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 Four

Not for the first time since he'd come out West, J.D. Dunne felt out of his depth. However, for the first time, he had no idea what to do about it. Usually when he was feeling lost he talked to Buck. The tall man might tease him a bit -- or give him hell, if he thought J.D. had done something stupid and/or dangerous -- but he was always there, willing to help in whatever way he could. And he knew his stuff, the young man had to give him that. Behind that laughing, flirting front hid a man who had an enormous amount of knowledge and experience, and for some reason he'd decided to share all of that with a green kid from the East who fought him every step of the way.

J.D. had always perceived Buck as a lot more real -- human -- than, for example, Chris Larabee. The black-clad gunslinger was a legend, a hero, and even though J.D. knew that technically he was just a mortal man, a part of him still considered Larabee beyond the laws of reality. Buck, on the other hand, was easy to understand. He could be touched and teased; you could laugh with him and at him. It was hard to succumb to a case of hero-worship with a guy who could drive you up the walls like Buck frequently did, or be intimidated by the lively devil who whirled through J.D.'s life like some long-legged, overexcited hound.

He'd thought he knew Buck.

So it came as quite a shock to realize he'd made the same mistake as most other people by assuming the smiling ladies' man was the real Buck Wilmington. The worst thing about it was not even that his friend had a history that was everything but happy, but that J.D. had not even suspected there could be more to Buck than the man showed to the world. Buck had never exactly volunteered information about his past, but he'd always been willing to answer whatever question J.D. had asked, no matter how personal. Thinking back, the boy couldn't believe he'd never tried to look deeper than just below the surface.

Lifting his head, he saw Ezra looking at him with something akin to compassion, conveying an understanding J.D. wouldn't have expected from the gambler, of all people. He wondered if Ezra had been as surprised by the discovery that Buck had hidden depths as the rest of them, or if the inscrutable Southerner had seen what they'd missed. He sure hadn't shown the shock J.D. had read in Chris and Vin's eyes, but then, if somebody had told Ezra the world was a cherry about to be swallowed by a coyote spirit, he probably wouldn't have batted an eyelid.

A quick glance at Chris confirmed the gunslinger was still staring at his whiskey as if contemplating setting it on fire. Larabee was stone cold sober, but he didn't seem to like that condition much. J.D. could sympathize. He would've liked to get drunk, too, if only to forget the expression in Buck's eyes when the man had told them how his mother had died. However, the situation being what it was, neither of them dared lose their edge. They'd spent the past few hours glaring at their drinks, each lost in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, J.D. couldn't stand it anymore. He'd tried to go after Buck when Vin had been gone for about an hour, but Ezra had managed to persuade him to stay in the saloon. They'd tried to distract themselves playing poker, but even the suave gambler hadn't been able to concentrate and so they'd given up and returned to meditating over their glasses. Dunne hated feeling so damn useless. He needed to be up and doing something.

The two older men looked up sharply when he jumped to his feet, almost pushing over his chair in his hurry. J.D. blushed, but didn't back down. "I'm gonna go up to the church tower, see if Nathan and Josiah are coming home yet."

Larabee studied him for a moment, probably trying to ascertain whether J.D. was telling the truth or planned to go searching for Buck. Obviously, J.D passed the exam, because the gunslinger nodded minutely. "Do that." He didn't have to add, "And only that."

Glad to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the saloon, the young man nearly ran out of the building. He almost got cornered by Mary Travis on his way to the church, but a flash of white warned him of her approach and he ducked into the narrow space between the post office and the undertaker, almost falling over a lame alley cat in the process. Hoping nobody had seen him, he took the longer route through the backstreets. He felt a little embarrassed, but he guessed he could deal with that. He couldn't have dealt with Mrs. Travis. He respected her, admired her for her courage, but he wasn't quite sure if he liked her.

Also, he didn't want to get pumped for information about the incident in the saloon and the resultant tension between the town's protectors. He could never tell if the woman was asking out of simple curiosity, on behalf of the town, because she was worried about Chris, or because she was looking for a story to print in her paper. Anyway, in J.D.'s opinion, this was a family affair and didn't concern her. Buck had enough problems without an insensitive journalist dogging his heels, prying for details.

He wondered briefly when he'd started to think of Mary Travis as an outsider trying to butt into his adopted family, then dismissed that line of thought. Let Chris deal with that particular problem. He was too worried about Buck to waste time and emotions on a virtual stranger.

A few minutes later J.D. was perched on the roof of the church high above the town, his gaze searching the horizon for any sign of Nathan and Josiah. He knew they'd be coming from the south, both of them. If he was lucky, they'd met on their way back and were traveling together.

The young sheriff settled down on the roof timbers, leaning back against the sun-warm shingles, and, for the first time since he'd seen Buck try to kill his father, he felt some of the terrible tension drain away. In the beginning, he hadn't been able to understand why Vin liked the rooftops so much, why he was always going for high ground when given a choice. He'd assumed it was because as a sniper, Tanner needed a good overview to pick and shoot his targets. In the wilderness, he'd place himself on the crest of a cliff, or a hill, or a large rock; in the town, it was the top of the buildings.

However, as he'd gotten to know Vin better, the tracker had shown him that there was more to it than just cold calculation. Yes, it was the best position for a rifleman during a fight; and yes, it gave him an edge, because people seldom reckoned with danger from above. But the thing most important to Vin was that on the roofs of the buildings, above the noise and smell and commotion of the town, he could feel free, if only for a while.

J.D. had never forgotten that lesson, and sometimes, when he was in need of some peace and quiet, he found himself seeking refuge in this secret retreat he shared only with Vin and occasionally Josiah. He'd sit down somewhere where he could feel the wind and smell the sweet summer grass, close his eyes, and just let go.

He did so now, breathing deeply and regularly as Josiah had taught him once, forcing the tension to leave his body. He cleared his head of the fear and sorrow that had been gnawing on him since he'd seen the light in Buck's eyes die under the hard gleam of cold hatred. Josiah had told him it helped to think of good things, so he tried to focus on the memories of his mother; but instead he found the sound of Buck's voice, warm, rich, and gentle.

He remembered the day Buck had told him about the hunter's moon, and why wolves were so drawn by it. He'd never really thought much about wolves before; had never cared about them one way or another. Oh, he'd listened with wide eyes to the tales about bloodthirsty beasts besieging hapless humans, stealing babies, and killing cattle and dogs. He'd grown up with stories like Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs, and had read dozens of dime novels later that painted an even more gruesome picture about the lupine predators. He'd only seen two real wolves in his life and hadn't been particularly impressed by them. In his opinion they were nothing but a more dangerous kind of coyote. Vin had shown him wolf tracks a couple of times, and though he'd been taken aback by the sheer size of the prints, he'd never met the lone animal that had left them.

Then one day he'd been on evening patrol with Buck and they'd heard a wolf howl in the distance. Buck had smiled, an affectionate little grin that had surprised J.D., because he hadn't understood what had brought it on. Buck had told him it was the first night of a full moon, the hunter's moon, and that the packs were getting ready to hunt. They were singing in the hills, confirming the bond between them and warning other packs away from their territory. J.D. had been intrigued, as so often when Buck cast aside his shields for a while and let him get a glimpse at what was hiding behind his usual lighthearted smile. So for the next couple of hours, Buck had told him some of the things he knew about wolves, opening a whole new world to a stunned J.D. by showing him a completely different side of the shy hunters than he'd known before.

So typical that Buck would see strength and beauty where other people saw only scavengers.

J.D. smiled, letting the memories wash over him and soothe his troubled mind. When at last he opened his eyes again, there was this unbelievable sky stretching above him, blue and gray and silver and white. The sun was setting, but it was hidden behind the clouds, so he could only see her rays of light, bathing the sky in a kaleidoscope of colors. The edges of the clouds were gleaming silvery and golden, red rivers of light running through them. What he could see of the sky itself was dark blue and azure blue and light blue and cornflower blue and various shades of gray.

It was beautiful. It also reminded him that he'd been sitting on the roof for almost an hour, lost in thought. He rose, turned around and looked towards the hills, not surprised in the least when he saw the familiar figures of two riders approaching the town from the south. Smiling, he climbed over the ridge of the roof to get back to the window he'd used as an exit.

It was pure chance he looked up once again before slipping back into the church to climb down the stairs and meet Nathan and Josiah at the livery.

Even years later he would remember that moment in his dreams. The sight of a band of riders coming over the crest of the hill behind his friends, seemingly detaching themselves from the burning skies. The pang of unease when he realized they weren't riding in a line, in pairs, or even a loose group, but in a precise arrowhead formation, swooping down on Four Corners like hunting hawks. The weird contrast between the peaceful sounds of the town and the distant thunder of hooves.

Twelve riders, all holding their position with uncanny precision. Twelve riders, and for a second he thought of John Doe and that with him there'd be thirteen strangers in town, and he felt an unreasonable stab of fear.

Then he shook himself, embarrassed by his superstitious thoughts, and climbed through the window into the familiar twilight of the church's attic. He hurried down the stairs, knowing Nathan and Josiah would've reached the town by the time he'd made it to the livery. He wanted to warn them before they walked into the saloon and smack into the cloud of gloom thickening the air there. Chris in a dark mood didn't take kindly to happy faces.

Chapter Five

Josiah directed his big gelding towards the livery and sighed softly. "Eight hours in the saddle and I feel like I've carried my horse instead of the other way round," he rumbled, shooting Nathan a disgusted look. "I'm getting too old for this kind of life."

The dark-skinned healer only grinned at that, noting the ease with which the grizzled preacher handled his prancing mount. "I suppose that's why you choose to ignore me every time I suggest you take it easy."

Josiah raised an eyebrow. "Now, Brother Nathan, that is not true. I don't object to the general idea of taking it easy, on the contrary. I just disapprove of your timing."

"My timing?" Nathan exclaimed, bringing his tired horse to a stop in front of the livery and glaring at his friend. "Say, when do you want to rest, if not when you're injured?"

"Well, afterwards of course, when I've got the time to relax," said the preacher, winked at the healer, and dismounted with a dignified grace that belied his earlier comment about aching muscles.

Nathan rolled his eyes and dismounted also, all the while grumbling about obstinate fools and their penchant for first getting hurt, then ignoring their wounds, and finally expecting him to perform miracles. "I swear, the next time one of you suicidal know-it-alls refuses to let me treat an injury, you can just dig the bullets out yourself! I've about had it with patching you ingrates together. Every time it's the same old story. I'm not even a doctor, for Chrissake!"

Josiah, barely managing to suppress an amused smirk at the familiar tirade, was about to answer when instinct made him turn around and look towards the south, into the direction from which they'd just come.

A group of riders was slowly trotting along the dusty main street, in almost military order. They were moving through the fading twilight quietly, only the occasional creaking of saddlery and the sound of the horses' hoofbeats disturbing the eerie silence surrounding them. Josiah counted twelve of them, all tall and lean, their faces hidden in the shadows of the brim of their hats. There was something about them that made him tense and instinctively reach for his gun. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Nathan was feeling the same. He too looked spooked, his face hard and unmoving.

The strangers were riding past them, heading towards the town center. When they passed by Nathan, a gust of wind parted their leader's long duster and he realized with no small amount of surprise he was looking at a woman. Her female curves were unmistakable even though she was wearing men's clothing. She didn't try to hide them. Now that he knew what to look for, he saw that of the twelve riders, seven were women. They were all more or less attractive; not beautiful or striking, but not ugly ducklings either. Four of them carried weapons that he could see - three of them revolvers and one a rifle that looked a lot like Vin's.

He felt a chill at the sight, wondering if they were here for the Seven's tracker. However, he'd never heard of such a large group of bounty hunters riding together. He certainly couldn't imagine a party of bounty hunters that included so many women.

The two regulators watched the twelve strangers as they moved through what passed as an evening crowd in Four Corners. They noticed the way people hastened to clear a path for the riders without even seeming to be aware of it, the way the group maintained its V-shaped formation even while fanning out and slowing from a slow trot into a brisk walk.

Josiah started when J.D. appeared at his side seemingly out of thin air - the kid had either spent too much time with their cat-footed tracker, or the unusual newcomers had thrown him more off-balance than he'd care to admit.

"Any idea who they are?" the young man asked, nodding towards the riders.

"Trouble."

This time, they all jumped. Whirling around they saw Buck and Vin standing right behind them, staring after the strangers with a most peculiar look on their faces. The tracker took in the situation with his usual unhurried thoroughness, then glanced at Buck. "That them?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Lost one?" Vin asked with a frown.

Buck shook his head. "One's already here."

"Oh." The tracker looked disappointed. "Plain forgot about 'im."

"Forgot about whom?" Josiah inquired, puzzled and increasingly aggravated by the strange exchange. He also hadn't missed the way J.D. was staring at Buck, like he wanted nothing more than to go to him, but for some reason didn't dare.

"What's going on here?" Nathan seconded, having made the same observations and feeling as much at a loss as the preacher.

Buck scowled. "It's all Chris' fault," he declared.

Neither Nathan nor Josiah looked particularly surprised by that statement. Vin chuckled. J.D. groaned. "Not again."

"If he'd trusted my judgement and let me kill the bastard . . ."

"Kill who?" Nathan interrupted, alarmed.

Vin decided to help. "Buck's father's in town," he explained.

Josiah blinked. "Is that good or bad?"

"Depends on your point of view," J.D. sighed. "He's the one Buck tried to kill. Right there in the middle of the saloon. Without provocation." He stopped Buck's furious protest with an impatient wave of his hand. "No immediate provocation," he amended. "Anyway, the man was unarmed. If you had killed him in front of all those witnesses, you'd be up to your neck in trouble now."

"At least y'all'd be safe," Buck snapped. "Killin' him would've taken care of two problems - him and his damn family. Now I've gotta worry about them and you six and everybody else in this cursed town!" His eyes grew dark in desperation. "I can't protect you all, damn it!"

"Ya don't have ta," Vin threw in, a little irritated. "We kin take care of ourselves jist fine. Bin doin' it for all our lives."

"Forty soldiers," was all that Buck answered.

Vin clenched his teeth. "We've had worse odds. We can beat 'em."

"Not the usual way, we can't." Buck looked at J.D., who looked as confused as Nathan and Josiah. His face hardened. "But I'll think of something."

PART TWO

Chapter One

"Lift your legs, dammit! You can do better than that!"

Steele ducked his head at his rider's furious reprimand and turned to face the maze of wooden posts strewn haphazardly across the paddock yet again. His ears twitched when he heard the beloved voice of his owner utter a string of expletives that would've made Vin Tanner blush. Long legs pressed lightly against his sides and the gelding took a deep breath, steeling himself, then launched himself back into the fray.

Chris, who was leaning against the fence, watched the huge gray run through the jumble of poles and had to fight the need to close his eyes. He was just waiting for the horse to take a wrong step and fall, breaking both his own and his rider's neck. Yet somehow, miraculously, Steele stayed upright and moving, dancing from one end of the corral to the other with a surefooted grace that reminded Larabee of a large cat. The big hooves always managed to find some free space to touch the earth, even when Buck urged the gray to go faster than was either safe or sane.

The two of them had been at it for the better part of three hours, approaching the obstacle course from every direction and with increasing tempo. A couple of times Steele had slipped or stumbled, causing Chris to flinch in anticipation of the inevitable fall, but every time the gelding had caught himself, keeping his rider safely on his broad back. J.D. had left after the first half hour, unable to watch. He'd tried to persuade his friend to stop or at least remove the poles, declaring there had to be a less dangerous way of working off tension, but Buck had just looked at him and growled and J.D. had thrown his hands up in annoyance and decided to join Ezra in the saloon.

Since Vin was up on the roofs again, keeping an eye on the situation, and Josiah was doing the same down on the ground, only Chris and Nathan had remained to watch over Buck. At least, Chris watched. Nathan had disappeared into the livery after one of Steele's more spectacular almost-tumbles and told Larabee to call him when it was time to set broken bones.

So Chris stood and kept an eye on his oldest friend, torn between being furious, because the man was risking his neck just to take his mind off his problems, and being awed by the interaction between horse and rider. Steele always looked so sedate, almost half-asleep, rarely showing the spirit Peso and Pony displayed every chance they got. He moved with a deceptive calmness that hid the fact that he could outrun most other horses and give Peso a run for his status as the resident equine mountain goat. Most of the time, Buck didn't even seem aware he was sitting on a horse, all but ignoring his sleepy-eyed mount. Chris had never realized how closely connected the two of them were.

He flinched at the dull thud of a hoof against wood, but Steele didn't falter, kept flying through the paddock like he was running over even ground. His silvery coat was dark with sweat, almost matching his steel colored legs and mane. Buck didn't look much better, but his unorthodox method of distraction seemed to work. He looked a lot more relaxed than when he'd arrived at the livery. Chris, on the other hand, was aging years just watching the pair's near suicidal leaps and bounds.

Buck had been out of sorts for two days now. As far as Chris could tell, he hadn't slept since the family's arrival, too busy avoiding John Doe and his companions while at the same time guarding his friends like a she-bear guards her cubs. He'd been drinking nothing but water and couldn't seem to sit still for a minute. His behavior was so different from his usual manner he had the whole town worried, especially the female parts of the population. And it *was* scary - Buck pacing the streets like a trapped wolf, actively avoiding contact with anybody but his fellow regulators.

Only hours before Chris had seen him brush off two beautiful young ladies who'd been trying to talk with him. He hadn't been rude -- Larabee honestly doubted Buck *could* be rude to a woman, if not provoked past all human endurance -- but he'd been somewhat curt, and he hadn't cracked a smile once. With most other people, the ladies would've been miffed at the very best, downright mad at worst, but with Buck they'd looked more concerned than anything else. Chris, knowing women always had the need to talk about everything, to find explanations for untypical behavior, had expected them to corner Buck when not only did he fail to get better after twenty-four hours, but was growing even more withdrawn instead. However, the ladyfolk of Four Corners surprised him. They didn't press their favorite lawman, but gave him the space he wanted. Larabee wouldn't have believed it possible if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

Then again, he would've never believed Buck would ever intentionally push J.D. away from his side, but he'd seen him do it the past two days. Buck had been surprisingly subtle about it, making sure he didn't hurt the kid, but he'd successfully held him at a distance. The same went for the rest of his friends. Buck was there, but at the same time he wasn't, and it was driving them all loco to see him like that.

Vin had told them what Buck had said about Doe's family, and though they had a hard time believing it, it made them tread carefully where normally they would've approached the unwelcome newcomers with a harsh warning. They weren't afraid, but they had decided to watch first and act later. In retrospect Larabee was glad they'd made that choice. Watching them and watching Buck, he'd come to the conclusion that something was going on that was a lot weirder than just a family of killers invading their town.

"Still at it, I see," Nathan's voice sounded from directly behind him.

Chris, having heard the door creak and the healer deliberately drag his feet a little when walking over to him, only shrugged. "He'll stop when Steele needs a break."

Nathan snorted disgustedly. "He won't stop till this is over, one way or 'nother. Those damn, cold-eyed bastards have him all tied up in knots, and them prowling through th' town like that doesn't help any."

Larabee frowned. "Any news as to what they're doin'?"

The healer shook his head. "Nothin'. They're still all over th' place like a plague of locusts. Always one of them sitting in the saloon, the rest sniffin' around. They don't talk, don't drink, don't do much of anything 'cept bein' there." He watched Buck and Steele coming to a stop in the middle of the corral and breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the dance seemed to be over for now. "Vin ran across one of th' women on the roofs yesterday evening. Seein' as she was th' one had that rifle, he didn't like the idea of her snooping out his favorite hiding places."

The blond gunslinger fished a cheroot out of his breast pocket and lit it, pondering the new information and wondering about the attentive statement on Buck's face. He was out of earshot, but he looked like he was listening anyway. Or maybe he was just trying to remember something. "They still don't speak to anybody?"

"Well, one of 'em bought a needle 'n some thread at Mrs. Potter's, and they reply when you greet 'em directly, but otherwise, no. They don't seem t' be interested in anybody but Buck." Nathan hesitated, then decided to take a risk. "Chris?" he asked, carefully. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Larabee glanced at him, but neither exploded into seething fury nor froze in icy silence. Nathan considered that a good sign, but still waited for a verbal reply. With the Seven's leader, the saying "Better safe than sorry!" was a rule of survival. Finally, Chris nodded slightly. "Go ahead."

"In all the years you've known Buck . . . you ever get th' impression that maybe there was more t' him than meets the eye?" Chris turned to him, anger rising, but Nathan didn't notice. He was looking at Buck, who was staring at them but still not moving. "I mean . . . I don't know . . . like he was different from other people?"

The developing ire evaporated in Larabee's confusion. "Huh? Like what?"

Nathan blinked, shrugged helplessly, then laughed in embarrassment. "Damn, I don't know. T'was just something Vin said. Forget it."

Chris was about to dig deeper, but lost his train of thought when Steele, who'd been standing completely still until then, started to move again, this time walking towards them. The two men turned to watch the big gray slowly pick his way through the clutter of wooden poles, snorting with pleasure when Buck leaned down to pat his sweaty neck.

Nathan chuckled. "Lord, Buck's so lucky Steele's not Peso."

Larabee tried to imagine Buck having to deal with the black's temper on a daily basis and almost snickered. Nah, not a chance in hell. They'd kill each other. Buck didn't have much tolerance for ornery mounts. He and Peso had decided from the get-go they didn't much like each other. And if anybody had tried to make Peso run through the obstacle course Buck had devised for Steele, the gelding would've slung the offending rider from his back in a heartbeat.

"Don't say it, Chris," Buck warned, being close enough now that he could see the laughter in his friend's eyes.

"Say what?"

"Steele's loyal, not stupid," the ladies' man said, stroking the coarse mane affectionately.

Larabee smiled. "Buck, that damn nag is the only horse I've ever seen running towards a wolf instead of away from it. Remember the incident? Remember how mommy wolf decided to make him supper?"

Buck scowled. "He just thought - "

"What? That she might be nice company? And then that thing with the lady in the blue dress . . ."

His friend winced, then laughed. "She forgave him."

"And you," Chris added dryly. He was rewarded with a familiar sparkle in the ladies' man's eyes, if only for a moment. Then Buck lifted his head and the laughter died together with his smile. Nathan cursed quietly. Larabee didn't have to turn around to know one of the family had entered Buck's line of sight, and felt a swell of mixed anger and protectiveness.

He didn't know what was really going on between his friend and those people, but if it didn't end soon -- preferably with them leaving town and getting the hell out of Buck's life -- he'd find a way to end it for them. Permanently.

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

As fate would have it, Chris didn't have to take matters into his own hands. The shaky truce between Buck and his peculiar relatives ended that same afternoon.

The fateful moment that triggered the following chain of events, changing all the Seven's lives forever, was brought on by J.D. and one of the Doe women. In all fairness, J.D. had no idea what he was about to set in motion when he decided to try and talk with the pretty brunette. He was hoping to get some idea about John Doe's plans, maybe find a weak link.

Buck had taught him that women usually had more common sense than men and were more likely to agree to talk rather than fight something out. Of course Buck had also told him he had an *animal magnetism*, so J.D. was a little suspicious of advice his friend gave about the fair sex. But seeing as Buck did seem to spend even more time talking to the ladies than kissing them, J.D. figured it was a risk worth taking.

He approached the young woman with a smile and said hello, half expecting her to ignore him. She hesitated for a moment, looking him up and down appraisingly, then -- to his not inconsiderable surprise - replied with a friendly, "Hello."

He couldn't help but notice she had Buck's dark blue eyes and his easy smile. It made him feel a little more comfortable in her company, even if it was strange to talk to a woman who was not only dressed like a man, but armed, too. "My name's J.D.," he introduced himself, taking off his hat. Buck had taught him a lady always was a lady, no matter what she wore, and that he better treat her politely and with the proper respect. "J.D. Dunne, ma'am. At your service."

Full lips quirked upwards into an even broader smile. "Pleasure to meet you," she purred, in a tone of voice surprisingly similar to Buck's when he was courting a new lover. "No need to call me ma'am, though. I'm Georgia." She held out a hand and he took it, feeling like an idiot for not offering first. Her grip was firm, her fingers slender, but strong. He'd halfway expected her to squeeze his hand, but she didn't. It made him remember what Ezra had taught him about the things you could tell about a person from their handshake. Georgia obviously was self-confident enough to keep from trying to prove her strength. Judging from the calluses on her fingers, she probably didn't wear those guns for show either. Damn. Who were these people?

Feeling a bit at a loss about what to talk with her, J.D. took refuge in platitude. "So, Georgia, how d'you like Four Corners?"

Blue eyes laughed at him at that. It wasn't a nasty laugh, more a mischievous twinkle that made him think of Buck again. "Oh, I like it better every moment," she drawled. He blushed when she added, "I've seen you before, haven't I? You're the Sheriff here."

"Uh...yes, yes I am." He had to fight the urge to puff out his chest and give her a silly, proud grin. She was a beautiful woman when she smiled, he noticed. She didn't have the prim, icy beauty of Mary Travis, or the exotic, delicate beauty of Nathan's Rain, but there was something about her . . .

"Quite a good-looking Sheriff, for a town like this," Georgia remarked, eyeing him appreciatively. "Say, you got a wife or a girlfriend waiting for you, J.D. Dunne?"

J.D. blinked, taken aback by her directness. Briefly, he thought about Casey, then banned her from his mind. This mysterious, gorgeous woman was interested in him! If he played his cards right, he might get some vital information to help Buck and get some . . . well . . . *experience* at the same time. It was a plan worthy of Ezra.

He opened his mouth to tell her he was unattached, but before the first sound had made it past his throat, a large hand grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him back. Then Buck was there, stepping between J.D. and the woman, his face a mask of cold fury. "Get the hell away from him," he growled at her. For the first time since the young Sheriff had known him, Buck looked ready to not only threaten a woman, but actually follow through with the threat.

Georgia, however, didn't even blink. "This is none of your business, Bucklin," she said, her voice cool, but not hostile. "I was just looking for some distraction. This waiting for you to come to a decision is getting a bit boring."

Buck didn't look the least bit placated by her words. "Find some other way to 'distract' yourself," he snapped. "I want none of your lot sniffin' around my friends."

J.D., shocked by the way Buck was talking to the lady, tried to move past his friend, but found his way blocked by a restraining arm. "Damn it, Buck, we were only talking!" he cried. He couldn't understand the gunslinger's behavior.

Buck snorted derisively. "Yeah, just talking. Sure." His eyes flashed fire at the woman. "Back off, Georgia," he warned. "The kid's off-limits. So's th' rest of them. No sampling. No playing. And no claiming."

This time he got a reaction. "You have no right to warn me off," she seethed, taking a step closer and getting right into his face. "They're One-Bloods. They have no family connections. They can do whatever they damn well want, and so can we."

For a second J.D. thought Buck might actually strike her, but then he contented himself with looming over her and glaring into her suddenly wary blue eyes. J.D. had never seen him use his height to intimidate somebody. It was a shock to realize just how damn threatening the man could be when he stopped playing fair.

Buck's voice dropped to a low whisper, barely more than the sound of steel hissing over stone. "They are mine," he breathed. "Mine to care for, mine to protect."

Georgia froze, staring at him in stunned disbelief. "You're claiming them? All of them?"

"I don't have to," Buck said calmly. "They're pack." He straightened, still keeping himself between J.D. and the dumfounded brunette. "You can tell John I ain't gonna join y'all. I found me my own family. And I'll fight him to the death for them, if need be."

She blinked. "You're serious."

"Dead serious."

"But . . ." Her eyes darted to J.D., then quickly away. For the first time, the young man saw her break eye-contact. She bowed her head, taking a step back, then another one. "This is wrong," she said.

Buck watched her, a weird mixture of peace and apprehension on his face. "Not for me."

"You can't do this!"

A flicker of his old devil-may-care grin flitted around Buck's lips. "Watch me."

She didn't. She darted a last look at the tall gunslinger's eyes, and whatever she saw there made her tremble. She backed up a few steps before turning around and hastening off into the direction of the hotel, leaving a grimly smiling Buck and a completely confused J.D.

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

It took J.D. almost five minutes to digest the strange confrontation he'd just witnessed. Buck waited patiently, watching him struggle with the words that wouldn't come in weary amusement. Finally the young man got his brain and tongue in synch again and managed a perplexed sputter. "What . . . what in the name of Christ . . . Buck . . . would'ya please tell me . . ."

"I will. Promise." Buck sighed. "I gotta tell the others, too. This does concern all of us. -- Listen, J.D., could ya find the guys and tell them to meet me at Chris' shack? We have to talk. All of us. And if any of the family try to stop ya, tell 'em to back off, this is pack business."

But J.D., once he found his voice again, also found his temper. "The hell I will! Have you lost your mind? What's going on here? What're you talking about? And what was she talkin' about? What's this whole 'pack' nonsense? And why'd you stop me talkin' to her in the first place? I can take care of myself! I'm not a kid, dammit! I wasn't going to fall for her or anything!"

"I didn't think you would," Buck answered. "That's th' problem. Now would ya please go fetch the others? I'll meet ya at th' shack."

"Cabin," J.D. corrected automatically. "Chris doesn't live in a shack. It's a cabin."

"Kid, I've seen houses, I've seen cabins, and I've seen shacks. This is a shack. -- Now stop arguing and get the others."

"No!" J.D. was getting mad. "Not until you've told me what's going on!"

Buck's voice rose dangerously. "J.D. *go*!"

Suddenly realizing Buck meant it, wouldn't explain anything before they were all together at Chris' shack -- *cabin*, damn it, Chris' cabin -- the younger man stalked off with an angry curse.

Buck watched him go with sorrow, knowing that after the talk things would never be the same again between him and the others. He just hoped he was right about the strength of the bond between them, because if he wasn't, he'd be dead by dawn.

And he'd probably die alone.

Chapter Two

Chris Larabee was livid.

//One minute// he thought, while racing an agitated Pony up the path leading towards his cabin. //I can't leave them out of my sight for a minute!// And there he'd thought the only trouble Buck drew like a magnet was the one that involved women. They were all trouble-prone, the only exception being Nathan - and even he had his moments. Vin had a bounty on his head, Ezra was a professional gambler, Josiah's preaching methods were everything but conventional, and J.D. had a special talent for getting into the most impossible situations without even trying.

But Buck . . . He knew Buck, damn it! He knew what to expect from him, how to deal with him. Whatever mess the others waded into, Buck was always there to guard their backs and lift their spirits. In his own way, he was as stable and dependable as a rock. He might go off half-cocked sometimes, when his temper flared, but at least Chris always had a pretty good idea *when* he was going to do it - and anyway, Buck had the skill to take care of himself.

Buck Wilmington didn't try to slit people's throat in public. He didn't reveal secrets of a past that should've broken him. He didn't threaten women. And he Did. Not. Run. Not even if it was only to Chris' cabin.

The others were just a step behind him when he reached the clearing. They breathed a collective sigh of relief upon seeing Steele graze peacefully in the small corral, and reigned their own horses up in front of the shack. The door opened to reveal a nervous-looking, freshly scrubbed Buck wearing only a pair of tan pants and a faded blue shirt.

Buck hadn't even opened his mouth when Chris started yelling. "Have you lost what little mind you've got?" he bellowed, loud enough to make the horses (except Pony, who was used to his rider's occasional outbursts) start and try to back away from him. "Which part of 'stay put' didn't you understand? How are we supposed to watch your back if you take off the moment I turn around? After telling us time and again how dangerous those bastards are, you decide it'd be nice to go for a ride *alone*? Damn it, I've got half a mind to shoot ya and put an end to your antics!"

"Might've been the best solution four hours ago," Buck replied flatly. "But not anymore. Too late now." He cocked his head to the side and lifted the steaming mug he was holding. "Coffee?"

Breathless silence dropped over the clearing as the Seven awaited their leader's reaction. Even Vin wasn't quite sure what Chris would do -- Larabee really looked ready to shoot Buck. The blond gunslinger had been worried sick when J.D. told them Buck had left the town on his own and was going to meet them at the cabin. He'd practically chased the others onto their horses and they'd left Four Corners at breakneck speed, only slowing down when their mounts needed a break.

Furious green eyes and tired blue ones exchanged a long look, then Chris leaned forward a bit and rested his arms against the saddle-horn, anger giving way to resignation. "Reckon I'm going t' need it?"

Buck smiled weakly. "Yep."

"Thought so," Chris sighed.

His oldest friend gave an apologetic shrug and held out the metal cup in a wordless peace-offering. When Larabee accepted it and took a small sip before handing it back and leading his horse towards the corral, the others knew the worst was over. Chris had seen that Buck was unharmed, had vented his fear-induced anger, and was quickly settling back into his usual, more level-headed self.

They followed his example, quickly taking care of their sweaty mounts and leaving them to graze in the corral. The animals, well acquainted with one another, arranged themselves as comfortably as possible in the small space, while still giving Peso a wide berth. Their owners stowed away their gear, then walked over to the shack.

When they entered, Buck had coffee waiting. He'd also cleaned the shack within an inch of its existence, carried in logs to sit on, and made the bed. Josiah took one look at the tall, barely contained bundle of nervous energy hovering in a corner, and stopped J.D. from going to him with a quick, well-practiced grab. "Not now, son," he rumbled quietly. "I suspect our brother is wound a bit too tight for comfort."

"That," Nathan observed, "must be the understatement of the century."

"I do declare, our dear Mr. Wilmington bears a remarkable resemblance to a virgin about to confess an uncomfortable circumstance," Ezra added his two cents, earning a slightly confused scowl from the not so virginal virgin in question.

Vin smirked, but said nothing, picking up on Chris' complete lack of amusement and inclined to share it. Buck wasn't only nervous, he was scared, though he was doing a good job of hiding it. It made Vin tense and not a little apprehensive. He'd never seen Buck afraid before, not like that. Yes, he'd been worried, sometimes almost frantic -- mostly when one of them, especially J.D., was in danger -- but it had been a less intimate kind of fear. All these other times, Buck had been afraid *for* them - not *of* them. It was disconcerting, seeing him so . . . vulnerable.

Larabee took command then, making sure everyone got some coffee and a place to sit. When they were settled, he leaned against the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and gave Buck an encouraging nod. "Well, we're here. Go ahead," he said, his voice neutral and bare of inflection.

Buck grimaced. Looked at them. Opened his mouth. Closed it. He started to pace the narrow confines of the cabin, somehow managing not to trip over various outstretched legs, looking as jittery as a horse in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"You ever seen a wolf- " he started, then stopped himself.

He shook his head. Paced some more. Drew a dirty look from Chris when he almost stepped on his foot and shot him a contrite glance.

He tried again. "Y'know, my mother always said- " His jaws snapped shut.

The six waited patiently. Buck was starting to look increasingly irritated. He stopped, thought for a minute, raked his hand through his hair in an impatient movement that only served to accentuate his nervousness.

"I didn't lie," he said, firmly. "I never lied t' y'all. I just . . . I kinda . . ." His hands cut through the air in a vague gesture that unfortunately didn't help them understand his rambling. Seeing the uneasy puzzlement on their faces, the tall gunslinger sighed and hung his head. "Dammit, I'm not makin' much sense, am I?"

"Not really, no," Chris confirmed, keeping his tone low and even, careful not to rattle his friend even more. "You didn't lie to us about what?"

Buck started to answer, then closed his mouth again with an audible click. Vin and J.D. quickly retracted their legs when the pacing began anew. None of them dared make a sound, afraid to spook their normally so unshakable companion. Buck looked angry now, mostly with himself. He didn't usually have problems expressing his thoughts, and it clearly bugged the hell out of him that he couldn't seem able to just spit out whatever it was that needed to be told.

"Josiah," he suddenly said. The preacher raised an eyebrow and waited. Buck smiled wanly. "Ya remember you always told me I can't sing?" Josiah blinked in confusion, but nodded. Buck expelled a deep breath. "I can sing, y'know? I just sing a different song than th' rest of ya."

That, unfortunately, didn't help any.

"So this is about music?" J.D. asked, having absolutely no idea what his friend was saying and abandoning every attempt at trying to look like he did.

Buck groaned. "Yes. No! Landsakes, kid, stop confusin' me!"

"Me?" J.D. yelped. "I'm not the one dancing around the issue like a flea on a bathing fox!"

"Funny that you'd mention foxes," Buck mumbled, then gave up with a sigh and an exasperated wave of his hands. "Look, I can't . . . I can't just tell ya. Don't know where t' start, or how t' go about it so ya don't think I lost my marbles. So I'll . . . I'll show ya." With that, he reached for his shirt buttons, quickly opening them, and shed the garment with an unconscious shrug of his broad shoulders.

He was just reaching for the top button of his pants when Chris shook off his initial shock and grabbed his arm. "What in tarnation are you doing?" he growled. Buck met his gaze calmly, though the gunslinger could feel a shiver run through the taller man's body.

"Trust me," Buck said quietly.

Chris hesitated, then slowly let go of his arm. Buck thanked him with a small smile, his eyes shining with gratitude. He opened his pants, let them drop to the floor, and stepped out of them with easy grace, standing naked in front of his friends. Ignoring the embarrassed flush on most of their faces he looked at each of them in turn, holding their gaze briefly before moving on. "Trust me," he asked softly. "Please. Trust me."

There was something in his voice that made the hairs at the back of their necks stand up, but they nodded, each and every one of them.

Buck relaxed a bit, then suddenly tensed, every muscle in his body spasming at the same time. He gave a breathless gasp and doubled over, falling down. The air seemed to shift, a strange kind of pressure swallowing the sound of their panicked voices.

Nathan was the first to reach Buck, but jerked back just before his hands touched the body on the ground. "Shit!" he yelled.

The huge, silver-gray wolf cowering before him flinched and put his tail between his legs, very obviously trying to look harmless.

"What the hell . . .?!"

"Mary Mother of God!"

"I'll be damned."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Buck?"

"Shoulda've known." Vin gave a short bark of laughter. He was the only one not gaping at the enormous canine in a combination of shock, panic, and stunned disbelief.

The others fell silent and watched in morbid fascination as their tracker crouched in front of the wolf, holding out a hand. The beast stretched its neck and licked his fingers affectionately, the tip of the bushy tail wagging enthusiastically. Vin reached out and touched the long, silvery face, running his fingers over the steel-colored muzzle and scratching the wolf between his eyes. When he turned around to face the others, he was grinning. "Well, he done told us 'bout his 'animal magnetism', didn't he?"

Chapter Three

"Twelve years." Chris' voice still sounded strangled. "Twelve years, and you never once thought t' mention you're a . . . a . . . what the hell are you, anyway?"

Buck moved uncomfortably, but didn't look away. "Two-Blood," he said. "My kind calls itself Two-Blood."

"So that's why Georgia called us One-Bloods!" J.D. called, happy to find the answer to the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since the confrontation in Four Corners. "Because we're only human! Right?"

"Right, kid," Buck nodded, closing the last button and smiling at the young man's enthusiasm. After the first shock, J.D.'s alarm had quickly changed into fascination and wonder. Vin's complete lack of surprise at Buck's transformation had helped a lot with getting him over his initial caution. He was looking back and forth between the gunslinger and the tracker now, a thousand questions dancing in his eyes. "How did you know, Vin?"

Vin leaned against the wall well within touching distance of Buck, his back towards the tall gunslinger, silently demonstrating to the still wary Chris and Nathan that nothing had really changed - neither his friendship for Buck, nor his trust in him. "I've met people like him when I lived with th' Comanches," he explained easily. "A pack a' nine was travelin' with us t' th' winter camp. They called themselves th' Dry Pond Pack, 'n were quite open about who an' what they were." He shrugged. "Nobody thought much 'bout it. Th' People've always known 'bout the Two-Bloods. They bin huntin' together, fightin' together, tradin' with each other. Sometimes, a pack even lives with a tribe. Ain't no big deal."

"I think I might have heard of a similar arrangement," Ezra threw in, surprising all of them. The gambler was studying Buck thoughtfully. "You mentioned earlier that you spent some time down in New Orleans, Mr. Wilmington. May I inquire if the term *Loup Garou* seems familiar to you?"

Buck snorted. "That's what them fancy European Two-Bloods call themselves," he said, obviously not impressed by the concept. "You would like 'em, Ez, they're dreadfully cultured. 'S far as I could tell, they're pretty much a part of society down there, and spendin' most of their time in th' city."

"Are they affluent?" Ezra asked, his interest piqued.

"'Course they speak English." Buck frowned. "And French. But mostly English. Why?"

"He meant: 'Are they rich?'" Josiah translated.

The preacher had been quiet since his first exclamation of shock, his statement giving nothing away. He'd watched Buck change back into human form, had watched him dress and then stand patiently in their middle, allowing the regulators to buzz around him. He'd seen J.D. touch Buck repeatedly to reassure himself Buck was still Buck, had listened to Nathan tell him over and over again that he'd just defied the laws of nature (though the healer didn't seem entirely sure whether to be offended or delighted by it). Josiah also hadn't missed that Chris was keeping his distance from his oldest friend, and the way Buck didn't seem certain whether that was a good thing or not.

He saw Buck's familiar good-natured exasperation at Ezra's predictable line of thought and the amused pride in his eyes when J.D. started to tease him about the 'animal magnetism', claiming Buck had used an unfair advantage to bedazzle every female in sight. The kid didn't seem too vexed by it; on the contrary, he figured that getting outdone by a Two-Blood wasn't half as humiliating as being left in the dust by a purely human ladies' man.

So when Buck turned to Josiah, his gaze dark and questioning, the preacher merely stared at him and quoted, "But it is you; my equal, my companion, my familiar friend."

And that about summed it up.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Chris who finally broke up the chaos and restored order, but Nathan. The healer had everybody back off and give Buck some space, then told them to shut up while he was brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

J.D. sat down reluctantly, still burning with curiosity. Ezra was fighting to regain his poker face, but couldn't quite hide the intrigued gleam in his eyes. His mind was racing with possibilities. Vin kept glancing at Buck with mingled respect and nostalgia, thinking about the Two-Bloods he'd known and longing for that simple, peaceful time in his otherwise so troubled life. Josiah leaned back against the wall, still reeling a bit from the revelation that Buck was a shapechanger. God surely worked in mysterious ways to keep life interesting.

Larabee was the only one who did not instinctively move closer to Buck to reassure him. Schooling his face into an unreadable mask he leaned against the table and watched his men form a protective circle around Buck like they'd done since the family -- no, the *pack*, it was a goddamn pack of goddamn werewolves, not a family -- since the pack had arrived in town. And Buck, damn him, looked so relieved at their lack of condemnation, so grateful for their acceptance. He'd just changed into an animal in front of their eyes, and now he had the audacity to look like he always did. Strong, bright, full of life and blazing spirit. Human.

Chris wasn't quite sure what he felt, but betrayal made up a good part of the mix. He'd known Buck for a long time, had known him even before Sarah. He couldn't remember how many times they'd laughed and talked and shared their secrets. Or better, Chris had. Buck had held back the most important secret of all, had obviously never trusted his friend enough to mention the little detail that he wasn't entirely human.

He wondered what Sarah would've said if she'd known that good old Buck -- her husband's closest friend, the man who'd been a member of their family almost from the start, whom she trusted with her son on a daily basis -- was hiding something like that from them. Would she have recoiled from Buck in fear and disgust? Somehow, he couldn't see that, couldn't imagine her ever being afraid of Buck, or repulsed by him. From the moment they'd first met, she'd adopted the tall gunslinger as the big brother she'd never had, and it had taken both Chris and Buck months of desperate talking to keep her from naming her first born after him. He almost smiled at the memory of Buck trying to spare Adam the cruel fate of being called 'Bucky' by other kids.

Both Sarah and Adam had loved Buck, and he in turn adored them. He'd been their self-appointed guardian, had watched over them with the same devotion and loyalty he'd shown Chris. Hell, when Adam had been born, he'd hardly moved from the baby's side. He changed the boy's diapers, helped feed him, told him outrageous stories about women and horses and God knew what else. Later he took his charge riding, taught him how to sneak, read sign, and pull pranks on his unsuspecting father.

Would Adam have been shocked to learn his beloved Buck could change into a wolf? Again Chris had a hard time picturing that. All he could see with his mind's eye was his son playing with an almost pony-sized wolf, or sleeping between the huge paws, face buried in the silvery fur. Adam would've been excited to have both a four-legged and a two-legged friend in one familiar package. He probably would've spent half the nights on the porch, howling at the moon, or complaining that he wanted to be a Two-Blood, too.

So why hadn't Buck confided in him, damn it? He'd had opportunities enough. Then Larabee remembered what Doe and Buck had told him about Buck's life prior to meeting Chris, and, slowly, Chris felt his resentment melt away. By the time the two of them had become friends, Buck had been through Hell and back, and all his formidable defenses had already been firmly in place. Maybe he would've found the courage to tell Chris one day, if not for the fire. After losing his family, Chris had courted death with a vengeance. He'd even turned on Buck, more than once. Hell, considering what he'd done to him, it was a miracle the man still had enough trust in Larabee to get within striking distance.

Still not sure what to think, but unable to close Buck out any more, Chris turned his head and looked at his friend. He was stricken by the pleading he saw in the dark blue eyes, the readiness to take every harsh word, every blow Chris might want to deal out, if only he was allowed to stay near. And with a jolt he realized he couldn't really imagine a life without the lively scoundrel. Yes, Buck should've told him; and yes, Buck was a daily reminder of what Chris had lost. He also was Larabee's last tie to his past, to the good times as well as the bad - and he had to admit, there'd been a lot more good than bad, and most of it because of Buck.

So he sighed and nodded minutely, signaling that even though they'd have themselves a long talk about secrets and the care and handling of large canines in the near future, things were all right between them. Or they would be, as soon as Larabee had gotten used to the idea that his best friend was occasionally furry.

He straightened at that, rolled his shoulders to get rid of the lingering tension, and stepped closer to where the other men were gathered around Buck. They were trying very hard to keep quiet like Nathan had ordered, well aware that Buck was uncoiling only slowly, his nerves still raw. However, especially J.D. had trouble being silent. He was almost bursting at the seams with the sheer number of questions chasing themselves round and round in his active mind. Chris shot him a withering look, putting an effective damper on the threatening outburst, then pulled the chair closer and sat down in front of Buck, facing him.

They sat like that for a while, waiting for Nathan, who was busy preparing the coffee. The big healer needed to keep his hands busy when he was nervous, or he got edgy. An edgy Nathan was not a pretty sight, so they were all more than happy to leave the coffee-making to him. Also, their own abilities in that area were disputable. Vin's brew was particularly feared; Buck had started the rumor that the tracker's coffee was capable of waking the dead, and so far nobody had dared to try and prove him wrong. They were all afraid of the possible consequences . . . after all, he might just be right.

Finally Nathan was done. He sat down between Josiah and Vin, poured himself a cup of coffee and handed the pot to Vin, who declined and offered it to Buck. The pot made the round, adding sugar and caffeine to the already considerable level of adrenaline, then was put away by Josiah. Chris took a sip, wishing he'd been smart enough to bring a bottle of whiskey just in case, then started the discussion with his usual directness. "So, what is really going on between you and those people?"

Buck moved his mug from one hand to the other, absentmindedly swirling the black liquid around. "You want the long version or th' short one?"

Larabee hesitated. Usually he preferred bad news to be delivered in a brief, to-the-point report, but something told him that might not be the wisest choice in this instance. They were missing too much background information to understand one of Buck's infamous one-line explanations. The man had a talent for reducing long tales to their bare essentials. He didn't use it often, but when under stress, he could get even more close-mouthed than Vin. "Long version," the gunslinger decided.

The amused little twitch of Vin's mouth told him the tracker had read his thoughts once again, and was vastly entertained by his friend's precautionary measure. J.D. snickered, then quickly looked away and admired the bedpost. Ezra's gold tooth flashed, betraying his smile. Josiah mumbled something about wonders never ceasing, and Nathan hid the lower half of his face behind his mug, suddenly very intent on his coffee.

Buck shook his head, grinning. "Damn, Chris, did that hurt bad?"

Nathan almost choked on the swallow he'd just taken. J.D. turned away, his shoulders shaking in helpless laughter, and Vin was smirking openly now. Only Josiah and Ezra kept their bearings, though their eyes sparkled with mirth. Chris, who was having a hard time fighting a chuckle of his own at the reappearance of Buck's indomitable smartass spirit, speared his friend with a rather mellow version of his glare. "I'm going t' hurt *you*, if you're not careful. Now start talkin', I'm not gettin' any younger." He redirected his glare at Vin. "Not - a - word," he warned. "I mean it."

Vin struggled bravely with the comment that was on the tip of his tongue. He bit it down with an effort, but made a mental note to keep it handy. This was too good to let go.

Chris stared at him for a moment longer, sending a barrage of silent threats that the tracker ignored happily, then turned back to Buck. "Explanation," he reminded him.

Buck nodded reluctantly and slouched down a little, either to make himself seem smaller, or trying to find a more comfortable position on his log. "The whole thing started with my mother," he began, long fingers twirling the mug in his hands in a steady, slow, almost hypnotizing motion. "She was a One-Blood."

J.D. frowned. "Wait a moment. If she was human, then why are you . . .?"

His friend flashed him a quick smile. "That kinda thing doesn't happen often -- there's not many humans who're compatible with Two-Bloods, maybe one in a hundred -- but *if* a One-Blood gets pregnant from a Two-Blood, or the other way round, the child's always Two-Blood. Sometimes it's a little harder for those people t' change, but I've never had those problems." He shrugged. "Might be 'cause my sire's an alpha - my father's a dominant Two-Blood," he explained upon seeing the confusion in his companions' faces. "He's th' leader of the Red Stone Pack."

He took a sip of coffee and frowned, trying to decide what to say. "Th' packs call themselves 'family' when they're in company of One-Bloods," he told them. "That's why I called them that, too. I grew up with my mother, among humans, but I'm still Two-Blood, so I have to follow certain rules. Mom realized that early on, so she made a point of learnin' all about pack law she could, and taught me. She had some help from an old loner, who stayed with us for a while to show me th' ways of my kind."

"Wait, brother. Stop. What do you mean by 'pack law'?" Josiah asked.

"The very thing that got us into th' mess we're in right now," Buck sighed. "I'm gonna get t' that. Right now all ya need t' know is there's a set of rules that all Two-Bloods live by. Most of it is about pack hierarchy and general rules of conduct. Like, for example, if you move into another pack's territory, you gotta ask permission ta cross through, t' hunt, an' all that kinda stuff. Then there's the rule about not revealing ourselves to One-Bloods, if possible." He carefully did not look at Chris. "It's necessary for our survival. People tend t' shoot first an' ask questions later, 'specially if they're afraid."

Vin looked thoughtful. "That pack law the reason why ya didn't jist shoot that Doe fella?"

Buck nodded. "If I'd shot him, they would've killed me. Firearms are outlawed among Two-Bloods. When two alphas fight, they have t' do it one on one, using only our natural weapons. In human form, anything that replaces teeth 'n claw's allowed."

"But they have guns," Nathan threw in. "Even the women."

"Sure. You don't think we're stupid enough ta go up against armed people with knives, do ya? We're not invulnerable. You should know, you've patched me up often enough."

"Point," the healer conceded.

"So if you had killed him in the saloon -"

"- I'd be free now," Buck finished, a bit wistfully. "The others would've backed off."

"No offense, Mr. Wilmington, but I fear I'm at a loss here. I can see why you want your father dead, after the barbarous way in which he murdered your mother. What I fail to comprehend, however, is why he would follow you half across the country despite the strong antipathy he must have known you harbor for him. Or why he pursued you in the first place. After all, and again, no offense, but you were only the son of a prostitute."

Buck needed a moment to translate Ezra's question, after asking Josiah what 'antipathy' meant. By the time he was done, so where the others, and they were looking at him expectantly. "Well, I don't know if y'all can understand that -- hell, I'm not sure I do! -- but I'll try t' explain. See, there's not so many Two-Bloods out there. Th' packs are almost constantly on th' move, covering lots of territory. The bigger the pack and th' more dominants it's got, the stronger it is. So th' packs are close, closer than most family I've ever seen. They take care of their own. And if a child is born outside th' family, th' pack will do everything in their power to get it back and raise it as their own."

"So they would've taken you away from your mother?" Chris asked, anger coursing through him because Doe had obviously lied to him about that.

Buck shook his head. "No, of course not. But she would've been forced to become a member of th' pack, to live with them for th' rest of her life." He sighed. "I know that doesn't sound so bad. In most cases I suppose it isn't, but it wasn't like she loved John, or knew any of the others. And she wanted me t' grow up as normal as possible, in her world, not bound to a pack that could never be her family. She thought I deserved a chance t' see both sides, and choose whatever way I was more comfortable with.

"I admit life wasn't always easy. First lesson I learned about One-Bloods was that most of 'em are cruel, or cold, or both. Men are worst. If you're not strong enough or fast enough, they can hurt ya bad, and usually they won't hesitate t' do it." Nathan looked away when he said that, his eyes darkening as memories of his own came to haunt him. He'd learned about men's brutality the hard way, too. However, Buck wasn't finished. "Mom did the best she could. She loved me a lot, and she always told me that you gotta see the good things, no matter what. You never give up, because there's always hope, and giving that up means giving yourself up." He stared at them defiantly. "Life's a gift, and it's over soon enough. You gotta enjoy the little things while you can; every smile, every touch, every kiss is a treasure that no one can ever take away from you. And when you're going through a bad time, you'll always have your memories t' keep ya goin'."

"Amen," Josiah said softly.

Buck grinned at him. "I've always loved women best, y'know?" he said, an odd gentleness in his voice that kept the others from commenting on that statement of the obvious. "Women usually don't strike out in anger, and if they do, they're not so brutal. I've never been hurt by a woman . . . not on purpose, anyway. I love t' talk with 'em. Men always say women are chatterboxes and can't keep anything t' themselves, but really they're damn good at keeping secrets when it's important. I love the way they smell. Not the perfume and stuff, but that deep, rich woman-smell. But th' thing I love most about them is how free they're with touch."

His smile turned longing. "I've always needed t' touch people. Mom said it's because that's my nature, that Two-Bloods are always touching each other, it's completely normal for them. I don't have a family or a pack, but I do have th' urge t' connect with *somebody*, an' sex is still th' best excuse for touching. Ya can't do that with other men, though, except when there's no woman around and th' guy needs some relief." Only J.D. looked shocked at that, but he didn't say anything, afraid to break the spell. Buck closed his eyes. "Sometimes when I wake up curled around some soft, warm body, I feel almost complete," he whispered. "Like for a little while, I belong. They're not pack, not like you, but they're the closest I can come to having friends."

J.D. blinked, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. "Pack," he said, eyes growing wide as he realized the implications of what Buck had told Georgia. "You told her we were your pack!"

The almost dreamlike feeling that had fallen over the small group as they listened to Buck's honey-soft voice revealing things about himself they'd never suspected evaporated in the fresh wind of the young Sheriff's excitement.

"Told who?" Chris asked in the same moment as Vin gasped, "Pack?!"

Josiah looked at their leader, then at their tracker, and back again. "Fine. Would you please enlighten the rest of us as to what we missed?"

Buck, decidedly uncomfortable now, retreated as far as he could, studiously inspecting the sleeve of his shirt. J.D., oblivious to his best friend's visible unease, frowned. "He told Georgia - that's one of the pack," he added, seeing the others' blank looks. "The tall woman with the Colt .45? Anyway, she was kinda flirting with me, and Buck stepped in. He just about ripped her head off, but she didn't look especially scared -- which was pretty dumb, if you ask me -- until he told her we were his pack. Then she couldn't get away fast enough. I don't get it. Why was she so stumped? I thought Buck said humans can be part of a pack?"

"Yeah," Vin answered softly. "They kin. But usually ya got one One-Blood per pack, tops. An' that's jist 'cause they're mated t' one a' th' Two-Bloods." He stared at Buck. "What did ya do?"

Buck raked a hand through his hair, then swallowed and faced Chris. "That's why I had t' talk ta y'all," he said simply. "I found a way t' protect you and th' townspeople at th' same time, usin' a loophole in their own damn pack law."

"Why did ya talk t' her in the first place?" Larabee growled.

"'Cause she was tryin' ta claim J.D."

"Trying to . . . now, come on, Buck! We were only talking!" J.D. protested, feeling slightly offended by the notion that he could be claimed like a piece of luggage.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Sure, just talkin'. She was lookin' for a playmate, that's what was goin' on, and you were happily jumpin' into her snare. And once you're claimed by a Two-Blood, she decides when and if to let ya go again."

"She wanted to marry me?" J.D. squeaked, appalled by the thought.

"Nah." Buck shook his head vigorously. "She didn't want ya as a mate. She wanted ta have sex with you. And sex without love between a Two-Blood and a One-Blood means the stronger one's the one in charge. In this case, that was her. She could've done with you whatever she wanted, it would've been her right."

"I was not the weaker one!" J.D. protested, furiously. "I had the situation under control!"

"Yeah, just like when the Dawsons had ya surrounded in the saloon and you lost your gun last month. I don't know why you're still alive, you're worse'n Chris when it comes t' findin' trouble! If you'd just listen to me once and not rush headfirst into every calamity-to-be, your life would be less dangerous and mine a lot less strenuous!"

"I can't believe you're still keeping on at me about that!" the younger man exclaimed, incredulous. "I didn't lose my gun! I slipped! It could've happened to anybody!"

"But it doesn't happen to anybody but you!" Buck cried in exasperation, throwing his hands up for emphasis. "You're a regular black cat!"

"Buck! J.D.!" Larabee's sharp voice cut through the familiar banter like a hot knife through butter. The two shut up and shot him a guilty look. The blond gunslinger took a deep breath. He knew they were only dealing with the surplus of tension that was eating at them, but enough was enough. "Buck, I want ta know what you did. With explanations and footnotes. Now."

"I declared us pack," the tall man answered, his fingers closing tight around the cup in his hands. "If there's a pack, it means they can't just waltz into town and take what they want. They gotta follow the rules."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Chris noted.

"Well, yeah, there's a catch."

"Ain't there always?" Nathan sighed.

Buck shot him a baleful look, but didn't object. "See, in this case th' problem is not really a problem. Which is a problem all in itself."

J.D. lifted a hand. "Uh . . . am I the only one who just dropped off the train, so to speak? Sorry, Buck, but you lost me."

"I dare say, we're all a little perplexed by Mr. Wilmington's last statement," Ezra agreed. "May I ask for an elaborate elucidation, please?"

Buck only stared at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"Stop stalling and explain, Buck," Chris ordered impatiently. "What's the usual catch, how come it doesn't concern us, and why is that a problem?"

Buck squirmed. "The usual catch is that the alpha of the intruding pack has th' right t' challenge the leader of the resident pack to a battle for dominance."

Everyone turned and stared at Chris. Larabee glared back. "What?"

"Nothin', Cowboy." Vin smirked. "Practice yer knife-fightin' lately?"

"I ain't gonna fight no damn werewolf with a knife!" Larabee snarled, turning on Buck. "Tell me I ain't!"

"Y'ain't," Buck replied dutifully, then grinned when the man in black didn't look reassured. "Calm down, Chris. The good news is, you won't have t' fight him. The other good news is, if he's stupid enough t' challenge you, I will finally get my chance t' rip him apart."

Chris moaned, burying his face in his hands. "Buck, I swear t' God, if you don't stop dancin' around th' issue and tell me the bad news, I'm gonna shoot ya. Twice."

"No need wastin' ammunition," Buck sighed. "As I said, the fighting's not th' problem. The catch lies within the pack law. Now sit up and pay attention, 'cause this is where it gets complicated, and I don't want ya t' shoot me for th' wrong reasons."

Green eyes singed him with a blistering glare, but Buck wasn't concerned. In a couple of minutes, he'd see if this could work, if he had found himself a true pack, or if he'd get exiled before he'd ever had a chance at trying. So he steadied his breathing, took a swallow of coffee to gather his courage, and threw himself at his friends' mercy.

"One-Bloods and pack is a difficult issue," he started, feeling his way carefully. "Usually, a human will only join a pack if he or she mates with a Two-Blood. Since they'd have no chance in the usual fights for dominance, there's a special trick to guarantee their safety: their mate declares himself or herself submissive to their human partner. That puts th' One-Blood into the position of a dominant. A dominant usually doesn't get challenged very often, because the simple fact that they're dominant means they have t' be good fighters. But if they're challenged nevertheless, pack law works special for One-Blood pack members - they can let their submissive fight for them. In other words: in the rare cases that a One-Blood's status in the group's challenged, their Two-Blood mate will take on the challenger."

The others nodded.

Buck took another sip of his coffee. "In our case, the situation's pretty much unique. Theoretically, I can declare ya pack, because I'm Two-Blood, but I've never heard of a pack that consisted almost entirely of humans. However, I said th' necessary words, and if y'all agree t' take care of th' formalities, th' Four Corners Pack will be official by tomorrow mornin'."

Larabee's eyes narrowed. "Formalities?"

Buck cleared his throat, but met his eyes unflinchingly. "If this is supposed t' work, I gotta submit ta you. All of you."

J.D. sniggered. "So what you're gonna do, get on your knees and swear an oath of loyalty?"

His grin vanished when Buck looked at him soberly. "No. Not exactly. I already said Two-Bloods are a physical lot. The mating bond works on a very . . . intimate . . . level. This ain't strictly a mating bond, but it's close enough. So what we gotta do is . . . well . . . I gotta let ya fuck me."

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

Two hours, four pots of coffee, and several dozen shouting-matches later, the Seven were sitting around the table and staring unblinkingly at J.D.'s bowler. The hat was lying at the center of the tabletop, filled with seven little strips of paper.

"Gentlemen, let's repeat the parameters of this secret ballot," Ezra said, his poker face firmly in place. "The votes are anonymous. They consist of either a cross for a Yes, or a circle for a No. The result has to be unanimous. We do this together, or we don't do it at all. So with the first circle, this discussion is finished and we will find another way to remove our unwanted guests. Does everybody understand and accept these rules?"

Six heads nodded their agreement.

Ezra took a deep breath to steady himself, then pulled out the first strip of paper and unfolded it. It showed a cross. So did the second. And the third. Seven pairs of eyes remained fixed on the gambler's nimble fingers. It was so quiet the rustling of the paper sounded like thunder. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing in the men's ears.

Cross. Cross. Cross.

With only one vote left, Ezra hesitated. His gaze fixed on Buck. "No matter what the result of this, Mr. Wilmington, I want you to know that I consider you a member of *my* 'pack'. And I will stand by you whatever happens."

J.D.'s hand snaked out to touch his friend's arm shyly. "So will I. You're my best friend, Buck. I won't let you face this alone."

Vin nodded. "I'm with ya all th' way."

"'A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need'," Josiah's deep voice rumbled. The big preacher's solemn face broke into a gentle smile. "Never fear, Brother Buck. I've got your back."

"I didn't sew you together all those times to watch you get torn apart by a couple of overgrown dogs now," Nathan told him, uncomfortable with the situation, but determined to support his friend.

"Don't even look at me," Larabee drawled gruffly. "Pack or no pack, after twelve years I've gotten used ta you. I'll do whatever's necessary ta keep ya."

Buck didn't trust his voice enough to answer, so he only nodded mutely and stared at the folded scrap of paper that held his future.

Ezra took mercy on them all and opened the note. For almost a full minute he stared at the sign only he could see, his face a blank mask. Then his shoulders slumped. He bowed his head, shook it, then looked up at them with a blinding smile. "Gentlemen, prepare for a long night. We have a pack to found."

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