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ALL IS GRAY
by C.V. Puerro |
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ALL IS GRAY
by C.V. Puerro |
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Continued...
Ezra, having beaten every willing and able-bodied man in the saloon, packed up his cards and stepped outside. It was early still, far, far too early for bed, yet, unfortunately also too dark from him to take a look at the land he'd won that evening. So, he slowly wandered up the deserted boardwalk. The town seemed to grow more and more quiet the longer he and his gun-slinging associates remained. Pretty soon, there wouldn't be a single interesting thing to do after 9 o'clock on any given evening, or anyone interested in doing it if there was.That was a good thing for the people of this town, a very good thing, but for him, well ... that would mean moving on again. Drifting from town to town, playing businessman, conman, gambler, never settling in one place, never affording to make any friends ... that was his life, the life he was raised to. And moving on was long overdue, he knew, but he wasn't in the least bit looking forward to it this time, as much as that realization surprised him.
Oh, and wouldn't his mother just take him to task if she ever heard that thought voiced!
Still, he couldn't deny the truth of it. This town was beginning to feel familiar, comfortable; he was quite nicely settled into his rooms above the saloon and still, despite the run up against his mother, hoped to own the establishment once more. He'd settle down, if his mother would allow it, he'd stay, now that these townsfolk were beginning to look upon him as an asset and not a detriment, at least in some respects.
But would the other men choose to stay? It had surprised him when he learned Chris was now homesteading a small plot of land just outside town, and Josiah certainly seemed attached to the church he was so diligently restoring. Nathan, well, he'd been living here before any of them had arrived.
That left Buck, Vin, and young JD. Would they stay, he wondered? Was the prospect of love with the pretty, young Casey Wells enough to keep JD from eventually running off to join the famed Texas Rangers?
Ezra continued to muse to himself as he strolled along the boardwalk, past the jail where Buck sat behind the desk, shuffling through wanted posters — a most recent obsession for the man, it appeared. Were there ladies enough in this town to keep that man satisfied for very long, or would he soon itch to find greener pastures in which to sow his oats? And, would Vin simply hitch up his horse and go, never having unpacked a thing from that old wagon of his in the first place, off to finally clear his name, or be hung for a crime he didn't commit — either way, never returning after?
Perhaps these were questions to ponder aloud. Had he earned that privilege yet, from any of these men? Maybe Josiah would be willing to listen? Ezra stepped off the boardwalk, heading past the blacksmith's shop, above which sat Nathan's clinic, and the Grain Exchange building, then up the steps of the church.
But just as his hand reached for the knob, he heard voices within — Josiah and Nathan, he recognized — and in such tones which called to mind more than a social chat. Ezra turned to leave, not wanting to either disturb or join such a discussion this evening, but his feet froze in place when the next words struck his ear.
"But, it's Chris and Vin!"
Chris and Vin? This argument was about their two friends. Ezra knew he should leave before he heard anymore, before he heard something he wished he hadn't, but his feet refused to obey him.
"I know who we're talkin' 'bout, but that still don't make it right. Might even make it worse," the gambler heard Nathan counter.
"It's not for us to decide," Josiah reasoned.
"So, you're condoning this? You, a priest?"
"Former priest. And, precisely because of that, I will not judge them. I've been harshly judged myself — I will not do that to others."
"You mean you were accused of ... of these same acts?!" Nathan sounded shocked, appalled, but Ezra could not fathom what they were discussing.
Murder, maybe, but they'd all shot and killed in defense of themselves, this town, and these citizens. Certainly that would not reflect well on a priest's heavenly record, but could that be to what they were referring? Ezra could not leave now. He had to know what they were discussing, or it would gnaw at him for the rest of his days here.
"I was judged for tolerance, if you must know. I showed more than the church approved of, to those the church disapproved of. I did not then regret my behavior and I have not changed because of the consequences. And I certainly do not intend to start now."
After that, the only thing Ezra heard were footsteps inside the building, for a moment he feared the men were coming outside, that they'd catch him, but then he realized the footsteps came no closer. The person creating them was pacing, back and forth, which Ezra easily attributed to Nathan trying to sort through his thoughts on whatever this subject was. Tolerance? But, tolerance of what?
"No matter what those priests think of tolerance, doesn't the Bible condemn this sort of behavior? Isn't sodomy a sin?" Nathan finally asked, the footsteps having gone silent.
S-sodomy? Even Ezra's mind stuttered over the word. And they were talking about Chris and Vin. Could it be true? But ... when ... why ... how? How had Josiah and Nathan found out? How long had Chris and Vin been keeping this secret? How was he supposed to face them, knowing the unspeakable things they were possibly doing to each other right this very minute?
"Nathan, the Bible also says that vengeance and retribution are the Lord's. It is not up to me to punish or condemn men here on Earth. I will counsel them if they come to me, but I cannot seek them out. Had Buck not been fevered, we never would have learned this secret in the first place."
Buck? Buck knows about this, too? Who else? Does JD know the secret as well? Ezra wondered.
But before he could even ponder if he was the only one unenlightened as to Chris and Vin's predilection, JD rode up on his horse, calling out "Ezra!" as he pulled the animal to a stop before the church.
Ezra tried to hush the kid, but JD didn't seem to catch on. "Whatcha doin', Ezra?" JD asked, waving in response to the gambler's frantic hand signals. But it was too late. The conversation inside the church had stopped and he knew he was soon to be faced with charges of eavesdropping.
"I was just walking about town, JD," he tried to explain. "Thought I'd stop in and visit Josiah," he smiled. "Just got here, actually, just a, um, just a moment before your arrival. Um, ah, so, patrol going well, is it?" he asked awkwardly, coming down the step toward JD.
"Yeah, fine. Been pretty quiet. Hey, I thought you were going to see Josiah," the kid asked, when Ezra continued past the horse back toward the center of town.
"Yes, well, it's later than I realized and I believe Josiah is of the philosophy 'Early to bed and early to rise.' Um, yes," he said, smiling, continuing to walk.
JD nudged his horse forward and followed the man. "Didn't Benjamin Franklin say that?" the kid finally asked.
"What? Oh, the philos— why, yes, yes, I do believe he, ah, yes, did. Wise man that Franklin. From your region of the country, wasn't he? Boston, or thereabouts. Remarkable man." Ezra hadn't stopped walking and soon found himself back at the saloon. "Well, then, JD. Best wishes on an uneventful patrol. Good night."
JD gave him a funny look, but this only spurred Ezra forward into the saloon where JD's horse could not follow. He just hoped the young man would not think to dismount and pursue on foot. When he reached the bar, he turned and was thankful the kid was not behind him. He motioned to Inez, and she brought him a whiskey, which he quickly drained.
"Are you all right, señor?" she asked as she refilled his glass.
Ezra nodded, not really wanting to talk about what he'd just overheard. Not sure what it all meant, what the particulars were, what the consequences would be.
"You do not look well, Señor Standish. You are pale." Inez placed the back of her hand gently against his forehead. "Hmm, no fever, but you are a bit ... how do you say? Humedo, moist?"
"I believe the word you are looking for is clammy. And, no, I can assure you I am not ill. Just a little ... well, thirsty," he finished, holding his shot glass out for another refill. This he downed a little more slowly than the last two, but not by much.
"Is there something you care to discuss, señor? I would be happy to listen, if you would like," she offered as she wiped down the bar, not meeting his eyes.
"Ah, well, I thank you for your considerations, my dear señorita, but I do not think talking will ease my burdens and may only increase yours. No, perhaps another night," he said politely, and then downed the last of his drink, not waiting for her response before heading toward the stairs and his room.
"Just me, Buck," JD said as he sauntered in. "Pretty quiet out there tonight. Don't seem to be a less-than-peaceful soul about." He crossed to the gun cabinet and unloaded his rifle, stowing the ammunition and weapon securely inside.
Buck wiped away the small amount of spittle which had collected on the corner of his mustache during his unintended nap, then began straightening the scattered pile of wanted posters he'd been looking through earlier, all without saying a word to the kid.
He simply didn't know what to say.
"Josiah'll probably have a hard time staying awake in the saddle tonight. Ya might wanna make sure there's a pot of coffee for him, just in case."
"Yeah, um, good idea," Buck agreed, standing and seeing to the chore right then and there, knowing it would take him outside to fetch water from the pump. Maybe when he returned JD would be gone and he'd have a little more time to ponder on what he ought to say to the kid.
"Buck?"
"Hmmm," the older man replied, very noncommittally.
"You, ah, I mean ... hell," the kid finally muttered. "You ain't my friend no more, are ya?"
The words pierced Buck's heart as easily as if JD had fired them from his gun. And they hurt the same as a bullet wound would have, maybe worse. He was afraid to turn and look at JD, afraid to see the depth of those words reflected in the kid's dark eyes. But the image of JD and Vin still haunted him, hadn't lessened in all these weeks. Hell, it was almost worse now after his evening of disasters with both Chris and Blossom.
Why did any of this have to happen to them? Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut and not confessed to Chris? And why couldn't JD have kept his mouth shut and not ... not....
"JD—" Buck finally said, turning, but he found himself alone. The front door of the office still remained wide open and Buck had little doubt that JD had gone out the way he'd come in, only quieter and, probably, no longer in a very good mood.
Buck hastened outside, scanning up and then down the street for the kid, but it was deserted. He was certain he hadn't heard hoof beats, which meant JD was on foot, but that still left quite a few places he could have gone. And, suddenly, Buck found himself intent on finding him.
His first stop was the saloon, but it was deserted except for Inez who was wiping down tables. "Señor Buck, a drink?" she asked, surprisingly awake, despite the late hour.
He shook his head. "You seen JD?"
"Not since early this afternoon. Is, ah, is everything all right?" She crossed to Buck then, placing a concerned hand on his arm, but he barely noticed the unprecedented touch and didn't acknowledge it.
"No, just lookin' for him." Without another word, he turned and quickly made his way back outside. He scanned the street again. Three possibilities still lay open to him: to his right, at the end of the street, was Vin's wagon, and to the left were the stables and their boarding house.
He quickly rejected the idea of checking out Vin's wagon. While he knew the possibility of JD seeking out Vin was pretty high — what other friend could he turn to given the circumstances? — he doubted the kid would do so in such a conspicuous place as Vin's wagon, in full view of the hotel and the other townsfolk who kept rooms above their shops. But if he and Vin were going to be that stupid, he didn't want to run the risk of interrupting them again.
Buck headed left, toward the stables.
He didn't know what he'd say to the kid when he found him, but he would try to face him and say something.
Vin left the saloon the same way he'd entered, out the back, not seeing anyone along the way. Then he headed back to his wagon for the night. JD had said something about fishing in the morning, and, well, why not? Maybe he needed to get out of town for a little while. Put some distance between himself and Chris.
Why in the hell didn't I just keep my hands off the kid? he moaned silently. Why couldn't I have—
"Vin?" The harsh whisper brought Vin's head up, his senses suddenly alert, his hand on the butt of his gun, ready. But, then he saw JD climbing down off the springboard seat of his wagon.
"Patrol over already?" Vin asked, relaxing a bit in the younger man's presence. The kid just nodded, not saying anything in reply. "Somethin' happen? Trouble with them cowhands?"
Again the kid's reply was silent, just a shake of his head, and Vin immediately put his arm around his shoulders, guiding him toward the tailgate of his wagon where they sat.
"Tell me."
The kid shrugged. "He still hates me."
"Who?"
"Buck."
"Hate is a pretty strong word, JD," Vin reminded him, not believing either man capable of that feeling toward the other.
"Well, he sure don't like me none. Not after... "
But JD didn't have to say anymore. Vin knew exactly what the kid was referring to. And he had a hard time faulting Buck for his reaction; what the man had walked in on had to have been a tremendous shock, but it was weeks ago. He would have thought Buck a little more open-minded, at least after he'd had time to think on it, to realize JD was still the same kid he used to horse around with, used to tease, used to look out for.
"Tonight, I ... I asked him if he was still my friend," JD continued, his voice so full of hurt. "And he didn't answer me. Wouldn't even look at me."
Vin pulled the kid a little closer. They were pretty exposed where they sat, but he wasn't doing anything that one friend wouldn't do for another. There wasn't anything wrong in giving a bit of comfort when someone was hurting. Vin didn't know anyone who would fault him for it.
"Want me to see if I can straighten Buck out?" Vin offered after a long spell of silence, but JD shook his head.
"Just want him to talk to me, like he used to. Dammit!" he said, pushing himself away from Vin and off the gate of the wagon. "Wish we hadn't ever—"
Vin stood up then, struck by the unexpected words. "Ya mean that, JD?"
The kid hung his head, and, finally, in a very quiet voice, said, "I don't know what I mean. I just wish Buck was still my friend."
Vin nodded. "Buck's pretty important to you."
"Ain't no one ever treated me like he did, like I was family, like he cared what happened to me," he said, still staring at the ground, digging his toe into the dirt.
"No one?" Vin asked, an unpleasant edge creeping into his voice as he realized the implications of the kid's words.
The kid shook his head. "Not since my mama died. Just never thought anyone would care about me again, and he did."
"What about me?"
"Huh?" the kid looked up, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"Don't ya think I care about you?"
"It's different, Vin. You know it is. That's why I don't see why I feel like I gotta choose 'tween bein' with you and bein' his friend."
"Well, I think Buck's made it pretty clear that ya do gotta choose. So, what's it gonna be?"
"Don't do this, Vin. Don't make me decide."
Vin could hear the kid fighting to keep tears at bay, threatening to close off his throat. But even that knowledge couldn't stop him as tremulous feelings began to rise up inside of him.
"Why not? Ya think yer the only one who's ever had ta make choices ya don't want to? Hard choices? Choices that feel like yer rippin' out yer own heart? Well, I got news for ya, kid. That's life and ya better learn that lesson real quick or there ain't gonna be no one left ta watch yer back for ya." Vin clamped his teeth shut then and turned away, afraid of what more he might say as both anger and disappointment flooded through him.
He just walked away from JD then, away from town, and straight out into the darkness. He didn't have his horse, but he didn't care. He'd walk until he couldn't walk anymore, then he'd find shelter and hopefully sleep. He really didn't care. Hell, maybe he'd just keep walking until he hit Texas. Yeah, that would solve all his problems, at the end of a nice, thick rope. His hand moved of its own volition, going protectively to his throat, but the action didn't slow his determined steps.
He'd have just a quick bite to eat, some coffee, and then he'd be on his way. Yes, this could be the start of something, he told himself. He was now Ezra P. Standish, Esquire — landowner. "Just let Mother try to take it away from me this time!"
As he descended into the main room of the saloon, he was struck still, not only by the silence, but also by the sight. All of his companions, save Chris, were there in the otherwise empty bar, but none of them were seated anywhere near each other. It was the most remarkable sight.
Ezra shot a glance at Inez, who just pursed her lips and shrugged. Vin was in the far corner, his back to the wall, staring down at a shot glass on the table in front of him. JD was at the window staring out into the street. Josiah was at one table eating a large plate of food. Nathan was at another doing the same. Buck was at the bar, but seemingly unaware that the lovely Inez was tending it.
Before the gambler could even ask what was the matter with everyone, Chris walked in from the street, his trousers covered in a thin layer of dust. He took his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He then approached the bar, but kept well away from Buck at the far end of it.
As he laid his rifle down on the wooden countertop, the gunslinger nodded silently to Inez who brought him a beer. He took a sip, and then turned around, leaning back against the bar to take in the room.
"Who's next on patrol," Chris finally asked.
Nathan wiped his mouth with his kerchief, and then stood. "Reckon that'd be me."
"Hold up, Nathan. Weren't you on patrol yesterday afternoon?" The healer nodded, but before he could explain, Chris continued. "Shouldn't this be your patrol, JD?"
"It was, but I traded for it. I took Ezra's patrol last evening," the kid explained, shooting a quick sideways glance at Vin, before looking straight up and meeting Chris's eyes.
"Ezra? So, this is your patrol?"
"Well, yes, it would have been, but Nathan was kind enough to give me his shift tomorrow and I naturally—"
"Bullshit."
"I beg your pardon?" Ezra stared wide-eyed at Chris's unexpected outburst, as did all the others.
"Ezra, when was the last time you actually went out on patrol?" he finally asked, glaring at the man as if he was planning to draw on him right there in the middle of the saloon, and Ezra with the distinct disadvantage of still standing on the stairs.
He came down into the room, trying to think of his last patrol. "Well, I believe it was just, um, Tuesday morning, yes."
"Nope, I took that patrol," Vin spoke for the first time. "You traded me, remember? Said you'd rather have a later shift."
"Ah, yes, well, then it must have been Monday evening—"
"I rode that one," Josiah spoke up.
"I mean, Sunday afternoon, of course—"
"That was mine," Vin said again from his shadowed corner.
It really seemed just yesterday that he'd been out. "Saturday, noon—" Ezra continued, trying to remember himself.
"That was my shift," Chris said, a coldness having settled into his voice. "Are you or are you not part of this group, Ezra? I seem to remember you being paid just last Friday, same as the rest of us. Now, that seven dollars might not be a lot compared to your poker winnings, but it does mean you have obligations to fulfill."
"Of course, it does, Mr. Larabee, and I take those obligation very seriously, very seriously indeed. Why just last night I was saying to myself how much I was starting to feel a part of this town, and as such, I certainly want to do my share to keep it safe and—"
"Cut the crap, Ezra. You've been shirking your duties, conning the rest of us into happily taking up your slack." Chris put his beer down on the bar, and then walked over to the gambler, reaching out to run a finger down the man's fancy lapel. He then continued, very quietly. "It all ends right here, right now. You wanna be a part of this group, you wanna do your share, and then you take this next patrol. And the one after that. Nathan, you can take your patrol tonight when Ezra's finished."
Chris then turned his back on the group, returning to his beer at the bar.
"Mr. Larabee, I can assure you—"
"Did you not hear what I just said, Ezra? You are now on patrol and that isn't something you can do from the inside of this saloon."
Ezra sighed, and then made his way toward the door, forgoing his morning coffee, his breakfast, a sip of whiskey to get him going, and his daily constitutional. But before he was even outside, he heard Chris again, this time addressing the group. Ezra paused and turned.
"And that goes for the rest of you. We have a job to do here in this town. The judge isn't paying us to sit around and amuse ourselves." Here Ezra saw Chris give Buck a quick, hard stare out of the corner of his eye, though he doubted anyone else noticed. "JD, I'm sure the cells over at the jail could use a good scrubbing. Nathan, would you take Buck and do something about that ache he's still complaining about in his shoulder? Josiah, you look like hell; go back to bed and get some rest."
The only one left out of the diatribe was Vin, and Chris acted like the tracker wasn't even present.
"Are you going, Ezra? Or just staring?" Chris finally said to him, and the gambler quickly left the saloon.
Ezra did not know what in the hell was going on around this town. Or why he was the one getting yelled at for whatever it was. It wasn't his fault that he was able to make judicious trades amongst his friends; they'd all been quite happy to take his patrols, happier than they had been with the hours appointed to them by Chris. Was it his fault that he was better at arranging things than the Hoosier was? Not like they taught that sort of thing back on the farm in Indiana, he would like to remind Chris. He, after all, had been raised by a savvy business woman who thought one of the most valuable skills was arranging things to everyone's best advantage — which always turned out to be to her advantage, but that's what made her so good at it. It wasn't his fault he'd learned from the best.
Perhaps if he offered his unique skills to the gunslinger.... The man certainly must have other, more important things to worry about than scheduling patrols. But, no, the man wouldn't see it that way. Chris would just think he was trying to pull another con, figure out another way to get out of doing his share of the work. Well, the gunslinger couldn't be further from the truth!
This was his town now. He owned property, same as Mr. Larabee did. He now had a personal stake in its survival and communal growth. And he'd prove the man— Hell, he'd prove them all wrong in their assumptions about him.
"You got a problem with how I run this group?" Chris asked, calmly raising his eyebrows over turbulent eyes.
"Only when ya take yer personal life out on the rest of us."
"My personal life? And how does Ezra skipping patrols have anything to do with my personal life? Let me tell you something, Tanner, you have no idea about my personal life, not anymore, and you made it pretty clear that was okay with you. So, don't go giving me all this crap like you suddenly give a damn again. I know what happened last night. That was my fault, and I'll take all the blame for it, so don't start thinking like it mattered to me, like it's changed anything between us."
Chris shoved Vin into the alley wall, then walked away.
"Bastard!" Vin spat through clenched teeth. "God-damned fucking bastard!" He slammed his fist into the wall behind him, but the pain didn't relieve his frustrations.
"What happened last night?" the kid's voice met Vin's ears like a glancing blow. "You go see him after you told me off? Is that what that was all about? Choices? You making me choose so you wouldn't have to? Is that it? Is it?"
"Go away, JD," Vin said without even looking at him.
"I won't. And you can't make me. I got a right to know!" JD put his hand on Vin's arm, circling his fingers around the muscles and bone, but all Vin did was twist out of his grasp as he turned to walk back out of the alley.
"Just go the hell away, kid."
"Here, hold this," the black man finally said, his voice calm, almost distant as he handed Buck the gun. "Hold it out, like yer gonna shoot it."
Buck did as he was told, but his arm soon grew tired and he had to set the gun down in his lap.
"Not bad. You held that out longer than ya did last week. Does it hurt when you do it, though?"
"What?" Buck said, blinking blue eyes up at the man, his mind just not there at the moment.
"Does it hurt? Holding the gun up?" Nathan repeated his question, as if to a two-year-old who hadn't quite grasped the full extent of the English language yet.
"No, not really. But after a bit, my arm gits tired," Buck replied and all Nathan did was nod. The man then hustled Buck to his feet for the next examination. Nathan placed the gun in Buck's holster, and then waited. Buck made a fist, then flexed his fingers before drawing his hand back to the butt of the gun, but as soon as he pulled upward on the weapon, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
Buck dropped back down to the edge of the bed. "I ain't never gonna be able to draw that thing again, am I?" he asked the healer.
"Wouldn't say that. Just taking longer to heal than I figured." Nathan then crossed to his workbench and began looking through the bottles of herbs he had stored there. He chose several and placed them in his mortar, grinding them slowly with the pestle, which filled the room with a pungent and not unpleasant aroma.
The smell seemed to relax Buck a bit, though it did nothing to ease his mind, relieve the weight which just seemed to get heavier and heavier. That incident this morning with Chris and the others — that had been his fault. Chris had lashed out, because he hadn't showed up at the man's cabin last night. And he'd wrongly left that without a word of explanation.
"Buck," Nathan finally spoke after several minutes of silence between them. "Got something needs sayin' to you."
Buck looked up at the man, but the healer's back was still turned and he continued to grind the dry herbs to powder.
"When you was here before, after your fall, I gave you a lot of laudanum to ease the pain, but...." He stumbled, obviously searching for the right words, or maybe it was for the courage to speak them. "Too much laudanum can cause a man to ... to, well.... Guess I just gotta say this. You talked in your sleep. You said some things and, well, I reckon I need to know if they're true."
The weight on Buck's mind seemed to grow suddenly heavier. Buck wasn't a man with secrets: he didn't like having them and he didn't like keeping them. He'd spent a good part of his life without any, but in the last few months he'd had some unexpectedly and unwontedly thrust upon him.
"What things, Nathan?"
Still the man did not turn around to face him, and that made Buck all the more uneasy. He could guess what Nathan was getting at, but he had to make sure before he said anything, just in case he was wrong.
"It was about Chris. And, after this mornin', well, if this is gonna affect us all, I just— You said that Chris was ... that he and...." Finally Nathan turned to face Buck, but Buck had a hard time meeting his eyes. "Is Chris ... romantically inclined toward ... Vin."
"Vin?" Buck was suddenly relieved, though, in truth, he had no reason to be. He thought Nathan was going to ask about him and Chris and that was something he didn't want to talk about. But Vin, well, that wasn't much easier, was it?
"Reckon maybe ya do got a right ta know. Don't know what exactly caused Chris ta go off like that, but I can say that him and Vin, well, I guess things have changed 'tween 'em. They ain't, well, guess they ain't quite friends same as they used to be."
"So, it's true. They're together now. That's why Chris laid into everyone but Vin this morning."
"No. They ain't together. They were, but ... now they're not. Don't know why Chris didn't say nothin' to Vin today." Buck shook his head — what if Nathan was right? What if they were together, again? What if Buck had driven them back together? "I just don't know, Nathan."
Nathan sighed, and then brought over the salve he'd mixed up. In silence, he smeared the lanolin-based mixture over Buck's healing shoulder, slowly easing it into the muscles.
"S'posed ta be warm like that?"
"Yeah — helps ease the muscles. Come back tonight after my patrol and I'll give you some more," he added, wiping his slick fingers on a towel as Buck shrugged back into his shirt.
"Buck, Josiah knows, too. He was here when you were sleepin'."
Just great, Buck thought, but he said, "Reckon that means they're going ta hell after all." And me right along with 'em.
"The man's more tolerant than ya give him credit. More than I gave him credit, I'm sorry to say. I just don't like this, Buck. I don't think it's right and ... well, it could get us all in a fix with these here townsfolk. They're not as tolerant as Josiah."
Buck nodded his hung head, and Nathan only knew the half of it. "Reckon I better go find Chris, talk to him, see if there's anything to be done."
"So, he knows you know? Well, then, I reckon that's a good idea. Maybe you can talk some sense into him."
Buck waved his thanks, and then headed back downstairs. "Talk some sense into him" — what the hell had Nathan meant by that?
He sighed, the temptation to continue riding toward his new property was great, but he'd once before shirked his patrolling duties and the selfish act had nearly cost his associates their lives. Never would he make that same mistake again. He'd promised Chris as much, but he'd promised himself as well.
But, this time, the gambler had good reason for heading out this way; granted, he should have taken the fork in the road when he'd first had the opportunity, but that did not negate his good intentions, as he planned to rectify the situation immediately.
After one last, longing look down the meandering road, he turned his horse around, then almost immediately saw the dust of a horse coming up fast. He spurred his horse forward to meet the rider.
In a moment, he recognized the man, Chris Larabee. Ezra sent up a silent prayer that Chris wouldn't think he had somehow been neglecting his duties yet again?
Chris pulled his horse up when he reached Ezra. "What are you doing way out here?"
"Patrolling," Ezra answered as straightforward as he could.
"Town's that way," Chris said, pointing back over his shoulder.
"Yes, I know, but our problems generally come from outside of town, at least that I've noticed," he stood his ground, though he knew it was shaky at best. "And, according to some cowhands I bested in poker last night, Mr. James is assembling quite a crowd for an upcoming drive. His ranch is in this general direction."
"Actually, it's east of here. Down that side road about a half mile back," he responded, like he didn't for one moment believe Ezra's explanation. "But you might want to think about riding the usual perimeter. I'd hate for anything to happen on your watch, Ezra."
The gambler did not dignify that threat with a response. He just kept riding back the way he'd come, back toward town. He had no intention of checking in on Mr. James now. Back to the perimeter it was, Captain Larabee, sir.
But he was nowhere to be found. Finally, Buck headed to the stables, figuring that Chris, despite his huff and blow about being here for the townsfolk, had probably headed out to that shack he called a home these days. Buck would ride out there and talk to the man, like he should have done yesterday. This whole mess was his own fault for not having had the guts to face Chris. And, it wasn't fair the others were suffering because he was confused by — not to mention, afraid of — the thoughts swimming around in his own head.
As he entered the barn, he found Vin tacking up his horse. The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment, both, eventually, declining to say anything as they went about their own business.
Buck hauled over his gear and began to brush down his horse. After a while, though, he looked around the barn and felt fairly secure that they were alone. He decided then to speak to Vin.
"Any, ah, idea what's got inta Chris?"
"Ya mean besides me?"
"Shh! Watch what yer sayin' there! Folks might be listenin'," Buck chided the younger man for his thoughtless indiscretion. Nathan was right; this whole thing could easily blow up in their faces and get them all run out of town.
"Yer the one brought it up," Vin said, calm as ever, just brushing down his gelding.
Buck fumed silently. How was he supposed to talk to this man when that's the attitude he was gonna take? It was no wonder this whole thing hadn't already taken a turn for the worst.
"Look, I know you know, Buck." Vin's voice was low, but no less direct. "Ya walked in on me and JD, and ya told Chris about it."
"He already knew," Buck replied in a harsh, defensive whisper.
"I know. Never lied ta him about it. He knew right from the beginnin'. Just didn't think he'd end up takin' it the way he did."
"And just what way did ya expect him ta take it?" Buck was breathing hard now, furious at the callous disregard this man was showing for his oldest friend. He took his anger out in swift brush strokes along his horse's flank. "He lost his wife and son ta murder not four years ago. You got any idea what that does ta a man? Ta his heart and his soul? Ya can't go tossin' those things around like they ain't worth nothin'."
"I didn't ... least, I didn't mean to...."
Buck shook his head at this admission. He knew Vin didn't love Chris, he just knew it.
"Don't look at me like that, Buck. You got no idea. You may think I used him, but he's the one that used me. That's right. Ol' Chris ain't the innocent one in all this. He took what he wanted when he wanted it. It ain't my fault he wanted what I couldn't give him."
Buck looked away, concentrating on his horse again. Vin was right. Chris was a man who, when he wanted something, wanted it his way. He'd found someone special in Sarah; he'd found someone who wanted the same things as him at the same times. That doesn't happen very often — sometimes but once in a man's whole lifetime.
"What about JD?" Buck finally asked. On one level, he didn't want to know. In his eyes the kid would always be that innocent pup who'd followed them out to the Seminole village after being told to stay home. But, in his mind, all he saw was JD with Vin and he just couldn't reconcile the two images.
But Vin just shrugged at the man's question. "There's a lotta things you don't know, Buck," he finally said as he placed the saddle-pad on his horse.
"Then maybe you oughta tell me, Vin. I'm swimmin' around here in the dark. Chris is actin' like crazy Colonel Anderson ... JD thinks I don't wanna be his friend no more—"
"Do you?" Vin stopped what he was doing and turned his full attention to Buck.
"What?" Buck's mind had continued on with the list of confusing things in his life at the moment, and he honestly wasn't sure where Vin had intended to stop him.
"Do you wanna be JD's friend? 'Cuz ya sure as hell ain't actin' like it," he accused, stepping a few feet toward Buck.
"Ain't never said I didn't wanna be his friend. It's just— I can't—" Buck began, but, as usual of late, words failed him. Desperate to quell the rising anger and frustration inside of him, he squeezed his eyes shut tight, but instantly JD's child-like face came to mind. Those wide, innocent eyes filled with light and life. But there he was, his mouth filled with Vin's hard dick, sucking the man dry as if the kid didn't deserve better.
Buck didn't realize the low, harsh whisper had left this mouth, even though the words seemed to boom inside the barn like a clap of thunder. "Ya did this to him. Ya turned him into a God-damned cocksucker, ya son of a bitch—"
Buck's words were cut off by a sharp right-hook across his jaw, catching him off guard and sending him sprawling into the hay. Instantly, Vin was on top of him, swinging with both fists, landing blow after blow to his face, chest, and shoulders.
All Buck could do was try to protect himself with his arms. What had he said? He couldn't remember, until Vin landed another blow to the side of his head and the word 'cocksucker' echoed through his brain.
Buck finally tried to grab at Vin's wrists, hands, but the punches were coming at a furious rate. Finally, Buck managed to get his feet up under himself, then, using his superior weight, rolled them both over, pinning Vin to the ground.
Vin was still punching at him, but eventually Buck was able to restrain the man's arms against the ground. Both men were breathing hard now, though Vin more so than Buck. Finally then, it was Buck who spoke.
"Don't wanna fight ya. Not over this," he managed to say.
"Ya don't think JD's worth fightin' fer?" Vin stammered out between heaving breaths.
"I don't want him like that. Like you do. I want him like he was 'fore ya got yer dirty hands on him!" Buck growled in another harsh whisper.
Vin twisted his wrist free then and popped Buck straight in the nose. The taller man fell back on his heels and Vin used Buck's momentum to shove him backward onto the ground. Vin, kneeling on the ground, threw one hand against Buck's shoulder, holding him down, and then raised his other arm to land another blow, but Buck did the one thing Vin obviously wasn't expecting.
As the tracker's fist came down, Buck managed to twist to the right and all Vin contacted was dirt as his other hand slipped from Buck's shoulder. Buck then reached up with his own hands, but this time he didn't try to grab for Vin's arms; he caught a fist full of Vin's long hair with each hand and pulled him down into a smothering kiss.
But before a single thought, a single emotion, could register in Buck's head over the impulsive action, a shaft of light broke over them, as the barn door was swung open.
And in that instant, Vin brought his knee swiftly up between Buck's legs until it slammed into the man's crotch. Buck threw Vin off as he instinctively rolled onto his side, curling up in a protective ball as tears of excruciating pain flooded his eyes.
"Bastard!" Vin spat as he struggled to his feet. Then he ran toward the now-deserted doorway.
"You appear quite disheveled, Mr. Tanner," the southerner casually remarked.
"Huh?"
"You are ... well, to put it bluntly, a mess. Has there been an altercation?" he asked.
Vin shook his head. This wasn't the sort of thing the others needed to be dragged into. He wiped his hand across his mouth, still sweating from the exertion of the fight, but when he pulled his hand away, he saw a thin streak of blood. He quickly wiped it off on his pants, and then ran his tongue over the reopened split in his lower lip.
"I am on patrol, Mr. Tanner. If there is any trouble, I suspect Mr. Larabee will blame me for it, so the least you can do is inform me as to the nature so that I will know why I am being admonished."
"Ezra," Vin finally looked up at the man, squinting his eyes for a moment before realizing he'd lost his hat somewhere, undoubtedly in the barn, but he sure as hell wasn't going to go back and look for it. "Ya seen JD ... just a couple of minutes ago maybe?"
"JD?" Ezra frowned slightly, then nodded. "Now that you mention it, I did see the lad."
"Which way'd he go?" Vin asked, taking another swipe across his sweaty face with the back of his hand.
"I do believe I saw him enter the Mercantile."
"Mrs. Potter's place?"
"That would be the one," Ezra confirmed patiently.
Vin nodded his head several times — "Thanks, Ezra" — before heading across the street to the small store.
"My pleasure," he mumbled placing a finger to the brim of his hat, giving it an infinitesimally small tip that Vin failed to notice.
Once inside, Vin had no trouble finding the kid. He was at the counter, buying another dime novel. Vin smiled at Mrs. Potter, before addressing JD, "Kin I talk ta ya?"
The kid just shook his head, not even bothering to look at Vin. He had his full attention on Mrs. Potter who was counting out his change. "Thank you, ma'am," he finally said, dumping the loose coins into the front pocket of his trousers before turning and leaving the store.
Vin sighed heavily. How was he ever going to fix this? It was bad enough the kid had seen what he undoubtedly thought he'd seen — him and Buck rolling in the hay — but, on top of what the kid already suspected had happened between him and Chris, there just might not be any way to set things to rights again.
"Mr. Tanner? Vin? Something I can help you with?" Mrs. Potter finally asked.
"Oh, ah, no, ma'am. Thank ya, though. I, ah, well, now wait — maybe ya can. Ya got any of them peppermint candies Peso likes?"
"I surely do." The middle-aged woman smiled as she brought the glass jar over from the shelf. She removed a sheet of paper from beneath the counter and rolled it into a cone before filling it with a scoop of the small, round confections.
"You spoil that horse of yours, you know," she said as she folded over the top edge of the cone before handing it to him. "But I reckon he puts up with a lot from you in return."
This bit of honest ribbing made Vin smile. And it gave him an idea. "Do you have any, ah, um...." Vin leaned on the counter to get a better look at the glass jars on the shelf behind the register. "Them," he pointed, grinning suddenly and hoping he wasn't about to make a complete ass out of himself.
Mrs. Potter brought over the jar and showed it to Vin. He nodded and she scooped out another paper cone full. "Anything else?" she asked, but he shook his head. "That'll be 2 cents, please," she said and he gratefully handed over the coins.
He thanked her as he hurried out of the shop.
