's eyes... along with what he hoped was regret for his treatment of Ezra... and decided to go ahead. "Why ya been ridin' Ezra so hard lately, Nathan? Somethin' happen between the two of ya we oughta know about?"
Nathan shook his head, but remained silent as he turned and began cleaning up in an effort to escape Vin's scrutinizing gaze.
Vin waited a few minutes, but when Nathan still didn't say anything, he picked up his hat and moved slowly toward the door. "Sorry for buttin' in. I was jus' worried 'bout the two of ya an' thought maybe I could help." He opened the door part way and paused as he tried to decide whether to say more. "Ya know, Nathan... Ezra's worked real hard t' make hisself into what he thought you wanted 'im t' be 'cause he respects ya an' cares what ya think about 'im. Now you're actin' like he's the same ol' liar an' cheat he was when we first met 'im... like ya can't see how much he's changed. Maybe ya ain't noticed it, but ya hurt 'im bad when ya say the things ya do about 'im. I s'pose ya got your reasons for the way ya feel now, but ya better make real sure they're worth losin' a friend over... 'cause that's what's gonna happen if ya ain't careful."
Nathan waited till he heard Vin leave and then sank down on the edge of the bed. He stared at the closed door and wished he'd been able to give the tracker an answer, but he knew they'd never be able to understand what he was feeling... hell, he wasn't even sure he did.
The only one who might know what he was going through was Ezra himself. But how could he possibly tell the man that just the sound of his voice... just hearing that slow southern drawl... had suddenly started bringing back all the old feelings of rage and helplessness he'd felt as a slave? How could he tell him that after almost three years of living and working together, the idea of being friends with him now... a good ol' southern boy... made him feel as though he were betraying every one of his people who had also suffered through the horrors of slavery? He couldn't.
Nathan shook his head in despair. He'd been so sure all these old feelings had been buried a long time ago... that he'd never have to deal with them again... but all that had changed when Ezra had taken his fall in the saloon and been stricken with amnesia.
They'd made the horrifying discovery that the young Southerner, at the tender age of five, had been subjected to a vicious whipping by his uncle and left to hang alone and in pain... a punishment usually reserved for slaves. Nathan had been horrified to find himself, for one fleeting second, thinking how fitting it was that Ezra, a southern white boy, had been forced to experience the same tortures that his people had faced every day of their lives. The healer had been so wracked with guilt over that one hateful thought, that the image of Ezra as a small boy enduring such a cruel and horrible ordeal had stayed with him, with the gambler's child-like cries of pain and fear haunting Nathan's dreams, along with all the terrifying memories of the inhumane treatment he'd witnessed and suffered through while a slave.
Then when Ezra had returned to his old self and begun talking in his normal voice again, anger and resentment had replaced the guilt, and Nathan had found himself cringing every time the Southerner opened his mouth. Ezra's southern accent, his educated, high-brow way of speaking, and even his fancy clothes, made him look and sound like every Master he'd ever known... exactly like the ones that had returned to torture him night after night as he slept. The gambler had innocently unleashed all those old feelings that Nathan had kept carefully hidden away, just by being himself. In Nathan's mind, he knew his reactions to Ezra were completely irrational, but he just couldn't seem to stop them.
Nathan thought about what Vin had said about not noticing what he was doing to Ezra and uttered a harsh laugh. Not notice? How the hell could he not see the pain that flared up in Ezra's eyes every time he lost control of his emotions and began saying things... hurtful things... that he regretted the minute they were out of his mouth. He supposed subconsciously he was trying to destroy their friendship in an attempt to rid himself of the guilt of forgetting that Ezra was southern, white, and therefore the enemy... and unfortunately, it looked like he was succeeding. Ezra was apparently sick and in need of his help and had been too uncomfortable with the present condition of their relationship to come to him. Nathan knew that if he couldn't get control of his emotions, he was going to lose everything he'd fought so hard for... including his self-respect and dignity. Most importantly of all though... he'd lose his friends.
Nathan felt a new determination take hold of him as he stood and headed for the door. One way or another he'd find a way to get rid of these old feelings of hate and prejudice for good, and his first step toward doing that was going to be to talk to Ezra and try to repair the damage he'd done to their friendship. He just prayed it wasn't too late.