These Hands .... continued....

It was as hellish a time as Chris could remember enduring, his every nerve on raw, painful edge, his stomach churning violently, his jaws clenched so tight his whole head and neck ached from it. Somehow, though, his hands remained miraculously steady as he worked to remove the bullet from his lover’s body.

Nathan talked him through every step, the healer’s rich, warm voice a soothing presence in that small room and a balm upon Larabee’s jagged nerves. Ezra talked, too, though his smooth, honeyed drawl was pitched more for Vin’s comfort than Chris’s, as his quick, nimble fingers wiped away the blood that seeped from the wound.

Buck was, unusually for him, the quietest man in that room, his whole concentration fixed on holding Vin still when he struggled. Even drugged, fevered and near bled out, the tracker still fought against the hands holding him, instinctively resisting any sort of restraint. And, when Chris’s probe made contact with the bullet, he loosed a wrenching cry and damn near came off the bed.

"Hold ’im, Buck!" Nathan warned sharply. "Man c’n fight like a demon when he shouldn’t have no strength at all, an’ he don’ need ta be flailin’ about jes’ now. You got it, Chris?"

"Yeah," he grunted, gone nearly as white as Vin at the tracker’s agonized reaction.

"All right," Nathan coached, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "You gon’ hafta switch hands. Keep that probe there so you don’ lose the bullet, an’ take these," he held out a pair of forceps, "ta pull it out."

Chris switched the probe to his left hand, touched the bullet again, and felt his stomach lurch when Vin arched beneath him and gave an anguished groan. He licked his dry lips and swallowed hard, then forced himself to take the forceps.

"Slow an’ easy," Nathan directed. "Got ta be careful, jes’ kinda feel ya’ way. An’ don’ rush. That bullet ain’t goin’ nowhere, an’ Vin ain’t goin’ nowhere."

"Easy for you ta say," Buck growled, renewing his hold on the writhing tracker. "This boy don’t know when ta quit."

"I dare say that tenacious tendency is a necessity for a man of his rather precarious existence," Ezra put in quietly, wiping still more blood from the wound. "One never knows when one will be forced to fight, so one must be prepared to do so at all times. Even," he grimaced and joined his efforts to Buck’s in restraining Tanner, "when fighting is not entirely in one’s own best interests."

"Got it!" Chris said sharply, latching onto the bullet with the forceps. "Nathan?"

"Take it out," the healer instructed. "Not too fast, not too slow, an’ be as steady as ya can. Ezra, be ready ta put pressure on it when he’s done. Vin cain’t afford ta lose much mo’ blood."

Chris drew a deep breath and steeled himself. Then, with a silent apology to his lover, he drew out the bullet, feeling it scrape against bone as it came free. Vin gave another anguished cry and arched off the bed, then shuddered violently and fell back.

"Yeah, now he passes out," Buck sighed, tenderly patting the still tracker’s sweat-slick shoulder.

Chris dropped the bullet into a small bowl and tossed the forceps in after it, and nearly bowed his head into his hands, until he saw the blood covering them. Vin’s blood. He pulled his hands away and balled them into fists, his breath coming hard and fast, his body going into violent tremors as reaction set in.

God, God, what had he done?

"That’s good, Ezra, that’s real good," Nathan breathed as the gambler hurriedly moved to stop the fresh bleeding. "Buck, why’n’t you take Chris over there," he nodded toward the wash basin, "help him git cleaned up? I c’n put carbolic in the wound, an’ Ezra c’n help me pack an’ wrap it."

Buck rose to his feet, walked around the bed to Chris and reached down, clamping a big hand around the gunman’s arm. "C’mon, buddy," he said gently, pulling the dazed, slumped man to his feet, "let’s get that blood off yer hands. Nathan, you got any whiskey?"

The healer looked up, took in Chris’s waxy complexion, and nodded. "In the cupboard there. Reckon a shot might do ’im good, at that."

Chris let Buck lead him to the basin, and let the big man clean him up, too numb to do it himself. Vin’s cries still echoed in his mind, Vin’s blood stained his hands and clothes, and his every nerve remembered the feel of that bullet scraping against Vin’s bone and sliding through his flesh.

"Sit," Buck ordered softly, pushing Larabee into a chair once he’d gotten him clean. He walked away, then returned a few moments later and held out a small glass filled with amber liquid. "Drink."

Chris stared at the glass for long moments, as if trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it, then reached out and took it in a shaky hand. He stared at it a moment more, then raised it quickly to his lips and drained it in one long, desperate swallow. The whiskey burned a path down his throat to his stomach, and he exhaled unsteadily, then held out the glass to Buck.

"More," he grunted hoarsely.

Buck nodded and refilled the glass, watching approvingly as Chris drank more slowly this time. A trace of color was returning to the wan features, and the green eyes were slowly clearing. He knelt before Chris and looked up at him, worried to see him so deeply shaken.

"You all right, pard?" he asked softly.

"Ain’t me I’m worried about," Chris rasped, slumping in his chair as the weight of his exhaustion settled upon him and feeling every knot that had taken up residence in his muscles. "I ain’t the one just had a bullet cut outta me."

"No, but you’re the one did the cuttin’, and I’m bettin’ it felt a helluva lot like you were cuttin’ into yerself," Buck said shrewdly. "But it’s done now. You did what ya had ta do, and it’s over."

"Is it?" Chris whispered, turning his head to watch Ezra packing Vin’s wound with astringent powders and lint under Nathan’s direction. Beneath the gambler’s hands, Vin lay silent and unmoving, his head turned away. Sweat glistened in a heavy sheen over his bloodless flesh, and only the faint rise and fall of his chest showed that he was alive.

Buck followed the direction of Chris’s gaze with his own, and winced at the sight. He didn’t like seeing Tanner so vulnerable, looking so frail and young. He much preferred him as Vin usually presented himself: tough as rawhide, enduring as stone, and as old as the hills. He’d realized long ago that much of Vin’s appearance was an illusion – wide-brimmed slouch hat worn to hide expressive eyes, whiskers worn long to make him look older, over-sized hide coat and layers of clothing to make him look bigger – but had gotten comfortable with the illusion. He didn’t like thinking of one of the most capable and deadliest men he’d ever known as little more than a skinny kid.

"He’ll get through it," he said, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt. "Hell, he’s survived worse. He’s tough. It’ll take more’n a bullet in his shoulder ta bring him down." He forced a grin. "You saw him fightin’. Long after any of the rest of us woulda been down an’ out, he was still buckin’ like a bronc. Maybe he ain’t but gristle an’ bone, but he knows how ta use what he’s got."

Chris managed a weak smile at that, and a faint light kindled in his eyes. "He is a troublesome cuss, ain’t he? Hell, sometimes I wonder if he’s worth the trouble."

"Heard that once or twice about you," Buck teased. "Hell, I’ve said that once or twice about you." He watched Chris watching Vin, saw the truth written so plainly in those green eyes, and his teasing manner faded. "Reckon it’s a good thing you two hooked up, then," he said quietly, "’cause nobody else could stand either one of ya."

Chris jerked his gaze back to his old friend at that, but saw no condemnation in the deep blue eyes, only understanding, with a hint of sorrow. "Buck–"

"Don’t, Chris," the big man said softly. "It ain’t my place, or any of my business. I figure you’re old enough ta know what you’re doin’, and Vin... Hell, Vin’s older than either of us will ever be."

Even through the weariness and worry weighing him down, Chris forced himself to reach out and take the big man’s shoulder in a hard grip. He stared into Buck’s eyes, seeing there the friend who’d shared so much of his life, the good and the unspeakably bad, and knew Vin wasn’t the only gift he’d been given.

"Thanks, Buck," he said quietly, his voice conveying more than his words ever could.

"Aw, hell, pard, what’re friends for?" He drew the warmth in Chris’s eyes into him, let it ease the doubts and shadows from his mind and heart, then rose to his feet. "What’s say we go check yer handiwork, ‘Doc’ Larabee, then I guess one of us better make an appearance on the streets before some other trouble busts loose." Larabee scowled at the nickname, but Buck only laughed. "Hell, Chris, you gotta admit it’s damn convenient. Now, not only can ya put bullets in, but you can take ’em out, as well. Why, you can double yer goin’ rate!"

=======

Chris stood at the window, one arm pressed against the frame, his forehead resting on his forearm, his whole body sagging with exhaustion. But far worse than his weariness was his worry. Vin was no better; in fact, he was worse. His fever was still rising, and the wound in his shoulder looked angrier than ever. Nathan had assured him it was to expected, given the circumstances, but Chris couldn’t help the terrible fear that gnawed at him.

What if it was because of something he had done?

Jesus, what had he been thinkin’? He was no damn healer! What business did he have stickin’ a knife into anybody, much less Vin, and tryin’ to fish out a goddamn bullet? And into his shoulder. Hell, he’d been shot in the shoulder before, he knew how tricky it could be. There was so much in there that could be hurt, and that, if hurt, could cripple a man...

Jesus, what had he been thinkin’?

"’risss?"

The faint, slurred summons from behind him scattered his thoughts and pulled him sharply around, his gaze going at once to the bed. Vin was writhing weakly, his head thrashing from side to side, his good arm raised as if he were seeking something. Instantly, Chris went to his side, taking the hot hand in his and holding tightly to it as he eased himself onto the bed.

"Vin?" he called quietly. "I’m here, pard. I’m right here." He laid his other hand against Vin’s cheek, winced at the terrible heat there, and reached for the cloth in the bowl of water on the bedside table. With slow, gentle motions, he tenderly bathed the tracker’s face, throat and chest. "C’mon, Vin," he urged, "I need ya ta come back ta me. You’re startin’ ta scare me here."

But Tanner remained in whatever shadowed place the fever had locked him, his body racked by pain, his mind plagued by ghosts. He moaned and murmured brokenly, incoherently, his fractured words heartbreaking in their helplessness.

"No... don’t... no more," he pleaded softly, twisting weakly as if trying to break free of whatever – whoever – held him. "Hurts... don’t... please!"

With an anguished groan of his own, Chris leaned over and gathered the wounded man into his arms, lifting him gently and maneuvering himself carefully behind him. He cradled the hot body to his own, Vin’s back against his chest, the tracker’s wet head at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Instinctively Vin relaxed into that embrace, his body curving into Chris’s, his fingers curling about the arm that lay across his belly.

"Chris," he whispered faintly, knowing the man even through his pain and fever and recognizing the safety he offered.

"Yeah, pard, it’s me," Chris said roughly, resting a cheek against Tanner’s head. "You’re safe now, Vin. I gotcha, and I ain’t ever lettin’ go."

"Hurts. Make... make it... stop."

Chris closed his eyes tightly at that plea, his own helplessness like a knife in his gut. "Wish I could, cowboy. You know I’d take it all from ya if I could." He reached again for the wet cloth, and resumed bathing Tanner’s chest, carefully avoiding his injured shoulder.

Gradually that coolness penetrated the hellish heat consuming him, and he gave a soft sigh. "Feels good," he slurred. "So h... hot!" He licked dry lips, then groaned as the blessed coolness caressed him. "Ya got... magic hands... cowboy," he sighed.

Chris gave a choked chuckle, torn between relief that he was able to offer Vin some comfort, and frustration that there was nothing more he could do. He saw Vin lick his lips again and swallow with some difficulty, and frowned.

"You thirsty?" When Tanner gave a faint nod, Chris dropped the cloth back into the bowl and picked up the cup next to it. "Here," he said, placing the cup to the tracker’s mouth. "Small sips, and slow. Don’t want you gettin’ sick."

Vin took two small sips, then closed his lips and turned his head, finished. Chris, however, was not. The tracker was much too hot, and hadn’t had nearly enough water. He’d be damned if the man would burn alive from the inside on his watch.

"C’mon, cowboy, drink for me," he urged, holding the cup steady at Tanner’s mouth. "You ain’t had nearly enough yet."

"Don’t want... no more," Vin protested weakly. "Tired."

"I know. But you got a ragin’ fever, and you need water. Now, c’mon. I ain’t lettin’ ya rest ’til ya drink."

"Hurts!" he groaned. "Please..."

Chris had to clamp down hard on his urge to give in, to let Vin seek refuge from the pain in sleep. But he knew he couldn’t. "Sorry, pard," he rasped, "but I can’t letcha sleep ’til ya drink some more. Now, c’mon." He pressed the cup closer.

But Vin only closed his lips more tightly. Chris sighed at the man’s stubbornness, even while lost in fever, and knew it was time to fight dirty. Moving the cup back slightly, he freed his other hand from Vin’s and raised it to his mouth, then began lightly stroking the pursed lips with the tip of his thumb.

Vin groaned in pleasure at the soft caress, and his lips parted of their own accord. Within moments, though, that thumb was replaced by a cup, and, once again, water slid into his mouth. But the hand moved to his throat, began stroking there, and he swallowed obediently.

"Ain’t... fair," he whimpered.

Chris laughed softly and kissed him. "Reckon not. But I believe in goin’ with what works. More?"

Vin wanted to refuse, was so tired and in so much pain he just wanted to drift away. Truth was, though, the water felt so good against his parched throat that he couldn’t deny his need for it.

Chris saw his small nod of surrender, and heaved a sigh of relief. Slowly and with infinite patience, he got all the water down Vin a few drops at a time, stroking his mouth between sips to encourage him to continue, and wiping away the tears that seeped from his eyes near the end as the hideous pain simply became too much. Reaching for the laudanum Nathan had left on the table, he poured a spoonful into the last of the water, and slowly coaxed the mixture down the exhausted, hurting man.

When the cup was empty, he set it aside and positioned Vin more comfortably against him. He retrieved the cool, wet cloth from the bowl and resumed his gentle bathing of the trackers chest, murmuring softly to him all the while.

And, cradled in his lover’s arms, soothed by the low, warm voice at his ear and the tender ministrations of the hand against his chest, Vin gave in to the pain, surrendered to the heavy pull of the laudanum, and slipped into the deep, dark waters of sleep.

=======

Josiah and JD returned at sundown and reined in before the saloon. Sliding wearily from their horses, they stepped up onto the boardwalk and pushed through the batwing doors, entering with relief the cool, dark interior. They looked around, saw that Ezra was already involved in a poker game, then noticed Buck sitting alone at a table nearby. Something in the big man’s posture triggered alarms in the two, and they exchanged anxious glances, then went to join him.

"Hey, Buck," JD greeted, dropping into a chair at Wilmington’s side and slumping back. He removed his bowler, tossed it onto the table, and ran his hands through his sweat-matted black hair.

Buck nodded to the preacher, who slid his big body into the chair across from him, then turned to study the kid. No bruises, no blood, no holes. One more returned safe to the fold.

But the scrutiny unnerved JD, and he straightened in his chair, dark brows knitting over wary hazel eyes. "What?" he asked sharply.

Buck finally smiled. "Just makin’ sure you got all yer parts," he said at last. "Figgered with Nathan down and you an’ Josiah out rilin’ the ranchers, this’d be a prime opportunity for you ta get hurt." He winked. "But I reckon even I can be wrong ever’ once in a while."

"Jeez, Buck!" JD groaned, settling back in his chair. "I ain’t a baby, y’know. I can look after myself."

"Yeah, well, ya ain’t gotta, so just simmer down." He suddenly noticed the reddened skin over the boy’s nose and across his cheekbones. "Aw, hell, ya took off yer damn hat again, didn’t ya?" he accused. "Son, what’ve I told ya? When it’s hot enough ta fry eggs on a rock, ya don’t go gallavantin’ around the damn countryside without yer damn hat! Coulda got heatstroke or somethin’! And you!" He turned blazing blue eyes on Sanchez. "Just what the hell were you thinkin’, lettin’ him ride without his hat? Goddamn it, Josiah, ain’t his brains scrambled enough without the sun gettin’ to ’em?"

Josiah arched a heavy gray brow and smirked at the Buck. "Nice ta see you, too, Brother. Yes, we had a lovely ride. The ranchers, you ask? Well, off-hand I’d say they’re none too pleased with us right now. A beer? Why, thank you, that’d be right nice. Appreciate you offerin’." When JD snickered, Josiah winked. "Them’s what you call ‘the social niceties,’ Buck. You know, manners and all."

"Hell," Wilmington griped, casting a warning look at JD.

Josiah looked around the saloon, and frowned. "Chris and Vin ain’t here yet? I figured even with this heat, they’d be back by now."

Buck’s big frame sagged at that, and his face twisted into a mask of worry. At once, Josiah and JD straightened into alertness, their gazes snapping to Buck.

"They’re back," he breathed, grimacing and dropping his gaze to the tabletop. "Got in this afternoon." He shook his head, then lifted it and met his friends’ anxious gazes. "Morgan’s dead," he explained in a low, troubled voice. "He tried to escape, Chris killed him. But..." He winced. "Not before the bastard put a bullet inta Vin."

"Oh, Lord," Josiah whispered, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

"How bad?" JD asked softly as fear gripped him. "I mean, if they rode back, it couldn’t be too bad, right? Maybe it just went through–"

"No, son, it didn’t just go through," Buck answered gently. He exhaled deeply and sat back, tired to his very bones. "It happened yesterday afternoon, Chris said. Bullet caught Vin in the right shoulder, right about here." He indicated the spot on his own body. "It lodged just under the bone." He swept pained blue eyes over his two friends. "Rode back ta town with it in there. Hell, by the time they got here, he was havin’ ta ride with Chris." He sighed again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Worst of it is, Chris had ta take the bullet out. Vin couldn’t wait for a doctor, couldn’t wait for anybody. Nathan talked him through it, but still..." He grimaced deeply, his whole face drawing into a mask of pain. "Hell, you know Chris. If Vin dies, or somethin’ happens and he loses the use of that arm, Larabee’ll take ever’ ounce of guilt into himself."

"They’re up in the clinic?" Josiah asked softly, easily able to imagine the blond gunfighter’s anguish.

"Yeah," Buck sighed. "Chris is tendin’ Vin. Nathan tried, but his arm was hurtin’ so bad... Chris finally threw him out, gave him the key ta his room and told him ta stay there, said he’d stay at the clinic. Nathan’s takin’ this hard, too. Feels useless, feels like he’s let us all down... Shit," he growled, "that sonuvabitch Morgan did a helluva lotta damage with just one damn bullet!"

"How’s Vin?" JD asked quietly, not certain he wanted to know. There was still so much about the quiet tracker that mystified him, some that flat-out awed him, and some that even frightened him. But, though he doubted he’d ever really understand Vin Tanner, he liked him immensely, liked his wry wit, his easy-going nature, his steady friendship. He didn’t want to lose any of that.

Again, Buck stared down at the table. "He’s in a bad way. Lost more blood than you’d think a fella his size would have in him. And he’s got a ragin’ fever. I hate ta say it," he murmured, "but it just ain’t lookin’ real good."

Josiah pursed his lips and thought. He was worn out from riding in the heat and jawing with three angry, arrogant ranchers, wanted a bath and needed a meal. But he thought again of the man keeping lonely vigil in the clinic, and knew none of his own wants or needs mattered.

"Think maybe I should go talk ta Brother Chris," he said quietly. "Let him know this ain’t a burden he’s got ta carry himself."

"Good luck," Buck sighed. "I sure ain’t been able ta convince him of that so far."

"Uh, I hate ta ask this now," JD put in quietly, looking uncertainly at Buck and seeing plainly his exhaustion, "but has anybody told Miz Shelby that Morgan’s dead? I figure she’s got a right ta know."

"Aw, hell," Buck groaned, his head dropping forward. "I didn’t even think of that. I been so busy with things here–"

The boy smiled and reached out, patting his friend’s broad shoulder. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll get somethin’ ta eat, then I’ll ride out and tell her. I know she was countin’ on seein’ him hang, but," he shrugged, "I figure dead is dead. Might help her some to know he won’t be hurtin’ anybody else."

Buck raised his head and smiled at JD. "It might at that," he agreed. "Morgan’s stuff is over at the jail. I’ll help you go through it, and we can see if anything he took from them is in there. Be nice if we can give ’em back somethin’." He nodded at the boy, his blue eyes warm. "That’s a real good thought, son. I know she’ll appreciate it."

JD beamed at the man’s approval, a broad smile spreading across his face, his hazel eyes shining. He might be past his wide-eyed hero-worship of these men, might see them more as mere mortals than he did before, but he still was not beyond puffing up with pride when an idea or action of his won their approval.

"Just," Buck felt compelled to add at the kid’s cocky grin, "try not ta fall of yer horse or get shot on the way out or the way back. And wear yer hat, for God’s sake. Goddamn stupid-lookin’ thing might not be worth much, but I reckon even it’ll keep yer brain from fryin’."

=======

Josiah knocked quietly and waited. When there was no answer, he opened the door and stepped into the clinic, his heart clenching with fear. As many times as he’d seen one of his friends laid out in that bed, the sight never failed to turn his soul cold with fear.

And this time it was Vin, pale as death and bathed in sweat, his right shoulder and upper chest swathed in bandages, his slight body unmoving. The sharpshooter was a man of deep silences and long stillnesses, but even for him this was unnatural, and Josiah felt a chill ripple down his spine.

Then from the man on the bed, the preacher’s gaze went to the man by the bed, and his heart sank further in his chest. Chris Larabee sat hunched over in his chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, fingers thrust deeply into his dark blond hair. The lean, proud body was bent, the strong shoulders bowed; the heavy burden that bore down upon him was a palpable weight in that small room.

"You doin’ all right?" Josiah asked softly, closing the door behind him and stepping forward.

"I’m not the one you should be worried about," Chris answered in a low, hoarse voice, never looking up.

Josiah’s gaze took in both men, and an expression of deepest sorrow settled over his blunt features. "Seems ta me," he said quietly, "that where there are two men sufferin’, they’re both deservin’ of worry." He suddenly noticed the long shadows dusk was casting about the room, and realized Chris had not lit a single lamp. "Why don’t we try throwin’ a little light on the situation."

He moved about the room with a light-footed ease unusual in a man of his heft, and lit the various oil lamps Nathan kept to illuminate the many late-night vigils he sat. As he turned back toward the bed, he could not help noting that both Vin and Chris looked even worse in the light than they had in the dark.

"How’s he doin’?" he asked gently, stopping just beside the bed and gazing down at the wounded man.

Chris lifted his head with an effort. He knew he should probably look at Josiah, but his eyes would not move any further than Vin. "Fever’s still burnin’, but he ain’t thrashin’ about or mutterin’ no more. It’s like he’s stopped fightin’."

Josiah pulled up another chair and sat down, then leaned forward to lay a big hand against Tanner’s head, as if in benediction. "Brother Vin’s a quiet man," he said, his deep voice pitched low. "Finds his solace in silence. Maybe, knowin’ what kind of fight he faces, he’s just restin’ a while, gone back to the quiet to renew his strength for the battle."

Chris retrieved the wet cloth from the bowl and resumed bathing Vin’s hot skin. "You here ta tell me it’s not my fault?"

Josiah sat back in his chair and crossed his arms against his broad chest, lifting two graying brows and resting an appraising gaze on Larabee. "That somethin’ you need ta hear?"

He exhaled heavily and bowed his head, shaking it slowly. He stopped bathing Vin, but left his hand on the tracker’s chest, just over his heart, needing to feel the throb of life there and the reassurance it offered, however weak it was.

A wave of sorrow swept through the preacher as he watched the two men before him. They were linked in so many ways, ways he couldn’t even begin to understand, and a part of him had always envied that inexplicable connection. Had always wondered what it must be like to know and be known by another so completely. Now, though, he knew such a bond had its price, too. One man was gravely wounded, but two men were in torment. Buck had once joked that if Chris caught cold, Vin sneezed, and they’d all laughed. Now, though, Vin had been shot, and Chris was bleeding. And no one was laughing anymore.

Chris immersed the cloth in the water again, then wrung it out and went back to trying to cool Vin’s fever. "Believe me, I know whose fault this is," he said at last, his rough voice strained, his face haggard in the lamplight. "And I wish ta hell the bastard was still alive right now so I could make him pay. But I’ll settle for Vin stayin’ alive, and worry about dolin’ out punishment later."

Josiah nodded slowly. "Sounds fair." He studied Larabee’s appearance. "So how’re you doin’?"

Chris looked up sharply and frowned, confused by the question. "I told ya, I’m not the one you should be worried about–"

"Didn’t believe it then," Josiah said evenly, "don’t believe it now." He nodded down at Vin. "You had ta dig a bullet out of the man who’s closer ta you than your own brother would be. Had ta take his life inta your hands, as it were. That’s a powerful responsibility, Chris, and you’re not a man who takes such things lightly. It’s gotta hurt, doin’ what you did, and seein’ him like this. So I’ll ask again. How are you doin’?"

Chris stared at the preacher for long, long moments, wanting desperately to say that he was fine, that he had no regrets, that he’d only done what he had to do and was comfortable with that. In all truth, though, he was as far from comfortable as a man could be, was the farthest thing from "fine" he could imagine and was near eaten up with regret. With fear. His hands had been so damn steady when he’d cut into Vin and pulled that bullet out, but he didn’t think they’d stopped shaking since.

"I don’t know how Nathan does this," he breathed at last, his voice heavy with emotion. "How he holds so many lives in his hands, how he can bear up under the weight. What if Vin dies?" he rasped, tortured by that thought. "How will I know whether it was because it was just too late for anyone to help him, or because of somethin’ I did wrong? Or what if he lives, but loses the use of his arm? How am I supposed to live with myself then?"

Josiah regarded the younger man steadily, then asked quietly, "Would you do it all again?"

Chris frowned. "What?"

Josiah arched a brow. "You heard me. Would you do it all again? Even knowin’ what you know now, knowin’ how you feel now, if you had ta do it all again, if it was a choice between just lettin’ Vin die or takin’ his life into your own hands, would you do it all again?"

Chris stared at Josiah, then looked down at his hands, and, from there, let his gaze travel to Vin. He tried to imagine himself not taking the bullet out, but waiting for someone else to shoulder the responsibility. And possibly losing his lover because he’d done nothing, because he’d been too frightened, too worried about himself, to act.

He tried to imagine that, but couldn’t.

"Yeah," he said at last, quiet conviction in his tired voice. "If he needed me ta do it, then, yeah, I’d do it all again."

Josiah smiled slightly and nodded. "That, brother, is how you live with yourself."

=======

Hurt.

Hot.

His whole existence had shrunk down to those two sensations. Hurt that wouldn’t end, that seared through him every time he moved, that was like a heated knife stabbing into him with even his smallest breath. Hurt that radiated from his shoulder and through his back, that burned down his arm and threatened to shoot out the ends of his fingers.

And the heat! Felt like he was burnin’ alive from the inside, like his skin was bein’ charred right off his bones. Was so hot he hurt from it, hurt on top of hurt on top of heat.

Lord God, why couldn’t they leave him be? Through the heat and the hurt he also felt the hands, hands that gripped him, held him, turned him, tortured him. He tried to fight ’em, but their strength was much greater than his, and that sent the fear exploding through him. Hard hands on him had never meant anything but more pain, had been the first warning of terrible things to come, and he fought them now as he always had before, though with no success. Again and again the hard hands overcame him, easily subduing his weak struggles, and he had no choice but to steel himself for whatever would come next, too weak and too sick, too hot and too hurt, to stop the fearful whimpers that escaped him or to hold back the tears that seeped from his eyes.

Then there were other hands, neither hard nor hurtful, that calmed his fears and wiped away his tears, that made his pain bearable and sought to cool the heat consuming him. Those hands cradled him, calmed him, stroked and soothed him, held him with a tenderness far too often lacking in his life. They gathered him into strong arms that sheltered him, and, even in the depths of his misery, when he knew nothing else, he knew without a doubt what this haven was.

Chris.

The dark presence that filled his soul with light, the hard, scarred man who was all the softness he’d ever known, the fierce warrior who’d become his own gentle angel. Held in those arms, cradled against that body, he knew the strong heart that beat against him, and let the feel and sound of that steady throb anchor him to this life when it would’ve been so easy just to slip away. He knew also the low voice that murmured against his ear and ran like a cool river through his hot, tired mind, and felt everything in him rise up in response to the sound of it. Just being here hurt almost more than he could bear, but leaving this man would’ve hurt far worse. So he forced himself to stay, even when the simple act of breathing required all the will he had, and clung with what strength he had to the hands that held him, praying they would hold him just a little while longer.

And slowly, slowly, those hands broke through the burning hell that imprisoned him, and drew him home again.

=======

Through the fog of sleep, Chris felt the slightest pressure of weak fingers against his, and lifted his head from the bed to meet the exhausted gaze of two heavy-lidded blue eyes. Out of habit, he laid his free hand against one pale, whiskered cheek, and was swept by a wrenching tide of relief when he realized that, though still warm, Tanner was nowhere near as hot as he’d been.

The fever was breaking at last.

"Hey... cowboy," Vin breathed faintly.

"Hey, yourself," Chris rasped past the hard knot in his throat. Tears pricked his eyes, and he tightened his hand about Vin’s, cradling it to his breast. "Welcome back."

Vin blinked slowly and frowned, brown brows drawing down over confused blue eyes. "I b... I been... gone?"

At the hoarse, dry whisper, Chris reached for the cup of water on the bedside table. He uncurled his hand from Vin’s and slipped it beneath the tracker’s head, lifting gently and placing the cup to the wounded man’s lips. "Drink."

Vin did, though it required all his concentration, and near wept from pleasure at the miraculous feel of the cool water sliding wetly down the parched, aching hollow of his throat. He drank all the water Chris would allow him, groaning as it seeped into every part of burnt-out husk that was his body.

"Not too fast," Chris cautioned, pulling the cup away and forcing himself to ignore Vin’s whimper of abandonment. "Let’s see how that settles, then you can have more. Don’t want ya throwin’ it back up." He set the cup aside, then lowered Tanner back against his pillow and brushed gentle fingers through his lank, matted hair, smiling tenderly into the blue eyes that were fixed so steadily upon him. "How ya doin’?"

"Tired," Vin murmured. "Hurt. Feel like... Peso... done stomped me... good."

Chris chuckled at that and shook his head. "Hell, pard, you know as well as I do that if it’d been Peso who got ya, you’d be dead now. He’s nothin’ if not thorough."

Vin frowned, not quite remembering just why he hurt so bad, and tried to reach for Chris. But his arm seemed to be made of lead, and refused to move more than a few inches. He put his whole strength into the effort, but gave up and relaxed with a thick, breathless groan as his body betrayed him.

"Ssh, easy," Chris soothed, taking Vin’s hand and raising it to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to the bloodless fingers. "It’s all right, cowboy, I gotcha," he whispered. "And I ain’t ever gonna letcha go."

A faint smile curved about Vin’s pale mouth at that. "I know," he breathed. "Felt ya... holdin’ me. Reckon yer all... that kep’ me here."

The tears that had been threatening to fall now did so, sliding slowly down Chris’s face, and he bowed low over Vin, pressing a kiss to the tracker’s forehead, then resting a cheek against his hair. "God, you scared me!" he whispered, closing his eyes and clutching at Vin’s hand. "You been layin’ here for three days now, hoverin’ somewhere between life and death... Can’t tell ya how many times we thought we’d lost ya. How many time I thought I’d lost ya." He lifted his head and stared down at Vin, his green eyes dark and deep in his own pale and haggard face, and slid a hand down to the younger man’s throat, laying his thumb lightly over the pulse there. "So many times I thought I’d never feel this again," he breathed. "Couldn’t for the life of me figure out how I was s’posed ta go on if it stopped." He forced a strained smile. "You gotta stop jumpin’ in front of bullets, pard. It’s hell on my nerves!"

Vin gave a faint breath of laughter, his eyes starting to close. "Reckon... yer gittin’ old... cowboy."

"Could be," Chris agreed absently, stroking Vin’s chin. "Just wanta make sure you get there with me."

Vin forced his eyes open and struggled to focus them on Larabee’s face, then squeezed the man’s hand as hard as he could manage. "Listen... ta me," he ordered hoarsely. "’S gonna take... more’n this... ta take me from ya." His hand began to slip, but he forced it closed again, refusing to break that contact just yet. "Don’t wanta leave ya," he rasped, blue eyes dark with pain, exhaustion, and fierce determination. "Ain’t gonna leave ya. Not without a helluva fight."

Chris smiled through his tears, bent once more over Vin and slipped his arms about him, holding his injured lover as tightly as he dared. "I’ll be right there fightin’ with ya, pard," he whispered. "I figure when we go down, we down together. And take as many with us as we can. Deal?"

Vin nodded faintly, his eyes closing, his hand finally slipping from Larabee’s. "Deal," he breathed, drifting once more into darkness.

"That’s it, cowboy," Chris urged as he felt the exhausted, pain-racked body relaxing. "Sleep now. You just sleep." He laid a cheek against Vin’s forehead, his own face more peaceful than it had been in days. "You already put up yer fight. Now it’s time for you ta rest."

=======

EPILOGUE:

Nathan Jackson swept a surreptitious glance around the saloon, saw none of his fellow peacekeepers, then dropped his gaze to the plate Inez had set before him and licked his lips. With a small smile of satisfaction, he slid his right arm from its sling, positioned a fork between his fingers, and dug clumsily, but happily, into his breakfast.

"And just what, pray, are you doin’?" demanded a heavy drawl from the direction of the stairs.

Nathan froze with his fork in mid-air, dark eyes wide, his expression a mixture of guilt and panic. "Ezra?" he called, never turning around. "Ain’t it early fo’ you ta be up?"

"I have not yet been to bed, if you must know," the gambler answered. "I engaged several visitors to our fair hamlet in a game of chance that proved both far more challengin’ and far more lucrative than I anticipated." Stalking to the table, he fixed an accusing glare on the big healer’s bandaged arm and asked, "Why is that not in a sling? How many times have we told you that it simply will not heal if you insist upon putting undue strain upon it? Don’t you ever listen? Have you no regard for the advice of those who are only tryin’ to safeguard your health?"

Nathan stared up at Standish in open-mouthed disbelief, stunned to hear such words from him. The Southerner – along with five other mule-headed fools – ignored his advice on an almost daily basis, and now had the nerve...

"Ain’t you s’posed ta be restin’ that arm?" Buck Wilmington asked sharply as he and JD entered the saloon. "Where’s yer sling? Did you cut that steak yerself? Good Lord have mercy, Nathan," he bellowed, stopping at the table and staring at the healer through outraged blue eyes, big hands on lean hips, "don’t you want that arm ta get better? And you been over-usin’ that hand again, ain’tcha? Yeah, I can tell. Thought we talked about this last week."

"Speakin’ of that hand," JD put in, sidling up to Nathan’s side and reaching for his left hand, "lemme see those stitches." He cocked a black eyebrow and stared disapprovingly at the healer’s palm. "Tried ta cut ’em out, didn’t ya?" He exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Two more days for you, then. I told ya. You don’t leave ’em alone, you’re just gonna irritate ’em."

"Ain’t my stitches that’s irritated!" Nathan finally snapped, throwing down his fork and raking a furious gaze over his three friends. "Since when do y’all know anything ’bout doctorin’? Cain’t’ve learnt anything from me; y’ain’t ever paid enough mind ta what I tell ya!"

"Now, Nathan," Buck sighed, "you know that we’ve been doin’ what we can ta shoulder the burden since you been down. Hell, didn’t I take care of Miss Eileen when she got hurt–"

"Removin’ a splinter from a forefinger and then kissin’ the wound hardly qualifies as practicin’ medicine," Ezra said, rolling his eyes at the memory. "I, on the other hand–"

"Ain’t done any more’n mix up some God-awful concoction and sell it ta ol’ man Whitaker as ‘a miraculous healin’ elixir from the mystical Orient,’" Buck scoffed. "Told him it’d cure whatever ailed him–"

"He did appear in far better spirits, did he not?"

"Hell, Ezra, he was roostered!" Buck shouted. "Thought he never would stop singin’ all them songs. Chris damn near had ta shoot him ta shut him up. And poor Miz Potter still ain’t got over the scandal of bein’ serenaded in public with some’a the filthiest songs anybody’s ever heard. Includin’ me!"

"I did refuse to sell him another batch, didn’t I?" Standish asked grudgingly. "I could have made a fortune from that man alone."

"Coulda kilt ’im," Nathan grumbled.

"Oh, heavens, there was nothin’ dangerous in there!" Ezra protested. "Some whiskey, a bit of brandy, a trace of mescal, some molasses, a hint of licorice, and water. Perfectly harmless, I assure you."

"Good Lord, it’s a wonder he ain’t blind!" Buck breathed in wonder. "Uh, say, Ezra, you, uh," he cleared his throat, "you wouldn’t happen ta have any of that left, now, would ya, pard?"

"Ya havin’ ta git the gals drunk now, Bucklin?" asked a soft, gravelly drawl at the big man’s back.

Wilmington jumped and spun about, clapping a hand to his chest and scowling at the smirking tracker. "Goddamn it, Vin, how many times do I have ta tell ya not ta do that? Like ta scared me ta death. Jesus, Chris, why the hell don’t you put a bell on him or somethin’?"

Larabee grinned broadly at his old friend. "And miss the fun of seein’ you jump?"

Buck’s scowl only deepened. "Still don’t see how a man can wear spurs an’ not make a damn sound when he walks." His eyes narrowed as he stared suspiciously at Vin. "You’re lookin’ almighty smug, son. What’ve you got up yer sleeve?"

Blue eyes gleamed with laughter, and a crooked grin tugged at the tracker’s full mouth. "Hell, Bucklin, I ain’t Ezra. I don’t keep nothin’ in m’ sleeves ’cept my arms."

"And that right arm damn well better be in a sling!" Nathan warned. "Buck, stand aside so’s I c’n make sho’ the damn fool ain’t lost it. Again," he added darkly, remembering the tracker’s infuriating habit of "misplacing" his sling.

Vin peered around Buck and arched a brow at the healer. "Yer one ta be talkin’, Doc. Say, did you get them stitches cut out yet?" he asked with a wide-eyed innocence. "Saw you workin’ on ’em earlier–"

"Shut up, Vin," Nathan growled, glaring at the grinning tracker.

"I’m lettin’ the prisoner here out on furlough," Chris broke in with a nod toward Vin. "Caught him tryin’ ta saddle Peso one-handed this mornin’, so I figured I’d take him for a supervised ride before he does somethin’ on his own and undoes all that hard work I put inta savin’ his worthless hide."

"Never asked ya ta stick a damn knife in me, Larabee," Vin growled.

"Yeah, ya did," Chris answered evenly. "I asked, and you said it was all right."

"I’s outta my head."

"And just how the hell am I s’posed ta know the difference?"

"Fine," Vin huffed. "Nex’ time, I’ll jist let the bad guy shoot ya." He glared at the gunman and shook his head slowly. "Take a bullet fer a man, ’n this is how he repays ya. Sticks a knife into ya when yer fevered ’n then insults ya b’fore all yer friends. That’s gratitude fer ya."

"You keep whinin’, Tanner," Chris warned quietly, "and I won’t take ya out."

Vin snorted in disgust. "Don’t need ya. I’ll jist saddle Peso myself–"

"One-armed?" Larabee interrupted with an arched brow and a wicked smile. "Hell, I’d pay money ta see that. That damn horse’d have you stomped to a greasy spot in the hay in two minutes. Now, c’mon if ya wanta. I ain’t gonna stand here all day arguin’ with ya."

"I’ll go," Vin said, still glaring. "But not ’cause I need yer help. I jist don’t fancy havin’ ta shoot m’ way outta town." He cocked one hip, shoved the thumb of his good hand into his gunbelt and canted his head slightly to one side, staring expectantly at the gunfighter. "Well, you comin’ ’r not?"

"Damn uppity tracker," Chris muttered, turning on his heel and stalking out of the barroom. "Hell, I shoulda let ya die. Coulda been five hundred dollars richer."

"Yeah, and you’d use it fer what?" Vin retorted, falling into step beside him. "Few more pairs’s black britches mebbe? Hell, it’s no wonder yer always growlin’ ’n glarin’ at folks. Must hurt like hell, bein’ squeezed inta yer pants like that. You prob’ly ain’t took a good, deep breath in a coon’s age..."

"I hear Tascosa’s real nice this time of year..."

"Charmin’ pair, aren’t they?" Ezra quipped as the two departed, arguing every step of the way. "Watchin’ them together gives one such a warm feeling of bonhomie."

"Think they’ll be all right?" JD asked worriedly. "I mean, Vin still ain’t up to full strength, and you know how prickly he can get. Chris might need some help–"

"Sit down an’ order breakfast, kid," Buck instructed, pulling out a chair and folding his long body into it, deeply relieved to have things back to normal. "Chris don’t need or want our help." He thought about the light he’d seen in green eyes and blue, and was surprised at how grateful he was to have his two friends whole and happy, even knowing as he did what that meant. A broad, contented smile spread over his face, and he settled comfortably in his chair. "Trust me, he can handle Vin."

=======

They rode out to JD and Casey’s fishing hole and found a small, secluded spot sheltered by rocks and flowering shrubs and shaded by tall cottonwoods. Vin dismounted from Peso and started to help Chris with the horses, only to be stopped by a raised blond brow and a tight-lipped frown. Sighing heavily, chafing under the constraints place upon him by his invalid status, he turned and left Larabee with grudging steps, choosing a likely patch of grass and dropping down onto it. And only when he lay back and let himself relax did he realize just how much the ride had taken from him.

Damn, he hated this...

Chris stripped the horses with easy, practiced skill, rubbing each down carefully and even offering a small bit of apple to Peso. The big, troublesome gelding had been on his best behavior again today, and, though Larabee knew it wouldn’t last, he was grateful for it while it did.

When the horses were untacked and grazing happily, Chris gathered their gear and carried it to a spot near Vin. He took his time laying out and arranging everything, giving Tanner time to doze. The younger man would likely never admit how easily he tired, how quickly his still-returning strength deserted him, but he had no need to. Chris had figured it out just from watching him, and knew by heart every subtle sign that warned he’d reached the end of his endurance.

Hell, he’d stretch this out all damn day if that was what it took to make sure Vin rested.

At last, when he’d given the tracker a good half-hour, he went to Vin and settled himself on the ground beside him, just sitting there and watching him sleep. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the sight. Tanner looked so vulnerable and open when he slept; all the years and hardness of his life vanished from his face, leaving it as peaceful as Chris had ever seen it. And young.

And, God, so beautiful!

Unable to help himself, he reached out and swept fingertips over one high cheekbone and along that exquisitely square jaw in a feather-light caress. His thumb found its way to Vin’s mouth and lovingly traced the lush lips. As ever, Vin’s mouth trembled and opened beneath that touch, and Chris pulled his hand away, loath to disrupt his lover’s sleep.

But an arm snaked up, long fingers snared his wrist, and dark lashes lifted to reveal two slits of blue. "Don’t stop," Vin murmured, guiding Larabee’s hand back to his mouth.

Chris chuckled and shook his head, then resumed his tender stroking of that enticing mouth. "Guess I should’ve known better than ta think I could sneak up on ya."

"When it involves touchin’ me like this, yeah, ya should," he breathed, keeping his fingers closed about Larabee’s wrist. "I told ya, cowboy, ya got magic hands."

"How you doin’?"

The familiar crooked grin lifted one corner of Vin’s mouth, and a wicked light shone in his blue eyes. "Reckon I’m doin’ a helluva lot better, now that y’ain’t growlin’ no more." He pressed a kiss to the thumb at his lips. "Like it when yer nice ta me."

"Maybe if you’d behave, I’d be nice more often," Chris said in a low, throaty rasp.

Vin sat up slowly, his brilliant blue gaze never leaving Larabee, and leaned forward, placing his good hand to the older man’s chest, just above his heart. "That whatcha want?" he asked softly, finding and lightly stroking the nipple beneath the red fabric. "Fer me ta behave?"

"What I want," Chris breathed unsteadily, slipping his hand around to the back of Tanner’s neck and pulling him closer still, "is ta have you with me for the rest of my life." He captured Vin’s mouth with his in a deep and tender kiss, a kiss that spoke far more of love than it did of passion. "I came so close ta losin’ you," he whispered against those sweet lips, "and it scared the hell outta me."

When the kiss ended, Vin leaned forward and laid his head on Chris’ shoulder, smiling contentedly and closing his eyes as strong arms wound about him. "Told ya, Larabee, I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not when I got this ta keep me here."

"But one day this might not be enough–"

"Hush," Vin urged, raising his head and laying his hand against Larabee’s mouth to silence him. Gazing into the man’s deep green eyes, he said softly, "I want you ta listen ta me. We know what our lives are; ain’t no use pretendin’ otherwise. And we both know what could happen. But knowin’ that don’t mean we gotta live in fear of it." He frowned slightly, thoughtfully, and swept his hand slowly over Chris’s face, tracing the high forehead, the golden brows, the long, straight nose and wide, full mouth, the firm, slightly-cleft chin. "Fear robs ya of too much, cowboy. Ya git so wrapped up in thinkin’ of what ya could lose that ya cain’t see what ya got. ’N when I got me somethin’ as fine as you, I don’t wanta miss a minute of it. I cain’t promise ya years, Chris, but I can promise ya the rest of my life. Whatever time I got is yers. Whatever life I got is yers. ’N that’s jist gonna have ta be enough."

"It is," Chris whispered, slipping unsteady fingers through the wealth of Vin’s hair. "Hell, it’s more than I ever thought I’d have again. You’re more than I ever thought I’d have again. And, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out how I found ya."

Vin gave a low, throaty laugh, his blue eyes sparkling like jewels. "Mebbe I found you, you ever stop ta think’a that?" He winked at Chris’s confused look. "I’s a bounty hunter, remember? ’N a damn good one. Once I set my sights on a feller, he didn’t never git away."

"C’mere, you!" Chris growled, again twining his arms about Vin and pulling him close. "I don’t wanta get away, you hear that? But I’m a pretty fair hunter myself, and I don’t let much escape me."

"Ain’t tryin’ t’ escape," Vin whispered, slipping his good arm about Larabee’s broad shoulders. "Ya done caught me fair ’n square, ’n I’m ready ta be took in."

"Jesus!" Chris groaned, crushing Vin to him and burying his mouth in the Texan’s. Hunger rose through him in a hard, fierce wave, and he bore Tanner back against the ground, covering the long, slender body with his own. He feasted ravenously upon Vin’s mouth, his throat, the delicate spot beneath one ear. He scraped his teeth lightly down tender flesh, tongued his throbbing pulse, sucked at his Adam’s apple. With nimble fingers, he unfastened the first few buttons of Vin’s shirt, and of the undershirt beneath, and trailed his mouth to the base of the tracker’s throat, licking and kissing the hollow there, then sucking on one corner of his collarbone.

Vin moaned and writhed beneath the onslaught, his breath coming in fast, harsh gasps, his heart pounding against his ribs. Sparks shot along his every nerve, and his whole body surged with urgent, painful awareness of what it had been so long without. He clutched at Chris with his good hand, drove his fingers through the silken blond hair, raked them across the powerful shoulders and down the tight, muscled back, while his hips thrust of their own accord against the pelvis grinding into him.

"Oh, God, cowboy, I’ve missed ya!" he rasped in agony.

Chris heard the note of pain in that hoarse voice and raised his head, gazing anxiously down at Vin. The tacker’s face was darkly flushed and beaded with sweat, and a tight grimace twisted at his mouth. He knew Tanner wanted this – hell, they both did – but he’d be damned if he’d cause his lover any harm.

"I’ve missed you, too," he whispered harshly, "but we’re gonna go carefully, you hear? That shoulder of yers ain’t healed up yet, and I don’t wanta hurt ya."

"Too late!" Vin gasped. "Already hurtin’... hurtin’ bad... God, Chris, I need ya!" he cried, clutching at his the older man’s arm.

Chris unwound the fingers digging into him and raised them to his lips, kissing them tenderly. Then, scooting onto his knees, he tugged at Vin’s hand and smiled down at him. "C’mon. I got our bedrolls spread. We’re gonna do this right."

Vin let Chris pull him to his feet, and immediately reeled against him as a wave of dizziness hit him. He leaned against Chris for long, long moments, taking strength and comfort from the body and arms supporting him until steadiness returned to his own legs.

"’M all right," he breathed at last, raising his head and smiling into worried green eyes. "Ya jist got a powerful effect on me is all. Reckon ya got an animal magnetism all yer own."

Chris reached out and brushed sweat-damp hair out of slightly glazed blue eyes, then chuckled ruefully and shook his head. "This really how you wanta kill yerself, Tanner?" he asked.

Vin winked. "Cain’t think of a better way ta go."

"’Cept I’d have ta explain it ta Nathan," Chris growled playfully. "And Josiah’d have a helluva time comin’ up with a proper eulogy."

"Don’t care," he said with a sudden seriousness, laying an unsteady hand against Larabee’s cheek. "I wanta die in yer arms, Chris. I want you ta be the last sight I ever see, want yer name ta be the last breath I ever take. Don’t much care whether I go ta heaven or hell, jist so’s yer holdin’ me when I go."

"You say the damnedest things," Chris whispered, struck to his soul by the beauty of and the love in the tracker’s words. "If ever it comes ta that, I’ll hold ya, Vin, I swear." Green eyes shimmered with tears as he lost himself in the infinite blue gaze of his lover. His love. "But I hope and pray we take our last breath together. ’Cause I’d be lost without ya."

Vin gave a tremulous smile, then reached for Chris’s hand and laced his fingers through Larabee’s. "C’mon ’n make love ta me, cowboy," he invited softly. "I got a powerful ache, ’n I need them magic hands ta take it away."

Chris nodded and led Vin to their bedrolls, which he’d spread together. Then, with every bit of gentleness he possessed, he put his "magic hands" to work undressing his lover. He eased Vin’s right arm out of its sling, then got him out of his shirt and undershirt, carefully pulling them over his still-tender shoulder. Tossing them aside, he leaned forward and showered a series of exquisitely tender kisses over the fresh scar.

Vin shivered and moaned and very nearly sank to his knees as Chris took his time undressing him, as the gunman seduced and made love to him with his every touch. His head dropped helplessly to Larabee’s shoulder as the man stripped him of his gunbelt with agonizing slowness, as long, sure fingers skimmed and danced over his sides, belly and groin, as firm hands cupped and caressed his ass. All but blinded by desire, weak in the knees and lightheaded, he had no choice but to let Chris lay him down upon the blankets, couldn’t have resisted the man if he’d wanted to.

And, Lord God, he surely didn’t want to!

Chris tugged off Vin’s boots, his soft buckskin pants and drawers, then quickly stripped himself. Fire swept through him at the sight of the tracker’s naked beauty, and his cock surged to aching, impatient fullness. But he knew there could be no haste, none of the familiar wildness, between them this time. Vin was still healing, his strength still fragile, and simply was not up to their customary ferocity.

Besides, Chris told himself, after all they’d been through, this was a time for loving, not just fucking.

Vin gazed up at his lover, saw the tenderness in that proud, strong face, and held up his good hand in invitation. "C’mere, cowboy," he called softly, "show me what yer feelin’."

And Chris did. Craving Vin in every part of himself, he went to and lost himself in the tracker, releasing all the pent-up fear of the past few weeks in a sweet storm of love and passion. With slow hands and searching mouth, he re-learned every aspect of Vin’s body, kissing scars, licking and stroking the hard ridge of bone and firm sweep of muscle, tonguing every crease and sucking every protrusion. He kissed the tops of Vin’s feet, licked and kneaded his way up the long, slim legs, nipped lightly at and blew gently over the tender flesh of his inner thighs. He swirled his fingers through the thatch of dark curls at Vin’s crotch, slid tongue and fingertips over every inch of his swollen, weeping cock, kissed and sucked his heavy balls and laved his tongue with agonizing slowness against the dark puckered hole behind them, rimming it and blowing against it.

Vin was a writhing, moaning, shuddering wreck, his mind gone, his reason shattered, his overwrought body assailed by more sensations than he could name. He clutched at Chris with his good hand, arched against him and whimpered for him, awash in so much pain and pleasure he thought he might die.

But, God, God, he couldn’t imagine a sweeter death!

Chris returned his attention to Vin’s cock, kissing, licking, and lapping away the pearly liquid leaking from its dark-flushed head. His own thick staff ached for attention as Vin’s taste and scent swept through him in waves, but that, he knew, would come later. And then only if Vin were able. For now, Tanner was all that mattered.

"Chrissss... please!" Vin hissed, knotting his fingers in the blankets and arching his hips in frantic need. "Hurts... GOD!" he shrieked as a hot, wet mouth engulfed his tortured flesh.

Chris took him deep, holding his hips to still his thrashing and sucking at him like a child with a stick of candy. Then, knowing how very near the edge Vin was, he began to hum.

"Oh... Jesus... CHRISSS!" Vin howled as the vibrations ran up and down his length. White heat ripped through him, igniting a boiling at the base of his spine, in his belly, in his balls, and he screamed as it exploded through him, as he erupted into shattering orgasm.

Chris caught the hot stream as it jetted forth, drinking and swallowing greedily, and sucking ravenously at Vin for still more. He drained Tanner’s cock of every drop, milked his balls, slipped a finger into his hole and stroked his gland. And only when he was certain there was no more, when Vin was shivering and moaning in exhaustion, did he let the empty, softened flesh slip from his mouth and slide his body alongside Tanner’s, enfolding the shaking man in his warm embrace.

Vin pressed himself as close against Chris as he could, nestled deeply into that embrace, and let the man’s warmth and strength seep into his own drained body. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. But Chris was all around him, and he knew he was safe.

"You feelin’ better now, pard?" Chris asked softly, lightly stroking Tanner’s back.

Vin nodded and smiled, pressing a tender kiss to Larabee’s chest. "Yeah," he breathed contentedly. He let his hand wander down Chris’s body, delighting in the feel of the taut muscles beneath the warm, smooth flesh, in the latent power of the beautiful man he loved. He ran fingers through the golden hair between the firm pectorals, then brushed them slowly down and over the flat belly, chuckling softly as the skin there rippled in response. "Ticklish, are ya?"

Green eyes narrowed warningly, but an unmistakable fire burned in them. "Just you remember that you’re not up ta full strength yet, Tanner," he growled. "Don’t start nothin’ ya can’t finish."

Vin lifted his head from Chris’s chest and arched two brown brows, pursing his firm, full lips as he trailed his fingers down from Chris’s belly, through the patch of dark gold hair, to the thick staff of flesh that stiffened and twitched at his touch. He ran his thumb up and down that length and slowly licked his lips.

"Seems yer the one startin’ here, cowboy," he said in a low, husky drawl. He continued stroking Larabee’s shaft, feeling it grow harder still. "Poor thing’s lookin’ kinda lonely," he whispered, shimmering blue eyes locked upon smoldering green. "Reckon it ain’t had much attention lately."

Chris sucked in a slow, hissing breath through clenched teeth as Tanner’s long, nimble fingers danced with a devastating lightness up and down his burning cock, as the tracker fondled its length and scraped a fingernail across its head. "Vin–"

"Ssh," Tanner breathed, bowing his head to Chris’s chest. "Cain’t ya see I’m workin’ here?" And he latched onto a dusky nipple, closing his mouth hard about the taut brown bud and sucking slowly. The hand at Larabee’s cock began pumping in that same deliberate rhythm, mouth and fingers working in concert to shatter the blond gunman’s composure.

And it worked. Chris cried out harshly and thrust helplessly into that maddening hand, suddenly realizing just how long he’d been without Vin. The tracker’s hot, greedy mouth was moving back and forth between his nipples, licking, sucking, biting, and, as raging heat pounded through his blood, as his whole body began to throb and burn from too long-ignored desire, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

"Vin!" he called hoarsely, reaching down to still the hand at his cock. "Vin... please!"

The tracker raised his head from Larabee’s chest, his blue eyes glazed and hot, his face flushed with renewed hunger. "What?"

Chris took Vin’s hand and held it, trying to concentrate on something other than the hideous throbbing of his cock. "I wanta... be inside ya," he rasped. "You think... yer strong enough for that?"

Vin nodded and smiled, reaching out to run his fingers through Larabee’s sweat-sodden hair. "I thought ya’d never ask."

Chris sat up slowly and gazed intently at his lover, studying him carefully. "I mean it, cowboy," he said softly, seriously. "If you ain’t up to it, I wanta know. I want ya, Vin, want ya so much I can taste it, but not if it means hurtin’ ya. I’d rather die than do that."

Vin leaned forward and kissed Chris deeply. "Take me, cowboy," he growled against that beautiful mouth. "Take me now, ’r I’ll be the one dyin’ here."

Chris returned the kiss hungrily, and bore Vin carefully down onto the blankets. As tongues, arms and legs joined and knotted in an intimate embrace, Chris reached out with one hand and felt for the tin of oil he’d set out earlier, finally finding it near the edge of the blankets. Pulling it toward him, he kissed Vin one last time and then rose to his knees, staring ardently down at the younger man.

"You sure, pard?" he asked hoarsely.

Vin smiled and nodded. "Never been s’ sure of anything in my life. Need ya, cowboy. Need ya ta make me whole again."

That was all Chris had to hear. He wrenched the top off the tin and scooped out some of the thick, fragrant oil, then coated his hands and cock liberally. When he was done, he set the tin aside and turned his full attention to Vin.

God, he was beautiful! He pulled Tanner’s legs up over him, stroking and kneading his way up the long, slender limbs, all the while gazing raptly into two wide and heat-filled blue eyes. His hands roamed slowly up Vin’s legs to the tender creases at the junction of thigh and groin, and he licked his lips in hungry anticipation as the tracker’s cock hardened and twitched at his touch. He stroked Vin’s length lovingly, then slid his hand with agonizing slowness over his full balls, cupping and caressing the heavy sacs and tearing a thick, wordless moan from Vin. Next he trailed his fingers to the dark, tight hole behind Vin’s balls, lightly stroking around the rim before inserting a single finger.

Vin gasped and bucked as that finger entered him and began to play inside him. He closed his eyes and arched his back, thrusting himself down upon that tormenting digit, needing this, needing Chris, as he’d never needed anything in his life.

Chris slipped in another finger and worked the tight ring of muscle, his own breath coming in harsh pants through clenched teeth. Vin affected him as no one but Sarah ever had, brought love and lust together into one raging, rising tide of need that he was powerless to control. He’d never thought he’d find this again; now he couldn’t imagine ever living without it.

A third finger went in, and Vin howled as lightning jolted his every nerve. He writhed and thrashed wildly on the blankets, clutching at whatever he could reach and near sobbing in pain and pleasure.

"Jesus... Chris... please!" he begged.

Larabee withdrew his hand, gritted his teeth, and pressed his cock to Vin’s hole. Grabbing Tanner’s hips to still him, he pressed himself inside, at last entering the body he knew better than his own. Wet heat engulfed him, welcomed him, and sent his senses spiralling out of control.

Vin stiffened and cried out thickly as the familiar pain of penetration assailed him, but he forced himself to ride it out as his body adjusted to Chris’s presence in it. Then the pain faded, replaced immediately by urgent, overwhelming need.

"Move, goddamn it!" he snarled.

Chris did; slid slowly, slowly in, forcing restraint upon himself, sheathing himself in his lover. Then he withdrew just as slowly, until only his head remained, and pushed once more forward. Time and again he slid in and out, gradually increasing the strength and speed of his strokes, until he was driving into Vin with a furious force, impaling his lover upon his hard and hungry flesh.

Vin thrust just as fiercely onto Chris, and their bodies fell into a familiar, frantic rhythm. Then Chris’s hands closed about his cock, stroking and pumping in that same rhythm, and Vin came undone from the ruthless assault on his senses. Worked inside and out by his lover, consumed in the living fire that was Chris Larabee, he abandoned all restraint, all control, and surrendered to the primal pleasure of being claimed body and soul by this man. Chris hit his gland again and again, and he shrieked and bucked wildly as intense, unbearable pleasure exploded through him, then screamed again as he burst into shattering release.

The tracker clenched his muscles as he came, and that pressure, coupled with the warmth and pungent smell of the seed jetting from him, sent Chris over the edge and into his own ferocious climax. He cried out aloud and threw back his sweat-sodden heat, thrusting furiously into Tanner’s body, then erupted into climax, shooting himself into Vin.

When he was empty, he carefully withdrew, then collapsed almost bonelessly onto the blankets and immediately gathered Vin into his arms. But he accidentally jarred Tanner’s right shoulder, and stiffened at the man’s sharp hiss.

"What’d I do?" he asked anxiously.

Vin waited for the quick stab of pain to subside, then relaxed against Chris and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "’S nothin’," he breathed, letting his heavy eyes close. "Still tender’s all, jist healin’ kinda slow. But Nathan said ever’thing’s all right, that it’s gonna hurt fer a while ’n I jist need ta be careful."

Chris eased Vin onto his back and rose onto one elbow, gazing down at his lover through eyes clouded by worry. He reached out and ran gentle fingers over the puckered flesh of the new scar, wishing he could spare Vin any such suffering in the future.

God knew, they both had enough scars already...

Vin relaxed as those long, sure fingers played against his skin, as Larabee tenderly massaged his shoulder, easing the pain and stiffness from it. The wound still bothered him more than he cared to admit, but he knew the best medicine for it was in the hands of the man at his side.

"Still ain’t thanked ya," he murmured drowsily.

Chris frowned, but continued carefully rubbing and kneading Vin’s shoulder. "For what?"

"Fer savin’ m’ life." He forced his eyes open and gazed up at his lover, dark blue eyes searching deep green ones. "Couldn’ta been easy fer you ta do."

Chris’s mouth gave a twist that was half-smile, half-grimace. "No. But it was a helluva lot easier than watchin’ you die woulda been. And though I hope ta hell I never have to, I’d do it again in a minute if it came down to it." He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Vin’s in a tender, loving kiss. "I’ll do whatever it takes ta keep ya with me, cowboy," he whispered.

Vin sighed contentedly, smiling as that mouth left his, and reached up to brush a shock of blond hair away from Larabee’s eyes. "Ain’t in no hurry ta leave," he breathed. "Hell, reckon they’re gonna have ta pry me away from ya when my time comes. Kinda like bein’ with ya."

A teasing grin curved about Chris’s mouth and lit his eyes. "Even when I’m growlin’ and snappin’ at ya?"

"Aw, hell, you ain’t near as fierce as ya think. ’Sides," he shivered as Chris’s hand again found its way to his shoulder and resumed the gentle, soothing massage, "I c’n live with yer growlin’ ’n snappin’, so long as it comes with these hands."