When Chris opened his eyes next, the midday sun was streaming in through the window. Turning, he found Nathan sitting nearby, reading. After several attempts the gunman managed to whisper, "N-nathan?"

Looking up from his book, the healer smiled and said, "‘bout time you woke up." Coming to lean over the bed, he began examining Larabee as he continued, "how’re you feelin’?"

"Let’cha know...when I figure...it out m-myself..."

With a deep chuckle, the black man said, "well, y’ look better leastways. Still got a bit of a fever, but it ain’t gettin’ any worse."

"Then...can we...leave?" Hazel eyes peered hopefully up into the other man’s face.

Sighing heavily, Nathan said, "Chris, just cause y’ain’t gettin’ any worse don’t mean you’re well enough t’ make th’ trip back t’ town. Give yourself a little more time –"

"No!" Although he was angry, the word came out as little more than a quivering moan. "Nathan...I’m tired of...begging...I want to go...home. No more...waiting..."

The healer took in the fierce determination beneath the pain on the handsome face. Dropping carefully to the edge of the bed, he said, "Chris, you’re askin’ me t’ put your life at risk. Now, I understand how that woman hurt you –"

"Not," Larabee said quietly, "no you...don’t. Sh-she murdered...may family, Nathan. Th-that bitch had Sarah...and Adam...killed..." He stopped, seemign to sink into the bed as he gasped for air.

Jackson could see the depth to which Chris Larabee’s pain went. The evil visited on him by Ella Gaines and her hired killers had shredded his soul; a wound far deeper than the bullet Jack Avril had put in him. Nodding, he said, "alright. If you promise to do as I tell you...we’ll head out in th’ mornin’. But," he held up a hand to forestall any further argument, "you don’t do’s you’re told, we’ll stay her for three more days. You hear me?"

His face quickly ran a gamut of emotions, but finally Chris said simply, "yeah."

Smiling, Jackson nodded and gently patted the man’s shoulder. Rising carefully from the bed, he said, "alright then, you think you could handle a bit of broth?"

Pulling a face, Larabee grumbled, "can’t get my strength back on that stuff."

Pointing a finger at the gunslinger, the big man said, "no grumblin’, Larabee."

Looking put upon and disgusted, the wounded man nonetheless kept his mouth closed. He watched as the ex-slave strode from the room. Chris felt his heart beat faster as Nathan left the room. It took everything he had to keep from calling out, asking Jackson to stay with him. "Damn," he thought, "what in the hell’s wrong with me? Ella’s long gone, and if she’s not, Vin and Buck will find her. The others are right here, standing guard over me like I was made out of gold or something. Why am I acting like a baby, scared of the dark? The sick bitch thinks she loves me; she won’t kill me." But for all of his rationale, Chris couldn’t make himself believe any of it. As long as Ella Gaines was alive, he would never feel safe.

Vin looked up from where he was once again studying the terrain. His hand moved to his hogleg as the sound of hoof beats came closer. The young sharpshooter relaxed as Buck Wilmington rode up. Nodding to the other man, he turned his attention back to the faint marks he had found in the dirt.

"Find anything?" Wilmington asked quietly.

"Nothin’ useful. Thought I might’a had her track, but it’s more’n a week old." Looking up at the sky, he shook his head. "Told Chris we’d be back by nightfall if we didn’t cut her trail. Reckon we’d best be on our way back." He straightened up and climbed into the saddle. As he started off, Buck fell in beside him.

"Sorry ‘bout earlier, " the gunman said, unable to look at the other man.

Shrugging, Vin said, "ain’t got nothin’ t’ be sorry for, pard. Reckon this’s been a mite harder on y’ than th’ rest of us thought. Think we oughta be apoligizin’ to you."

Shaking his head, Wilmington said, "shouldn’t’a took it out on you, though, Vin. Weren’t your fault I’m a fool."

Smiling, Tanner said, "reckon not...think that’s been a long time thing with you..."

Grinning, the big man said only, "yeah, well, sometimes it’s more noticeable than others." Then sobering he said, "I’m just so mad at m’self for not recognizin’ what a wonderful person Hilda was earlier."

Vin looked sideways at his friend, "don’t know what it would’a changed."

"Me either, but reckon I’d feel a mite better ‘bout m’self."

"Buck, Nathan told me what you did for her...th’ things you said t’ her as she was dyin’. Seems t’ me that, ‘way things turned out, that was the nicest thing anyone could’a done for th’ lady. Nathan said you sent her on her way with a smile on her face. Can’t nobody feel bad about doin’ that for a body ‘fore they go t’ meet their maker."

Wilmington didn’t answer for a very long time. Vin stole a look over at the man, and saw tears streaming down his face. He turned away, keeping his eyes on the trail ahead. After several miles, the gunman sighed.

"Vin, I had a dream ‘bout her last night. She was standin’ there, all dressed in this pretty white gown. She was singin’ t’ me. Don’t recall the song, but her voice was the most amazing thing I’d ever heard in m’ life. Then all of a sudden, she couldn’t sing no more. I looked, and that pretty white gown was all covered in blood. I looked up at her face, and she just looked sad...like I’d let her down ‘r somethin’. I couldn’t do nothin’ for her, but watch her bleed t’ death." He turned to the other man. "Figure someone’s tryin’ t’ punish me for not bein’ nicer t’ her while she was livin’?"

After a minutes consideration, Tanner nodded. "Reckon someone is. Someone named Buck Wilmington." Looking over at his companion, he said, "why’n’t y’ work on forgivin’ yourself, Buck? Reckon you’re th’ only one who’s blamin’ y’."

With a shake of his head and a pain-filled smile, the older man said, "why is it the youngest fella’s I ride with are th’ ones givin’ me all the advice?"

"Reckon y’ oughtn’t worry ‘bout th’ age a the man givin’ th’ advice, Bucklin, but how much sense it makes," Vin gave his friend one of his broad grins, and winked. "Now, c’mon, old man, let’s get back t’ th’ house. Figure Chris’ runnin’ th’ rest of ‘m ragged by now."

The two men dropped into a companionable silence then, kneeing their mounts to coax them forward into a gallop.

Vin stepped into the dimly lit room, allowing his eyes to adjust before he moved past the threshold. "Chris? You awake pard?"

"Yeah," came the soft response. The gunslinger’s voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken for a long time.

"How y’ feelin’ cowboy?" He came to sit next to the bed.

"Better than anyone...believes..I guess," Larabee grimaced as a slight movement caused a wave of pain to shoot through his side.

"Reckon you’d feel even better if y’ laid still, too, " the sharpshooter’s charismatic smile softened his words.

Choosing to ignore the younger man’s admonishment, Chris said, "you find anything?"

Tanner lowered his gaze and shook his head, "sorry Chris, weren’t a bit a sign anywhere. Can’t figure it."

"Appreciate you...looking, pard. Especially after...the way...I treated you..."

"Told y’, ain’t no call t’ apologize t’ me. Just cause friends don’t always see things th’ same way don’t mean they ain’t still friends. " another smile graced his finely chiseled features.

Smiling in return Larabee said simply, "thanks."

A sound drew their attention to the doorway. Buck was standing there. "He awake?"

"Yeah, he is," Chris replied, with a wink toward the hunter. "I am too."

With a peel of laughter, the big man strode into the room. "Good t’ see y’ain’t so far gone y’ can’t make a joke stud." Turning toward the slender tracker he said, "Vin, Nathan said t’ tell y’ there’s stew and biscuits downstairs. You go’n down an’ eat."

Reading in the man’s face that he wanted to have tome time with his old friend, Vin nodded. "Reckon I could do with some dinner. I’ll be back later on Chris, okay?"

Nodding, Larabee said, "I ain’t going no place pard."

As Tanner left the bedroom, Buck took up the seat next to the bed. "Well stud, y’ain’t lookin’ near’s bad’s y’ did yesterday. Nathan said he told y’ we could leave in th’ mornin’, long’s y’ take it easy – "

"And do as I’m told," Chris said tiredly. "I know. Vin...said you didn’t find...any...thing out there."

"Nope. Sorry pard. Reckon we’ll worry ‘bout gettin’ y’ back t’ town, then get back on th’ trail."

"It’ll be a mighty cold trail by then, " the wounded man said. "You...ought to go...on the hunt...again...tomorrow morning."

"Not up for discussion," the big man replied. "Gonna worry ‘bout gettin’ y’ home safe ‘fore we do anything else. ‘Sides, cold ‘r not, Vin’ll cypher out where she is quick enough. Y’ know y’ can count on that." Seeing that his friend was growing tired, Buck said, "figure y’ oughta sleep now."

"No...I’m okay," the blond protested, stifling a yawn. "Stay...talk to me awhile...Buck."

Something in the other man’s tone made Wilmington agree. "Yeah, okay. Reckon I us’lly do most a th’ talkin’ anyway. Long’s you rest, I can talk a spell."

With a soft chuckle Chris relaxed into the pillows, content that he would have company against the fears the solitude he once craved brought him now.

True to his word, Buck Wilmington talked. He regaled his long-time friend with vivid memories of adventures of their mutual past; stories of travels he had made alone; fanciful yarns of the future. If Chris noticed that Buck’s ramblings avoided any mention of women, he said nothing. He let the man’s words wrap him in the warmth of companionship.

Buck talked through the evening, only stopping with Nathan interrupted to check on his patient or Josiah brought them both dinner. Finally, after half a dozen hours, during which Chris drifted in and out of sleep, Vin insisted on relieving the ex-sheriff.

To Chris it was as if he opened his eyes to find that one friend had become another and a look of confusion glided across his pale, handsome face. The sharpshooter noticed and said softly, "reckon things can get a mite confusin’ when you’re feelin’ poorly."

"Reckon," Larabee said with a tired sigh. "Just be glad to...put it all be...hind me."

Sitting forward, Tanner rested his elbows on his knees and looked closely at his friend. "Y’ gotta know me ‘n th’ others ‘r gonna do everything we can t’ help y’ settle th’ score with Ella Gaines. I won’t say we’ll make it right, cause reckon nothin’ can do that. But I promise y’ this, pard. She’ll pay for what she done."

Looking into the pale blue eyes of his friend, Chris understood two things. For one, Vin Tanner had spent time with the Kiowa and the Comanche, and knew ways of bringing pain that he could never fathom. For another, the six men that had become his family would stand beside him; support him and make certain that the deaths that Ella Gaines had caused were revenged. It might not bring his wife and son back to him, but it would lighten his burden. He closed his eyes then, and allowed sleep to claim him fully. He drew strength in the knowledge that his friends would watch over him now; keeping him safe until this was all over. It was at that moment that Chris Larabee felt his fears begin to dissipate. Whatever came, he would not have to face it alone.

"Mr. Larabee, the sun has only now begun to rise. The other men are still enjoying the luxury of feather beds and down comforters," Ezra spoke wistfully, the thought of the comfort he had left in order to allow Vin some rest almost too much to contemplate.

"Ezra, it’s morning. Nathan said we could leave in the morning," Chris emphasized the words. Then he groaned as, trying to pull himself up in the bed, he strained his stitches. Standish leaned over the bed and easily pushed the gunman back down.

"Damn it Ezra!" Chris bit out the words angrily. Glaring at the Southerner, he fought to rise once more. Again he was gently but firmly forced back to the mattress. The scene repeated itself three more times before, panting with exhaustion, the gunman surrendered. However, the gambler was almost certain that if Chris Larabee could have gotten to his Colt, he would have been looking down it’s barrel.

The frustration and anger that filled the air slowly dissipated however, when J.D. came into the room carrying a tray. "Mornin’, " the young man said sleepily. "Nathan figured you’d be chomping at the bit to get out of here. Sent this up for you, said we’ll leave when you eat it...all of it," he tried to look sternly at his idol, but only managed to look nervous. To his surprised relief, Chris didn’t argue.

"Alright, " the gunman once again struggled to sit up. This time Ezra helped rather than hindered him. The blond was soon propped up on pillows and working on devouring the porridge the healer had prepared.

"Ezra, I already ate if you want to go have breakfast yourself. I’ll stay here, " the young sheriff said.

"My dear boy, that is the best proposal I have heard today," Standish replied as he hurried from the room.

"Well, go ahead...sit down..." Chris said, indicating the chair near the bed. He carefully lifted the coffee mug and took a sip. The blond noted the way their youngest member avoided looking at him. He had barely seen the kid since Avril shot him. Now he was acting oddly...almost nervous. "J.D.?"

"Yeah?" He nearly jumped out of the chair.

"You alright?"

"Sure," he answered, too quickly.

"Something’s got you...skittish as a day...old calf," Larabee said with a shake of his head.

Dunne looked at the floor, at his hands, at the wall, anywhere but at the man in black.

"J.D.?"

With a sigh, the young Easterner finally spoke. "Guess I just feel guilty or something. I...well, I saw that room...the one with all that...stuff...your stuff..."

"Why feel guilty?" Chris asked, a look of puzzlement in his hazel eyes. "You...didn’t do any...thing wrong."

"I feel like it," he shrugged. "Chris it was just so...so strange. All of those things...personal things...your things..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Kid, it’s alright," Chris said softly.

"I’m just...I’m sorry Chris...about all of it..." he said. "For what she did to you...to your family...to the others, like her husband –"

"What? J.D. what are you...talking about?"

Dunne blanched, realizing he had said too much. He stuttered incoherently as he tried to decide what to do.

"J.D., answer me," Chris was staring intently at the younger man.

"We...uh...we were cleaning out the room. Buck, well he said he couldn’t stand the thought of that room being left like it was. Me, him and Josiah...we gathered everything up, and put it in a trunk we found. Buck said he’d hold on to it all til you got better, then see what you wanted to do with it all.

"We were finishing up when Buck came across a journal...her journal."

"What did it say?"

"Don’t know for certain. Buck looked at it. He said she wrote about using her husband to get money so she could get you back. Said some of the things she wrote sounded like maybe she even had him killed...like...well..."

"Like Sarah and Adam," Larabee finished the thought. "That goddamn bitch." Although his voice was little more than a whisper, the anger was easy to hear.

"Well mornin’, stud," Buck broke into the exchange as he entered the room.

Never one to skirt an issue, Chris said, "why didn’t you...tell me...about the journal?"

"J.D.," Wilmington sighed.

"I’m sorry Buck, it just slipped out." The young man stared at the floor as he mumbled an apology.

"Kid, go help Nathan get things ready so we can go," the gunman said in a quiet tone. It was a tone that told J.D. that he would be hearing more about his mistake later. He hurried from the room.

"Buck?"

Dropping to the chair, the gunman leaned forward, looking intently at his friend. "We were gonna tell y’ when y’ had your strength back, Chris. We just didn’t want y’ havin’ t’ deal with th’ rest of it on top a what Ella done."

"What were you waiting...for me to deal with...the fact that I though I...loved..the bitch that...murdered...my family? You think...I’m ever...going to get over...any of that?"

Running a hand across his face, Buck shook his head. "No, we know better’n that. We just wanted t’ give y’ some time t’ get your strength back, okay?"

His anger waned slowly as Larabee saw that Buck was telling the truth. Even more, the big man was concerned. "Yeah...alright...you got this...journal?"

Nodding, he said, "along with th’ stuff that woman had a yours...and Sarah’s."

"The locket?"

"Yep. It’s all packed away. We’ll take it back t’ town with us. Just...just give yourself some time ‘fore y’ dig into it, alright?"

"I want to know...Buck...I need to know."

"I ain’t arguin’ ‘bout that. ‘Course y’ got th’ right t’ know. All I’m askin’ is y’ don’t take on so much at once that it...that it..." He trailed off.

"Buck," Chris said firmly, "whether I give it time or...read it now...she won’t win. Ella Gaines...she won’t get...my life."

"Y’all ‘bout ready?" Vin poked his head in the door.

"Soon’s somebody quits arguin’ with us," Nathan replied. He and Josiah were attempting to get the gunman ready for the journey back to town. Neither man was surprised that the blond argued every step of the way, denying his need for assistance.

With a sympathetic smile, the young tracker saw that they were no more ready than they had been when he had stopped in earlier. "Why’n’t you fellers go on downstairs, let me wrestle with th’ grizzly for awhile."

Josiah simply smiled, handed Tanner the boots he had been trying to get on Larabee, and quickly left the room. Jackson said, "you let him tear out them stitches and I’m gonna make you sew him back up, understand?"

"Yep," Vin said in reply. He simply stood there, boots in hand, until the dark healer left, closing the door behind him. Moving to the bed, he put out a hand. As Larabee grasped it, he pulled him slowly upward and off the bed. Dropping the boots, he held Chris up and helped him to the chair.

Slumping wearily to the cushions, the wounded man fought to catch his breath. Looking up as something came into his line of sight, he realized that the tracker was handing him his boots. Reaching out a trembling hand, Chris took them, amazed at how heavy they felt. Putting one boot on the chair next to him, he struggled for several minutes to get the other one on. The entire time, Vin simply sat on the bed, watching him. After a multitude of unsuccessful attempts, Larabee slumped back against the chair, holding the boot out toward the other man.

Without a word, Tanner took the boot, retrieved it’s mate, and set about getting the blond dressed. Finally satisfied that he had the older man as ready as possible, he once more held out a hand. Getting Chris to his feet, Vin pulled the blond’s left arm across his shoulders and carefully put an arm around the other man’s waist. Together they slowly made their way from the room to the top of the stairs. Sliding to the other side of his friend, Vin supported his injured side and put Larabee’s other hand on the bannister. Slowly, stopping to rest every few steps, the duo made their way down the long stairway. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, J.D. suddenly appeared and slid in beside Chris, drawing his arm across his shoulder. With the younger man’s help, they made it out to the wide porch.

Coming out of the fog of pain that had enveloped him, the gunman realized that the buggy he had ridden in with Ella was hitched up and waiting. "I’m...riding...back in...that?" He wheezed.

"I thought it’d be best," Nathan informed him. "Y’ don’t want t’ be layin’ flat with th’ damage th’ bullet done t’ your lung. Figured keepin’ y’ propped up in th’ carriage’d be better for y’. "

Struggling with even this reminder of the woman he now hated more than anyone or anything, Chris took a ragged breath and nodded. The two men on either side of him carefully helped him down the stairs of the porch and into the carriage. Vin took his place on one side of the injured man, supporting him. Jackson wrapped a heavy quilt round the wounded man’s shoulders and tucked another around his legs, then took a seat on the other side of him. Josiah, in the seat in front of them, coaxed the horse forward at a walk. Buck, Ezra and J.D. followed them, leading the four riderless horses.

Chris Larabee sighed and relaxed there between the other two men. Finally. He was going home.

"Mary! They’re comin’!" Casey Wells burst into the Clarion office just as the other woman was getting ready to close the newspaper for the evening.

"Casey, who’s coming?" Since the seven peacekeepers had left nearly a week ago, the townspeople had been somewhat edgy; concerned that something would happen while the town was unguarded.

"J.D. and th’ others. I saw ‘m from the bell tower...saw Buck’s grey. But..."

"But what?" the widow Travis prompted when Casey stumbled to a stop.

"I think somethin’ s wrong. They’ve got that buggy an’ they’re leadin’ several of th’ horses."

"Okay Casey, let’s just go and see," Mary wasn’t interested in listening to the younger woman’s ever-lengthening explanation. She all but shoved Casey out the door as she bustled out onto the board walk. As the two woman reached the street, they saw the peacekeepers come into view. Mary saw what had the younger woman so worked up; four of the horses were riderless, while the buggy looked full. Even as far away as they were, she could tell that there were no women in the group. The blonde found that Ella Gaines’ absence brought a smile to her face. It was a short-lived smile, however, when she realized that Chris’ black was one of the horses being led.

With Casey at her side, the newspaper woman hurried down the dusty street toward the buggy. As they got nearer, Mary felt her heart skip a beat. Chris was couched between Vin and Nathan, wrapped in blankets. He was leaning against the hunter, who was holding him while he seemed to sleep. Josiah turned the buggy toward Nathan’s clinic. The women hurried after them. While Casey went to J.D., Mary Travis rushed to the buggy.

"Nathan, what happened?" Her eyes were on the unconscious man as she spoke to the healer.

"He was shot out at the Gaines ranch," Jackson replied.

"But how? What happened? How badly is he hurt?" The questions tumbled one after another.

"Ma’am," Nathan said as he helped Vin ease Larabee out of the buggy, "it’s an awful long story, and I ain’t real certain I even know all of it. Right now we need t’ get him up t’ my clinic. He’s had a rough time of ti."

"Yes...yes, of course," she backed up as they lifted Chris, blankets and all, and carried him toward the stairs. Mary heard a mumbled protest as he was bundled past, but nothing more. She could not believe how pale the normally robust man looked. Feeling an arm around her shoulders, she found Buck standing beside her.

"He’ll be okay, Mary," the gunman said with a smile. "He’s had a rough few days, but Chris’ll pull outta this just fine."

Travis nodded and tried to return his smile, with little success. "But what happened, Buck?"

"Well, like Nathan said, it’s a long story. Why don’t we go get some dinner and I’ll tell y’ all about it?"

"Alright," she finally managed to take her eyes away from the little knot of men that disappeared up the stairs and turned away to walk with Buck up the street.

"There y’ go, pard," Vin said quietly as he, Nathan and Josiah settled Chris onto the bed. The lumpy old mattress and roughly woven blankets were a far cry from the featherbed and silky comforters that he had rested on since being at the Gaines ranch. However, the tracker felt certain that Larabee seemed far more relaxed here. It was as if, even unconscious, the gunfighter knew that he was safely returned to the town they all called home. He turned to the healer, who was examining the blond’s wound. "How’s he doin’, Doc?"

"Well, th’ trip didn’t do ‘m much good, but I ‘magine he’ll be alright. Wound bled a little, but the stitches held up okay. If we can keep ‘m in bed, keep ‘m still, he oughta mend okay."

"Anything I can do?"

"No, not much to do but watch ‘m sleep for now."

"Alrighty then, I’m gonna go get some supplies ready. Be headin’ out in th’ mornin’."

"Looking for her?" Josiah asked.

"Promised Chris," Tanner said with a nod.

"Vin, seeking revenge will bring him little peace in the long run."

"Don’t agree, Josiah. That woman’s gonna pay for what she done. Don’t know for certain it’ll give Chris th’ comfort he needs ‘r not, but he deserves t’ know that she’s paid for what she done...t’ Chris... t’ Sarah ‘n Adam...t’ all th’ other’s we don’t even know about." With that the young man turned on his heel and left the clinic.

Over the course of the next three days things settled into something of a routine in the little town. While Buck and Vin searched the countryside for Ella Gaines and Nathan cared for the wounded Larabee, the others divided their time between looking after the town and their leader. For his part, Chris Larabee slept unless someone rousted him from unconsciousness. Nathan kept the gunslinger propped up on pillows to alleviate pressure on the still mending lung, and so far it had helped. While his breathing was not normal, Chris didn’t show any of the signs of pneumonia. Much to everyone’s relief the man in black seemed to be sleeping a healing sleep. Nathan was more optimistic by the day that their leader and friend would fully recover.

The most frequent visitor to the clinic, to no one’s surprise, was Mary Travis. The young blond could be counted on to peek around the door at least half a dozen times a day to check on Larabee’s condition. She insisted on sitting with him so that Nathan could stretch his legs, get a drink or something to eat; the healer would allow her a few minutes alone with the man, whether he felt the need to leave or not. None of the other peacekeepers were blind to the fact that there was something between the two, below the surface and carefully guarded. But even J.D. Dunne had noticed their attraction. But Nathan would wish for a long time he had refused her offer on one occasion. Although Chris and Mary were the only two people who would ever know for certain what transpired, he wondered if he could have intervened and kept the wall that would come to separate them for some time from being built...

"Nathan?" Mary poked her head around the door.

"Afternoon Miz Travis," Jackson smiled up at her from where he sat reading a book.

"I brought Chris some lunch. Gloria even sent one of her blackberry dumplings over."

"Best make certain he don’t try to eat it all at once, " the healer laughed. The gunman had taken a definite liking to the store owner’s dumplings, and had once shoved a whole one in his mouth as they were hurrying outside toward the sounds of a gunfight. "Don’t think he could get by with it right now."

Laughing, Mary crossed the room and settled the tray on the bedside table. "If you want to go get some lunch yourself, I’ll be happy to stay here."

"Thank you, ma’am, I think I will." He had been in the clinic since the night before and the thought of getting outside for a few minutes was too appealing to pass up. "I’ll be back in a bit."

"Take your time," she prompted as he left the clinic. Then, turning back to the bed, she studied the gunslinger’s handsome features. Unguarded in sleep, emotions played across his face. At the moment his unconscious mind seemed to be in a peaceful place; a small smile puled at the corners of his mouth. Unwilling to disturb him, Mary simply watched him for a few minutes. She was caught in the act, though, when a pair of hazel eyes opened suddenly.

"Mary?" His voice, roughened by both his injury and sleep, was little more than a croaking whisper.

"Hello," she said cheerfully.

"How long...you been...here?"

"Just a minute or two. I brought you some lunch, but you looked so peaceful that I hated to wake you."

Chris smiled warmly, but said only, "lunch?"

Laughing, she retrieved the tray and settled it on his lap. She arranged things so he could reach them all with his left hand. Returning to her seat on the chair, she watched as Larabee greedily began to devour the first solid food he had been offered since being shot. As soon as Nathan had sent word by J.D. that he felt the man could handle it, she and Gloria Potter had set about making the things they knew he enjoyed.

Chris had managed half the food on his plate before he stopped and looked up at the woman, chagrined. "Sorry, Mary, my manners ain’t what they should be right now."

"Don’t apologize! I know it’s been a long spell of mush and broth. Please, enjoy it."

Settling the fork on the plate, he leaned back against the stack of pillows. Looking over at the blonde who had come to mean more than he was ready to admit, he suddenly found himself with nothing to say. Falling back on a comfortable subject, he said, "how’s Billy?"

"Fine. He’s going to be back from his grandparents next week."

Nodding, he said, "reckon we’ll have...to plan a...fishing trip...soon as I can...get out of... here."

"He mentioned that very thing in his letter, but please don’t feel any sort of obligation to him for it. I wouldn’t want you to push yourself." She thought back to the first time the handsome leader of their peacekeepers had taken her son on a fishing trip. He had shown up, arm in a sling, and rode out of town toward the fishing hole, Billy tucked in front of him on the saddle. She had fretted that he needed to rest, but Chris had assured her that taking Billy off for a day of fishing was just what he needed. It had seemed to be the truth, they had returned just before sundown, soaked and smelling of fish. And both of them had seemed completely content with life. Indeed, Chris Larabee had seemed to fill a void in her son’s life that not even his grandfather could fill.

"Thank you, Chris," she hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was.

"For what?"

"You’ve...you’ve become very important in Billy’s life...someone he can look up to. He needs that – "

"No! He...can’t...not look up...to..." Larabee’s eyes widened, a look of something very close to fear crossed his face.

Puzzled, Mary said, "Chris, there are things in your past that are perhaps best left there, but since you’ve been here you’ve –"

"No! Mary...don’t make...me out to be...some...something I’m not. He’s got the... Judge...and...his papa...to look up...to...not me..."

"Chris, don’t be so hard on yourself. " Mary Travis had been prepared for denial, but not such a display of emotion from the gunslinger. "You have many fine qualities that–"

"NO!" he repeated even more adamantly. He was becoming agitated, his breathing growing labored, his face pale. "He can’t...look up...to me...just be...friends..." he leaned back heavily on the pillows, trembling.

Alarmed, the widow Travis leapt to her feet and hurried from the room to search for the healer. To her relief he was coming up the stairs.

"Mary, what is it?" Jackson bounded up the last few steps.

"Chris...he’s having trouble...trouble breathing."

Rushing past her, the ex-slave hurried into his clinic. Inside he found Chris Larabee almost blue, gasping as he fought to get air into his lungs. The man was shaking so hard that the dishware on his tray was clinking together. Hurriedly putting the tray aside Nathan sat next to the gunman and gently lifted him to a sitting position. Leaning the blond against his shoulder, he checked him out as best he could.

"Chris, just try ‘n take slow, easy breaths. Nice ‘n slow...that’s it. Now, you hurtin’ anywhere?"

Larabee shook his head. He hurt, but no worse than he had been hurting. How could he explain that it was not his body, but his heart that ached? The thought of Billy Travis looking up to him as some sort of role model quite simply terrified the man. How could he allow the boy to see him as someone deserving of respect? Chris Larabee could not even respect himself. Especially now...after the horrible mistakes he had made with Ella Gaines. A man ignorant enough to bed the bitch that had killed his family...

"Chris!" Jackson yelled the name for the third time. Whatever was going on with the blond was causing him to nearly convulse as his breathing constricted once more. "Chris, you’ve got to settle down...c’mon now, settle down."

Slowly Larabee fought to comply. It was nearly ten minutes before Nathan felt safe enough to lower the other man to the bed. Color was beginning to return to his face, although it was still too pale; at least the blue tinge was gone. Picking up a rag, he dampened it and began bathing the man’s face. Larabee’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. Reaching out, he gripped Jackson’s arm. "I’m...okay..." He rasped out.

"What happened?"

Unwilling to go into the real reason, the blond said only, "don’t know...reckon I...ate... too fast...or something." It was a transparent lie.

"Well, you better take it easy, or you’re goin’ back on mush." Nathan knew he’d get nothing out of the man until he was ready to share it.

"I’ll...be careful..." Going back on a diet of mush was preferable to bringing the thoughts – and fears–that had brought on the spell in the first place.

Finally getting Chris calmed and back to an, albeit fitful, sleep, Jackson stepped onto the porch outside his clinic. As he suspected, Mary Travis was waiting there.

"Ma’am."

"Is he alright?"

"Yes’m, I reckon he’ll be fine."

"I was...I don’t..." the usually unflappable newspaper woman was on the verge of tears, something the man had only seen when her sone had been endangered.

Putting a big hand gently on her shoulder, the ex-slave said, "he’s calmed down an’ restin’ now, Miz Travis. Ain’t no reason t’ worry."

Nodding, the woman said, "I...uh...I had better get back to work." With that she turned and hurried down the stairs.

Mary Travis was conspicuously absent during the next two days. Inez began delivering Chris’ meals and helping out with the convalescing man. Chris’ mood had darkened since Mary’s last visit and, coupled with his growing frustration at being on his back for so long, he was not a pleasant person to be around. Finally Nathan had dealt with the grousing man long enough.

Enlisting Josiah’s help he prepared to clean the injured man up. The preacher took on the chores of shaving Chris and scrubbing his hair, things that had been ignored. Larabee complained at every step but the older man simply ignored him and continued his work. Finally satisfied that he had done his best, he sat back with a smile.

"There, at least you won’t give the townspeople a fright now."

Chris glared at the big man, but then Josiah’s words filtered through the anger. "What are you talking about?"

"Nathan didn’t tell you?"

"Nope," the healer said from where he was mixing something in a cup. "Figured I’d let him stew for awhile before I told him." The man’s face split in a wicked grin.

"Funny man..." Chris glared at him.

Deflecting the blond’s attention, Josiah said, "Nathan says he figures it’d do you some good to be outside a bit...reckon it’d do everyone some good," he clasped a gentle hand on Chris’ shoulder. "Just for half an hour, though, and you’re going to have to stay put. Now, I’m gettin’ ready to spell J.D. at the jail so he can go to lunch, so I figure I’ll put y’ where I can keep an eye on you."

Chris’ elevating mood was tempered when he realized that this would put him near the Clarion’s office...and Mary Travis. He wanted to insist on another place, but was not ready to explain himself, so he kept his mouth shut.

"You ready?"

"Yeah..." Larabee said softly. With the big man’s help, he managed to get to his feet. Leaning heavily on the ex-preacher, he made his way slowly from the room, down the stairs, and along the boardwalk. Several townspeople greeted them as they moved slowly toward their destination. Chris let Josiah handle the greetings; he had enough to do in simply keeping one foot in front of the other. By the time they reached the chair across the street from the jail Chris Larabee was exhausted. He dropped heavily to the chair, panting and shaking. Nathan appeared with blankets and a tall crate. They sat the crate up so that they could stretch Chris’ legs across it, and covered it with a blanket. They draped a second blanket over his legs. A third was wrapped around his shoulders.

"Look...like...an...old...man..." he grated out.

With a chuckle, Jackson said, "yep, reckon y’ do. But leastways you’re outside. You wanna stay out here a spell them blankets better stay where they are, too."

The glare Chris favored the other men with did little to faze them. As Josiah crossed the street to the jail, Nathan made to return to the clinic. It did not escape Larabee’s notice that the healer stopped long enough to step inside the door of the newspaper. He had no doubt that the other man was requesting Mary’s assistance in watching out for him. He wondered idly what she would say in return.

To the gunslinger’s surprise Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington rode by a short time later. Both men broke into wide grins at the sight of their leader and friend sitting on the walkway. Acknowledging him with a wave, they hurried toward the livery.

Settling back, the blond tried to relax and simply watch the town. In the back of his mind though, thoughts of Mary Travis made it difficult to enjoy the outing. He knew he needed to talk to her; to apologize and explain what was bothering him. He had no idea as to what to say though; how to begin. How could he make her understand that no matter how much the Travis family came to mean to him he could never allow them to get too close. It was just too dangerous. His was not the type of life for a family to share.

But then it quickly became too late to think about what he would say. Hearing his name, Chris Larabee turned to find Mary Travis standing nearby. He sat mutely as she brought him an envelope...a letter. Taking it slowly, he looked at the front. He recognized the handwriting, a cold chill coursing through him as he opened it with stiff movements. Mary was still standing there, as if she too knew who had written him. As he unfolded the paper inside, something fell onto the blankets. Reacting without thinking he picked up the object...it was a picture. He and Ella Gaines, on the night of the party. The party that was meant as not only a celebration to thank the other men for helping to rid the woman of Handsome Jack Avril’s unwanted attention, but to celebrate the beginning of their life together. He forgot everything else as his mind slipped back to that night. It had begun with hope and ended in pain. Not only the physical pain of being shot by Avril the next morning, but the emotional pain of knowing – finally knowing – why Sarah and Adam had died.

It was because of him.

It had been his fault.

A slight noise caught his attention and he looked up to see Mary still standing there, a look of hurt on her beautiful face. He wanted to explain, but what could he say? Please don’t care about me, you’ll only end up dead? Don’t let your son see me as someone to look up to, or you’ll find him laying in the street one day with a bullet in his gut? How did he start?

"Mary..." He called her name as she began to turn away. She turned back, the hurt still there, mixed with something else. A pleading look; begging him to tell her what had happened between them. He looked away, looked down. What could he say? Nothing. He could say nothing. Mary returned to her office, leaving Chris to read the message that Ella had sent him.