ADDITIONAL WARNING: /// DENOTES A NIGHTMARE SCENE, PARTS OF WHICH ARE VERY INTENSE
Vin stepped out onto the porch and found the other three men already on their horses and waiting for him. He paused next to Ezra and laid his hand on the gambler's leg as he looked worriedly up at him. His face was an unhealthy gray and covered with a sheen of sweat, and Vin could feel him trembling slightly under his hand. "Ya don't look so good, pard. You sure ya shouldn't jus' rest here for a spell till ya feel better?"
Ezra sat slumped in his saddle, rubbing his forehead with one hand and gripping the pommel and reins with the other. "I'm afraid that would bring on one of Mr. Jackson's tirades concerning my never taking proper care of myself, which in turn would bring on a recurrence of the headache. I prefer to suffer through the short ride back to town now and save myself more pain later."
Buck shook his head and laughed. "Don't listen to 'im, Vin. He's actually lookin' forward to drinkin' one of Nathan's vile concoctions for a change an' just don't wanna admit it."
Vin patted Ezra's leg and gave him a reassuring wink before mounting Jake. "Don't worry, Ezra, we won't tell Nathan. Can't have 'im knowin' we 'preciate those medicines of his... it'd ruin our reputations."
Ezra managed a weak smile in return. "You're right, Mr. Tanner, can't have that. If Mr. Jackson thought we were enjoyin' them, he'd most likely think they weren't effective any more and change the ingredients to make them even more vile tastin'."
Buck shuddered and rolled his eyes. "Now that just ain't possible."
"Don't let Nathan hear you sayin' that, he'd take it as a challenge," Chris warned as he turned Strider and started them on a slow walk back toward town.
About halfway between the Standish farm and the boardinghouse, they came to a fork in the road. Vin nodded toward the trail branching off to the left, away from Shelby. "Katherine said that's the way t' Delacourte's place. Thought I'd go take a quick look 'round... see what it's like."
Chris glanced over at Ezra. They'd had to stop several times for the Southerner while he was sick, but he seemed to be doing a bit better now. He still had that pinched look around his eyes that the headache gave him, but his color was slowly improving. Chris looked at Buck. "Think you'll be able to get 'im back okay on your own?"
Buck nodded and started to speak, but was interrupted by Ezra. "I'm fine, Mr. Larabee, and I'd like to accompany you. Perhaps it would help to restore my memory of the... the incident in my dream."
The others exchanged a look, and Buck, who was behind Ezra, shook his head at Chris. The gambler had had enough shocks for one day... the last thing he needed now was to be confronted with the scene of his nightmares.
Chris frowned at the Southerner as he saw him sway gently in the saddle. "Hell, Ezra, you're barely able to stay on your horse. We ain't gonna be there long, just takin' a quick look around the perimeter. Why don't you go on back to Mrs. Stokes' and get some rest?" He saw the younger man's expression clouding up and quickly tried to stop the protest before it could get started. "Besides, Nathan would have our heads for draggin' you all over the countryside while you're sick."
Ezra sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to argue, but he knew Chris was right... he was in no condition to put himself through that, but....
Ezra looked back up at Chris and reluctantly pleaded, "I know you're right, Chris. It's just... I need to work through this... this fear." His voice broke on the last word and he had to stop to fight off the tears of frustration and shame welling up in his eyes. Ezra stared embarrassedly down at the ground. "It's been twenty-three years for God's sake! How can just the mention of M-Matthew Delacourte's name... the sound of his voice... his...." Ezra shuddered as a tremor of revulsion rippled up his spine at the remembered feeling of his uncle's hands resting on his shoulders, "Lord... his touch... how can they still fill me with such an overpowering feelin' of helplessness and panic? I'm a grown man, damn it! I should be able to get past it!"
Buck could see Ezra's hands shaking as he maintained a white-knuckled grip on the saddle horn and knew he was barely hanging on to what little composure he still had. Maneuvering his big gray closer, Buck gently placed a calming hand on the younger man's arm. Leaning forward, he began trying to reason with Ezra... trying to absolve him of some of the guilt he had for feelings that the gunfighter knew the proud Southerner considered cowardly. "Damn it, Ezra, after what that son of a bitch did to ya, it's no wonder you've still got some fear in your heart for 'im. Anybody would."
Vin and Chris moved in to add their support to their hurting friend. Vin reached out and forcibly eased Ezra's grip on the saddle, rubbing some feeling back into the gambler's slender fingers as he spoke. "You were only a kid, pard, ya jus' can't handle somethin' like that when you're little, so the fear stays inside of ya waitin' till ya get strong enough t' deal with it."
Ezra looked up at the tracker, his pale cheeks tinged red with shame, and shook his head. "But I'm still not dealin' with it. As much as it disgusts me to admit it, I am just as terrified of Matthew Delacourte today as I was when I was five."
"An' why wouldn't ya be? You've relived the awful things he did to ya over an' over again in your nightmares... even when you couldn't remember what exactly happened, the fear the dreams brought on was still there inside your mind. But it was Lit'l Ezra who was still tryin' to deal with it. The adult you is just now startin' to understand where those feelin's have been comin' from all these years." Chris smiled reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, Ezra, just as soon as the time's right, that fear'll wash out of you an' the anger'll take over. Then you'll be ready to deal with your uncle."
Ezra looked around him at his three companions, his expression clearly showing the gratitude he felt for what they were trying to do. He still didn't look totally convinced that what they'd said was true, but at least now there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes instead of just the sadness that had filled them before. "I sincerely hope you're right, Mr. Larabee, and I do have to agree that I truthfully do not feel up to a confrontation with my uncle just yet. So I'll bow to your wishes and accompany Mr. Wilmington back to town and try to get some rest, but only if you and Mr. Tanner will swear to me that you are only going to take a look and have no intentions of trying to take care of that bastard on your own." Ezra grasped Chris's arm as he tried to impress the two men with his seriousness. "Matthew Delacourte is an extremely dangerous man, Chris. That is something my mind's never let me forget. Please... promise me you'll be careful."
"You've got my word, Ezra... just a look, that's all." Chris placed his hand over the gambler's and squeezed it tightly before moving away. "Now I can tell you're about to slide right on outta that saddle, so you get your butt to that boardinghouse and let Abigail an' Nathan take care of ya. I wanna find you in that bed an' sleepin' like a baby when we get back there."
Buck released Ezra with a light slap on the shoulder and grinned at Chris. "Don't worry, pard, I'll get him all snuggled in there nice an' cozy... even if I have to hogtie 'im to the bedpost to do it."
Chris and Vin laughed and rode off to the sound of Ezra eloquently telling Buck exactly what he thought of his idea of tucking someone in.
Chris and Vin had been riding for about a half hour when they came to a sharp bend in the road. Vin slowed Jake to a walk and stared thoughtfully at an open field to their left, and then bent to peer down at the ground before finally nodding his head. "I think this is where she found 'im."
Chris glanced at the tracker curiously. "Huh? How the hell do ya know that?"
Vin gave the blond gunfighter a small grin. "I'm a tracker, cowboy, I jus' know these things." He laughed at Chris's snort of disbelief. "Didn't figger ya'd fall for that one. Katherine described the spot to me when she was givin' me the directions to Delacourte's."
Chris sighed and shook his head. "Must've been hell for her... all alone an' findin' her father like that."
Vin nodded as they moved on around the bend. "Ain't no wonder she was still carryin' them hard feelin's. Jus' glad for Ezra's sake that she was finally able t' let 'em go."
Both men grew quiet as they followed the road into a thick stand of trees, the branches interlocking overhead to provide them some welcome relief from the scorching afternoon sun.
Vin's right hand drifted down to rest on his thigh, only inches from the mare's leg that was invariably strapped there, as his eyes surreptitiously scanned the area around them.
Chris's movements mirrored those of the tracker's as his instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. "You feel it?"
"Yup. We ain't alone." Vin's eyes hadn't picked up any obvious signs of danger yet, but every nerve in his body was telling him it was there.
Vin had just begun to ease his gun out of its holster when he realized he was too late. The explosion of gunfire shattered the unnatural silence, and he saw Chris's body jerk violently to the left as he was struck by one of the bullets that had suddenly filled the air.
"Chris!" Vin made a grab for his friend as he began to slide off his horse. He managed to snag a handful of shirt and allowed the gunfighter's momentum to pull them both down to the ground, grimacing and uttering a sharp grunt as he felt his ankle twist painfully beneath him. They landed between the two horses, and Vin used the dubious cover they offered to drag himself and Chris into the bushes that lined the road.
Firing off several shots into the surrounding trees, Vin risked a quick glance down at the older man lying beside him. "Chris? Ya with me, pard?"
Chris moaned softly and struggled to open his eyes. "What the hell happened?" His head was pounding unmercifully and blood dripped slowly down the side of his face, but he still somehow managed to twist himself over onto his stomach and drag his gun out. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision, he peered blearily over at Vin. "You okay?"
Vin gave a quick nod and ducked as another volley of gunfire erupted from the trees on the other side of the road. He and Chris sent their assailants a couple of well-placed shots in return and were rewarded with a cry of pain and the sounds of someone crashing through tree branches, followed by a loud thud and a litany of pain-filled curses.
Chris flashed Vin a grim smile of satisfaction and then, after scrubbing his face across his arm to remove some of the blood, raised his head up slightly and yelled, "Why don't you go on back an' tell that son of a bitchin', yellow-bellied Delacourte to fight his own damned battles?!"
"He's too important t' be wastin' his—"
Vin and Chris heard the distinctive sound of a fist connecting with flesh and then a growled, "Shut up, you fool" before another voice shouted, "There is no 'boss', we're just a concerned group of citizens who don't want your kind in our town! This is your third and final warning... leave now or you'll be goin' home in pine boxes!"
"Third warnin'? JD was the first, an' if this is the third... damn! They must've either got Buck an' Ezra on their way back t' town or else they tried somethin' at Miz Stokes'." Vin stared worriedly at Chris. "We gotta get back, Chris... no tellin' what those bastards might've done."
Chris nodded, started to speak, and then stopped. "Listen...."
They heard something in the distance crashing through the brush, and then the sound of several horses galloping in the direction of Shelby. They waited a few minutes, listening for any signs that someone may have stayed behind, and then cautiously made their way back up onto the road.
Chris saw Vin favoring his left leg and scowled at him. "Thought you said ya weren't hurt?"
Vin shook his head and pointed at the blood still dripping down Chris's face. "Ain't nothin', just twisted it draggin' your sorry ass off your horse, but you better clean yourself up, or you'll be scarin' the others half t' death when we get back t' town."
While using his sleeve to wipe away the worst of the blood, Chris rounded up Strider and Jake and led them back over to Vin. The two battered men dragged themselves into their saddles and turned the horses back toward town. All thoughts of Delacourte's plantation were forgotten in the face of the implied threats made against the others... replaced completely by their fear for their brothers' safety.
Buck and Ezra slowed their horses to a walk as they entered Shelby and found the main street lined with small groups of people talking and pointing toward the boardinghouse.
Ezra gave Buck a questioning glance and then looked back at the people on the boardwalk. He felt his stomach clench and had to fight to keep his expression neutral when he spotted his uncle standing in front of his office. Noticing Ezra, he tipped his hat and smiled coldly at him.
Buck saw Ezra pale slightly and stiffen in his saddle, and followed his gaze to see what had caused the reaction. He frowned when he saw Delacourte staring at them.
"Well, hello there, Ezra... been out gettin' reacquainted with our lovely little town?" He nodded in the direction of Abigail's, and his smile widened. "Heard there was some kind of trouble at the boardinghouse. Seems to me it's a bit rough bein' a friend of yours. I certainly hope Mrs. Stokes and your associates still think it's worth it."
"Why you—" Buck growled as his hand moved toward his gun.
Ezra quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Don't, Buck... please."
Buck angrily tried to jerk away from his grip, but when he turned and got a good look at Ezra's face, he stopped. The younger man's eyes were locked onto his uncle's, and Buck could see the battle he was waging against the fear that was threatening to overwhelm him.
Ezra's hand shook as he retained his hold on his friend. Buck was certain the gambler was about to lose control completely, but Ezra's voice when he spoke was steady and betrayed none of the terror that he was feeling in his heart. "He's not worth it, Buck, and you'd be playin' right into his hands. Let's go check on the others."
Buck looked back at Delacourte, his whole body trembling as he fought the urge to throw himself at the bastard, wrap his hands around his throat, and choke the life out of him. But he felt Ezra pull lightly on his arm, and as much as it killed him to do it, he turned in the saddle, gave the gambler a nod, and followed him down the street.
JD stepped out on the porch as they rode up, saw they knew something had happened, and quickly reassured them that everyone was okay. He was alarmed by the pallor of Ezra's face and was about to ask if they were all right when he saw Buck's warning look and instead, silently took the reins and led their horses around back to the barn.
Buck and Ezra hurried into the house and followed the sound of voices back to the kitchen. They stopped in their tracks and just stared as they came through the door and saw the gruesome scene that greeted them. There was a basin of water stained bright red, along with a pile of bloody rags, in the middle of the table. Nathan sat with his bandaged leg propped up on a stool, carefully plucking shards of wood out of Josiah's outstretched arm. After a panicked look around the room, both men heaved huge sighs of relief at finding Abigail, looking relatively unscathed, standing at the stove adding herbs to a steaming kettle of water.
"What the hell happened?" Buck demanded as he dropped weakly onto a chair. He pushed another one away from the table for Ezra, and with a gentle tug, managed to get the Southerner to sit down before his legs gave out.
Josiah glanced worriedly at Ezra and then reluctantly answered, "Just another friendly warning from our favorite local attorney."
They all exchanged anxious looks when Ezra swore softly and dropped his head into his hands.
Buck reached out and rested a large, comforting hand on the back of the gambler's neck. "Come on now, Ezra, don't even start takin' this on yourself. You can't help what your son of a bitchin' uncle does." He blushed and looked over at Abigail. "Sorry, ma'am."
Abigail snorted as she handed Nathan and Josiah mugs of tea. "Don't apologize for speakin' the truth, son. He is a son of a bitch, no doubt about it." She poured two cups of coffee and carried them around the table to Buck and Ezra, then settled in the chair next to the gambler. She stared at his bent head for a minute and realized there really wasn't a thing she could say that would ease the guilt he was feeling, so instead she gently pulled one of his hands down and just sat and held it, offering her support and knowing he'd accept it when he was ready.
The others followed her lead and sat quietly, allowing Ezra time to deal with his emotions. Buck kept his hand where it was and lightly stroked the chestnut hair, hopefully soothing the younger man while letting him know he wasn't alone.
Nathan had just finished removing the splinters from Josiah's arm and was wrapping a bandage around it when the back door slammed open. The group gathered around the table stared in shock as JD and Vin staggered into the kitchen with a bloody and semi-conscious Chris hanging between them.
Josiah came to his senses first and quickly stood to help ease the gunfighter down onto a chair.
"I'm fine, damn it!" Even though he could barely hold his head up, Chris was still trying to fight off their helping hands.
Buck moved around the table to help Nathan with Chris, while JD and Josiah forced the protesting tracker to sit and take some weight off his injured leg. Vin assured them it was just a sprain, but after some stern glances from the exasperated healer and a comment about being even more mule-headed than a certain blond cowboy from Josiah, he relented and let the preacher remove his boot and take a look at it.
Nathan glanced over at Abigail as he grabbed up the last of the clean rags to wipe the blood off Chris's face, and she immediately left to get more.
Ezra stared at his friends and was swept with an overwhelming sense of remorse at the knowledge that they were all risking their lives to help him. Taking advantage of their distraction while they dealt with the latest injuries, the disheartened gambler slipped quietly out of the room.
Matthew found Harris in the saloon, working diligently at getting drunk. "Well?"
Harris turned blood-shot eyes on the attorney and nodded his head. "It's done. The two on the roof, plus the leader an' the long-haired one. The only ones we haven't gotten now are your nephew an' that tall, mustached fella that sticks close to 'im." He slammed back another drink and refilled the glass with shaking hands, slopping whiskey on the bar and on himself. But no matter how much he drank, it couldn't change the fact that he'd shot someone. Couldn't erase the memory of the impact of his bullet and the nauseating spray of blood that had erupted from the blond's head. "And you can handle the rest yourself, because I'm through doin' your dirty work. I'm gettin' too damned old to be sneakin' around in the woods, shootin' at innocent people."
Delacourte stared thoughtfully out the window and mumbled quietly to himself. "Wilmington... still apparently attached to my nephew." As an evil glint appeared in his eyes, he turned to Harris and patted his arm. "We'll discuss what you will or won't do for me later, but for now, your work is finished... my men can handle things from here on out. If your warnings didn't do the trick, then I'll look forward to dealin' with Ezra and his friend Wilmington myself. I've got some special plans for those two... so special I almost hope they don't turn tail and run."
Snatching the shot glass out of Harris's hand, Delacourte tossed the drink back and then quickly left the saloon. Striding purposefully across the street to the livery, he saddled his horse and rode swiftly out of town.
Nathan had managed to stop the bleeding from Chris's wound and was just finishing wiping away the last of the blood when Abigail returned to the kitchen. He'd been relieved to find that the bullet had just barely grazed the side of the blond's head. Chris had a throbbing headache and some dizziness from the slight concussion he'd sustained, and was feeling weak and tired because of the blood loss, but considering how things could have turned out, he'd been extremely lucky.
"Damn it, Nathan, will ya quit your fussin'?" Chris growled as he grabbed the dampened rag out of the startled healer's hand. "I think I'm still capable of washing my own face."
Abigail gave the disgruntled gunfighter a pointed look and nodded her satisfaction when she heard him begrudgingly offer up a mumbled apology to Nathan. She set the rags on the table and picked up the basin of dirty water and then stopped, frowning as her gaze traveled quickly around the crowded room. "Where's Ezra?"
Buck's head snapped up and, seeing the now empty chair across the table from him, immediately was struck by a surge of guilt for not noticing Ezra had left.
JD saw the concerned look on Buck's face and was quick to try and reassure him. "He probably went on up to his room to lie down... he was lookin' pretty beat when we came in."
Buck nodded hesitantly and moved toward the stairs. "I'll just go check to make sure."
"Hold up, Bucklin... he ain't up there." Vin nodded out the back window when the others all turned to stare at him.
Chris leaned forward to look out into the yard and uttered a muffled curse when he saw Ezra headed for the barn with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder. "Damn pig-headed...."
While Vin struggled to get his boot back on, and Nathan and Abigail fought to keep Chris in his seat, Buck, JD and Josiah hurried out the door, catching up to Ezra just before he got to the barn. Buck grabbed the gambler's shoulder and jerked him around to face them.
"What the hell do you think you're doin'?!" He felt JD and Josiah's hands tugging at him, heard them warning him to take it easy, but he shook them off. The pain of Ezra's continuing lack of trust in him and the frustration of trying to break through that final protective barrier the younger man still held firmly in place, combined with the worry over the injuries to their friends, was fueling the anger that was driving Buck now.
Ezra wrenched himself out of Buck's grip and backed away before quietly answering him. "I'm leavin'... what does it look like I'm doin'?"
Buck narrowed his eyes at him, but didn't make any attempt to re-establish his hold on Ezra. "I thought you promised us you'd stay an' try an' work this nightmare thing out?"
Ezra fussed with his jacket and saddlebags for a moment to give himself time to get his emotions under control, then returned Buck's glare. "May I remind you of my exact words, Mr. Wilmington? I said I'd stay, but if we couldn't find a way to do somethin' about my headaches... which we haven't, I might add... and if I thought y'all were still in danger because of me... which you obviously are... then I'd leave. And if you'll remember correctly, y'all promised if that happened that you wouldn't try to stop me." He stifled a moan when he saw the rest of his friends headed in his direction, and knew he had to end the conversation now and leave before they were able to talk him out of it. "Now I would say I have kept my end of that promise, and I'd appreciate it if you kept yours."
Buck quickly placed himself between Ezra and the barn and grabbed him, intent on shaking some sense into the stubborn gambler. But then he saw the anguish in those bright green eyes, and all his anger just drained away. "Ezra, please don't do this. I promise ya we'll get ya through it... just don't give up yet."
Ezra flung his arms out, breaking Buck's hold and startling the men surrounding him. "Good God, Buck! Do you think I want to give up?! That I want to let that bastard win?!" The emotionally distraught gambler could barely breathe as he struggled to convince them that he was right. He waved a shaking hand at their bruised and battered friends. "For God's sake... will you look around you? What do you want me to do? Sit here lettin' y'all fight my battles until one of you is finally killed?" Tears blurred Ezra's vision and his voice was hoarse with the pain he was feeling at the thought of losing even one of his friends. "Will that be enough for you? Then will you let me go?"
Buck saw the fight go out of Ezra as his shoulders slumped in defeat, his saddlebags slipping slowly down his arm to land with a soft thump at this feet. He stood staring pleadingly into Buck's deep blue eyes, his whole body trembling, and softly whispered, "Please... just let me leave."
"Get out of his way, Buck." The quiet voice broke through the tension, and everyone turned to see Chris shrug off Nathan's supporting hands as he slowly made his way over to Ezra. The lanky gunfighter bent over, scooped up the gambler's saddlebags, and carefully straightened up again. He staggered slightly as he fought against the dizziness and pounding in his head, and then began walking toward the barn.
Ezra looked around at the others and then back at their leader weaving his way across the yard. "Chris? Where are you goin'?"
"With you." Chris never stopped walking... he didn't dare. He knew if he did, he'd be laid out flat on the ground.
"Mr. Larabee, you are in no condition to go anywhere." Ezra cast an anxious look behind him, fully expecting to see Nathan coming to stop the bullheaded gunfighter, but instead, to his utter amazement, he saw the healer and the others all moving slowly back toward the house. Buck and JD had Vin between them, forcing him to let them take some of the weight off his swollen ankle, while Nathan leaned heavily on Josiah and Abigail as he limped painfully up onto the porch.
Ezra threw his hands in the air in frustration and demanded, "And just where the hell do you gentlemen think you're goin'?"
"To get our gear... you don't think we're leavin' it all here, do ya?" Vin tossed casually back over his shoulder.
Ezra glared at their backs as they disappeared into the house and then turned to watch Chris as he continued to stagger toward the barn. His expression suddenly softened as he realized what they were doing. These six men... his brothers... his real true family... were willing to risk everything and do whatever it took to keep him with them. He finally understood that no matter what he said or did, they were never going to let him go... that they would never give up on him. Like it or not, he was a part of them now. And after a moment's thought, Ezra decided that he did like it... in fact, he liked it just fine.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Ezra hurried to catch up with the unofficial head of this crazy family he'd been dragged into. "Mr. Larabee...."
"Ezra...." Chris never looked at the gambler, just stared straight ahead and kept concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as the world spun wildly around him.
"You're determined to go through with this, aren't you?" Ezra reached out and gently pulled the saddlebags out of Chris's hands.
"Yup."
"There's nothin' I can say that'll change your mind." Ezra slipped an arm around the gunfighter's waist and was relieved when, instead of fighting him, Chris draped his arm across Ezra's shoulders and accepted his help.
"Nope." A grin tugged at Chris's lips as he heard the amused resignation in Ezra's voice.
Turning them carefully back toward the house, Ezra finally gave in. "Fine, Mr. Larabee, you win. I'll stay."
Chris heaved a sigh of relief and leaned heavily on the smaller man. "Ezra?"
Ezra grunted softly as he struggled to adjust to the added weight. "Yes, Mr. Larabee?"
Chris uttered a weak laugh. "Good thing you changed your mind when ya did, 'cause I don't think I could have taken another step."
Ezra chuckled and tightened his hold on his friend as he guided them slowly across the yard. "Don't worry, I've got you." He smiled at Chris, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Of course, you do realize that Nathan is in there just waitin' to chew you out for pullin' such a foolish stunt."
Chris groaned at the thought of one of Nathan's lectures, and then looked hopefully at the gambler. "Sure you don't still wanna leave, Ezra? We could hide out in New Orleans... good food, beautiful women... gamblin'...."
Ezra shook his head as he carefully eased Chris up the stairs and onto the porch. "I'm sorry, Chris, but as temptin' as that sounds, it's still not worth takin' the risk of incurring Mr. Jackson's wrath." He smothered a laugh when he saw the taller man's grin fade.
"Gee thanks, Ezra... I'll be sure and—" Chris's sarcastic reply was cut off as the door was flung open and an extremely irate Nathan jerked him out of the Southerner's hands and pulled him into the kitchen, mumbling the whole while about stubborn fools and stupid stunts.
Ezra couldn't stop the laughter that burst forth at the expression on Chris's face as Nathan started in on him. "Anytime, Mr. Larabee, anytime," the gambler murmured cheerfully as he followed them inside and closed the door.
Matthew Delacourte dismissed his men after giving them their final instructions, smiling in satisfaction at the looks they gave him as they walked away. He had no illusions about why they stayed... it certainly wasn't because of any sense of loyalty. Matthew knew it was their intense fear of him, and their belief that he was truly insane, that kept them in line, and he freely admitted they had good reason to fear him. The only misguided soul who had tried to break away from his control had met a violent and torturous death... a death the others had been forced to watch. The lesson had apparently worked... not one of them had dared to test his authority since then.
Matthew stood on the porch and let his gaze trail possessively over the plantation spread out before him. The rage he'd felt earlier at the possibility that his nephew was going to destroy everything he'd worked so hard for flared up again and ignited anew the burning hatred he'd held all these years for the younger man. Delacourte had had one of his men keeping watch over the boardinghouse, and when he'd returned home, the man, who had just arrived, proceeded to nervously give his report. Just as he'd thought, Ezra and his friends were staying... and they were coming after him. As he stood contemplating the plan he'd put into effect to stop them, Matthew's thoughts wandered back twenty-four years to when he'd first been introduced to his nephew.
Ezra had just turned four when Maude had shown up on his doorstep looking for help. Matthew had been immediately taken with the delicate beauty of the child who stood clinging shyly to his mother's hand. Ezra's pale, creamy skin, brilliant green eyes fringed with long, thick, dark lashes, and tousled mop of silken, chestnut brown curls had made it nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away from the boy and turn his attention to his sister. Maude was so busy bemoaning the cruelty and humiliation she'd had to suffer at the hands of her now estranged husband, that she was completely oblivious to her brother's disgustingly unhealthy attraction to her son.
Delacourte had reluctantly acquiesced to Maude's tearful request for a place to stay until she could get on her feet again, even though he knew that with little Ezra in the house, it would take all of his considerable self-control and several, tension-relieving visits to the slave quarters in order for him to continue to keep his perverse sexual urges hidden from his family. But it had all become much easier once he'd looked past his nephew's appearance and discovered that he was a highly intelligent and talented child.
Maude had already begun Ezra's 'education' in the fine art of being a grifter and a gambler, and Matthew was suitably impressed when she'd forced the boy to demonstrate his considerable knowledge of the intricacies of running a con and his amazing skill with a deck of cards. All thoughts of any sexual attraction to the child had been set aside as soon as Delacourte had realized the future he could have with Ezra under his control. With plans for turning the boy into his own profit-making puppet running through his mind, Matthew had eagerly aided Maude in acquiring a divorce and then encouraged her in her decision to leave her son with him while she went off and began her search for a new, hopefully wealthy, husband.
As soon as she was gone, Delacourte had turned poor little Ezra's already sad and lonely childhood into a living nightmare. He had worked diligently at stripping Maude's son of every last shred of self-worth he possessed... had done everything he could to prove to the little boy he was, and would always be, unloved and unwanted in a sick attempt to control and own him. And yet... after all the beatings, after all the hatred and neglect Matthew had thrown at the child, Ezra had still found the courage to try and defy him when his beloved Uncle David and his friend, Amanda, had been threatened. Matthew's twisted mind had used that defiance as the reason to blame the boy for his having to kill David Standish and the young slave, and time had only strengthened his belief in Ezra's guilt. It had also strengthened and magnified his unreasoning hatred for his nephew, and his obsession with bringing him back under his power... an obsession he intended to finally see fulfilled.
And now everything was ready... well, everything except for retrieving the honored guests who would be attending this little surprise he'd worked out for Ezra. That was one detail he would have to handle himself. But he had a few hours before he could take care of it, so in the meantime, he decided it would be a good idea to try and get some sleep. He'd need to be well- rested if he was going to pull off what he had planned. It was vital that it all went perfectly.
"After all, I want nothing but the best for you, Ezra," Delacourte whispered before he turned and entered the house, closing the door softly behind him.
During dinner, Nathan, Josiah, and JD were filled in on the startling discoveries that had been made about Ezra's family and were shocked and saddened to learn that David Standish had actually been the gambler's father, and that he was most likely the man lying in the yard in his nightmare. Ezra tried to ease their obvious concern for him by assuring them that he was fine, but failed miserably, and as a result, had to suffer through a constant barrage of worried looks and sympathetic comments for the remainder of the meal.
Abigail followed them upstairs and forced a weary and aching Nathan to lie down along with the others, insisting she was quite capable of changing bandages and seeing that everyone got settled in for the night. When he argued that he needed to sit with Ezra so that Buck could get some sleep, she assured him that she had every intention of seeing that both men got the rest they needed. After receiving her promise that she'd wake him if she got tired, Nathan finally allowed himself to relax and accept her help.
As she went from room to room, Abigail marveled at how seven such disparate personalities had managed to forge themselves into such a close-knit family. Each of them told her he was fine when she went to tend their injuries and asked instead after the welfare of his brothers.
She finally finished with the others and entered the last room. Ezra was already in bed, curled up on his side, facing the wall with his eyes closed, while Buck sat slumped in the chair, staring at the gambler's back, his handsome face lined with worry and exhaustion. Abigail had the distinct feeling that Ezra was merely feigning sleep to avoid a confrontation with the older man.
Buck looked up and flashed her a weary smile when he finally sensed her presence in the room. "Headin' off to bed, Miz Abigail?"
She shook her head and reached down to grasp his arm, pulling him easily up out of the chair. "No, but you are."
Buck found himself on his feet and headed toward the door before he even knew what was happening. His tired brain finally kicked in, and he realized what she was doing. "No, ma'am, I can't do that." He managed to get Abigail stopped just before she shoved him out into the hall, and pulled away from her. "Everyone else's hurt an' needin' their rest lots more than I do, an' I ain't about to leave Ezra by himself all night."
She nodded understandingly and again tried to force him across the hall to her room. "Don't you worry none, he won't be alone. Nathan was goin' to spell you, but I convinced him he was in no condition to stay up all night and told him I'd sit with Ezra so that you could get some rest. Now you just go on over to my room and get into bed. You're about out on your feet, son."
The thought of climbing into a nice, soft bed for a few hours sounded like heaven to Buck, but he still hesitated as he looked back at Ezra.
"Please do as she says, Mr. Wilmington. I promise I'll scream loud enough for you to hear me if I happen to be visited by another of my lovely trips down memory lane tonight."
Buck winced at the shame he heard in the soft Southern drawl that drifted up from the blanketed form in the bed. Having others witness his distress during those episodes was much harder for Ezra to deal with than the actual nightmares themselves.
Moving around to the other side of the bed, Buck squatted down next to Ezra so he could see his face. It had been an extremely rough day for the younger man, and the green eyes that stared back at him were filled with pain and guilt. Buck hated seeing Ezra blame himself for everything that had happened and had tried to convince him that none of it... not his father's death and certainly not what had happened to their friends... was his fault. After a brief argument, Buck had backed down. He'd decided he'd wait until after they got everything settled with Ezra's uncle and then try again.
Buck gently wrapped his hand around the gambler's smaller one and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't try to pull it away. "Truth, Ezra... you want me to stay?"
Ezra stared back at Buck... at the dark shadows under his blue eyes and the worry lines that bracketed his gentle smile... and felt more guilt pile itself on the already considerable load he was carrying. His heart screamed at him to say yes, knowing that only Buck's presence would be able to draw him back from the horror of his dreams when they came, but he resolutely fought off the urge to keep his friend by his side and shook his head no instead. "I'll be fine, Buck." His voice trembled slightly at the thought of the one person he allowed himself to rely on not being there if he needed him, and he couldn't help nervously adding, "besides, you'll be just across the hall."
Buck saw through the brave front Ezra was putting on for his benefit, but knew the younger man would only get angry and deny it if Buck called him on it. He hated leaving Ezra even for a few hours, but realized he had no choice. "Right. And we'll leave both doors open just in case you need me for anything. Okay?"
Ezra offered up a half-hearted protest against leaving the doors open, but seemed relieved when Buck insisted on it.
Buck gave the gambler's hand a light reassuring squeeze, then reluctantly went next door and climbed into Abigail's big, soft featherbed. As much as he hated being even this far away from Ezra, he couldn't deny how good it felt to lie down, and he was asleep within minutes.
Abigail asked Ezra if he needed anything, and after he shook his head no, settled herself in the chair and picked up the book Buck had been reading. Ezra had rolled over as Buck had left the room, and when she glanced up at him, Abigail saw that he was drowsily staring across the hall at his friend. She watched until his eyes finally drifted shut and sleep claimed him, and then turned back to her reading. Her eyes stared at the words, but her mind was still on the gambler. JD had filled her in on some of the misery that had filled Ezra's young life and the events that had led up to them being in Shelby. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the boy's horrified expression when he had realized how much he had told her and how angry Ezra would be if he knew, and she had quickly reassured him that she would never think of repeating anything he'd said.
Abigail glanced once more at Ezra, saw his handsome features drawn down into a frown, and knew that, even in sleep, he couldn't escape the sadness and worry that seemed to plague him constantly. It saddened her heart to see one so young carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she sent up a silent prayer that his friends would be able to get Matthew Delacourte and finally put an end to Ezra's misery.
It was just past midnight when Abigail heard a small whimper issue forth from the young man curled up in the bed. She glanced up at Ezra and saw him clutching at the pillow as he tried to bury his face deeper into its protective softness. A light sheen of sweat had appeared on his pale skin, and she could see that he was trembling slightly under the sheet.