Hunter's Moon

By: Joe Lawson

The wolves are out tonight
Under the hunter's moon.

(Tuesday's Child, by: All About Eve.
In: Scarlet And Other Stories, 1989.)

PART ONE

Chapter One

"You cheated!"

J.D. Dunne raised his chin defiantly, meeting his best friend's incredulous stare with smug satisfaction. "Damn right, I did." He glanced at Ezra, who nodded proudly. "And you didn't notice! Pay up!"

The flabbergasted look on Buck's face was enough to crack up even the infamous Chris Larabee. The blond gunslinger laughed outright at his oldest friend's obvious bafflement, his green eyes sparkling in unconcealed amusement. Vin Tanner was sniggering into his shot glass, trying to hide his mirth, but failing miserably. Buck scalded them with a disgusted glare. "Get a grip, will ya?" he grumbled. "It's not that funny."

Chris grinned, completely unrepentant. "Oh, I think it is. Isn't it, Vin?"

Laughing blue eyes, brighter even than the tracker's rare smile, met his gaze from under the brim of a dusty old cavalry hat. "Yeah, cowboy," the Texan agreed easily. "It is."

"Gentlemen," Ezra scolded. His poker face was still in place, though the corners of his mouth twitched treacherously. "Please. This is not a laughing matter." He paused dramatically for effect, then winked. "It is a historical moment." At that, a tiny snicker escaped his tight control, promptly setting them off again.

J.D. grinned triumphantly, puffing himself up like a little rooster. It wasn't often that he managed to get the better of Buck and he enjoyed his victory immensely. Heck, it had been worth it just to hear Chris and Vin laugh like that. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it back until he was balanced precariously on two legs only, and watched Buck and Ezra argue over the parameters of the bet. He could tell by the way Buck was haggling and bitching that his friend was having fun, too. Buck had never been a sore loser, but giving in quietly simply wasn't in his nature.

The ladies' man reached over without ever interrupting his discussion with the gambler and pressed a hand against J.D.'s knee, pushing the chair back onto all four legs. The young Sheriff scowled at him, tempted to lean back again just to spite his friend, then remembered the last time his chair had overbalanced and decided to stay where he was. With Nathan out of town to help with a birth and Josiah on patrol, he'd rather not topple over. Buck was bad enough under normal circumstances, but when J.D. suffered so much as a scratch, he turned into a regular mother-hen. It was endearing as hell, but it drove the younger man nuts.

"C'mon, Buck, admit it. Ya lost," Vin drawled, still grinning.

"Did not," Buck insisted, out of principle. "The kid had help! That's against the rules!"

"You never said I wasn't allowed to get help," J.D. protested. "And anyway, the bet was I'd cheat and win and you wouldn't notice when I'd cheat and getting help from Ez was another means of cheatin' and that means it was perfectly acceptable!"

The other men blinked. They took a moment to translate the indignant tumble of words from J.D. speech into English, then three of them nodded their agreement while the fourth just rolled his expressive eyes. "Son, we gotta talk about yer definition of fair play," Buck decided.

J.D. groaned and buried his face in his hands, knowing he'd once again managed to trigger his best friend's 'lecture mode'. Chris and Vin exchanged a look and chuckled, then made themselves comfortable and settled down to watch. This promised to be entertaining. Even Ezra leaned back in his chair and prepared to enjoy the show.

Buck, fully aware of his audience, suppressed a grin of his own and launched into a longwinded speech about traditional values, honor, and the declining morals of the younger generation. It was almost a word to word repetition of a long lament he'd heard from old Mrs. Beal a month before. He'd been so impressed by the sheer number of clichés and side-swipes that he'd listened with rapt attention, memorizing the lecture to torment J.D. with later.

Then the batwing doors of the saloon swung open to admit a group of cowhands followed by a tall, dark-haired man, and Buck's tirade cut off in the middle of a word as his world ground to halt with staggering suddenness.

The sudden silence made Chris raise an eyebrow and straighten in his chair, his eyes following the line of Buck's frozen stare. Vin was already reaching for his mare's leg, half-expecting to see some gun-toting madman or old enemy, then hesitated in confusion when all he saw was one single, unarmed man standing at the bar, gaze fixed at Buck. Ezra, too, was looking back and forth between his companion and the stranger. J.D. had just lifted his head from his hands and hadn't yet adapted to the abrupt change in Buck's behavior.

They all flinched when Buck pushed back his chair brusquely, toppling it to the floor, and stood up with a strangely jerky movement, all of his usual easy grace gone. His face was rigid, showing the cold, emotionless mask he only wore in times of great danger or when he was hurting bad. J.D. took one look at Buck's face and scrambled out of his own seat, then stood beside his friend, unsure of what to do, because the tall gunfighter hadn't moved, was still standing like a statue and staring at the stranger. Chris and Vin joined them silently, as confused as the young Sheriff, but hiding their bewilderment behind indifferent façades. Ezra was slipping past them, circling around to position himself between the possible threat and the door, just in case the man had friends.

If Buck noticed the familiar actions he didn't show it. He was still locked in his silent staring match with the other man. Then, without warning, he was on the move again and this time there was no trace of the odd stiffness that had gripped him earlier. One second he was standing in the protective circle of his friends, the next he was all but flowing across the room, going for the stranger's throat.

Chris shouted in surprise and reached for Buck's jacket, but his fingers closed around empty air. With a speed that even surprised his fellow regulators, the usually unflappable ladies' man crossed the distance between himself and the newcomer, smashing into him and sending him crashing to the ground with bone-jarring force. The two of them were almost of the same height, but the attack had apparently surprised the older man and before he could do so much as give a shout of protest, Buck had pressed a knee against his chest, easily holding him down. The deadly blade of Buck's knife cleared the sheath with a whisper of steel against leather, then hissed through the air towards the stranger's throat without so much as a hint of hesitation.

It was only Vin's lightning fast reflexes that saved the man's life. The tracker's fingers closed around Buck's wrist like a vise, stopping the knife's descent an inch from the vulnerable throat. However, Vin didn't even glance at the almost-victim. He was completely focused on his friend, blue eyes searching the familiar face for any sign as to what was going on, but all he saw was grim determination and an ice cold hate that made him shiver deep inside.

Then Chris was there, and J.D., the two of them pulling Buck off his opponent while Vin pried the knife from unresisting fingers and slid it into his own pocket. Buck didn't fight them, though Chris had half-suspected he would, but he didn't look away from the stranger either. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see him like this. They all knew their friend could drop his easy-going façade in a heartbeat when his companions were threatened or the situation called for it, but they'd never seen him so intent on killing somebody without provocation. Especially when his opponent was unarmed.

The man made a move as if to stand up and Buck tensed, a low growl rumbling from his chest. "Stay down!" Chris barked, tightening his grip on his friend's arm and the back of his pants, feeling J.D. mirror his precautionary measure. "Erza - door clear?"

"Clear," the gambler replied, keeping his answer short and to the point for once.

"Vin?"

"I'm on it, cowboy," the tracker rasped and ghosted past Ezra to secure the street and make sure they could whisk Buck off without running into any human obstacles. There was no way they were going to try and settle this in public. Not with Buck still looking ready to kill and half the town watching.

"C'mon, Buck," Chris ordered, pushing the tall man towards the exit. He nodded towards the stranger, who was watching them with sharp, light brown eyes, but was smart enough not to move. "J.D., take care of him."

Buck froze in his tracks, finally breaking eye-contact with his opponent to focus his gaze on Chris. "No. Don't. You're not leaving the kid here with *him*."

Chris was about to snap at him, getting seriously pissed because, God damn it, after that stunt he'd just pulled Buck better shut up and behave or risk the wrath of Larabee, but a low, raspy voice with an indeterminable accent beat him to it. "No need to put me under guard," the stranger said, much too calm for a man who'd barely escaped being killed only a minute before. "I don't plan on going anywhere."

Buck's eyes flashed fire at that. "If ya want t' stay alive, you'll leave this town the moment I'm out of that door - and keep runnin' till ya drop."

The stranger only smiled. "Now that I've finally found you? I don't think so."

Chris felt Buck's muscles coil and, knowing he had no chance in hell of stopping the stronger man if he decided to attack again, did the only thing he could think of: he let go of his friend, moved in front of him, and punched him in the face. He didn't hit him very hard -- he didn't want to knock him out after all, just get his attention -- but the reaction was immediate and quite amazing. While Buck only staggered back a step, more surprised than hurt, and J.D. gasped, the stranger jumped to his feet with an angered roar, going straight for Chris with murder in his eyes.

Buck, reacting instinctively, pulled his friend back by the collar of his black shirt and put himself between Chris and the other man. He reached for his knife again, found it gone, and braced himself for the impact.

That was the moment Ezra decided he'd had enough and fired into the ceiling.

//==//==//==//

By the time they'd managed to separate the two tall men, Chris was ready to shoot somebody, preferably Buck. He'd known his friend could be mule-headed, but now he realized he'd vastly underestimated the man's sheer stubbornness. Buck flat out refused to let his opponent out of his sight with only J.D. guarding him and nothing the others said could sway him. Short of bodily dragging him out of the saloon, there wasn't much they could do.

Finally Chris told the stranger to stay in the saloon or the boarding house and then left him to his own devices. His first priority was Buck. The usually genial gunslinger followed them only grudgingly, looking back over his shoulder repeatedly and almost snarling at the dark-haired man. His usual swinging gait had changed into the stiff-legged stalking of an irritated predator -- all he lacked was a bushy tail swishing in annoyance. His friends kept close to him, preventing him from turning back and finishing what he'd started.

The sight of the regulators' stony faces and tense movements sent the throng of curious townspeople scrambling. Chris caught a glimpse of Mary Travis trying to push through the retreating crowd and join them, and cursed. The last thing he needed now was the inquisitive journalist getting near Buck. Something told him his friend wouldn't react well to nosy questions, and he didn't want her to go chase down the stranger either, before he'd had a chance to talk to him. Talking, however, was not number one on his to-do list at the moment. He needed to get Buck to calm down first, and needed him safely stashed away, with J.D. and Vin to make him stay put. *Then* he could think about the other party involved.

Thank God Nettie Wells had noticed the commotion. She saw the grim looking gunfighters, unharmed but visibly upset, and she saw Mrs. Travis on a collision course with that unstoppable force. She and Vin exchanged a quick look, then the old lady strode to intercept the younger one, successfully blocking her path to her doom. "Not now, gal," she scolded.

"But something happened!" Mary protested, all too aware of the appalling tension radiating off the men. Lord, even Buck looked almost dangerous! Reflexively she checked over J.D., but the young man seemed all right, if a bit pale. "I've got to find out if this concerns the town . . ."

"You can find out later," Nettie cut her off. "Right now I'd say let them handle this. It's their job after all."

"But Chris - I mean, Mr. Larabee . . ."

Nettie snorted gently. "I'm sure Mr. Larabee will tell you everything that's important. Later. Come on now, you've got a paper to prepare and I've got errands to run." With that, she grabbed a hold of Mary's wrist and tugged her along, keeping her trapped in conversation all the while.

Vin watched the women walk away and sent a silent, heartfelt 'Thank You' after Nettie. The air around him was almost humming with tension. Chris was a hair's breath away from going off like a firecracker and, for the first time since he'd known him, Buck seemed to be just as ready for violence as Larabee. Poor J.D. tried hard to look impassive, but couldn't stop from glancing at his best friend with eyes full of fear and questions. Ezra was bringing up the rear, his green gaze taking in everything, his face showing nothing.

They reached the jail without further incidents. Chris ushered his little flock through the entrance and slammed the door shut behind them. Then he turned his icy glare at Buck. "Sit," he snapped.

For a moment it looked like Buck might balk at the order, but then he relented without a word and sank down into the nearest chair. He was still tense, but slowly settling down a bit, when instead of yelling at him Chris just leaned against the wall and looked at him. J.D. opened his mouth to say something, but a quick jab in the ribs from Ezra and a shake of Vin's head convinced him to keep silent and wait. The gambler sat down on the only other chair. Vin perched at the edge of the desk. J.D. hovered for a moment, unsure about what to do, then the boy took his clue from Chris and leaned against the gun-rack, careful not to rattle the weapons and startle Buck.

It took him a while, but finally Buck sighed and closed his eyes, sagging heavily against the back of his chair. When he opened his eyes again, the burning ice had vanished for the moment, leaving only a very tired, very distraught Buck. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled, waving a hand vaguely in the general direction of the saloon. "Didn't want ta confuse y'all."

"Confuse?" Chris repeated, grating his teeth. "That's not exactly th' first word that comes to mind. Ya just shocked the hell outta us! What in the name of God happened back there?! Who was that man? And what possessed you to go after him with a knife? He wasn't armed and he didn't do anything!"

Buck sighed, leaning forward and rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I should've waited till we were alone."

The only sound audible after that sober comment coming from *Buck* of all people was the dropping of four jaws. Buck looked up and chuckled, the dry, humorless laugh so completely unlike him Vin felt a shiver race down his spine. His friend's eyes looked dark and fathomless, the eyes of a stranger. J.D. shivered. Ezra paled. Even Chris swallowed dryly. "God, Buck, would you please tell us what th' devil's going on?"

Buck shook his head. "Sorry, pard, I can't. All I can tell ya is that I have ta kill the bastard. You gotta let me kill him, or this town will drown in blood. He won't go away without me, and there's no way in hell I'll go with him." His gaze found Larabee's and held it with fierce desperation. "Let me finish it, Chris. Here and now. Please."

And, staring into the haunted eyes of the man he'd thought he knew so well, Chris was almost ready to give him his permission. Then he shook himself, breaking the spell. "Hell, Buck, he doesn't even carry a weapon!"

Buck shrugged. "He doesn't need one. Believe me. Let me kill him."

"No."

"Chris . . ."

"I said no, dammit!" Chris exploded. This didn't get them anywhere. Buck, Mr. Straightforward himself, was speaking in riddles and if that wasn't enough, he was also pleading for permission to take out an unarmed man. And it didn't look like even the infamous Larabee stare could extract the answers Chris needed. Time to change tactics. "Vin, J.D. - stay with Buck," he ordered. "Ezra, you're with me."

"Where are ya going?" Buck asked, alarmed.

Chris glared at him. "I'm goin' ta pay your friend a little visit. Maybe he's more willing to give me some answers." Seeing the panic flare up in Buck's eyes he quickly raised a hand to forestall any protest. "I don't know what's going on here, Buck, but I'm gonna find out, one way or another. I don't care what you think the guy won't jump us in the middle of the town in broad daylight! So stop overreacting. We'll only be gone for an hour or so." He nodded at Vin and J.D. "Have fun."

Vin shot him one of his 'Yeah, right!' looks, but didn't say anything. J.D. resembled a trapped deer, thrown decidedly off-balance by the events of the past minutes. Chris suppressed a pleased smirk. The hurt puppy expression on the youth's features wouldn't take long to penetrate through the walls Buck had slammed up right before their eyes. No matter how upset the tall gunslinger was, his protective instincts towards his friends would always come first. And if J.D.'s vulnerability failed to keep the mule-headed cuss in the office, then there was still Vin. Chris was confident the tracker could handle the situation. Vin might barely open his mouth, but he sure had a knack for dealing with obstinate creatures.

Satisfied that Buck wouldn't do anything stupid while he was gone, Chris turned and opened the door, Ezra at his heels. He'd barely crossed the threshold when Buck called out softly. "Chris."

Larabee stopped, but didn't turn around. The last thing he needed now was to take a full broadside of Doe Eye Wilmington's special brand of a pleading look. "You got something you wanna tell me?" he rasped. There was, after all, a chance the stubborn bastard might cave and tell him what was really going on. However, Chris wouldn't hold his breath.

The heavy silence that followed his question confirmed his assumption. Buck was going to do this the hard way. Then he heard a faint, defeated little sigh. "Be careful," Buck whispered, his voice barely more than the hiss of a hot desert wind brushing over burning sand. "He's the bastard who killed my mother."

Chapter Two

"Leave it to Mr. Wilmington to take a perfectly normal day and turn it into a mind-bending experience," Ezra commented on their way to the boarding house.

It was the first thing either of them had said since Chris had lost his temper in the Sheriff's office, the outburst ending with Larabee storming out of the building in such a black mood the gambler found himself surreptitiously checking for storm clouds just in case the crackling fury radiating off his companion drew lightning.

Chris shot him a venomous glare, still seething. He'd always thought that if one day he'd kill one of his men, it'd be Vin, but he was flexible. Right now, putting a bullet through that thick head of Buck's seemed like a pretty good idea. "Goddamn, foolish bastard," he growled. "Talks about everything but what's important! Thinks he has ta handle everything alone, damn him!"

Ezra glanced up at the sky once more, wondering if he should remove his gold tooth. Wouldn't do to get roasted just because he was too vain to take precautions. "I presume he may have his reasons for this way of thinking," he said, absentmindedly.

Larabee came to an abrupt halt, his green stare all but drilling holes into the gambler's head. "What the hell's that supposed ta mean?" he snarled.

Ezra, not so easily intimidated, merely raised an eyebrow. "May I kindly remind you that Mr. Wilmington, though undeniably social, seldom entertains with anecdotes of the personal kind?"

"What are ya talking about? He chatters all th' time, in case ya hadn't noticed."

"That he does," the Southerner allowed. "However, you may have noticed he seems to select the topics of his tales very carefully. I believe he has informed us about the mating habits of half the female population between here and St. Louis, in his humorous yet oddly respectful manner, and he let slip once that his mother was a -- how did he put it so eloquently? - a 'soiled dove'. He seems more than willing to share an impressive amount of knowledge with young Mr. Dunne, and I know that for some obscure reason he likes to talk to his horse about corn crops; but I have yet to hear him mention a friend or companion."

Chris scowled at that. "I've been his friend for the past twelve years."

"Yes. But you've explicitly forbidden him to talk about you." Ezra had heard that particular story from the barber. It was one of the reasons why he'd been so careful around Larabee for so long. If the man threatened his oldest friend with a razor just because he'd revealed a little of their mutual past, then there was no telling what he'd do to a smooth talking gambler who hadn't had much experience with friendship.

Chris' thoughts were running into a different direction. For the first time he tried to remember what Buck had and hadn't said since they'd first met, and he realized with a pang of guilt that he didn't know all that much about his friend. Not nearly as much as he'd always thought, that was. Buck was a master of steering a conversation away from his own past and emotions. He talked almost incessantly, but he hardly ever said anything. And Ezra was right, damn him, the man had never mentioned being friends with anybody besides Chris and recently the other five.

Not liking where that train of thought was leading him, Larabee decided to deal with the implications of his discovery later and for now concentrate on the more immediate problem. Ezra fell in step beside him readily, content that he'd gotten the Seven's sometimes rather shortsighted leader thinking.

//==//==//==//

The stranger had left a message with Inez, saying he'd rented a room in the boarding house and would wait for them there. They found him without a problem. He'd left the door open and had ordered a bottle of whiskey and two additional chairs for his guests.

When the gunslingers entered, the stranger turned around from where he'd been standing and looking out onto the street. For a moment his tall, broad-shouldered frame was silhouetted in front of the window, and Chris had to fight an odd sense of déjà vu. It felt like he should know this man, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd seen him before.

"I'm John Doe."

Larabee looked down at the offered hand, but didn't take it. He'd never been one for politeness and he had no intention of getting within touching distance of this person. "Chris Larabee," he replied shortly, knowing he had to maintain a minimum of civility.

"I know." Doe smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. He was a good-looking man with an easy, loose-limbed grace that reminded Chris of Buck. "I've heard of you." He pulled a chair closer and sat down, a subtle peace offering that wasn't lost on the gunslinger.

Chris sat down warily, Buck's parting words still ringing in his mind. He'd left the door ajar and Ezra was leaning against the doorjamb, the angle carefully chosen so Chris wasn't in his line of fire, but the uneasy feeling remained. //You gotta let me kill him, or this town will drown in blood.// Who the hell was this man? And why was Buck so . . . no, he wasn't afraid, was he? That was just it. He was scared on his friends' behalf and simmering with an ice-cold hatred that was doubly frightening because it was so unlike him, but neither during the confrontation in the saloon nor afterwards had Chris seen true fear in him. Shock, yes. Determination, yes. Something that looked almost like pain. But no fear.

Then again, Buck had an extremely unhealthy attitude towards fear. He either ignored it or hid it, so it was entirely possible he was scared shitless of John Doe, but had buried the feeling so deep beneath his other emotions that not even his friends could see it anymore.

Subtlety had never been Chris' forte, so after making sure the other man still wasn't armed and he was out of reach, he decided to jump right into the heart of the matter. "Want t' tell me what exactly happened in the saloon?" he asked, the suggestion nothing but a barely disguised order. "What's your connection ta Buck, and why'd he try ta kill ya? And how come you ain't the least bit upset about it?"

Doe sighed. "Oh, I am upset, Mr. Larabee, more than you'll ever know. But considering the history between Bucklin and myself, his reaction wasn't entirely unexpected."

"History," Chris drawled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Like you killin' his mother, that kind of history?"

Light brown eyes met his stare calmly. "So he told you about that, did he?"

"Oh yes, he did," Larabee confirmed, his voice deceptively soft. "Though I gotta admit, I don't rightly know how come you ain't dead yet."

Doe smiled humorlessly. "Did he tell you who I am? Or why I killed her?"

The gunslinger shook his head, careful not to move too much, lest he'd do something stupid. On the one hand he wanted to shoot the man who'd hurt his friend so badly, but on the other hand his curiosity was aroused. He had wondered about these details, but asking Buck hadn't really been an option, not with him so agitated and hell-bent on killing John Doe. So he bit down his animosity and stared at the man from under the brim of his hat. "I'm listening."

"I'm moved," Doe remarked dryly. "Are you this friendly with my son, or do you still beat him up on a regular basis?"

Larabee frowned, wondering if Buck had hit the fellow harder than they'd realized. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Hard eyes stared at him from a face suddenly devoid of emotion. "Oh, I think you do."

"And I think you've chewed too much loco-weed."

Brown-eyed stare met green-eyed stare, then Doe shook his head in amazement. "You really don't know, do you?" His voice dropped. "Remember the time after your family died? Remember how you tried to get yourself killed, and all those around you? My son was the only one who kept you from self-destructing and you paid him back with cruel words and your fists."

His words hit Chris like blows, conjuring up unwanted -- and somewhat hazy -- memories of the darkest time of his life. He felt the color drain from his face, partly because of the things he'd fought so hard to forget, partly because his mind finally grasped the implications of this accusation.

However, he didn't have to say anything. Ezra beat him to it, coming out of his silence with a start. "You're Buck's father?"

Doe nodded, though his gaze never left Chris. "That I am. And that is the reason why I killed his mother." Seeing as Larabee didn't react to his words, he focused on the gambler. "Did Buck tell you anything about his childhood? About the way he was raised?"

Ezra shrugged slightly, keeping his voice and face carefully neutral. "Not much. We know his mother was a . . . ah . . . fallen lady . . . and that he grew up in a brothel, though I got the impression they spent a not inconsiderable amount of time traveling. Other than that, Mr. Wilmington did not volunteer much information."

"So he didn't tell you about the beatings he received, or about the time he was almost lynched because he dared to speak to a girl from a 'decent' family? I'm sure he didn't mention the various times he was assaulted by his mother's clients either, or the sexual abuse he suffered when he wasn't fast or strong enough to fend off some of the less straight-laced men who visited the whorehouses where he lived." His voice was tight now; he was leaning forward, his whole posture screaming his impotent anger. "And he probably neglected to tell you that all this wouldn't have happened if not for that selfish bitch he called mother."

Chris shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. "He loved her," he said, remembering the few times Buck had spoken of his mother and the gentle affection in his voice. He couldn't reconcile the woman his friend had described to him with the things Doe had just told them.

Doe growled. "Of course he loved her. She was his mother. That doesn't change the fact that she didn't care for him, didn't protect him when he needed it."

"She was a woman alone with a child," Ezra threw in, his calm voice betraying nothing of his emotions. "She had to work. And knowing Buck, he was probably a lively little boy, not one to sit still in a corner and play it safe." He saw Doe straighten, eyes flashing, and lifted a hand to indicate he wasn't done yet. "I don't doubt what you said about the terrible things that happened to Buck when he was younger. I've had some suspicions myself. But I'm not convinced his mother was the shrew you make her. I suppose she was doing the best she could under the circumstances."

That provoked a choked snort. "Yeah, sure. Only she didn't have to, y'know? I found out about Bucklin only a year after his birth and I tried to help, to get him out of that damn swamp and into the care of his family. Guess what she did. She ran. She dragged her son half across the continent, had him hungry and cold and abused more than once, than to give him a chance. And before you say it -- no, I didn't try to take him from her. She could've come, too. She was his mother I wouldn't separate a child from his mother. But Buck deserved to grow up with his family, with people who cared about him and loved him. She took that chance away from him."

"So how come you know so much about his life?" Chris asked.

"Because I followed them, of course," Doe said, looking at the gunslinger as if he was surprised the man had to ask. "Wouldn't you have? We chased them for years, closing in a couple of times, but she always managed to get away. All we could do was follow the trail of blood and tears they left. Then we cornered her in New Orleans. Buck was sixteen. It was the first time I'd seen him in years, and d'you know what I saw? Marks on his throat, bruises on his face. He was moving carefully -- I found out later that was because the bastard who'd tried to rape him kicked him in the ribs repeatedly. He could've died from the blows! And when I met her, wearing an expensive dress, looking all rosy and healthy, I just saw red. That was when I killed her."

He sighed, raked a hand through his hair. "It was a mistake. Buck didn't understand, couldn't understand. He ran, disappeared in the crowd, and was gone before any of us could try to explain. He resurfaced only sporadically in the years afterwards. I thought we'd lost his trail during the war then stumbled over him by chance when he was captured by Confederates. We fought them, freed him, but he slipped away in the confusion. Then we heard the two of you were riding together, but you were constantly on the move. Family business forced us to travel north, still we left without worrying too much, convinced that you'd take care of him."

Chris closed his eyes, but couldn't ignore the tightly controlled voice that was mercilessly dredging up his darkest memories.

"You almost broke him," John told him, oddly quiet. "I don't know if you have any idea how much it takes for someone like Buck to leave a friend in need. For you to drive him away, you must've crossed the line more often than even he could stand. The only reason you're still alive right now is that I don't want to repeat the mistake I made when I killed his mother. I won't put him through something like that again. But if you ever lift a hand against my son again, I'll rip it off, understood?"

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. And for the first time in his life, Chris Larabee took a threat from a stranger without so much as a flare of anger.

Chapter Three

The first thing Chris noted when he and Ezra returned to the Sheriff's office was that J.D. had obviously worked his magic on Buck, because the tall gunfighter was not only still there, but also noticeably calmer than before. He was currently helping the younger man repair the gun-rack, his long, elegant fingers brushing over the polished wood with their usual sure deftness. Buck, he remembered with a fond little smile, had always been good at this kind of stuff. He was used to giving the things he was doing his full attention, be it carpentry, horses, or women; he could lose himself in his task until nothing existed for him but that particular piece of wood, that horse, or that person. It was what made him so good at the things he did.

Vin was watching the two of them from where he was leaning against the wall. He looked relaxed enough. Obviously, things had been relatively quiet.

Then Buck turned around, a hopeful look on his face. "You done talking to him?" Chris nodded, not sure what to say. Buck cocked his head. "Does that mean I can go kill him now?"

"Jesus, Buck!" J.D. exclaimed, dropping the hammer he'd been holding and throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You've really got a one track mind! Would you stop it, please? You're not going to kill anybody!"

Buck ignored him, his gaze pleading with Larabee. "Chris?"

The gunslinger shook his head slowly, unable to look away from the familiar eyes. Even now, it was hard to believe that Buck, his Buck, had suffered through the things John Doe had told them about. He was just so goddamn . . . well . . . himself. So full of life and laughter and love. Never giving in, never despairing. Always bouncing back from whatever fate threw at him, enjoying every day like it was his last. He was, and always had been, alive in a way Chris had never known, not even when he'd still had Sarah and Adam and had been happy.

Even now, with his hatred for his father boiling just beneath the surface of his emotions, Buck didn't allow the darkness to swallow him, didn't let the hate spill out and hurt his friends. This man would never lash out blindly, or voluntarily endanger anyone beside himself. The realization made Chris feel even worse than he already did.

"No killing, Buck," he said, going for stern since he seemed unable to muster his usual anger at his friend's stubbornness. "We gotta talk."

Buck groaned. "Aww, shit. No."

"Yep."

"What did he tell ya?" the gunslinger growled, pushing away from the wall and stalking towards Chris, his eyes dark with anger.

J.D. and Vin exchanged a worried look and followed him, unsure of what was going to happen. Larabee didn't budge. He could feel Ezra behind him, his steady presence unusually reassuring. The gambler hadn't said a word since they'd left the boarding house, his face giving nothing away, but Chris could almost hear the wheels turning in that frighteningly sharp mind. He'd have to find out what the Southerner was thinking about Doe's story later, but first he had to deal with Buck, who was breathing fire - figuratively speaking, thank God.

"Sit down," he ordered, including the others in the command with a look. It was a testament to either his authority or their anxiety that they obeyed without so much as a token protest. Chris leaned against the edge of the desk, then repeated what John Doe had told them, leaving out the more gruesome parts about the abuse Buck had survived. He figured his friend wouldn't want him to talk about that without permission. By the time he was done, Buck was livid anyway.

"That goddamn, murderin', slippery shithead!" he yelled, though Ezra noticed he didn't include 'lying' in his list. "The way he makes it sound, he was a real martyr, only out t' save me!" He pointed a finger at Ezra, zooming in on him because the gambler was sitting right beside Chris. "Ya know what it really was like? He was huntin' us like rabbits for as long as I can remember. Mom was so goddamn afraid of him, she wouldn't settle anywhere, always slept with one eye open. An' as to why she didn't want to be part of his 'family' -- she wanted me t' grow up normal, among other people. Not like he wanted. She wanted t' give me a chance to see different things, so I could choose the way I wanted to live when I was older."

He raked a hand through his thick, dark hair in a gesture that reminded both Ezra and Chris of his father, though they refrained from voicing that observation out loud. When he looked back up, his eyes were haunted. "Did he tell you how he killed her? How he dug the fingers of one hand into her beautiful long hair and held her up, then sliced her open from throat to pubic bone? She was still alive when he gutted her, and she screamed like a small animal getting mauled by a wolf."

J.D. couldn't suppress a tiny sound at that. He looked like he was going to throw up, but that was all right, since the rest of them didn't feel much better. Ezra felt like he'd just taken a blow to the stomach. John Doe had conveniently forgotten to mention that Buck had been there when his mother had been killed, had seen her die by his father's hand.

"It wasn't quick," Buck continued, holding the gambler's horrified gaze relentlessly. "And it sure as hell wasn't clean. Was no 'accident' either, more like an execution. It took her a long time t' die, and the whole while they were holding me down, makin' me watch it all. Showin' me the power of their kind and the weakness of my mother's." He swallowed, breaking eye-contact with Ezra and searching Chris' eyes instead. "They didn't kill her 'cause she decided t' raise me on her own," he said. "They killed her 'cause she was only human."

Nobody knew what to say to that. After a moment Buck looked away from his oldest friend, slumping back in his chair as the fight left his body with a shudder. He sat like that for a couple of minutes, eyes closed, not moving, forcing his breathing back under control. When he raised his head again, he'd managed to slam the lid on his emotions, hiding the raw pain where no one else could see it, even producing a tight little smile for them. "Sorry," he said. "That was . . ." He glanced at J.D.'s pale face and winced. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

This time, when he stood up and fled the office, nobody tried to stop him.

//==//==//==//

"I should go to him." J.D. stared at the shot glass in front of him forlornly. "He needs me. He shouldn't be alone."

Chris sighed, knowing how the boy felt, but just as aware that Buck wouldn't want their youngest with him at the moment. Buck loved J.D., was extremely protective of him, and like the rest of them he was fighting tooth and claw to preserve the kid's innocence. Dunne would grow up soon enough, would see the ugly sides of the world, but unlike his six older friends he wouldn't get broken and rebuilt by death and violence - not if they could help it. Usually it was Buck who shielded J.D., took him under his wings, but now Buck's demons had come for him and he wanted the kid out of harm's way.

"Give him a little time," Larabee said, feeling awkward and inadequate and hating every second of it. He wasn't good at giving comfort. He was a killer, damn it, a cold-blooded gunslinger without much of a conscience! He'd given up his humanity when he lost his family. How come these men made him act like he cared? How had they *made* him care?

J.D. looked at him, about to protest, then sighed and nodded reluctantly, trusting Chris' judgment. Trusting Chris. And wasn't that a joke? Buck had also trusted Chris, and Larabee had almost destroyed him. It made him want to jump up and yell at the kid to get away from him, to look for another hero, because Chris sure as hell didn't fit the bill, but he knew it was already too late. For all of them. Because for some obscure reason God had decided to play a joke on Chris Larabee and He had given him a new family. A family of six hard-headed, temperamental, independent men who were a lot braver and a lot more loyal than was good for them. Who kept him up and running and worrying and yelling when all he wanted was to sit in his corner and drink himself into a stupor.

Hell, he couldn't even get properly drunk anymore, because he didn't dare leave those accident-prone troublefinders unsupervised. Seemed like every time he let them out of his sight for a minute, they'd jump headfirst into the most impossible situations. He had no idea how they did it, but at times he actually wondered how they all had managed to survive long enough to find each other.

Still, when he looked up and saw J.D. sitting in front of him, scrutinizing his drink, Ezra at his table playing a hand of solitaire, seemingly oblivious to the people around him yet keenly aware of everything, and Vin, slouching in his chair, nursing a beer while watching over them, Chris realized he wouldn't trade his new life for anything. They might be the weirdest, most unconventional bunch of regulators the world had ever seen, but they were his. He might be somewhat blind when it came to matters of the heart sometimes, but he knew a second chance when he saw it.

He caught Vin's gaze and sent a silent request, grateful when the tracker nodded at once and got to his feet in a graceful, cat-like movement. Somebody had to go look after Buck. Ezra was needed to distract J.D., in case the kid lost his patience, and since Chris was still reeling from Doe's accusations he didn't dare confront his oldest friend himself. Not yet. He needed to put things back into perspective first, regain his balance. So Vin was the best choice. The only choice, really, since Nathan and Josiah weren't due back from their respective tasks until sundown.

Vin was thinking the same. He would've preferred if Josiah had been there to speak with Buck - the large preacher had an amazing ability to calm frayed nerves and he knew how to find the right words at the right moment. Not exactly one of Vin's talents. He hoped he wouldn't screw up. Too many people had already done that when it came to gentle, big-hearted Buck.

He tipped his hat at Nettie Wells when he crossed the street, then stopped and waited for her to catch up with him. He didn't much fancy talking to anybody, too intent on finding Buck and offer what comfort he could to stop and chat, but Nettie had a special place in his heart. He couldn't just ignore her like the rest of the townspeople, who were watching him from the corner of their eyes. The folk of Four Corners had learned to read their protectors to a degree, and though they didn't know what was going on they could feel there was a storm brewing.

So could Nettie, and true to herself she didn't beat around the bush. "What's goin' on?" she asked, putting all of her five feet and four inches into his path and staring up at him with narrowed eyes.

Vin shifted uncomfortably under her stare and wondered why he could face down a horde of heavily armed hard cases without so much as a twinge of concern, yet feel completely outgunned by one unarmed old lady. "Buck's havin' some fam'ly trouble," he mumbled. "He's a mite upset, so I thought I'd better talk with 'im." He gave her a hopeful smile. "Have ya seen him, by any chance?"

Nettie, God bless her, didn't press him, though he could see she suspected there was more to it than just 'fam'ly trouble'. "I've seen him disappear into th' livery," she said.

Vin felt a wholly unfamiliar pang of fear at that. The livery? What the hell . . .? He swallowed. What if Buck had decided to run, to leave them? The thought of losing the laughing scoundrel made his heart seize up. He didn't know what shocked him more: the realization of just how much the man had actually come to mean to him, or the understanding that somehow, somewhere, his own fate had become inseparably intertwined with the lives of six other people. It was a disconcerting epiphany for a man who was used to being on his own, without social ties to speak of.

Then his rational mind gave his panicked emotions a good, sharp kick and reminded him that running, however understandable a reaction, was not Buck's way of dealing with problems. Even in the unlikely case that the man *wanted* to run, he wouldn't. Not with John Doe in town. Buck considered the man a threat, so he would stay right here, where he could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't hurt any of his friends.

He nodded his thanks to Nettie, hoping she hadn't seen the brief flash of panic in his eyes, and made his way down the street to the livery, all the while cursing himself because he'd broken his first rule of survival: *Never trust anybody - and whatever you do, don't get attached to people.* He should've run the moment he'd laid eyes on Chris Larabee and felt their souls touch. But no, fool that he was, he had to go and risk his heart again. Had to stay and let six - six! - men climb over, under, and around his defenses and lay claim to his soul. God, he was going to pay for that so bad!

And yet, when he slipped into the livery and saw Buck standing with his back to him, quietly talking to his big gray, he felt a surge of relief so great it almost hurt. He decided then and there that he didn't care what the future would bring. It was worth it.

Buck was gently scratching Steele's jaws in a slow, steady rhythm that had the gelding stand with eyes half-closed, an expression of utter contentment on his equine features. The horse was one of the most affectionate animals Vin had ever met, as gentle and reliable as he was big and strong. Nothing fazed Steele, be it screaming children or gunfire. He would walk through fire and flood for Buck, still steady and focused where other horses were already reduced to quivering bundles of panic on four legs. Once horse-thieves had tried to steal him, reckoning a horse with such a sweet temper must be easy prey, but Steele -- while willing and eager to obey Buck's every whim -- was not nearly as cooperative when it came to strangers.

At first they'd all thought the unlucky fools had tried to steal Vin's Peso, but the dark wildcat of a horse was still in his box, looking miffed. Then they'd found Steele standing in a corner, a trembling thief trapped between him and the wall. He'd nickered softly and trotted over to his owner, meek as a lamb and completely oblivious to the incredulous stares directed at him. Buck had almost hurt himself laughing.

He wasn't laughing now, but he did look a lot calmer than before. Even Peso was behaving himself. The black was inhabiting the corner stall next to the gray, because Steele was the only horse who could cope with Vin's unsociable mount. He wasn't impressed by Peso's scare tactics, and dodged the occasional attacks with a stoic competence that was truly astonishing. He didn't even seem to mind that he got nipped now and then. Peso didn't seem entirely sure what to make of that unusual behavior and Vin had caught him once or twice eyeing the gray in obvious puzzlement. The tracker guessed his horse was feeling much like he himself did at times, waiting for retaliation every time he broke the rules of 'civilized' behavior and getting only a snort and a patient look in return.

"Hey, Vin. Got one of them dried apple slices for Steele?" Buck asked, without turning around.

Vin was a bit surprised the tall man had heard him coming, but then again, it was probably Steele who'd noticed him and informed his owner with the twitch of an ear. The tracker searched through his pocket and came up with two pieces of apple. He handed one to Buck and the second to his own horse, knowing Peso would take grave offense if he didn't get anything. "Bite me an' I'll take yer ugly hide," he warned the black, who didn't dignify the threat with so much as a blink.

They stood silently for a while, Buck petting his horse and Vin watching him furtively. He noticed the way Steele was leaning into the gentle touches, pressing his massive head against his human's chest. It almost looked like the gelding was trying to comfort Buck by offering the physical contact the man seemed to crave so desperately.

When Buck didn't speak after what felt like a small eternity, Vin knew something was seriously wrong. He'd never seen the scoundrel so quiet and withdrawn. Buck was always talking, laughing, on occasion even howling at the moon. The sound of his voice was like a touch, as familiar to Vin as the sight of his smile. It was part of what made Buck *Buck*, like the boundless energy and that damn charm of his, that -- God help them all -- worked not only on the ladies.

"You all right?" he asked, feeling like a moron for asking when Buck so obviously wasn't, but he'd never claimed to be good with words.

Buck didn't look at him, but his hands stopped rubbing Steele's ear and came to rest on the gray's smooth neck. With even the last remnant of his usual perpetual motion gone, he didn't seem like the man Vin had come to know and love at all. "No, I'm not all right." Even his voice sounded different somehow; rougher, deeper. Older. "This ain't over yet," he said.

Vin leaned against Steele's side, shifting his weight to ease the strain on his back and trying to get a better look at Buck's face. "Ya talkin' 'bout yer . . . 'bout Doe?"

Long fingers carded slowly through the gelding's steel-colored mane. "I'm not worried about *him*." The statement was delivered flatly, calmly, and just a touch too emotionlessly. Buck noticed the skepticism in Vin's gaze and smiled tightly. "I'm not sayin' he doesn't bother me none," he amended. "I do hate the bastard's guts. But I can deal with him." He closed his eyes. "Thing is, he's just the vanguard. Where John is, the family ain't far behind. And when they arrive, we're in deep shit."

Vin frowned. "Yer worried because a' yer fam'ly?"

"They're not my family," Buck hissed. "Never were. Never will be. They're his family. My family was my mother."

"All right," the tracker soothed, a bit taken aback by the vehemence of his friend's declaration. "His fam'ly, then. They dangerous?"

Buck sighed. "Lemme tell you a story. Then ya can judge yourself."

Tanner nodded, trying not to show how uneasy the strange tone of Buck's voice made him feel. The hair at the back of his neck kept trying to rise. But at least his friend was talking again. Everything was better than that eerie silence that had been between them before.

The tall gunslinger thought for a minute, then took a deep breath. "You know I was in the war, right?" Vin shook his head yes. "It was shortly before I met Chris," Buck went on, concentrating on disentangling a knot in Steele's mane. "I was scoutin' the trail for my unit, tryin' to find a way back north from behind enemy lines - don't ask. Anyway, I was kinda hurt, caught a bullet a couple of days before and we didn't have th' time ta stop and take proper care of it. So I guess I wasn't exactly at my best. My luck being as it was, I promptly paid for it."

He tugged at the strand of hair in his hand without even noticing. Vin winced in sympathy, but Steele stood like a statue, his huge, powerful body a warm, solid wall for Buck to lean on. "Don't rightly know what happened, if it was a planned ambush or if I just had the bad fortune of bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I ended up a prisoner of the Confederates." Buck grimaced. "They weren't so happy to see me, considerin' there weren't supposed to be any bluecoats in the area. Of course they tried to find out if I was alone and what I was doin' there, and I couldn't tell 'em. I was too tired 'n confused to invent some kinda story, so I didn't say anything, which got 'em riled but good. I was sure I was a goner -- and then the family found me."

Buck shuddered. He turned his head and looked directly at Vin for the first time since he'd started talking. "There were about forty Rebels there, all of 'em well rested and armed. The family counted thirteen. Thirteen, Vin, and only about half of them was carryin' guns. And y'know what? They killed them soldiers, every-damn-one of them. Ripped into them like the wrath of God and soaked the earth with their blood. I got away while they were busy with the carnage, but I came back a day later to collect my unit 'n lead them through that area. I saw the bodies. Forty men, Vin. And not one survivor." He swallowed. "And now the family's coming to Four Corners."

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