Haunted Heart
A Gunsmoke Story
By Amanda
(MAHC)
Chapter Six: A Bottle of Bourbon and
Two Full Glasses
POV: Hannah
Spoilers:
“The Bullet;” “Hostage!;” “
Rating: PG
(Teen)
Disclaimer:
Not my characters.
Leaning
against the open swinging doors of the
Doc had
left the jail too soon to have tended to any serious wounds, so the marshal
must not have been badly injured, even though he looked mighty rough. She remembered the clues Kitty had suggested
to indicate if his back and leg were bothering him. This time, though, what she had seen provided
considerably more evidence than pressed lips and a tight jaw.
As her gaze
followed the marshal’s two best friends, she considered what she had learned of
Matt Dillon in the seven months she had been in Dodge. First impressions weren’t always the most
accurate, she knew, but in this case, very little had occurred to change her
opinion about the lawman. Past the
obvious physical attributes – and there were plenty – he possessed the courtesy
of a gentleman, the honesty of a preacher, the courage
of a soldier, the wisdom of a judge, and the skills of a gunslinger. Not for the first time, she wondered why
Kitty had really left, wondered if her own suspicions were anywhere close to
being true. If they were, by now –
Sighing,
she eased the doors closed and stepped back down onto the floor of the saloon,
her eyes just catching the quick turn of Floyd’s head. He had been watching her as she watched Doc
and Festus.
Making a
sudden decision, she tossed a nod toward an empty table – it was early enough
that most tables were empty – and said, “Bring a bottle of rye, Floyd, and join
me.”
If that
request surprised him, he didn’t show it.
In fact, it almost seemed as if he had expected the invitation. In a moment, they were both seated and
enjoying the first sip of the liquor.
Hannah noted that Floyd waited for her to start the dialogue.
After a
moment’s consideration to give her brain a chance to change its mind, Hannah
leaned back in the chair and studied the glass in front of her. “You’ve been around Dodge for a while,
haven’t you, Floyd?”
He
nodded. “I have. Not with the Long Branch the whole time,
though. I just became head barkeep after
Sam died.”
“But you’ve
been in town?” she confirmed.
“Sure.”
“Did
everybody – well, did many people know about – about the marshal and Kitty?”
Floyd
snorted a laugh. “’Bout all of
“If
everybody knew, then why – “
“I always
figured the marshal was tryin’ to protect Miss
Kitty. Didn’t want her to be used by any
of his enemies – and he has plenty just waitin’ to
get their revenge on him. Sometimes just
for roustin’ ‘em out of a
saloon. But mostly for
sending ‘em to prison. It’s a sure bet he don’t sit with his back
to the door.”
What a
burden to carry, she thought sadly. How
tormented you could become, knowing at any time, at any place, someone might be
waiting to kill you. But he didn’t seem
tormented. Grimacing, she amended in her
mind that he didn’t seem tormented by the
possibility of dying. There was,
however, definitely torment from a different source.
“So
everyone knew, did they? How?”
“What do ya’ mean?”
“I mean
how’d everyone know? Kitty said – I
mean, I heard they were discreet.”
Again,
Floyd chuckled. “Well, I suppose that’s
a relative term. They were careful, I
guess. Especially in
public.”
She
wondered how much he knew about them when they weren’t in public.
“Ya’ can’t hide somethin’ that’s
all over ya’, though.” At her lifted brow, he continued. “The way they looked at each other, the way
she would lay her hand on his arm, the way –” He shrugged. “’Course, in my position, I may have seen a
little more than most people.”
The sudden
pink to his cheeks let her know he had seen quite a bit more. “In the past few years, they haven’t been
exactly subtle. When he took that bullet
in the back and Doc loaded him up on the train to
Hannah’s
eyes widened. “Bullet
in the back?”
“’Bout
three years ago. Almost
paralyzed him. Doc got it
out. That’s all I know, but I figure
there was more to it than that. He tries
not to let on, but you can see it still bothers him from time to time. Anyway, he was laid up for a few weeks; then
he up and went down into
“He’s had a
few injuries, has he?” Of course, Kitty
had already indicated that.
This time
it was Floyd’s eyes that grew wide. “Oh,
Miss Hannah, I don’t suppose even Ol’ Doc’s kept
count of how many bullets he’s dug outta the
marshal.”
Well, that
certainly explained the lawman’s pain.
After hearing from Kitty and now Floyd about the abuse Dillon’s big body
had endured, she wondered how the man was even walking at all.
By this
time, Floyd had warmed to his subject and continued, his eyes looking over her
shoulder and into the past. “’Course,
after Jude Bonner, nobody had any doubts about him and Miss Kitty.”
“Jude
Bonner?’ She’d never heard of him, but
the ominous tone of his voice told her his tale would not be pretty.
The
barkeeper’s face changed, and she was shocked to see black hate darken those
normally pleasant features as he launched into a terrible, heartbreaking
story. Tears welled in her eyes when he
told about what had happened to “the marshal’s woman,” and she remembered
Kitty’s simple statement to her: “Things have – happened – to me because of who and what he is. Bad things.” As
the horrors of the event unfolded, she decided that Kitty had quite a command
of understatement.
Hannah
could not keep the horror from her face as Floyd related the details of the
ordeal, of the scene there on
“Dear
Lord,” she whispered, nausea boiling in her throat.
Floyd’s
eyes were still seeing past her, still reliving that evening. “When the marshal got back, he didn’t say a
word, just ran up Doc’s stairs. He
stayed with her all night. We didn’t
know if she was dead or alive. Next mornin’, he stepped out onto the landing at the top of the
stairs. Miss Hannah, I ain’t never
seen such a look on anybody’s face as I seen on his.”
She could
not begin to imagine.
“If Jude
Bonner had been standing there, I don’t doubt the marshal would have torn him
to pieces with his bare hands.”
“What’d he
do?” Obviously, since Matt Dillon wasn’t
serving a life sentence for murder in the state prison, he didn’t kill Bonner –
at least not in cold blood.
“Well, he
stood there a minute, long enough for most of us ta’
see he wasn’t wearin’ his badge any more.”
She tried
to picture Matt Dillon without that piece of metal on his chest, had trouble
doing it. The symbolism of his taking it
off was not lost on her. “He went after
him,” she realized.
“He
did. He went after him not as the
marshal, but as – as a man.” Floyd
opened his eyes wider to emphasize his approval of Dillon’s actions.
Maybe he did kill him, Hannah re-assessed.
“He rode
out by himself, but Festus and Newly – then the most
of the town – rode out after him. Sam
told a few of us ta’ stay at the saloon in case any
of Bonner’s gang tried to come back around.”
“Did he –
did he catch him?” She wasn’t sure if
she wanted him to or not.
“He caught
him. Sam said when they reached them he
and Bonner had ‘bout near beat each other ta’ death,
and the marshal was fixin’ ta’
smash in that bastard’s skull with a big old rock.”
“And?”
Hannah prodded, enthralled despite herself, halfway
hoping Dillon had performed the execution right there.
Floyd
sighed. “Festus stopped him. Sam reckoned it was a near thing.”
With a
disturbing pang of disappointment, she asked, “What about Kitty?”
The
blackness had lightened in his face and he almost smiled. “She’s a strong woman.” Hannah heard the
admiration in his tone. “Somehow, she
recovered.” Shaking his head, he added,
“I don’t figure the marshal let her get more’n ten
feet away from him or Sam for months. Drove her crazy.” But
he quickly grew serious again. “You
could see it shook him pretty good – and there ain’t
too much that can shake Matt Dillon.”
“What he
had always feared,” she mused.
“Yes, ma’am. I reckon it was.”
“And yet,
after all that – now she’s left. I don’t
understand.”
“You and me both.” His eyes grew
sad. “Seems like
they’d already been through the worst.”
Her
thoughts drifted again to Kitty’s fears, to her supposed reasons for
leaving. “The marshal’s arm – how bad
was it?”
“Bad enough. From what Doc said, he couldn’t
use it at all right after the shooting.”
“It seems
fine now.”
A dubious
brow lifted. “I suppose. Don’t guess he’s had to outdraw anyone
recently. At least not
in town.”
“You figure
someone will come gunning for him?” she asked.
Shrugging,
Floyd said, “They always do.”
“Can he
take them?”
“Before,
maybe, but – “
Hannah
nodded in understanding. “Before his arm was hurt.”
But Floyd
shook his head. “Before
Miss Kitty left.”
Keeping her
voice low so that only he could hear, she said, “He loved her very much.”
The
bartender nodded, his gaze drifting toward the doors as if he could see across
to the jail. “He still does.”
The stark
statement struck her with its simplicity.
“He still does.”
Well, that
did it. She had made a promise to Kitty
six months ago, a promise she had questioned as soon as she had laid eyes on
Matt Dillon, a promise she now knew she could no longer keep.
With a deep
breath and click of her tongue, Hannah pushed up from the table and walked
behind the bar. “Thanks for the talk,
Floyd.”
His eyes
followed her movement, brow questioning.
“Sure.”
Reaching
under the counter, she pulled out the very best bottle of bourbon they sold,
gathered two shot glasses in her other hand and marched toward the doors. “If I land out in the middle of Front Street
in a couple of minutes, drag me back in here, will ya’?”
she threw out as she stepped into the daylight, not waiting to hear Floyd’s
response.
A couple of
folks watched her curiously as she crossed the street. She ignored them.
Pausing
just briefly at the door, she took a breath and eased it open, not sure what
she might find, ready to back out if necessary, but a little too nervous to
speculate about what might constitute “necessary.” Although she had never been inside the
jailhouse, she’d peeked in the windows before, out of simple curiosity, and she
recalled that there was single iron bed to the left. The condition he was in when stumbled through
that door, she didn’t expect to find him anywhere else.
Sure
enough, as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she saw the long, solid frame
sprawled out on the mattress, legs stretching all the way to the edge and a
little past, one arm flung out over the side.
Quietly, she closed the door and set the bottle and glasses on the table
between the marshal and her. Then, she
stepped closer to study him for a moment.
Since it
was not his practice to frequent the
She figured
he had literally collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to clean up at all from
the trail. He hadn’t even taken the time
to remove his gun belt. A three-days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw, dust and grime
smudged his forehead. There was a cut
just below his left eye and a couple of raw scrapes reddening his cheek. The knuckles of the hand that rested on his
stomach were torn and bloody. Slim
Gallagher had apparently not gone down without a fight.
Even though
she had never had children of her own, Hannah felt the unaccustomed motherly
urge to brush his hair back and whisper soothing words, trying to comfort him
in some way, to provide a balm for the pain.
Instead, she remained still, watching him. After a few minutes, her perusal was
interrupted by a groan. Sweat beaded on
his upper lip and forehead, his brow came down and his head turned one way,
then the other.
“No – “ he mumbled, legs moving slightly.
Unsure
whether to wake him or not, Hannah watched as his agitation deepened, listened
as his groans grew louder. He grew more
restless, arms pushing through the air, as if he were fighting someone. When he started to thrash, she began to worry
that he would injure himself.
Then, in an
agonized voice, he cried out, “Kitty!
No! Let her go – God, please,
no!”
Spurred
into action, the saloon owner reached out to him, touched his shoulder to shake
him from the nightmare, to rescue him from the distress he was in.
That was a
mistake.
With
reflexes so fast she wasn’t sure she had even seen them, his hand jerked the
gun from the holster, and she found herself staring down the end of a Colt, its
barrel black and cold and terrifying.
“Marshal!”
she yelled, heart pounding harder and louder than she could ever remember.
He half-sat, his eyes wild, his mouth open, his breath coming fast.
She tried to look at the trigger to see if he was about to pull it, but
her gaze remained locked down that long, deadly tunnel.
“Marshal,”
she tried again, her voice cracking.
His chest
heaved, his eyes bore into hers, his teeth gritted. Dear God, he was going to kill her.
Somehow,
finding her voice once more, she said softly, “Matt.”
For a long
moment, the gun stayed trained directly on her heart, but finally, slowly,
those blue eyes focused on her face. The
steady hand that held the weapon began to tremble, a move that spread to the
rest of his arm. He dropped the gun and
fell back onto the bed, groaning either in emotional or physical pain – she
wasn’t sure which.
“Oh God,”
she heard him gasp as his head hit the pillow.
When she
was pretty sure she was not going to faint or throw up, she pulled up a chair
and sat, her own hands none too steady.
“Marshal?” she asked quietly, gently.
Throwing an
arm over his eyes, he mumbled, “Go away.”
Putting on
a much braver front that she could actually back up, she ignored him and said,
“I, uh, I brought you a present.”
For a
moment, he ignored her right back, but after another minute, his arm lifted and
he opened one eye. In answer to his
unspoken question, she nodded toward the bottle. The amber liquid sat invitingly on the table,
but he only groaned again and shook his head.
“No
thanks.”
Her
thoughts brought back the image of him walking across
“I figured
you might could use a drink,” she told him, forcing
the casual tone.
“Go away,”
he repeated, the words a little more precise this time.
“It’s my
best bourbon,” she added pointedly, wondering if he would catch on.
After a
couple of beats, the arm came down slowly, and he pulled his body up onto his elbows,
his gaze searching her face. “What?”
“Bourbon.”
Their eyes
met, and in that connection, she saw sudden comprehension, watched as the
emotion flooded him, as his cheeks flushed and his eyes glistened. She saw him take a breath, swallow, and take another
breath.
When he had
regained control, he began, in a weary voice, “I’m not gonna discuss – “
“Oh, I’m
not here to talk about anything,” she assured him, having to glance away from
his doubtful squint. “I just figured I’d
drop by and be neighborly and show my appreciation for ya’
helpin’ me out with the rowdies at my place.”
My place. Damn. She bit her tongue at those last two words
when he flinched.
“That’s my
job,” he told her, voice flat.
“Well,
there’s doin’ your job and there’s doin’ your job. I ain’t never
seen a lawman that does his job like you.”
She raised her eyebrows to emphasize how much she meant the words.
Sitting up
completely now, and swinging his legs to the floor, he dropped his head and ran
a hand through his hair. Scooting the
chair closer to the table, Hannah grasped the bottle and opened it.
“Look,
Hannah, I appreciate it, but – “
“Kitty
Russell loves you.” Well, she had meant
to bring that up with a little more finesse.
His head
jerked up, anger firing from those eyes.
“Damn it, I told you I’m not gonna discuss – “
“Who’s discussin’? I’m just
talkin’.”
He stared
at her, nonplussed. Before he could
respond, she continued, “You’re a fool, Matt Dillon.”
That point
didn’t help his mood. He stood suddenly,
and she bit back a gasp as the impact of just how tall he was hit her. But the pain that apparently swept over him
claimed some of that anger. His teeth
clacked together in a hard grimace as he reached behind to brace his back.
“I’ve –
been – told that before,” he grunted past the discomfort.
“Well, I’m
just sayin’ that that woman loves you with all her
heart.”
Maybe it
was the pain, maybe it was the exhaustion, but she thought she saw cracks in
the shield he had erected. Instead of
throwing her out into the street, he just muttered, “Not anymore.”
Not one to
waste an opening, no matter how narrow, Hannah, quickly opened the bottle and
poured a generous amount of bourbon into each glass. “Sit.
You look like you need to.”
Indeed, he
swayed precariously. To her surprise, he
followed orders, his body falling heavily into the offered chair.
“Listen,
Marshal, this is not really any of my business – “
“You’re
damn right, it’s not,” he snapped.
Now that
she’d jumped in after him, Hannah was damned if she would let him drown. “But that woman is desperately in love with
you and you’ve got to find her.
Especially now that – “ She stumbled to a halt,
unwilling to tell him something she didn’t know for certain herself.
His eyes
narrowed. “Now that
what?”
Damn. Not ready or willing to share with him her
speculations, she played her trump card and said boldly, “I know about Jude
Bonner.”
He stood
again, this time so hard and fast that his thighs caught the table and almost
upended it. She had never seen such fury
in any human being’s eyes before, and she wondered if this were the face Floyd
and the others had seen when Dillon stood at the top of those stairs,
determined to find Jude Bonner and kill him.
Unable to keep from shrinking back, she held her breath.
Hatred
clashed with pain, twisting the handsome features. “Never say
that name again,” he spit out between clenched teeth. “Never.”
Later, as
she replayed out the scene in her mind, she realized she must have been crazy
even to remain in there, much less keep pushing at the furious man. Nevertheless, that’s just what she had done.
“I heard
you went after him,” she pressed, convinced, even in the face of his anger,
that he wouldn’t hurt her.
He turned
away, his hands clenching into fists. Well,
she was pretty sure he wouldn’t hurt her, anyway. “I said – “
“You left
your badge and went after him because you were Kitty’s man, not because you
were the marshal. You wanted to kill
him.”
The fists
shook as he stood there, and she watched the motion spread to his entire body, saw those broad shoulders quake violently.
“You wanted
to kill him,” she repeated, somehow needing to know.
The big
body shuddered, and the fuse she had lit finally reached power and
exploded. Spinning around, he slammed his
hands down on the table, leaned his weight on them and stared at her, his face
only inches from hers.
“Yes! Damn it, yes!” he snarled. “I wanted to
kill him. I wanted to kill that son of a
bitch for what he had done! I wanted to
beat the hell out of him until I smashed him into the pile of worthless shit
that he was! I wanted to tear him limb
from limb for what Kitty – “
He choked
on her name, his eyes widening in horror at the realization of what he had just
done, of what he had just said, and who he had said it to. Stumbling back, he fell hard against the
brick wall of the jail office, chest heaving, eyes closed.
Stunned,
Hannah could only watch, mouth open, blood surging, heart pounding. Dear God, what had she done?
They
remained where they were for at least five whole minutes, Hannah sitting at the
table, the marshal slumped against the wall. Neither of them moved, neither said a
word. Only the steady ticking of the
clock gave any indication that time moved on.
Finally,
her voice barely audible, Hannah said, “You were ready to give up the law for
vengeance. Why couldn’t you give it up
for love?”
He didn’t
answer right away, didn’t even give evidence that he had heard her. But after a few seconds, he slipped his right
hand into the front pocket of his pants.
When he removed it, he held a small bag, blue velvet and elegant. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed it
onto the table in front of her. His eyes
lifted to stare out toward the jail windows.
Slowly,
almost reverently, Hannah let her fingers inch toward the bag, tugging open the
strings that secured the top and emptying the contents. A gold band rolled onto the wood, taking her
breath with both its simple, delicate beauty and with its obvious intent. Holding it carefully, she raised her gaze to
look at him, understanding too much now.
“You could,” she realized in a whisper. “You could give it up for love. You were going to after that last trip.”
He didn’t
answer. Didn’t have
to. Oh, Lord, what irony.
“You have
to find her,” Hannah urged, suddenly desperate that Kitty know, that she
understand what she had done. “You have
to tell her.”
His head
dropped and he groaned, sinking back onto the bed, forearms resting on his
thighs. “It’s too late,” he mumbled, his
anger spent, leaving only exhaustion and despair in its place. “She’s gone.”
“You have
to look for her.”
His chest
jerked in something that might have been a humorless laughed. “What do ya’ think
I’ve been doin’ for six months?” One hand lifted, tugging through his
hair. “I’ve looked – I’ve looked in
She
hesitated only a moment on her next words.
“She didn’t tell me straight out, but –– but I think she was going
home.” She paused, waiting for him to
jump at her revelation, the city’s name on her lips.
But he only
shook his head and looked down at his hands.
“
Well, of
course. She wondered why on earth she
hadn’t realized he would know immediately that she might go there. But if he’d checked already, and hadn’t found
anything –
“I sent a
telegram to the chief of police six months ago.” His voice fell off as he added, “And five
months ago, and four months – “
“Nothing?”
Hannah asked, confused. She had been
positive Kitty was there.”
He shook
his head again. “No Kitty Russell. No Kathleen Russell. I had him check all records, even – “ He swallowed. “—
even death certificates.”
Resisting
the urge to place her hand on a wide shoulder, she peeled back the layers of
memory, searching for any clue she could give him, any key to unlock the door
that barred him from her. A new idea
crept in, one she at first dismissed, then slowly considered.
“What if – “ she began, then stopped, uncertain.
He
continued to stare down for a few moments.
Then, as if he had just heard her, he raised his eyes. “What if what?”
The glimmer
of hope he allowed to touch the blue gaze was almost painful. Hannah felt the weight of importance on what
she might suggest.
“What if –
she used another name?”
He pressed
his lips together for a moment before he responded. “I’ve tried that, but it could be anything,”
he murmured, weariness creeping into his tone.
She wished suddenly she hadn’t said anything. “I’ve used names of some of the girls who’ve
worked for her, names of folks from Dodge.
And, of course, her own name – her ‘maiden’ name, so to speak – “
Abruptly,
his body jerked straighter on the bed, and he lifted his eyes to her. “No – “
“Marshal?”
she asked, alarm and excitement quickening her pulse.
“She might
have used – but would she want – even though she – “
Hannah
couldn’t decide if his stumbling words were encouraging or not. He’d been through a lot, after all. Maybe he needed to lie down again. But before she could suggest it, he pushed up
from the bed, letting the grimace show freely, too focused on his thoughts to
worry about it.
“Thank you,
Hannah,” he said, rising to his full height, energy firming his moves in a way
she hadn’t seen in months. And he hadn’t
even had a drop of bourbon.
She frowned
up, her neck craning to look at him. “What for?”
The smile
that curved his lips was genuine. It was
the first time she’d seen it, and she couldn’t get over how beautiful it
was. “For trusting
me.”
Any doubts
she might have harbored dissolved. “So
you’re goin’ to
“I have
another telegram to send first, but, yeah, I’m goin’
to
“What about
the War Department?” she reminded, knowing that in the past he had dutifully
waited until he had an assignment before going out.
The eyes
that look back at her burned with purpose.
She had a feeling she was looking into the eyes of the real Matt
Dillon. “To hell with
the War Department.”
Open-mouthed,
she could only watch as he stuffed his boots back on and buckled his gun belt
with the smooth dexterity of an expert.
But she had to catch her breath at the way he strode – strode – to the door, the renewed focus
overriding the old pain. Every move he
made spoke of strength. As he lifted his
hat from the hook, she rose from her chair and laid a hand on his arm, turning
him back to her.
“Marshal,”
she began, then took a breath, wondering if she should
do it, if she should share her suspicions with him, suspicions that had nagged
her for half a year. But again, she
wasn’t sure, couldn’t tell him for certain.
What if she was wrong?
After a
beat, she smiled at him and finished, “Be careful.”
He
hesitated, eyes narrowing, but she kept quiet, just nodding in
reassurance. Finally, he returned the
nod and was gone, leaving Hannah to her own thoughts,
a bottle of bourbon and two full glasses her only companions.
If her
suspicions were true, he’d find out soon enough.
Chapter Seven:
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
“There Was Never a Horse;” “The Badge;” “The Disciple”
Rating:
PG-13
Disclaimer:
Matt and Kitty are not my characters, although I did create a few new ones for
this story.
XXXX
The cards
slid from her fingers with long-practiced dexterity, quick and smooth. If she had any reason to cheat, she could
have done it without a single person in the room being any the wiser. But she was dealing straight tonight – and only
for a couple of hours, she had promised herself. Already, she was feeling the need – both
physically and emotionally – to get home, or at least to get to the Creole
townhouse that Ira owned on
Of course,
she would not even have considered stepping onto the New Orleans Lady so soon, except that they were in a bind what with
Michel Rousseau coming down with The Grippe on their busiest night. Ira had tried to talk her out of it, had
assured her they could make do without their main dealer, but this was her
investment, too, and, besides, it was only two hours. But her body kept telling her those two hours
were already up.
Even though
the House had won most of the hands, her table seemed to draw the biggest
crowds, mostly of men of varied ages who took more interest in the dealer than
in the game. Accustomed to male
attention for most of her life, she barely gave the hovering gents a nod,
having no desire to entice.
“Everything all right, Kitty?”
The quiet
voice drew her gaze up to find Ira Pennington’s soft brown eyes frowning down
at her, concern playing in them. His
raven hair was slicked back in the style of a gentleman, his matching mustache
smartly waxed. She smiled fondly at him,
forever grateful for his kindness toward her.
“Sure.”
“Not too
tired?”
“I’m okay.”
He leaned
down, his shoulder brushing hers. “I’ll
call for a carriage. You shouldn’t have
come tonight.”
“I’m fine,
really,” she insisted, but her words sounded thin. At Ira’s raised brow, she capitulated. “All right. I’ll call it an evening after this next
hand.”
His smile
told her he would make sure she followed through, but he didn’t need to
worry. Neither her body nor her heart
would let her stay long.
The riverboat
had been hers and Ira’s for three months, and had proven itself
profitable. In the beginning, when she
was still able to move about easily, she had been a familiar – and popular –
presence, traveling up the
She sighed,
forcing back the melancholy that invaded her with each reminder of him. It had been over half a year,
almost eight months in fact, since she had left Dodge, but the pain was just as
sharp, just as intense as it had been that first day. A strand of steel tied her to Dodge,
un-severable, even though she had tried desperately to cut the link. That part of her life lay behind her, but the
remnants clung like beggar lice.
Despite her
efforts not to let it, her mind wrapped around those last memories, that last
time. She thought frequently of her talk
with Hannah, telling the new saloon owner about wondering every time she and
Matt were together if it would be the last time. Now there had been a last time, and she
couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop feeling him around her, against
her, inside. She ached with the pleasure
and pain of that memory, clutching at it, treasuring each caress, each kiss,
each movement of his long, hard body against hers. She wondered if he remembered, too, wondered
if he thought of her often – or not at all.
Or if the hurt she had seen on his face that morning had suffocated the
love he had once breathed.
As the
months crept by and Ira left her alone long enough to let her thoughts wander,
they always flew to Matt, no matter how hard she tried to distract
herself. In the most torturous moments,
she wondered if he had found someone else, wondered if his new woman rubbed his
back at night, if she gave him bourbon to dull the ache, if she shivered when
he ran his long fingers up the insides of her thighs, if she cried out when he
touched her center, if she wrapped her legs around his waist when he sank deep
inside her. The agonizing visions
tormented her night after night as she lay torn between sleeplessness and
restless nightmares.
During the
day, she thought saw him on street corners or stepping out of carriages, but
closer looks revealed that the man was too short, too thin, too fat, too – too not Matt, and after her brain cleared,
she wondered what had ever made her think it could be him in the first place.
Ira had
been good to her, more than good, and she felt a little guilty that she hadn’t
been completely honest with him. But
what would it matter? She hadn’t been
honest with Matt, either. Occasionally,
she wondered why she hadn’t told him. It
might have made a difference. Then, she
reminded herself that she hadn’t wanted it to make a difference, didn’t want
him to stay out of obligation. And of
course, there was the danger. It was bad
enough that even as his woman she had been used to get at him. How much worse would it be for him to carry
the weight of a wife – and more? What
she had told Hannah was true: If something happened to a child of theirs
because of who he was, he would never forgive himself. The rest was true, too: Maybe she wouldn’t forgive him, either.
Matt Dillon
was a man driven to uphold the law, to do what was right, regardless of the
cost to himself.
She had realized that finally, had understood a few weeks too late that
the day she had dreamed of all those years – the day he turned in his badge –
would never come. He would live and die
a lawman, and while she could deal with him living as a lawman, it was that dying
part she couldn’t face anymore.
A thought
tickled her mind, one she entertained way too often. What if he were dead already? She had left partly for the very reason that
she couldn’t continue to live with the terror that he would be shot down right
before her eyes, or brought back into town in the back of a wagon, long, lean
body stiff with rigor mortis. She had
told herself she wouldn’t worry about that anymore, that it didn’t matter. But it did.
Would she open a newspaper one day and read that some tinhorn’s lucky
bullet had finally taken out the great Marshal Dillon? Would Doc send a telegram? Then she remembered that she hadn’t told Doc
where she’d be. In fact, she had taken
pains not to be easily traced. It
occurred to her from time to time to wonder if anyone had tried to find her. It was ironic that she chose the one name she
had waited years for, but had never been offered. Ironic that she’d be safest in
Anger
flooded her chest anew with the haunting thoughts. Damn him!
Damn Matt Dillon for what he had done to her. Damn him for burrowing into her heart and not
having the decency to climb out when she told him to. Damn him for his loyalty and dedication to
that damn badge. And damn him for leaving
her with a reminder so precious that she would never be able to forget him.
“Two pair! Aces and eights!”
Driven
suddenly from her thoughts, she looked up at the gambler to her left. His dark eyes held her, challenged her to
beat his hand. Glancing down, she spread
out her cards. A seven of clubs marred
the attempted straight. She had nothing.
“Dead man’s
hand wins,” she said, nodding toward him.
“Thanks,
Red,” he leered, his teeth showing white under a rakish mustache. “But I ain’t no dead man, and I’ll prove it to ya’.”
Although
her expression didn’t falter, she felt a twinge of irritation at the name. Only outlaws and no-a-counts called her
Red. Although there was the rare
occasion when Matt –
“How ‘bout you an’ me cuttin’ outta here someplace more private?”
The smile
still curving her lips, she returned, “Sorry, mister. I’m kinda busy
right now.”
“When ya’ get off?”
With you? she
thought. Never. “I said I’m sorry, mister.”
His easy
grin collapsed into a pout. “Come on,
Red. It’ll be quick.”
“Oh, I
don’t doubt that,” she shot back.
He flushed,
and dark rage swept over his face. Kitty
winced as he grabbed her wrist and squeezed.
“Stop it,” she ground out, her natural brass not intimidated by the
physical show of strength.
“I’ll stop
it when I’m good and ready. No riverboat
whore’s gonna insult Elliott Randolph and get away – “
But he
didn’t finish. Kitty felt his hand
squeeze tighter and looked down as another hand closed on top of it, a hand that covered the gambler’s and folded all the way
around it. A strong, long-fingered hand
that was very, very familiar. With a
cry,
“Oh my God.”
“No,
Kitty,” came the answer. “It’s just me.”
He stood
there, as tall and handsome as ever in his dark dress pants and gray jacket,
hat in the hand opposite the one that had just sent her aggressor flying. The sheer physical impact of his presence hit
her like a fierce
“You okay?”
She could
only nod, still rooted in place, her brain sifting through a dozen responses
but not managing to hang onto one. The
memory that had haunted her for eight months now returned,
hitting her with the full force of the pain and fear and anger of those last
moments they had spent together.
XXXX
She opened
her eyes to slits until she realized it was still dark outside. He had lit a far lamp, turning the flame low
so it gave only enough light in the room to keep him from stumbling into the
furniture. Lying still, she watched as
he slipped on his shirt then tucked it into his pants. His final move was to slide the right-draw
gun belt around his waist, and she thought grudgingly that it seemed to greet
him like an old friend. They had been so
focused on other things the night before that she had not noticed it was his
old belt. The sight pushed her heartbeat
faster. Surely he wasn’t still going out. Surely after last night he would wait.
She had
almost pleaded with him, had appealed to common sense. His arm wasn’t back to normal yet. She didn’t know if it ever would be, but she
didn’t tell him that. Surely, though, he
knew. Surely, he realized the
limitations of that serious injury.
Surely he could tell the difference after the sweat and pain he had put
himself through the past six months trying to rehabilitate it.
But he had
cheated, had countered her argument with the most powerful weapon he had: his
body. Her protests dissolved beneath his
lips; her reasoning disintegrated with his caress; her fears retreated at the
sight of his hard body eager for her.
She cursed herself for being weak, for letting her passions take
control, but she couldn’t stop the inevitable from happening.
But now, in
the hour before dawn, she realized nothing had changed.
“Matt?” she
asked, voice tight.
He
turned. “Hey.” Smiling, he sat gently on the bed next to her
and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.
“Go back to sleep.”
“What are
you doing?”
He
chuckled. “It’s morning, Kitty. I’m heading out. I’ll see you in a week or so.”
She sat
suddenly, completely unconcerned about the sheet falling from her bare
breasts. His eyes lowered involuntarily to
take in the sight.
“What do
you mean, you’re heading out?” She used
the tone that he knew all too well, and it was about the only thing that could
have shifted his attention.
“What?”
“You’re
still going?”
“Kitty, you
know I’m still going. Why would you
think – “
“After – after last night?” Nausea churned in
her stomach, and even though she had gotten used to that the past few weeks,
this time it was for a different reason.
A frown
drew his brow down. “Kitty, I’m not sure
what you mean. Last night – well, I
think you could tell how much I enjoyed last night, but what does it have to do
with me leaving – or not leaving?”
“I told you
I didn’t want you to go. I – I
practically begged you, made a fool of myself to get you to stay. Don’t you remember?”
Comprehension
flowed over his face. Sighing, he
stood. “Kitty, I have to go.”
Knowing him
well enough to realize he meant it, she quickly suggested, “Take Festus with
you.”
“I need him
here.” He reached out to caress her
arm. “I’ll be okay.”
A fury
whipped up by fear swept over her, and she jerked away from him. “You’ll be okay? Matt, how can you say that? How many times have you NOT been okay? How many times have I seen you ride back into
town – or more likely seen Buck bring you back into town – barely hanging onto
the saddle? Do you know how many?”
“Kitty – “
“And now –
you know that arm’s not back to normal, but there you go, big Marshal
Dillon. Nobody can take you, is that
what you think?”
“You know
what they say, Kitty. There was never a
horse – “
Not caring
if anyone beyond the walls of her bedroom heard, she yelled, “Oh, don’t give me that rubbish!
We’re not talking about a horse!
We’re talking about a man. About
you! You don’t think they can take
you? Well, they can! They can gun you down, rip their bullets
right through that stubborn heart of yours and then where will you be?” Rage enflamed her eyes so that they
practically shot their own bullets at him.
“Where will I be? Where will – “ She
stopped just in time, not wanting, even in her anger, to hold him that
way. “Damn you, Matt Dillon. When are you going to learn? When are you going to realize you’ve used up
your chances?”
“Kitty – “
Her
emotions almost in a frenzy, now, she lost herself in the anger and fear and
exhaustion of twenty years of watching him leave, of knowing he might not
return, of writhing in the anguish those nightmares brought. Unleashed, the passions exploded at him.
“No! You just go!
Just go, but don’t expect me to welcome you back. Kitty Russell isn’t just going to wait around
for you to stagger back in half torn up – or not at all. Get the hell out of here!”
Expression
battered, he made a final to attempt to reach out to her, but she pulled
away. Lips pressed tight, he shoved his hat
onto his head and opened the door. “I’ll
see you later, Kitty,” he said, but in that moment, she knew those would be the
last words she would hear from Matt Dillon.
XXXX
And now he
stood before her, and her heart shuddered under the combined assault of joy and
fury, of relief and resentment. The
familiar scent of soap and leather wrapped around her and tugged her toward
him. She found her voice finally, making
it as even as she could. “Matt.”
Taking a
breath, he straightened, hat still in hand, and stepped forward, bringing him
within inches of Kitty. She felt her
pulse jump, heard her heart pound, and she wondered if he was going to touch
her, or even kiss her – wondered if she could resist him if he did. But he didn’t make either attempt, just stood
there before her.
“You look
good, Kitty,” he said simply, but she knew him well enough to read more in his
eyes.
She didn’t
answer, her eyes doing their own looking from years of habit, seeing each new
scar, every additional scrape. He had
lost weight, she saw. His shirt hung
looser, his pants a little longer. His
face, though still handsome, seemed drawn, the long lines deeper, heavier. Looking up, she noted that his hair was just
as beautiful, just as thick and wavy, but more gray had encroached into the
rich brown. And it had only been eight
months since she left.
“How – how did you find me?”
“I’m a
lawman.”
As if she
had to be reminded. She let that
irritation lend her strength to overcome the urge to throw herself at him right
then. “No, I mean, how did you figure
out I was in
He almost
smiled. “Where else would you be?”
“But I – my
name – “
Eyes
widening, he flushed a little. “Yeah,
that took me a while,” he admitted, looking embarrassed at his uncharacteristic
lack of deduction. “Now that I think on
it, though, I guess I should have figured it out a long time ago.”
Before she
could respond, a movement to her left caught their attention, and she turned
just as Ira stepped in next to her, sliding a protective arm around her
shoulders. “Is this man bothering you,
Kitty?” he asked, voice dangerously courteous.
“No,” she
assured him quickly. “No. This is – “ Taking a
deep breath, she forced herself to do the introductions. “Ira Pennington, this is – Matt Dillon.”
Ira’s eyes
narrowed first at the marshal, then at her.
“Matt – Dillon?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her right.
“Marshal
Dillon,” she said, her eyes pleading with Ira not to say anything.
After a
moment, the smaller man nodded and let his arm drop to Kitty’s waist. “Marshal. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Looking
back at Matt, she saw the shadow cross his face, watched him glance between her
and Ira, perceived his comprehension of the situation – and winced at the
flicker of pain. Absently, his right
hand eased into his coat pocket and moved as if he were going to take out
something, but when he pulled the hand back, it was empty. Tossing his hat a
little, he cleared his throat and looked down.
When he looked back up, he inclined his head slightly toward Ira.
“No, I was
– just in town on business, and decided to – pay my respects to – an old
friend,” he said.
She felt
her heart break all over again, and barely kept herself from stumbling into his
arms and telling him everything, begging him to stay. But she knew she had to remain strong, had to
fight every impulse in order to stand there and let him go. Nothing had changed. She would not let him take her back to Dodge
just to wait for him to die or to wait for some outlaws bent on revenge to come
after his woman – or worse. It was
better for both of them this way.
At least
that’s what she kept trying to tell herself.
But it had been a lot easier when he was a thousand miles away.
“It – it
was good to see you again, Matt,” she managed.
“I’m sorry you can’t stay longer.”
It took a hard swallow to say the rest.
“Have – have a safe trip back to Dodge.”
He flinched
as if she had slapped him, and she had to bite her lip to keep the tears from
flowing. His expressive eyes bore into
hers, as if reading her, digging deep into her soul. Finally, with a heavy breath, he tugged his
hat back onto his head and nodded to her, emotions just as tight as his
lips.
“My
apologies if I – caused trouble,” he said, voice rigid. “Goodbye.”
He turned,
wide shoulders towering above every other man in the room, and walked toward
the door. Ira tightened his grip on her,
and maybe that was the only thing that kept her from tearing away and running
after the big lawman.
“Kitty,” he
asked tentatively, “is he – “
She could
only nod, not trusting her voice. She
watched as the tall body moved farther and farther away from her, out of her
life again just as quickly as he had come back in. If she could survive these few moments, if
she could live through the fresh rip in her heart, she might have a
chance. He was almost at the door,
almost out of sight. She had almost made
it. He was almost gone.
He was
almost gone! Involuntarily, her feet
stumbled forward, pulled by that steel strand that cut right through her
resolve. Confused, Ira hung onto her.
“Matt!” she
called, unable to stop herself.
He froze
for a moment, then turned, face guarded but expectant.
Before she
could reach him, though, Elliott Randolph stepped between them, having somehow
managed to drag himself to his feet, blood streaming from his nose, shoulders
hunched menacingly.
“All right,
mister,” he rumbled, “you think you’re a big man, do ya? Let’s see what you can do in a fair fight.”
Even past
her roiling emotions, Kitty almost laughed, almost felt sorry for
“Stay back,
Kitty,” Matt warned, eyes locked on
“I don’t
know who you think you are,” the gambler jeered, “but you’re gonna stay away
from my woman.”
“Now see
here – “ Ira began.
Matt’s brow
rose. “Seemed to me like ‘your woman’
was more interested in you stayin’ away from her,” he observed calmly.
That was
enough to provoke the gambler, and he lunged at the
Straightening
and pushing his hat back, Matt looked at her, his gaze cautious,
questioning. “Kitty – “
Before he
could finish, a flash of metal reflected off the cut glass chandeliers.
“Matt!” she
cried.
Spinning,
the marshal drew and fired, but the knife was already in the air. It sank into his left shoulder at the same
time
But she
thrust that from her head when she looked back up at Matt. Face contorting in pain, he clutched at the
protruding knife handle and staggered back.
A red stain had already begun to soak the material of his coat as he
dropped to his knees.
“Matt!”
Kitty screamed, tearing away from Ira and falling beside the big man as he
collapsed completely. Gently, she laid
her hands on either side of his face.
“Matt?”
“I’m –
okay, Kitty,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
“The hell
you are.”
Someone
called for a doctor – she thought it was Ira – and she hoped that some
physician had seen fit to gamble tonight.
Matt’s hand came up toward the wound, his body trying to find the source
of pain and stop it. She caught his
fingers in hers to keep him from doing more damage.
“Take it
easy, Cowboy,” she soothed, the endearment coming without effort. An uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu crept
through her veins; this was a much too familiar scene.
At her
voice, his eyes opened, their beautiful blue clouded
gray. “Kitty,” he murmured.
She
couldn’t help it. As much as she had
tried to forget him, as much as she had promised herself Matt Dillon was out of
her life, she couldn’t stop the swell of love that filled her breast. Leaning over, she kissed him softly on the
cheek and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Matt,” she said. “I’m here.
I’m here.”
A slight
smile, barely a twitch of his lips, responded to her assurances before
unconsciousness claimed him. Kitty sat
beside him, tears streaming down her face, hands brushing through his
hair. When a doctor arrived, she stayed
close enough to hold Matt’s hand. Even
if he couldn’t feel it, she could. Ira
returned, bent over her and looked at her curiously. She could only shake her head, not having
answers for him – for any of them.
Matt Dillon
had found her, had come for her once more.
And here she was again, sitting beside him, watching him bleed while a
doctor tried to patch him up. Damn it! Damn him!
And damn him again – because in that moment, she knew she couldn’t send
him away – but she couldn’t go back to the life she had before.
So she sat
there, holding his hand and praying that there was some answer out there, even
she if didn’t know what it was yet.
Chapter Eight: Other Things to Consider
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
“Hostage!;” “The Disciple”
Rating: PG
(Teen)
Disclaimer:
The main characters are not mine, although I did create a few guest stars along
the way.
XXXX
Matt Dillon
opened his eyes to the soft glow thrown by a low-burning oil lamp. The shadows cast on the walls of the room
played gently against gilt-framed portraits on one side and a large wardrobe on
the other. He lay still for a moment,
too many years of similar experiences cautioning him to gather quick
information about his situation before acting.
A deep burn in his left shoulder, a persistent buzz in his head, and a
general stiff ache down his body gave immediate signals that he had once again
survived some unpleasant incident.
Without
moving too much, he glanced down to discover that he lay on a large canopied
bed, covers drawn to his waist, bare-chested except for a tightly bound bandage
around the throbbing shoulder. Had he
been shot? He couldn’t wipe the fuzziness
from his brain enough to retrieve clear memories. Frowning, he pushed hard past the physical
pain in an effort to figure out what his last conscious thoughts were.
Kitty!
The name,
the vision, the touch swept over him as if she were actually in the room. Not shot – stabbed, he remembered, then. By some low-life gambler who had tried to
take advantage of her. He cursed himself
for dropping his guard, for letting himself think only
a couple of hard punches could have dispensed the man so easily. He was lucky to have escaped with only a
shoulder wound.
A creak
from the door cut into his replay of events, and he tried to push up to greet
whoever was entering the room, his heart beating a little faster in
anticipation that it might be Kitty. But
it wasn’t Kitty. Not even close. A dark man, medium height and mustached,
stepped in quietly, his eyes peering at Matt.
When he saw the patient was awake, he relaxed a bit and walked in more
boldly.
“Ah,
Marshal. I’m glad to see you are feeling
better.” The voice was laced with a rich
drawl, not the mixed heavy Cajun of so many
“Evening,”
Matt greeted. Then, as he remembered the
name, added, “Mister Pennington.”
The man
waved a hand casually. “Oh, call me
Ira. You gave us quite a scare for a
while there. I was beginning to wonder
if you were going to wake up at all.”
Matt
frowned, deciding that, first of all, he was not going to call this guy Ira, and second, he couldn’t have been
out that long. It had been evening when
he stepped on board The New Orleans Lady
looking for Kitty. A quick glance at the
window told him it was still evening.
“What – what time is it?”
Ira pulled
a gleaming gold pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Getting close to midnight
now.”
Midnight. That was only a few hours. He’d been out much longer than that many
times before. Grimacing, he did his best
to push up using his right arm, experiencing only mild success.
“Here,
now,” Ira cautioned, coming around to help.
“Careful. The doctor said you
needed to rest as much as possible.
You’ve had quite a hard time of it.”
Again,
Dillon frowned. These
“Well, you
do look better than you did a few days ago.”
“Yeah, well
– “ Days? Swallowing, Matt asked quietly, “How long
have I been out?”
Ira pursed
his lips and lifted his eyes, as if counting.
“Let’s see, you were stabbed Friday.
Today’s Monday. That makes three
days now.”
Three
days? “Just from a
knife wound?” Matt scoffed.
“Well,
Marshal, there are some who would consider being stabbed with a knife a relatively
significant thing, but the way Kitty talks about you, it doesn’t surprise me
that you’re not one of them.”
At the
mention of her name, Dillon’s thoughts abandoned how long he’d been out. There were more important issues here. “Where is
Kitty?” he asked.
Pennington’s
eyes shifted away so that he was no longer looking at the marshal. “She – uh – she’s busy right now. But I’ll tell her you’re awake.”
Busy? Matt let his gaze trail to the half-open
door, as if he might catch a glimpse of her passing by. Busy. Of course. He should
have known, should have realized. She
didn’t want to see him. She hadn’t asked
him to come, had she? And now he had
interrupted the life she had just begun.
A life without him. A life without the uncertainties and dangers
he had brought her for the past twenty years.
At least until he showed up, and then she was thrust right back into
gunplay and knives.
He nodded
at Ira and watched him for a moment, trying to size up this man Kitty had
chosen. Pennington was more cultured,
Matt figured, or at least more accustomed to the luxuries of life, more in a
position to give Kitty comfort and nice things.
He wondered uneasily if he could give her love, wondered if he already
had.
“This is
your house?” the marshal guessed.
Ira
nodded. “Yes.”
“Nice.”
The man
shrugged easily. “I have been fortunate
enough in life to be able to afford some of the finer things.”
Abruptly,
Matt decided he had to get out of there.
He couldn’t stay in a house that belonged to Kitty’s new lover, couldn’t
bear the thought of what might occur within that house between them, couldn’t
stand the mental images of her in another man’s arms. Throwing the covers back, he swung his long
legs over the side of the bed and sat, grunting against the various attacks of
pain throughout his body.
“Hey, there!” Ira protested, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Matt fought
the impulse to knock the hand away. “I
have to go,” he said, voice strained with the effort. “I’m obliged for your help.”
Pennington
looked confused. “But you’re in no shape
even to be sitting. The doctor said – “
“I’m sure
the doctor’s a fine man, but I need to be getting back to Dodge.”
“Kitty was
right. You are stubborn,” he noted,
hurrying back out of the room.
Matt scowled,
displeased that Kitty had shared anything about him with this man. Taking a bracing breath, he pushed to his
feet, nodding in satisfaction when he stayed there. But his success was short-lived. In only a few seconds, cold sweat broke out
over his skin, blood drained from his face, and his legs softened to
jelly. Fighting to keep his eyes
focused, he squinted about the room in search of his clothes, black spots
dancing in front of his vision, leading him down a dark tunnel. Disgusted with his body’s betrayal, it
occurred to him too late that perhaps he needed to sit, but even scrounging up
that much energy suddenly seemed like too much effort.
“Matt!”
He turned
at the familiar cry, jerking suddenly, too suddenly, and lost his balance,
falling sideways onto his left side. He
thought he hit the edge of the bed, but wasn’t sure. Pain burst through the injured shoulder,
exploding in fireballs that raced to his head, engulfing his consciousness in a
conflagration of agony. Then he felt
nothing.
XXXX
When he
came to again, he was back in the same bed, covers in place, lamp still
glowing. Glancing down at his shoulder,
he noted with a grimace that fresh bandages swathed it, even thicker and more
binding than before. Another sensation
nudged its way into his awareness, a soft, warm touch at his hand. Raising his eyes, he saw Kitty sitting by his
side, her eyes darkened in concern.
“Hey,
Cowboy,” she greeted quietly.
There was a
time when he had loved to hear her call him that. A time when he had wrapped
his heart around those words and burrowed into the security of them. A time when those words inevitably led to the
sweetest and most passionate loving he had ever known. But that time had passed. He couldn’t hear those words now, couldn’t
re-live their past, knowing they didn’t mean the same anymore.
“Where am
I?” he asked, still trying to blink his way back to alertness.
“You’re at
Ira’s house in the French Quarter,” Kitty answered, her hand brushing soft and
cool against his forehead.
Oh
yeah. Ira’s house.
The knife
that had torn his shoulder twisted a little more, but the pain was in his heart
now. Ira. Scenes from the riverboat flashed in his
mind: the way the man held Kitty; the
protective threat in his eyes. It was
what he had feared, of course, and he had only himself to blame. He looked back up at her, his breath
catching, as it always did, at her beauty.
“How’re ya’ feeling?” she asked.
He nodded, a move that meant absolutely nothing. Looking into those deep blue eyes, he
considered how easy it would be to draw her to him, to feel her tender skin
against him, to crush her beautiful breasts to his chest, to join their bodies
once more and show her just how much he needed her – if she’d have him. But he couldn’t. She had made her choice and he wouldn’t stand
in the way of her happiness. He’d done
that for far too long. If she had found
peace in
“Whoa,
there,” she scolded, her hands on his chest.
“Where do ya’ think you’re goin’?”
“I need – I
have to get back to Dodge,” he said, even though he wanted to do anything but
that.
“Dodge? You’re not going anywhere, mister. Not for a while anyway.”
“Kitty,” he
complained, hoping she’d understand, “it’s just a knife wound. Not like I haven’t had anything like that
before.”
“Just a knife wound? I swear, Matt, if you could hear
yourself. Anyway, it’s not just a knife wound. The doctor said you are also suffering from
exhaustion and a whole collection of half-healed injuries. Your knee was so swollen we almost couldn’t
get your pants off. Just what on earth
have you been doing since I’ve been gone?”
Falling apart, he wanted to say. Falling apart.
“Kitty,” he
argued, trying not to sound desperate, but needing to get out before he really
did fall apart right there in front of her.
“I can’t – I can’t stay here.” He
couldn’t watch them, couldn’t bear to see her with someone else, knowing
another man was touching her, loving her –
“Why not? Ira has plenty of room, and he doesn’t mind.”
Sure he
doesn’t, Matt thought. “No, Kitty,” he
pushed, head spinning with the effort.
“I need to – “
Her voice
suddenly took on a sharp tone, the anger bleeding through. “So you’ll just leave again, huh? Just like before, even when I’m asking you to
stay?”
Confusion
and memory battered him, but they were merely the vanguard of a surge of anger
of his own. Was she really accusing him
of leaving her? Was she putting this
whole thing on him? Suddenly, months of
fear and depression and frustration – and loneliness – surged to the
surface. Unable to press them back down,
he dragged himself up, despite the agony that smashed through his body, and
faced her, eyes blazing.
“What do
you mean, I’ll leave?” he
snapped. “I’m not the one who walked out, Kitty. I’m not the one who vanished
without a word, without a trace. I’m not the one who abandoned twenty years
of – of commitment – of – of love. I’m not the one who left just when – ”
His arms
were shaking now, barely holding him up, but he refused to give in to
them. He hadn’t planned to confront her
at all, had determined that if she had chosen this life, who was he to
interfere. But if she wanted this
argument now, she would have it.
“You just
left, Kitty. You left! No explanation. No note.
Nothing.
I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.
I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” Or hear
you laugh again, or look into your eyes again, or make love to you again. “I haven’t stopped looking for you since
that day – or least after I got over the hangover from drinking myself into
oblivion in Doc’s office that night.”
She
flinched, but he couldn’t feel any sympathy.
“I’ve seen you in every town I’ve been to, shopping in every dress
store, stepping off each stage coach, dealing in every
saloon.” His energy was gone, now,
draining him of the anger and the hurt.
Dropping back down onto the bed, he had only the breath to ask, “Why?”
Her own
eyes had grown wide, and she stared back at him in shock. Instead of exploding at him as he had
anticipated, though, she let her gaze drop to study her hands. “Matt,” she said softly, almost so low that
he couldn’t hear her. “I know – I know I
owe you an explanation.”
His heart
pounded, torn between yearning and dreading to hear her reasons for leaving.
Suddenly,
she stood, as if she couldn’t bear being too close to him. Nausea churned in his stomach. Looking out the darkened window, she said, “I
couldn’t stay any longer. I couldn’t – I
couldn’t stand waiting to see if you were coming back or not coming back. I couldn’t risk having my heart torn out by a
telegram telling me you were dead – or by watching you die right in front of
me.”
He had
known that for twenty years, had seen the burdens his job placed on her. Dear God, he knew, and he had finally done
something about it. But he had done
something too late. Not sure what to
say, he remained silent, letting her continue.
“When I was
– your woman – I know you worried about me.
I know that’s why you thought we could never be together as man and
wife. You felt it would place me in too
much danger. And you felt you couldn’t
do your job as well if you had to worry about a family.”
He wanted
to protest her theory, wanted to tell her she was wrong. But he couldn’t. She had hit right on every reason he had for
not claiming her as his wife years ago.
“After
Bonner, I thought maybe – “
The knife
twisted again in his heart, just like it did every time he heard that
name. “Kitty – “
But she
shook her head, still staring out the window.
“No. Bonner wasn’t your fault,
even though I know you’ll never believe that.
It just happened, and we survived it, and it’s over.”
It’ll never be over, he thought.
“But I
thought maybe since it happened when I was just your woman,
you’d figured it wouldn’t make any difference if I was your wife.”
His eyes
closed against the realization and the guilt.
He had told himself the same thing when it happened, had almost broken
down then and asked her to marry him, but he convinced himself Bonner was a
fluke. The dog soldier hadn’t known
about Kitty until he got into town. He
would never have known if she hadn’t sacrificed herself to save the
others. Matt had been proud of her – as
proud of her as he had been furious with her for doing it.
“And then
when your arm was hurt,” she continued quietly, “I hurt for you,
I knew you were fighting to regain not just your arm, but who you were. Still, I thought maybe this was it. This was when you
would see it might be time to try something different. Something that didn’t put
you in harm’s way every minute of every day. But you did what you always do. You didn’t give in, you fought and you won –
and I was proud of you for it, but – “
Turning
toward him, she allowed her tears to fall.
“I begged you not to leave. That
last night, I begged you.”
He knew,
had replayed those last moments in his mind hundreds of times, had mulled over “what ifs” until he couldn’t remember where
he was or what he was doing. He wanted
to tell her he had understood, had made his decision
that trip out there on the trail lying under the stars dreaming of her. But it was too late.
“And now – “ she started, her breath catching. “Now, there are – other things to consider.”
Pennington,
he realized. She meant Ira
Pennington. Whatever relationship they
had, it obviously meant a great deal to her.
Anger gone, he sighed and drew a breath, knowing what he had to do.
“That’s why
I’m going, Kitty. I’d never want to make
you unhappy, even though I’ve been doing it for twenty years – “
The tears
trailed down her cheeks. “You haven’t
made me unhappy, Matt. The past twenty
years have been the happiest of my life.”
The ache in
his chest grew. She couldn’t make it
easier for him, could she?
“Kitty, I
couldn’t have been who I was for the past twenty years without you. I don’t know if you can realize how much
you’ve meant in my life. But I’ve asked
too much of you, more than you can give now.
I see that. In
“Ira?” she
said, frowning. “What does he have to do
with it?”
Damn
it. Couldn’t she just let him be gallant
and get the hell out of there? “I understand,
Kitty,” he said, even though he really didn’t understand, or at least didn’t
want to understand. “You and Ira – “
“Me and Ira?” Her mouth dropped, and she
stared at him for a long beat. Then
something amazing happened. She laughed, a hearty Kitty Russell laugh that rolled from her
throat. He almost smiled just to hear
the sound he had missed for almost a year.
“Kitty?” he
asked, suddenly uncertain.
She
continued, gasping for deep breaths until she finally caught one and managed to
speak again. “Matthew Dillon!” she
declared, and he couldn’t help the glow he felt when she said his name. “You are the most incredibly dense and lovely
man.”
“I am?”
“Me and Ira?”
It was
dawning on him that perhaps he had misjudged Kitty’s connection with the man,
and he allowed his emotions to creep toward a hopeful reassessment.
“You
remember me talking about my cousin Charlotte?” she asked.
He nodded,
even though he really didn’t remember it at all.
“Ira’s her
husband. I’ve been staying here with
them since I got into town. They’ve been
awful good to me, especially since – ” She stopped suddenly.
He caught
her wrist, confusion and relief kicking at him.
“Kitty, I thought – “
“I can see
that.” Gentleness touched her voice just
as her hand touched his face. “No,
Matt. I’m not with Ira.”
The deluge
of emotions drenched him, flowed over him until he feared he would lose
complete control of himself. Clenching
his jaw and catching a hard breath, he fought to keep the sensation from
overwhelming him, squeezed his eyes shut to block out the embarrassing well of
tears.
“Matt?” she
asked, alarmed. “Are you okay? Should I send for the doctor again?”
“No,” he
gasped, then forced the calm into his voice. “No.
I’m all right.” Dear God, he was
more than all right.
“Matt,” she
whispered, her fingers brushing over his lips.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for
twenty years and I’ll never stop loving you.”
He stared
at her, unable to respond.
“But I
can’t go back to Dodge. I can’t go back
to waiting for you to die. And I can’t
put the burden on you to protect me and – “
She smiled
sadly, leaning down to kiss the lips her fingers had just caressed and it was
the sweetest nectar he had ever sipped.
She tried to pull back, but he opened his mouth to her, drinking from
her like a man who had been in the desert for weeks without water. He wanted to drown in her, would die a happy
man if he could. Her lips responded,
parting for him, giving to him and taking from him eagerly, frantically.
Suddenly,
she broke away, and they both groaned at the loss of contact. “Matt,” she gasped, “I have to tell you
something.”
No, he
didn’t want to know anything except that she loved him and that somehow they
would make this work. He wanted her lips
again, wanted her body next to his, wanted her love.
But she
continued anyway. “What I told you was
true, about leaving Dodge. The reasons I
gave you. But there’s something else. Someone
else that’s more important than any of those other reasons.”
His heart
sank anew in his chest. Someone else? But she
had said that she and Ira weren’t together.
How could she kiss him like that if –
“His name
is Sam,” she said, and the softness and love that filled her eyes told him all
he needed to know.
“Sam?” he
choked out, soul aching.
“Sam,” she
confirmed. “Would you like to meet him?”
Meet
him? God, no. He needed to get out of there. This was a nightmare, surely she knew
that. “Kitty – “
She pushed
up from the bed before he could move.
“I’ll be right back.”
As soon as
she disappeared, he forced his feet to the floor and stood, grateful that his
body seemed to fulfill that demand a little better than before. His pants lay folded neatly in a chair he
hadn’t noticed earlier, and he struggled to pull them on using mainly his right
hand. Desperate to leave before she
could get back, he was still fumbling with the buttons when she returned, not
seeming at all surprised to see him standing.
Grimacing,
he braced for yet another blow, another unbearable twist of the knife. But to his surprise, no man hovered behind
her, no suitor glared at him from over her shoulder. Instead, she carried something, a small
bundle of soft blue blankets that, on closer inspection, seemed to be
squirming. And she fairly glowed as she
looked down at the material.
Letting her
gaze rise to his, she took an unsteady breath and held the bundle out carefully
toward him. “Matt,” she said softly, “I
want you to meet Matthew Samuel Dillon.”
What?
What?
His brain
slowed as if he had molasses inside his head.
Looking down, he saw that she had pushed some of the blanket away to
reveal a round-cheeked little face, long-fingered hands curling and uncurling
at the tiny mouth, familiar blue eyes peering up at him.
It was a
baby. Dear God, it was a baby. It was –
He looked
up at her suddenly, comprehension slamming into him.
“Your son,”
she confirmed.
His breath
stopped completely, and he wasn’t too sure his heart didn’t, too. His son?
His son.
His son.
Dear God.
Chapter Nine: Twenty Years, But No
Buckshot
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
“Tap Day for Kitty;” “Bad Lady from
Rating:
Teen (PG)
Disclaimer:
Not my characters (except the obvious one – although I
guess Matt and Kitty take the most credit for him)
XXXX
Daylight
had begun to pry through the heavy drapes of the guest room at the house on
She hadn’t
tried to fool herself, hadn’t pretended that she was over him. She knew well enough that would never happen
– not after eight months or eight years or eighty years. The moment she laid eyes on that big, tall,
handsome lawman, her heart had been completely, hopelessly, and eternally
entangled with his. Now, twenty years
later, she was no less caught. On the
contrary, Matt Dillon had sunk so deep inside her and wrapped himself so
solidly around her heart that not even death could pry him loose. And, she thought ruefully, the Grim Reaper
had certainly tried to often enough.
As was her
habit, she let her gaze scan his body, taking note of the new marks, of the
small scar just below his eye, the larger one across his ribs, and another over
the knuckles of his left hand. Each had
been added since she had last seen him.
As usual, she wondered what had left them, wondered how much pain their
creations had caused, wondered if her presence might have made them hurt just a
little less. If she had been there,
maybe she could have helped him, soothed the discomfort – or at least
distracted him for a while. But she
hadn’t been there. He had earned those scars
alone.
“Kitty?”
She looked
up at the sound of the soft drawl to see her cousin
Kitty
couldn’t deny the fatigue that pressed down on each muscle, but there was no
way she would leave him. Not now. Not after they’d had to call the doctor
again. And certainly not after the way
Matt had reacted to Sam. “I’m okay,” she
told her cousin.
The other
woman shook her head. “Sure.”
“Sam still asleep?” Kitty asked, changing the focus.
It
worked.
“He is,
isn’t he?”
“I always
figured you’d have handsome children, but now that I’ve seen his daddy, I can
tell Sam gets it from both sides.”
Well, she couldn’t
refute that.
“Is he
going to be all right?”
Kitty
sighed, wishing she really knew. The
doctor said his wounds would mend. But
there were more than just physical recoveries to consider now. “I think so, if I can just keep him in bed
for a little while.”
Her cousin
colored. “Seems like
you already did that.”
Kitty
raised a brow in surprised acknowledgement of that truth.
“If you’ll
pardon my asking, Kitty,” she continued, “but, my goodness, how on earth could
you have walked away from that?” Her head nodded toward the sleeping man, and
Kitty saw the appreciative twinkle in her dark eyes.
Sighing,
Kitty looked at him, trying to imagine him from someone else’s view, to look at
him as if she hadn’t known him intimately for two decades. He was still the biggest man she had ever
seen – and the best looking. His assets
were plentiful: firm hips, long legs –
the muscles bold and hard from years of riding; broad chest, wide shoulders,
trim waist, strong arms; thick, curly hair, handsome face. There was no doubt that, physically, he was
the most impressive man she had ever seen.
But there
was so much more to Matt Dillon: his deep sense of right and wrong; his genuine
concern for his fellow humans; his value of honesty and fair play; his kindness
and gentleness; and in the most intimate of situations, his tenderness and
selflessness.
But it was
the damn unwavering devotion to duty that had finally defeated her. She couldn’t compete with it. Instead of sharing all those complex thoughts
with
Her cousin
cocked her head dubiously, but didn’t debate the response. Instead, she asked another question. “What did he say when you told him about –
Sam?”
Kitty’s
eyes darkened, the guilty memory weighing on her. She had expected him to be shocked,
certainly; angry, probably. What she
got, though, was something much more complex.
She didn’t
answer
“Yeah,”
Kitty whispered, her eyes lingering on his lips, which were slightly open. He had always looked younger and a tad
vulnerable like that. She resisted the
urge to crawl in next to him and hold him close. When she dragged her gaze away, she saw
“Are you glad
he came?” she asked quietly.
Glad? She was ecstatic. She was thrilled. She was terrified.
When she
didn’t answer again,
It was a
question she had asked herself for the past four days. What, indeed?
Maybe that depended on what Matt did.
As she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, her thoughts
returned to those moments after she had dropped her bombshell on him.
XXXX
Kitty
Russell had seen every expression that Matt Dillon’s handsome face could make –
or at least she thought she had until she watched him stand immobile, staring
at the infant squirming in her extended arms.
Although many people saw the formidable
The
illogical notion occurred to her to place a hand on his chest and see if he was
still breathing. Of course, he wasn’t
alone. Her own breath came tentatively,
as well. Still, he had paled visibly,
and she could count it as reasonably sure that blood loss wasn’t the only
cause. For a moment, she was afraid he
would pass out right there on the floor and re-open the shoulder wound the
doctor had just finished closing back up after he had lost his balance and
fallen only a couple of hours before.
But so far he had managed to hang on, his blue eyes locking on the
matching blue eyes of the child – his
child, she had just announced.
Moments
before, when they had kissed for the first time in months, she had wanted
nothing more than to lose herself in him, to shout for joy at the heat and
passion of his lips on hers, at the anticipation of feeling his hard body
again. It had taken all her strength to
pull away and not throw herself on him, bandaged shoulder and all. But it wouldn’t have been fair to either of
them. Even if he had been physically
able to block out the pain of his injury and absorb the pleasure of her body –
and he had certainly managed that numerous times in the past – there was
something he needed to know, deserved to know, before he risked his heart – and
hers – again.
Slowly, his
gaze rose from the baby, and what she saw on his face then was even worse than
the hurt she had seen on it their last night together.
Betrayal.
Unable to
suppress the tears that sprang to her eyes, she let him look, allowed him the
moment of silent condemnation. Even
though she knew she’d had to leave Dodge, she could not deny him the right to
place the secret of this squirming bundle of guilt on her shoulders. Not that he was aware he was doing it – in
fact, she wasn’t sure he was aware of anything except the shock of the child
before him.
Silence
stretched between them, broken only by the soft mewling of their baby. Finally, his eyes closed, and he swayed,
catching a hand on the bed post to steady himself.
“Matt?” Alarmed, Kitty noted the darkening stain on
the bandage and shifted Sam to the crook of her arm before she grasped Matt’s
elbow. “You need to sit.”
He shook
his head and straightened, as if to prove he wasn’t mere moments away from
collapse. “No. I just – I – “ His features melted into that look that had
always held the capability to tear right through her heart, that look that
appeared as though he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.
“Matt?” she
asked again quietly, shaken by the depth of his pain.
The lines
of his face tightened, and he drew in a ragged breath. “My God, Kitty.”
Those three
words cut her deeper than any drawn-out tirade ever could. She reached out to him. “Matt – “
But he
pulled back, barely staying on his feet.
“Kitty?” he asked, face wiped clean of any mask, soul bared completely
to her to reveal the wound that cut him much deeper than any solid knife
could. “You didn’t tell me? You didn’t – “ He looked down at the baby again, his
voice falling to a whisper. “My son?”
She nodded,
heartsick with the realization that her actions that had been done to spare him
the pain of having to protect and worry about a woman and child had instead
caused more injury and grief. “Get back
in bed, Matt,” she admonished as gently as possible, concerned about the sudden
paleness of his cheeks. “I’ll get Ira –
“
“You didn’t
tell me,” he murmured once more, the words falling from his lips as his body
fell back against the heavy wardrobe, his head slamming hard into the wood.
She
screamed his name, then Ira’s, startling Sam, whose own cries joined in the
chaos. Ira’s rapid footsteps hammered
down the hall, followed quickly by softer ones.
He and Charlotte darted into the room, and before Kitty could really
register what had happened, her cousin held the baby, and Ira was struggling to
haul Matt’s solid frame off the floor.
Kitty helped as best she could, and they managed to drag the tall lawman
back onto the bed. Ira had then summoned
the doctor again, who wasn’t too pleased about being roused from his bed – for
the second time – in one night. But he
determined that there had been no further damage done and had left, pacified by
the wad of greenbacks Ira pressed into his palm.
XXXX
Fresh guilt
washed over her with the memory. She
figured she knew Matt Dillon better than anyone else. Twenty years of intimacy, twenty years of
confidences, twenty years of shared looks and private smiles. Still, even after all that time – even with her – she had never felt he ever completely
let go of the tight grip he held on his deepest feelings. Oh, he had whispered beautiful words to her
as he held her close and brought her body the most exquisite pleasures. He told her secrets about his childhood and
about some of his experiences on the trail.
He had joked with her, let his guard down when they were alone. And she knew that no one else had ever heard
– or would ever hear – those things.
Still, there had remained a piece of Matt Dillon buried so deep that no
one had ever seen it.
Until she
pried it loose. It didn’t matter that
she felt it was for his own good. It didn’t matter that she figured the truth
would cause him more grief. It didn’t
matter. When she saw the devastation in
his eyes as he realized she had kept Sam from him, it didn’t matter. At that point, he had not – or maybe could not – press down his
emotions. She saw him turned inside out.
“You didn’t tell me – “
This man
who usually chose to play his feelings so close to the vest had spilled his
emotions all over the table for her to see.
A low groan
drew her from her memory of the previous night’s activities, and she stood,
leaning over him, vaguely taking note that
“Kitty?” he
rasped, his right hand coming up to press against the back of his head. Even over her wariness about his reaction,
she couldn’t help noticing how his bicep bulged as he probed the sore spot.
“Hello,
Matt,” she greeted, voice tight. “How do
you feel?”
“Head –
hurts,” he muttered, his fingers probing the area she knew was swollen from his
fall.
“Well,
don’t even think about gettin’ up. I don’t think Ira has enough money to drag
that doctor back out here for a third time.”
His eyes focused quickly.
“Third – what happened?”
“You had a showdown with the armoire, there. It won.”
Cautiously, she asked, “Do you remember – “
Swallowing,
he looked up at her. “I’m not sure. Brain’s kinda
swimmy – to quote Festus.”
She felt a
sad pang at the mention of the deputy she hadn’t seen in almost a year.
Clearing
his throat weakly, Matt frowned. “Did
the doctor give me any laudanum? I had
the craziest dream.”
She
stiffened. “Dream?”
A painful
smile crossed his lips. “Yeah. Believe it or
not, you were – well, we had a – “ Abrupt realization
swept over his face, draining it of what little color had returned while he
slept. Dropping his hand, he stared up
at her, mouth open. “Kitty – it – it
wasn’t a dream, was it?”
Gently, she
shook her head and rested her palm against his cheek. “No, Cowboy.
It wasn’t a dream.”
Eyes wide,
he held her gaze in wonder. “You really
– we have – “
If the
stakes hadn’t been quite so high, she might have found the entire conversation
amusing. As it was, she was barely
breathing, waiting to see what he would say, how he would react.
Finally, he
swallowed again and asked, “A son?”
“A son,”
she confirmed quietly.
He looked
away for a moment and frowned in thought, then looked back at her. “Samuel?”
“Sam.”
Now his
eyes narrowed, and silence fell between them.
As the seconds ticked off, she heard and felt her heartbeat pound louder
and faster, bit back the churning nausea in her stomach. He could yell at her. Or not talk at all. Or – worst of all – leave.
Finally, he
took a breath and looked at her, his eyes clear and calm. “Sam’s – a good name,” he decided, jutting
his chin to the side and biting at his lower lip.
Relief
flooded her, raced through her legs with such force that she almost sank to the
floor beside him. “Would you like to
hold him?” she offered tentatively.
His jaw
muscles clenched, the muscles working hard, as his eyes locked with hers, and
she saw uncertainty and hope mingling.
“Hold him?”
“Hold him,”
she repeated lightly, then teased, “You know, in your arms?”
She watched
his throat constrict as he swallowed once and nodded.
Almost
shaking, she nodded back. “You wait
here,” she instructed, forcing herself not to run toward the door. “Don’t you go anywhere, you hear me?”
The smile,
however slight, that curved his mouth thrilled her. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied obediently.
Sam
protested being awakened from his nap, and normally she would have balked at
the very thought, but she didn’t think twice about it this time. Instead, she scooped up the infant, pressing
a kiss against his soft forehead, and hurried back to Matt’s room, barely able
to contain her joy at the anticipated union of father and son.
When she
returned, she saw that he had swung his legs over the side of the bed, keeping
the sheet across his lap, a welcome glow of pink coloring his cheeks – whether
from the small exertion or from the embarrassment of discovering he wore no
clothes at all, Kitty couldn’t tell.
He started
to stand when she entered, but she shooed him back down. “Hold out your arms.”
When he did
as he was told, she placed the child into his father’s large hands. Sam wasn’t a small baby. He had weighed close to eight pounds at
birth, and that was coming two weeks early.
He would be tall, too, she could tell, his little body already
stretching long when he threw his arms and legs out in the occasional fit of
pique. Still, Matt’s hands cradled him
easily, as if he were designed to fit in their grasp.
The soft
blanket fell back from his head, revealing gentle swirls of reddish-brown
hair. His blue eyes opened and he peered
up into the face of the man who had helped create him. With effort, Kitty tore her gaze away from
her son and plastered it on his father.
The big
lawman stared down at the child, a slow, amazed smile spreading over his
face. “By golly, Kitty,” he breathed,
awe in his eyes. “By
golly.”
Thank
God. Thank God.
“The doctor
says he’s healthy,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, to prevent the
burgeoning tears from cascading down her cheeks.
“He’s a
mighty fine looking boy,” he said, not shifting his gaze even one inch from the
child.
Her heart
swelled with love and pride for both of her men. “Like his daddy,” she observed, leaning
forward.
Matt looked
up just as she bent down, just in time for her lips to brush his. But the idyllic scene lasted only a few
seconds. When she pulled back, pain had
touched his eyes again. “Why didn’t you
tell me, Kitty?” he whispered. “Why
didn’t you tell me?”
He deserved
to know, but she wasn’t sure she had an answer.
“What would you have done, Matt?” she returned instead. “What would you have done when all of Dodge
discovered that the marshal’s woman was pregnant with his child?”
“Nothing
would have changed, Kitty,” he promised in earnest.
A scowl
darkened her face. She knew what he
meant, but it wasn’t the right answer.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
A frown
wrinkled his forehead. “No, I meant – I
meant I wouldn’t have – “ Suddenly, his shoulders
slumped, and he stared down at his son.
“I would have been there. You
didn’t need to do this alone.”
“I know you
would have been there, Matt,” she told him quietly. She had never doubted it. That was not the reason she left.
“Then why –
why didn’t you want me to know?”
Sucking in
a fortifying breath, she admitted, “I was afraid that every time you looked at
me or at Sam, you’d resent us. I was
afraid that you’d be too worried about us to keep your edge. I was afraid that one day another Bonner
would come around, looking for you or me and finding something even better –
your son. I was afraid that if something
happened to Sam, you’d never forgive yourself.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“And I was afraid I’d never forgive you, either.”
He winced
and lifted his chin, face gaunt, realization of the truth of her words hitting
him. “I see.”
And she saw
immediately that he did see. Maybe he
saw too well.
“Do you
want me to leave, Kitty?” he asked quietly, and she knew without a doubt that
if she said yes he would walk out of there and never question her – even if it
ripped him apart. She also knew that if
he left, she would be shredded along with him.
“No.” She said it so softly that he hadn’t heard.
“Kitty?”
Her jaw
working, she took one more fortifying breath and answered louder, “No. I don’t.”
She heard
him let out a shuddering breath, but when she looked back at him, his face was
composed.
“Kitty, I
know you said you wouldn’t return to Dodge.”
There was a
“but” in there, she could tell. “Couldn’t return – “
“But – “
There it
was.
Suddenly,
he held Sam out to her. “Take him for a
minute?”
Confused,
she held their son close to her and watched as his father braced against the
bed post and stood, disregarding the fact that the sheet fell completely from
him and left him totally bare to her gaze.
Despite herself, she let her eyes take in the delicious sight of his
long, hard muscles. He had always been
solid, but the months since she had left had seen him grow leaner, and she felt
a pang of guilt that she had been the cause.
Gingerly, he lifted his trousers from where she had folded them neatly
on a chair and stepped into them, buttoning the front panel before he lifted
his head to look at her again.
“A man
ought to be wearing pants to do what I want to do,” he explained.
She wanted
to tease him, to tell him what he usually wanted to do
didn’t require pants, at all. But the
intensity in his eyes stopped the joke before it started.
She sighed,
her heart aching with the decision she had to make. He loved her. And he didn’t resent Sam. And somehow he had forgiven her for leaving,
for not telling her about his son. But
what he was about to ask her to do – well, she didn’t know if she could give it
to him.
“Matt,” she
said, voice shaking, “you know I – I can’t go back to Dodge. Nothing’s changed. There’s still the fear, there’s still the
danger.” With the reminders of why she
left, her arguments grew stronger.
“You’ll still be out on the trail.
You’ll still be the target for every two-bit gunman – I can’t just go
back to being the marshal’s woman.
There’s Sam, now, and – and how would you do your job and worry about a
woman and a child – “
“Kitty,” he
interrupted, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I told you twenty years ago how it had to
be. You knew I was a lawman, and you
knew what that meant. You knew there
were choices I didn’t have because of that.
You were free to go whenever you wanted.”
If this was
his idea of trying to talk her into going back with him –
“Twenty
years, Kitty. Don’t you think I knew all
that time what you wanted, what I couldn’t give you?”
She had
wondered if he really did know what she wanted.
“Kitty, I
can’t be something or someone I’m not.
You ought to know me well enough to realize that. And for more than twenty years, I was a
lawman.”
Well, damn
it, she sure as hell knew that. She knew
it all too well.
“But when
you left, I realized – I realized – “ He swallowed,
and she heard his voice catch, felt his hands convulse on her shoulders. Softly, he said, “I told you once that I
needed you, Kitty, do you remember?”
How could
she forget? Those words had brought her
back from the depths of hopelessness and despair as she lay on Doc’s table,
beaten and abused by Jude Bonner, wishing she were dead. But those few words from the man who loved
her pulled her back, gave her something to live for.
She nodded,
unable to speak.
“Well, I
still need you, Kitty.” To her shock,
his eyes glistened with tears. Dropping
his grip suddenly, he turned away from her, his broad back hunched against some
inner pain.
“Matt?”
But he
shook his head, and she watched those wide shoulders shake slightly. “You asked me what I’d been doing since you
left. Do you really want to know?”
Did
she? She wasn’t sure anymore. It suddenly seemed too terrible to
contemplate. But she heard herself
whisper, “Yes.”
“Falling apart, Kitty.” Now his voice broke
completely, and he barely choked out the words.
“I’ve been falling apart.”
She stared
at his back, stunned. This was Matt
Dillon – invulnerable, invincible. Matt
Dillon. Falling apart? What had she done?
Quickly,
but carefully, she laid Sam in the center of the bed, creating a barrier out of
the two pillows. Then, touching Matt’s
arm lightly, she pulled him around to face her, forcing herself not to gasp at
the flow of tears down his cheeks.
His face
was open and raw, something she had never seen before, someone she had never seen before, not completely. And even past her pain of seeing him like
this, she felt a flood of love and protectiveness. She had told Molly McConnell those many years
ago that Matt Dillon was a man with no strings on him, but that he was more
hers than anybody else’s. She had waited
twenty years, but now she realized that he was
hers. He was hers completely and
unquestionably.
“Oh, Matt,”
she whispered, falling into his arms and burying her face against his bare
chest. “Oh, Matt.”
He caught
her to him fiercely, as if he were terrified she would vanish outside his
grip. His chest heaved with the battle
to control the sobs he refused to release.
His voice shook as he confessed again, “I need you, Kitty. I need you so much.”
He needed
her. And she needed him. In that moment, she couldn’t deny him
anything. Not herself, not his son, not
his town.
She held
him, whispered to him, soothed him, just as he had
done for her so many times before. When
their trembling finally faded, he lifted his hands to her face and drew her off
his chest. Their eyes met, blue on blue,
soul on soul. He lowered his mouth to
hers, taking her lips tenderly at first, then with an urgency that escaped his
control. Her arms tightened around his
back, her mouth opened to him, her breasts pushed against his ribs. Some nagging reminder deep within her brain
told her to stop, noted that the doctor had not yet released her for such
activity. But the overwhelming sensation
of being in his arms, tasting his lips on hers, feeling his hard excitement
growing against her, swept her away.
All logical
thought vanished. She wondered if he
would take her there on the floor, or if he would just lift her up against the
wall while she wrapped her legs around his waist. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except his body on hers –
and, soon, his body in hers.
She groaned
as his tongue trailed down her neck and his hands slid up her sides to let the
heavy weight of her breasts rest in his large palms. Her milk let down, a natural sensation that
didn’t distinguish between the causes of stimulation. She wondered if he could tell.
Just when
she knew they were passing the point of no return, just when she reached for
the straining buttons of his trousers, he tore his mouth away from her and
stood there, gasping and sweating.
“Matt?” she
groaned, wanting nothing more than for him to take her.
He shook
his head, gritting his teeth and fighting for breath. “We can’t – not with the baby there – Kitty,
I shouldn’t have – I’m – I’m sorry.”
Her own
breath still heaving, she pressed her fingers pressed against his lips. He was right, of course. Damn it.
“No. Please don’t apologize.”
“I just –
it’s been so long, and I haven’t – “
“I know,”
she assured him. “I haven’t either.”
As she
watched, he steeled himself and straightened, those broad shoulders
squaring. When he spoke again, his voice
was firm, controlled. “Kitty, listen,
for twenty years – longer, really – you’ve been your own woman, right? I’ve never told you what to do, even when you
wanted me to, maybe.
She nodded,
knowing he referred to her short-lived and confused romance with Will Stambridge.
“But – but
I have to tell you something now. I
should have done it a long time ago.”
Her heart
leaped, pounding in her chest as she stared at him.
He took her
hands into his, almost swallowing them.
“I love you, Kitty. I love you
and I don’t want to be without you. I
need you to come back to Dodge with me.”
He had
finally asked, after all these years. He
had actually asked her to come back.
Even when she had run off to Ballard, and he had followed her under the
pretense of an official law investigation, he hadn’t come right out and said he
wanted her to come back to Dodge. Now,
he had asked, now, when she had finally summoned the courage to break away and
survive without the dust of
Now.
Sighing,
she fought for the right words. She
desperately loved Matthew Dillon, but she couldn’t go back to the life they’d
had. Not now. Too much had changed.
“Matt – “ she tried.
But he
stopped her, shaking his head. “Let me
finish – please.”
She nodded,
nonplussed.
“I need you
to come back. I need you to come back
because you still love me. You said so,
yesterday – or last week – or whenever it was I got stabbed.”
Well, she
couldn’t deny that.
“And
because Sam needs a father.”
“But what
will people say – “
“And
because I don’t give a damn what people say.”
He shoved his hands inside his front pants pockets, withdrawing a rich
blue velvet bag with his right, kneeling before her as he dumped its contents
into his palm
Kneeling?
“Matt, what
on earth are you doing?”
She let her
gaze drop from his face to see what he held.
To her astonishment, in his palm lay a small, golden band, its surface
sparkling with diamonds. Her heart
skipped a beat, her ears thudded with the uneven
pounding, her eyes widened in disbelief.
He knelt there, his soul bared to her, his face offering her everything
she had ever wanted.
“Matter of
fact, they’ll probably just say it’s about time that idiot marshal came to his
senses and married Kitty Russell.”
What?
What?
Married? Did he say married? She stared down at him in disbelief, but
there he was, kneeling – and on his bad leg, too.
Twenty
years. She had teased Matt once, long
ago, after their curious encounter with Nip Cullers, that it had taken his
housekeeper Nettie twenty years and a little buckshot to snag him. Little could she have known then that her
own vigil would be twenty years, as well. At least Matt had avoided the buckshot.
Before she
could formulate an answer, even before she knew what her answer would be, he
took in another heavy breath and blew it out.
“Kitty, I need you to come back because of one more thing.”
In that
moment, he opened his other hand, and she saw it, so bold, so symbolic, so
damned familiar, lying there in his huge palm.
But it
couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Somehow,
she tore her gaze away long enough to look at him again,
and she was struck by the conflict of fear, sadness, hope, and anticipation in
his eyes.
After
twenty years. It didn’t seem possible.
Slowly,
unbelievingly, she reached down and lifted the shining piece of metal with her
fingers.
“Am I too
late, Kitty?” he asked in a whisper.
She stared
at the badge, then at him, and wondered.
“Am I too late?”
Chapter Ten: Back in Them
POV: Doc
Spoilers:
“Disciple”
Rating: PG
(Teen)
Disclaimer:
These characters (except Sam) are not mine.
XXXX
It was just
after noon, but the
All of
those sights flittered across his vision, none lingering with any
importance. But there was one man who
caught his attention and held it. A
seasoned character, his eyes hard, his cheeks mottled with pock marks. If his face wasn’t on one of the wanted
posters in Matt’s office, it probably should have been. He sat at the one poker table that showed any
action, hat pulled down over his forehead, ignoring the same half-full glass of
rye he had started with an hour before.
The doctor considered himself a fair judge of
character and decided this fellow bore watching. He bore watching closely.
A sudden
jingle of spurs drew his attention from the assorted group. Before he even looked up, he knew he would
see Festus Haggen ambling toward him. Sure enough, the deputy marshal had already
pushed past the batwing doors and was making his way through the room.
“Howdy,
Doc,” he greeted, eyes lighting on the physician’s glass of beer. “You tekkin’ a
little break, air ya?”
“That I am,
Festus. Why don’t you join me?”
The scruffy
beard parted in a smile. “Wael, I mite jes’ do that,” he
declared, already sitting. “You – uh – ya finished drinkin’, air ya?”
Doc brushed
a hand over his jaw. “Finished? Oh, Heaven’s no. Just started. Why don’t you get one and – “
“That’s
mighty gen’rus of ya, Doc,”
he said, before
Floyd
smiled knowingly and shoved a new glass under the tap, setting it on the
counter for Festus to pick up. When he
plopped back into the chair, he grinned and took a big gulp. Doc shook his head.
“Whut time is it getting’ ta be?”
the deputy asked.
“An’ that
train gits in ‘bout four, don’t it?”
“Well, it’s
supposed to be in at three, but I’ve never known it to be much on time.”
“Naw,” Festus agreed.
“I ain’t neither.”
They sat
quietly for a few moments as Doc pondered the reason behind Festus’ interest in
the train’s arrival. Leaning back in
his chair, he tugged the crumpled telegram from his vest pocket, scanning the
sparse words for at least the tenth time since it had arrived the day before.
“RETURNING
THURSDAY AFTERNOON TRAIN. STOP. MATT”
Almost a month. Matt had been gone almost a
month without a word, and now he had sent just one thrifty, cryptic
message. Of course, that one thrifty,
cryptic message had been read or heard about by almost the entire town in the
few hours since it had arrived. Even
though the telegram was directed at him, Doc couldn’t berate Barney for
spreading the news. For seven months,
Dodge had watched Matt Dillon struggle with himself – and with the loss they
all knew he had suffered, and most of the citizens had suffered with him. Then he had left again, and although the town
remained in the dark, Doc knew he had headed to
But the
telegram gave no indication that Matt had even found her, and if he had, that
he was bringing her back. As usual, when
the lawman went off,
Unfortunately,
the one thing he feared the most for Matt was the one thing he had no remedy
for: a broken heart.
“Golly
Bill,” Festus breathed.
The deputy
was squinting toward the poker table, his eyes locked on the very man Doc had
noticed before. “You know who that thar is, Doc?”
He didn’t,
but he was already afraid to find out. “Who?”
“That thar is Ben McClagg.”
“Ben McClagg?” The name didn’t ring a bell. “Who’s that?”
“He’s jes’ about th’
fastest feller I ever seen with a gun. Purty near as fast as Matthew before – “ Festus broke off, letting his gaze
drop.
Doc felt
his heart pound. “Why do you reckon he’s
here in Dodge?” he asked, already sick with the knowledge of what the answer
would be.
“I reckon I
know,” Festus muttered. “I reckon we all
know.”
Before
either of them could decide what to do – if there was anything to do – the
doors swung open again to admit a slender young man who didn’t look to be a
minute over twenty. He strode
purposefully into the saloon, his hips strapped with a low-slung gun belt, his
eyes hungry. Doc swore under his
breath. There was no mistaking this one,
either. Another
gunman.
“Festus?”
he warned.
“I seed ‘im.” The deputy had
eased his hand over his own pistol, watching.
“Whiskey,”
the boy ordered, leaning casually on the bar.
When Floyd produced it, he downed it in a single gulp and turned to face
the room. “Anybody here Ben McClagg?” he asked, not wasting a minute.
McClagg
froze, cards in his hand. “Who’s askin’?” he said after a moment, not looking up.
“Coy Brennan.”
“Never heered of ‘im,” McClagg declared.
“He’s heard
of you, though,” the boy returned.
The veteran
gunman gently laid his cards on the green felt and turned his head to look at
the youth. “Boy, why don’t you jest git you some milk and go back to yor
mama before you git hurt.”
Doc
expected Brennan to explode in youthful fury and die right there, but the young
man surprised them all, barely registering the insult. “No, sir,” he returned. “I come for what’s owed me and mine.”
“I told ya, boy, I don’t know ya,” McClagg insisted.
“What could ya want from me?”
“My pa.”
The older
man rose carefully. “Yer pa? I
don’t know no Brennan.”
“His name
weren’t Brennan,” the kid said. “It was
Doc watched
the name slam into McClagg’s memory and pry open his
jaw. The gunman sucked in a breath, held
it, then relaxed, his cloak of cool back in place.
“Boy, yer pa an’ me parted company years
ago. It ain’t none of yer business.”
“You parted
his company by puttin’ a bullet in him.”
“He tried ta’ put one in me. Seemed fair.”
“I hear yer fast,” Brennan observed.
McClagg
narrowed his eyes. “I’m alive.”
“So far.”
In that
moment, Doc saw the older man’s finger twitch and figured this foolish kid was
only seconds away from the end of his short life. He shot a glance at Festus, wondering what
the deputy was going to do, how he would stop the inevitable killing.
“Hang on, thar – ” Haggen
began, but it was too late.
McClagg
drew, his gun blurring from the holster in a motion of lightning. Doc couldn’t recall having seen such speed
before – at least in the past year. The
kid didn’t stand a chance. Double
retorts sounded in the room, so close they almost blended into one. When they could think again, the two gunmen
stood, facing each other. Doc watched to
see when the boy would crumble to the floor, pitying a life taken.
But Brennan
didn’t budge. Instead, face frozen in
disbelief, Ben McClagg slowly slid to the ground,
eyes fixed, a blossom of crimson soaking through his
vest. The entire room stared, stunned.
Nodding
once, Coy Brennan spun his Colt casually around his finger before dropping it
back into the holster and turning toward the bar again. “It was self-defense, you all saw.”
“I ain’t never
seen anybody so fast!” Burke declared into the following silence. “I mean, ‘cept
Marshal Dillon, but that was before he was – “
“Burke!”
Doc yelled.
The freight
clerk jerked, but it didn’t matter. Coy
Brennan turned back, eyes narrowing.
“Marshal Dillon? Would that be Matt Dillon?”
Burke shook
his head. “You been
livin’ in
Calmly,
Brennan said, “They used to say he wuz mighty fast.”
No one
answered.
“Thing is,
I heard he met up with a little misfortune ‘bout a year ago. Took out his gun arm. Ain’t so fast no more.”
Festus
stepped over McClagg’s body so he stood between Burke
and the kid. “You jes’
don’t worry ‘bout what you heered,” he warned. “Matthew Dillon is still th’
best gun around, an’ you’d best be rememberin’ it.”
“That so? Well, then, where can I find the Marshal?”
Brennan asked, ignoring the deputy.
“He’s not
in town,” Doc piped up hastily. At least not for another three hours.
The kid
clicked his tongue. “Too bad,” he
smiled, turning back toward the bar once again.
The room
waited in silence for at least a minute before Festus finally motioned toward
Burke and two other patrons. “You boys git this’un
over ta’ Percy’s.”
As they
labored under their burden, Doc eyed the slim back of the gunslinger. For the past year, on and off, Dodge had seen
a few men come and go, but no one had up and challenged Matt right out, maybe
too uncertain about the validity of the rumors they heard. Or maybe just taking a look at the huge
marshal dissuaded them fast enough. But
Coy Brennan looked just about rash enough and just about foolish enough to
follow through. In previous years, Doc
would have felt for the young man, almost certain of his fate. But now –
Now he
decided he wouldn’t mind if that train was late this time. He wouldn’t mind at all.
XXXX
It figured,
of course, that the train was almost on time for once, a fact that caught
several citizens by surprise and had them sprinting toward the station so they
didn’t miss the glimpse of their marshal.
Doc stood between Hannah and Festus, his gaze occasionally scanning the
crowd for a glimpse of Brennan, but the brash gunslinger hadn’t appeared so
far. Most of the time, though, his eyes
squinted anxiously toward the rear of the passenger car, heart racing away in
double time as he contemplated what condition Matt would be in. Smoke billowed from between the train and the
tracks, white puffs that halfway masked the first few passengers disembarking. An old man made his way painfully down the
steps, one hand clasping the rail, the other holding a cane. Following him, a group of young ladies,
looking as if they might be seeking employment in an establishment like the
Long Branch, their eyes too old and too worldly to match their bodies. The conductor strolled along the side of the
train, supervising the unloading of baggage.
After another interminable few moments, Doc saw him.
He emerged
from the back door of the car, tall body bent slightly under the overhang, hat
tugged low over his eyes so that Doc couldn’t see his expression. It was a little surprising to see that he
wore his dark pants and dress coat, but then he usually chose that outfit when
he traveled by train. The physician’s
practiced eye watched for any sign of injury or pain, took particular notice of
the slight limp when the marshal walked the few feet to the steps. Not bad, though – certainly better than it
had been when he left. He had not
returned unscathed, however. No one
there could miss the white sling that cradled his left arm.
Doc shook
his head.
Dillon
paused on the platform for a moment, letting his eyes survey his town in a
long-established habit. After a moment,
his broad chest heaved a sigh and he took the steps at an even pace, stopping
when he reached the ground. Doc’s heart
sank as he realized the man was alone, and he felt unbidden anger at Kitty
Russell flood him. He had held out hope
to that very moment that she would come back, knowing that If she had seen
Matt, if she had watched him barely hold himself together – and sometimes not hold himself together – she wouldn’t
have turned him back.
But now, he
had come home – alone. Now, what would
he do? What would any of them do?
He felt
Hannah’s eyes on him and turned to her, seeing his sadness mirrored there. They had encouraged him to go after her, to
risk himself again – and now they would have to deal with the
consequences. It was the least they
could do for him.
Instead of
plodding heavily toward them, however, bent under his burden, broken by this
catastrophe, the marshal turned again and extended his right arm up toward the
steps. Doc frowned, confused for a
moment before his heart skipped a beat as his brain grabbed onto the glimmer of
hope that action caused. At first
nothing happened, no one stepped forward to take the offered hand. Then, a miracle occurred, clothed in a
familiar flash of color that appeared from the shadows of the platform.
Tears
sprang to his eyes when he saw her, as slender and as beautiful as ever, clad
in a fashionable pale green and black travel suit, matching hat perched saucily
on her brilliant hair.
She was
back. Kitty Russell was back, and
suddenly beauty and fire and spirit returned to Dodge.
Because Miss Kitty was back.
“Thank
you,” he breathed to the Almighty, his words completely heartfelt, the tears
trailing down his cheeks. “Thank you.”
And just
like that, the world was right again.
Just like that, the worries and concerns and over eight months of misery
vanished. The crowd that had gathered at
the station broke out into a cacophony of exclamations at the sight, the rumble
of voices growing so that he had to raise his own volume to be heard.
Shaking his
head, he turned to Hannah, whose grin matched his own. “By golly,” he declared.
“Yessiree,” she returned.
“What in tarnation – “ Festus began.
Doc let his
gaze snap back to the returning couple and saw immediately what had caused the
reaction. Kitty had moved to the edge of
the platform, the sunlight bringing her out of the shadows and revealing a
small bundle of blue that she now handed carefully down to Matt so she could
descend the steps.
The
doctor’s eyes widened until he felt the sting of the ubiquitous dust of the
street in them. Why, that bundle
appeared to be – that is, it seemed as if –
Doggone it
– if it didn’t look like big, strapping U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon was cradling a
little bitty baby in the crook of his gun arm.
A baby?
A baby.
By golly. A baby!
In that
moment, it all made sense. It took only
a few seconds for the entire situation to snap into place in the doctor’s
mind. Kitty’s increased anxiety about
Matt’s leaving, her insistence on going before he returned, and her
determination not to let them know where she would be.
A baby.
He would
have paid good money to have been a fly on the wall when Matt found out – or
maybe it was just as well he hadn’t been.
My goodness, that had to have been a shock. He had no doubt the big man knew nothing at
all about a –
A baby!
The town
stood frozen, staring at the small family.
Kitty’s face was tight, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, revealing
her anxiety. Matt stood close to her,
body slightly in front, as if he were shielding her from the speculation, from
the judgment. His own lips pressed
together in that look that dared the foolish soul to cross him.
But he
needn’t have worried. After they
recovered from the shock of realizing that, not only had the marshal brought
Kitty back to Dodge, but he seemed to have acquired an addition, they
practically rushed the three, cries of welcome and congratulations tumbling
over each other.
It took
Doc, Festus, and Hannah considerable effort to push their way through the group
and up to the stunned couple. Kitty
looked floored as the women of the town who had cut their eyes at her in
disdain before embraced her and welcomed her home. The men settled for patting Dillon on the
shoulder, since both hands were otherwise occupied. Finally, the physician found himself standing
in front of the two people he had known for so many years, had seen through so
much.
Kitty
stared at him for a moment before throwing her arms around him and kissing him
soundly on the cheek. “Oh, Curly!” she
cried. “I missed you so much!”
Unable to
suppress his swell of tears, he allowed the display, wiping at his nose and
shaking his head. Festus gave him a
moment’s rescue when he stepped in, wrapping his arms around Kitty and lifting
her in an unabashed demonstration of hill country joy.
“Hey, now,”
Matt protested gamely, doing absolutely nothing to stop the display.
Doc turned
to the big man, marveling at the difference in him. His blue eyes twinkled, bright and full
again. His face was smoother, the lines
not as deep. He even seemed taller,
although Doc couldn’t figure out how that might have happened. That defeated, world-weary weight that had
worn him down the past months had lifted, replaced by a freshly overhauled ease
that was close enough to the old Matt to make no difference.
“Matt,” he
greeted, eyes relaying the pleasure he couldn’t express verbally. “You okay?”
The marshal
returned the look, nodding and smiling in understanding. “Yeah.” Simple as it was, the response conveyed a
much more complex message.
The
doctor’s gaze fell to the squirming child swallowed up in the crook of Matt’s
arm. “I don’t – I’m not sure what to say
here – “ he started.
Matt
chuckled, and
Leaning
over to take the child from his father, Kitty handed him to the doctor. “I know what you can say. You can say hello to Matthew Samuel Dillon,
Doc.”
The
announcement created an explosion of exclamations through the crowd as those
closest to the train spread the news to those farthest away.
It was
almost impossible to realize what had happened, almost impossible to comprehend
that he was standing there holding Matt Dillon’s and Kitty Russell’s
child. He never thought it would
happen. The baby opened his eyes to look
up at this new human being, and Doc saw the perfect mixture of his parents in
him. Sky blue eyes, fair skin, soft
curls of red-brown hair, long, slender fingers.
“My
goodness,” he breathed. “My goodness.”
“Let me see
th’ little feller,” Festus
insisted, pushing his way closer.
“Don’t
crowd, Festus,” Doc admonished. “You’ll
scare him to death with that scraggly face of yours.”
“I’ll hev you know, I got me a way with younguns.”
“Helps to
be on the same mental level,” Doc muttered.
Moving in
to counter the argument, Hannah smiled.
“He sure is a fine lookin’ boy, Marshal.”
Matt’s only
answer was a broad grin.
Festus had
focused on a series of goos and gaas
to entertain the infant. For his part,
Sam seemed to contemplate these strange people and find them lacking. His little face screwed up for a moment
before he let out a bellow that didn’t need translating even for the people in
the back of the crowd.
“See? Here, Kitty,” Doc offered hastily, holding
the baby out, “I think you need to take him back.”
“He’s
hungry,” she confided softly. “Can we
use your office?”
“What? Oh, sure.” He rested a hand at her elbow. “Sure.
Come on.”
“I’ll get
the bags and meet you up there, Kitty,” Matt said, then shocked the entire town
by leaning down and kissing her, right there in broad daylight, right there at
the train station – and right there on the lips.
Doc shook
his head, his amazement complete – almost.
The shock
only continued. Smiling at Matt, Kitty
reached her left hand up to give his cheek a brief caress. In that moment, something flashed, caught by
the sun. Her hand lingered only a moment
at his face, but it was long enough for all of them to see the sparkle of the
ring that graced her third finger, left hand.
Doc’s jaw
dropped at the sight of the familiar band, the band he had removed from the
pocket of a drunk, despairing U.S. marshal over half a year ago; the band that
signified twenty years of a woman’s love and patience – the band that he’d
never really thought he’d see on her finger.
But there
it was.
“Doc,”
Hannah gasped, “is that – “
“It sure
is,” he affirmed in satisfaction. “It
sure is. Mrs. Dillon?” he asked, loud enough to be heard over the noise.
Kitty
turned and smiled radiantly.
“Yippee!”
Festus crowed, flinging his hat into the air.
If news of
their arrival had traveled fast, this revelation spread through the crowd like
a prairie fire. The murmurs grew to
outright declarations, which blossomed into yells, which finally erupted into
cheers and wild applause. The marshal
looked astounded at the ovation, staring at the hundreds of his fellow citizens
who had packed the station to welcome him home.
Not usually prone to blatant displays, Doc Adams nevertheless found himself
joining the celebration with his own hoots.
There was
absolutely no doubt what the headlines of the Dodge paper would be the next
day.
Over the
noise of the crowd, Festus leaned in and yelled in his ear. “Did ya see ‘em, Doc?”
Doc stopped
cheering long enough to ask, “What?”
“Matthew’s
eyes,” the deputy clarified, as if the physician were dense.
“What’s
wrong with his eyes?”
“Why, nairy a thang, Doc.”
“Festus,
what are you – “
“Cain’t ya see? She’s back in ‘em!”
“Back in –
“`
“Miss Kitty,”
Festus repeated, grinning. “She’s back
in ‘em, Doc.
She’s back in his eyes.”
His heart
swelled with that statement. Sometimes ol’ Festus could hit on something. Almost overcome, he peered up at the towering
form that stood, tall and broad, right arm snug around Kitty’s waist, grin wide
and open. They were looking at Matt
Dillon, a man whose clear blue eyes were once again filled with warmth, and
with humor, and with love – and with her.
Nope, he
didn’t figure it could get any better.
Bursting with pride for Matt and Kitty, he let his eyes watch the crowd,
enjoying the unconditional acceptance the town seemed to be giving them, the
universal show of pure delight over the surprise.
But then he
realized he was wrong. Not everyone
showed delight. In the distance, leaning
casually against a porch post, a slender, young man watched. Doc knew if he were closer, he would
recognize hungry eyes and a low-slung holster – and a disturbingly fast hand.
TBC