I had this
idea for a story after watching the episode “
Imperfection
A Gunsmoke Story
by MAHC
(Amanda)
“Imperfection
is the greatness of man.”
Ernst
Fischer
1899-1972
Chapter One: Not This Day
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
“Matt Gets It;” “Seven Hours to Dawn;” “The Badge;” “The Bullet;” “
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:
I didn’t create these characters. Shoot.
Kitty
Russell tried not to be too obvious as she stood outside the doors of the
Sometimes
he rode in at a brisk trot, horse and rider strong and eager to be back home. Sometimes
he entered town slowly, cautiously, body braced for what dangers he might
encounter. Sometimes, he and Buck
plodded in, slouched and weary from the long trail. And sometimes – the worst times – Buck
brought him in, slumped and bleeding and barely hanging onto the saddle
horn. In fact, on more than one
occasion, the caring hands of Festus and Newly and
various other Dodge citizens had caught him as he slid from his mount, his body
finally relinquishing its grip on consciousness when it sensed he was among
friends.
Kitty’s
heart squeezed tight, her throat closed with the final vision and the
possibility of his returning in a similar condition this time – if he returned
at all. She lived in dread of that day,
knowing just how likely it was. He had
beaten too many odds throughout the years not to be pushing his luck. Of course, luck had little to do with Matt
Dillon. He beat the odds because he was
good – the best, they said – and Kitty knew it was true. Still, even the best weren’t perfect. And imperfection allowed for mistakes.
His body
was covered with evidence of years of mistakes.
She knew them well, each mar on his skin from a bullet or knife or
pistol handle or any number of make-shift weapons some outlaw had enlisted in
an attempt to destroy Marshal Matt Dillon.
His left
shoulder and chest seemed to have taken the brunt of the injuries, crossed and
crisscrossed with the scars of enemies for the past 17 years. On their last night together before he set
out on the long journey to track the murdering bandito called Mando into Mexico, she had lain by his side, her body still
buzzing from his touch, from their passion, and trailed her fingers over those
marks, remembering each one she had seen made and wondering about those that
were created when she wasn’t present.
XXXX
She lay
with her head against his shoulder, her hair draped over his arm, her finger
drawing slow circles across his chest.
He was leaving in the morning, and as usual her heart arched, wondering
if this would be the last time – the one she remembered in lonely years to come
when she reflected on their final moments together. Almost involuntarily, her hand reached for
the scars he had collected through the years, proof that he was still with her
despite the efforts of so many.
She
caressed that first one, faded to the point that it was almost invisible, put
there by Dan Grat so many years ago when they were
both young and raw. Sighing, she
wondered what would have happened if she had known, if some gypsy’s crystal
ball had revealed how many more times she would witness such a scene. Would she have stayed or would she have run
back to New
Carefully,
she moved her hand to the worst of the four scars Mace Gore’s men had left him
with, sprawled out there on
An
involuntary groan bubbled up in her throat at the sudden, nauseating sensation,
and he shifted to look down at her.
“Kitty?”
Matt didn’t
know – not really – even though he had seen and felt her immense relief when it
was all over and he slumped in that chair, hurting and exhausted, but
alive. She hid the terror that had
gripped her ever since that night, every time he stepped into harm’s way.
His left
arm tightened under her head, the muscles flexing as he moved to pull her closer. “You okay?” he asked, but his voice revealed
that he knew the answer already.
“Sure.” They both heard the lie.
Letting out
a deep breath, he kissed her temple gently.
“Kitty, I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
A few weeks. A lifetime – she hoped not
literally. “Sure.”
Sliding
across his chest, she placed her hand on that one scar, almost over his heart,
that came closest to tearing him from her, the one that had dragged her from
Dodge and from him in a futile attempt to escape the nightmares, until she
realized that she couldn’t get Matt Dillon out of her heart, no matter how far
she ran.
“I’ll be as
fast as I can,” he soothed, but they both knew that was an empty promise out on
the trail.
The evening
was quickly dissolving into a quagmire of depressing realities – not the way
she wanted to leave him, or for him to leave her. With effort, she roused enough strength to
break the solemnity of the moment and threw him a sensuous smile.
“Cowboy,
you can be fast on the trail, but there are some things that just need to be
done nice and slow.”
As
anticipated, her ploy worked. Desire
flamed in his eyes, and he fell into the game willingly, running his long
fingers down her back and over her hip.
“I can do slow, too,” he reminded, voice low.
Warm arousal
flooded her as she kissed the scar.
“Yes, you surely can.”
With a
pleased grunt, he twisted to bring their bodies more in line, but another grunt
followed right behind, this one not pleased at all.
“Matt?”
“I’m fine,”
he insisted, but his tight voice betrayed him even as he let his lips nuzzle
her neck.
She arched
back and let him play – it was certainly no hardship on her – then ran her hand
around his side to brush the newest scar, the one that had almost left him
unable to do what they had already done twice that evening, and – from the feel
of things – were about to do again. The one that had almost robbed him of his ability even to walk. Almost.
His hand
caught hers and drew it back. “Kitty,”
he insisted, “I said I’m fine.”
“Uh huh.”
The back
wound pained him still, she could tell, even though Doc had managed not to
cripple him when he removed it on that damn gold train only a few weeks
before. It was all too clear in the
winces when he stood, the grimaces when he sat, and the groans at night when he
turned restlessly in his sleep. He still
fought the effects of that significant injury, and here he was about to head
off again.
“Don’t you
believe me?” he challenged, but his voice, deep and seductive, also held a hint
of pleading. He needed her to let it go,
needed her to give him this night.
For a
moment, she contemplated whether she should push the fact that he wasn’t fully
recovered or allow him the bit of transparent subterfuge. Those eyes, soft and boyish, met hers. What would it matter now, anyway? He was going, whether she protested or
not. Besides, the promise of pleasure
that he also held there was just as persuasive.
“Guess
you’ll have to prove it to me,” she said, meeting the challenge.
The heat of
his gaze burned her cheeks. “Guess I
will.”
And he drew
her to him to do just that. As they
moved together with growing intensity, she forgot about Dan Grat,
and Mace Gore, and Amos Potter, and all the other inadequate competition, and
focused on memorizing every inch of his hard body in case – in case.
Her hands
found each mark and she told herself that they merely counted off each victory
over death. One day, Kitty admitted in
her stronger moments, there would be no victory, but not this day.
Not this
day.
XXXX
She sighed,
opening her eyes to
Another
glance down the street revealed nothing more than the usual bustle of the
town. No big man on a big horse appeared
between the buildings. Sighing again,
she turned to step back into the
“Kitty?”
She looked
up at the familiar voice to see Doc Adams smiling tentatively before her.
“Morning, Curly,” she greeted, forcing a tease in spite of the fear and dread
eating at her.
“Morning? Well, for you maybe. ‘Bout lunchtime for us
working fellows, though.”
“I can’t
help it if you chose the wrong profession,” she countered, her eyes showing
gratitude for the distraction.
“Yeah,
well, I’d like to see you set Moss Grimmick’s leg
next time that ornery mule of Festus’ pins him up against the stall.”
She gave
him a pointed look.
“Oh,” he
remembered, “come to think of it, you did when I was out at the Hobson’s
place.” But his eyes twinkled. “’Course it was a good thing he got hurt
after
She swatted
at his arm fondly. “Real
funny, Curly.”
The levity
vanished too quickly, though, as they both considered each other for a quiet
moment, before he touched her arm and asked, “Anything?”
Smile
fading, she shook her head.
“Well, you
know Matt,” he reasoned, unaware that the very mention of the name twisted her
heart as if it were in a vise. “He’s
been gone for long periods before. He’s
always come back.
So far, she
thought. “Yeah.”
“Listen,
why don’t we go inside and I’ll buy you a drink? I have it on good authority that the owner of
this establishment serves the best liquor this side of
“That
right?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I
don’t see how I can turn down such an offer.”
With a
final look toward the south end of town, she took the physician’s arm and
stepped back through the swinging doors.
But, even though her body was inside, her mind and
heart remained somewhere out there past the outskirts of
Because
Kitty Russell had to believe that this was not the day when there would be no
victory. Not this day.
Please,
God, not this day.
Chapter Two: She is Worried, Yes?
POV: Matt
Spoilers: “
Rating: PG
Matt Dillon
slumped over the dark mane of his horse, eyes hooded and red, cheeks flushed,
throat parched, desperately rationing what little strength he had left to staying
in the saddle, counting on Buck to keep going, to stay the course.
The sun
beat down on him; his hat, tugged low over his eyes, protected him as best it
could from the harsh rays. Around him,
the sparse desert scrubs had given way to thicker patches of grassland. Not that it mattered. He had long since lost the ability or
interest to distinguish details. Days
melted together with the heat. His
world had narrowed to his horse and the earth below his hooves, because each
step the big dun took brought him closer to the end, closer to home, closer to
Dodge.
Closer to her.
XXXX
He was a
good four days out of
They had
all urged him – particularly Lucero – to stay longer, to give his body more
time to heal. They had, no doubt, saved
his life, and he was definitely obliged to them, but
The
weakness came upon him after he was well into
He
calculated his chances of returning to their home and decided he had just as
good a shot of making it to Dodge, so he plodded on, bracing his left hand
against the flaring pain, rationing his store of water against the time his
body couldn’t function without it.
Five more days to Dodge if he didn’t fall off the pace, if the weather
cooperated, if highwaymen stayed away. Five days.
But the
odds were not good.
Even
ignoring his wounds and the abundant dangers of the trail, he had realized two
days before that he was being tailed.
One of Mando’s men, perhaps, although he
hadn’t seen any of them who seemed to have enough mettle or energy to follow
the
And then he
remembered nothing until he woke three days later, according to Agustin, back
in the humble home of the old man and his grandchildren, Lucero’s beautiful
face, somehow softer and gentler, looking down at him as she ran a cool cloth
over his brow.
XXXX
“So you
have decided to return to us,” the young woman said, smiling. Behind her, Lucho
grinned in delight.
He blinked
away the haze and tried to answer, tried to make his mouth work, but couldn’t
quite manage the task.
“Do not
talk, Law,” she instructed, but her tone remained kind. “You are still very weak. Lucho has been
worried.” Her eyes told him Lucho wasn’t the only one.
She held a
cup to his lips and he sipped at the water, enjoying its cool path down his
throat. Thus fortified, he made a more
successful attempt to speak.
“Thank
you.”
Broader
smiles rewarded his effort. “I told you
he would be all right!” the young boy called.
“Marshal, you will be all right.”
“I’ll be –
fine, Lucho,” he breathed, grimacing as his right
side throbbed with the movement.
“You will
be,” Agustin agreed, stepping into his sight from behind Lucero. “But not for a while, yet.”
He couldn’t
argue with that as the darkness closed in on him once more, and their smiles
disappeared from his sight.
When he
woke again, Lucero still sat by him, wiping his forehead. “Good morning, Law,” she greeted, pulling the
cloth away. “How do you feel?”
In truth,
his head pounded, his chest and stomach throbbed, and he swallowed to keep from
being sick right there in front of her. “Fine.”
She
narrowed her eyes in doubt. “You still
have a fever, but it’s lower, I think.
You were foolish to go after Mando when you
were so sick still.”
“Maybe.” Of course, he could have done nothing else.
“Thank you,
though.”
He nodded.
“You have
been a lawman for many years,” she observed, peeling back the blanket and
lifting a bandage from one of the wounds.
“Yeah.”
“Your body
tells of many injuries.”
He cleared
his throat and wondered just how many tales she had seen on his body. “A few.”
Lucero
smiled. “More than a
few. Are you that good or that
bad?”
A tight
chuckle was his response.
She worked
in silence for a few minutes, cleaning and re-bandaging, her gentle hands
careful enough to cause only a few flinches from him. But when she pulled the blanket back over his
chest, Matt was more than a little relieved to lower his guard.
“Who is
Kitty?” she asked, voice casual but eyes sharp.
Okay, guard
back up.
He glanced
at her as she handed him a warm tortilla and waited with a cup of water. Swallowing, he gave her a crooked smile. “Why?”
But Lucero
was certainly not naïve. “You called her
name, called for her while you were sick.”
Dropping
his eyes uncomfortably, he started to shrug, but thought better of it when his
ribs protested. “She’s a woman I know
back in Dodge.”
“You know
her well, I would say.”
His cheeks
flushed, and he hoped the fever covered the increase in color. But he didn’t refute the observation. Instead, he nodded. “I do.”
“She loves
you.”
He lifted
his chin in question. “How do you know?”
She raised
her brow, taking the rest of the tortilla from him and lifting the water cup so
he could drink. “She has stayed with you
a long time, no?” Lucero asked.
After he
swallowed, he nodded to her. What did it
matter if she knew? “She has.”
“She is not
your wife?”
“No.”
“But there
is no other?”
“No.”
Lucero
considered his responses for a moment, then said, “She
must be some woman.”
He didn’t
have to think about that. “She is.”
“You love
her?”
He didn’t
have to think about that, either, but considered reminding her that she had
told him his personal question about Mando and her
was none of his business. Instead, he
pressed his lips together for a moment before finally looking her in the
eye. “I do.”
“It is good
to love someone,” Lucero observed, her dark eyes sad, and he resisted the urge
to touch her face, not with any romantic intent, but to comfort – and perhaps
to offer his thanks for all she had sacrificed for him.
She stood,
breaking the moment. “So we must make
you well to return to her. She is
worried, yes?”
XXXX
She is
worried, yes?
She is
worried, yes.
Worried, yes.
Yes.
The words
echoed in his skull and he pried open his eyes to break the sound. He squinted up into the sun, wincing at the
memory that had nothing to do with any physical discomfort, but had everything
to do with the guilt of knowing he had, once again, caused Kitty pain. A few weeks, he had told her as she lay in
his arms that last night. A few weeks,
but they both realized it could be much longer – or forever.
In a rare
moment of lucidity, he pondered again why the hell he had thought Mando would just roll over when he came for him. Overconfidence, maybe? After all, there were outlaws who did just
that. Pride, perhaps? No, not that.
He had long ago lost the ego of invincibility of a cocky young
marshal. No, this had simply been a
mistake, an underestimate of the bandit.
It didn’t
matter anyway. What was done was done.
She is
worried, yes?
Yes.
Surely he
was almost there. Surely Dodge had to be
near. How long had he ridden? He couldn’t remember, didn’t recognize the
flatlands that passed by slowly. But
they were flat at least, that meant something.
At least
that was what he told himself.
Buck
stumbled slightly over a patch of rocks, not much, but enough to jar his
rider. It was as if someone had slid a
knife down his chest and into his gut.
Instinctively, he pulled back on the reins to stop the horse, to give
himself a moment – or more than a moment – to fight through the pain, but Buck
ignored him as if he knew they could not afford to lose any time. Gritting his teeth against the nausea that
pressed against his throat, he tried to force his breathing to slow, to regain
control, but the world swirled in front of him and he felt his body falling
forward, being sucked into a vortex of colors and sounds and strange sensations. Somewhere deep in his brain he chided himself
for the weakness, but it wasn’t enough to stop the inevitable slide into the
depths.
“Hang on,
Cowboy.”
What?
“Hang on.”
“Kitty?” he
mumbled, grasping vainly for enough energy to lift his head, to open his eyes,
to look at her.
“Don’t do
it.”
Do what?
“Don’t you
do it, Matt Dillon.
Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare
leave me.”
Desperately,
he tried to reach out to her, to feel her arms around him, to see her face, her
eyes, but it was harder now, heavier.
“Matt!”
Her cry cut
its way through his fractured thoughts, solidified at the center of his brain
and torn him loose from the whirlwind.
Suddenly, he felt the hard leather of the saddle beneath his thighs,
heard the clopping of Buck’s hooves on the ground, tasted
the bitterness of salt and blood and fatigue in his mouth. Suddenly, his eyes were open, and he was
staring at a sea of grass with only a tree buoy or two breaking the monotony.
Kitty.
Not there.
But not
far, though. Surely not
far.
“Don’t you
dare leave me.”
Kitty knew
the risks as well as he did, knew the odds would catch up with him one day,
knew he couldn’t promise her he would return.
Not that
any of that mattered a damn bit.
He had
already disappointed her too much. He
had to make it back to Dodge. She would
never forgive him if he didn’t.
With a
shaking hand, he managed to pry the top off his canteen and pour the last of
its contents down his throat, clutching at the brief revival of his
senses. With a soft click, he urged Buck
into a trot, holding onto his wounds as best he could, focused on the path
ahead, focused on home, focused on Dodge.
Focused on her.
Chapter Three: Law
POV: Lucero
Spoilers: “
Rating: PG
“He was not
ready. He should not have gone.”
“And how
were you to keep him here?”
Sleeves
pushed up above her elbows, arms deep in the basin of water, hands clenched
around the blood-stained sheets, Lucero stopped scrubbing and looked up at her
grandfather. He was right, of course. She could not have kept the gringo lawman
there, not even if she had tried to use the talents that had made her Mando’s woman. He
had other responsibilities, other – interests.
With a
sigh, she shoved the sheets back down into the dark liquid and continued
washing. “He was not ready,” she
repeated needlessly. They all knew it.
“He will be
all right,” Lucho said confidently. “He is a strong man, a great man.”
She smiled
fondly at her brother’s blatant hero worship, and didn’t blame him a bit. She, too, had seen the big man’s strength,
his greatness – and even more important, his goodness. None of them could even have imagined anyone
could free them from Mando’s cruel control before
Matt Dillon came into their lives. But
now they lived as their own people, ruled their own lives.
The young
boy’s face fell slightly as he fingered the shining badge on his chest. “I wish he could have stayed, though. We needed him here.”
Agustin
ruffled his grandson’s hair. “Such a
great man is needed many places, Lucho. Do you not think there are those who want him
back where he came from?”
“I
know. But I will miss him, Grandfather.”
“I, too,”
the old man admitted.
Their words
brought heaviness to Lucero’s heart.
They would not be the only ones to miss the big man. She wondered if he would remember her in
years to come, wondered if she could claim – if only in her own mind – some
part in his future triumphs. Shaking her
head at her own foolishness, she wrung out the rough fabric, satisfied to see
that the stains from his blood had not been completed removed. It was strange, she knew, but it gave her
some piece of him still.
Of course,
she knew he truly belonged somewhere else – to someone else.
Kitty.
She had
never heard of such a name before, not for a human, and wondered if it had some
significance or if it were simply a name.
Whatever the origin, it was certainly a name that meant a great deal to
him. He had groaned it over and over in
his delirium as she wiped the fevered sweat from his face and chest. He had whispered it in his sleep even after
the fever fell and he rested more calmly.
And he had said it quite clearly yesterday evening as he packed his
saddlebag in preparation for his morning departure. She wasn’t sure who he was talking to – his
horse was the only creature near him to listen – but she had heard the name
often enough to recognize it.
Kitty.
What kind
of woman could command such feelings from such a man? And he was a man. Quite a man. She had suspected that early on, but after what
she had witnessed in that town square, she knew for certain.
XXXX
Not quite
able to believe her eyes, Lucero braced on the balcony overlooking the square
where Mando’s body lay crumpled and still in the
dirt. He had killed him. The gringo lawman – weak, injured, clinging
to his horse – had killed Mando. It was not possible.
Yet, there
it was, right in front of them. She
watched as one of Mando’s men stumbled over to their
dead leader. He rolled the body over,
stared at it for a moment, then turned to look at the big man, who was by that
time hanging on with both hands to the saddle horn, his legs bent, his head
against the leather. A chill ran through
her as she realized what was about to happen.
The bandito growled and dropped his hand to the holster. Lucero did not hesitate.
“Law!” she
called.
As Dillon’s
head came up, his right hand swung down, and his gun was firing as it cleared
the belt. Mando’s
man froze, his pistol not even completely out of its
sheath. He teetered for a few seconds as
the town watched, then crashed back onto the ground only inches away from his
equally dead leader.
The
remaining men of Mando’s broken regime did not need
further incentive to disperse, most of them rather quickly, as the townspeople
gathered around the two bodies, felled by two shots that had simultaneously
broken the chains of control.
But Lucero
wasn’t watching them anymore. She had
moved her gaze to the lawman and gasped as he lost his grip both on the horse
and on consciousness and collapsed onto the ground. Scrambling downstairs as quickly as she
could, she raced across the square, praying that he still breathed, that he had
not sacrificed himself for them.
Taking his
head in her lap, she felt for a pulse, leaned in to hear his heartbeat, swallowing
in relief when both were there still.
With shaking fingers, she opened his shirt to assess the damage to the
injuries Agustin had tried to mend, frowning when she saw that the bandages
were soaked in fresh blood.
“Portadillo!” she called to the old blacksmith who stood
watching. “I need your wagon.”
At first
she thought he would refuse. She had
been, after all, Mando’s woman, had a connection with
the cruelties he had wrought through the years.
But the old man simply nodded and disappeared into his building,
reappearing a few minutes later with his two sons, who pulled out a sturdy cart
and somehow managed to haul the big marshal into it.
By the time
they reached Agustin’s house, she had exhausted every prayer she had ever
learned as a child. They must have
worked, though, because he still breathed, despite the disturbing amount of
blood that pooled beneath him.
But he was
with friends, now, in caring hands, and she could do nothing else except
believe he would survive.
XXXX
The fever lasted
three days and threw him in and out of some level of consciousness the entire
time. They took turns sitting up with
him, afraid to leave him in case he needed more laudanum for the pain or
quinine and alcohol for the infection.
Even little Lucho cared for him, perhaps with
even more dedication than the rest of them.
Lucero
learned his face well during those long hours, studied the strong, handsome
angles, tried to see into his soul and discover what kind of man would risk his
life for people he barely knew. She also
wondered what kind of life he had back where he came from.
It could
not have been easy, she realized, as she tried to relieve his fever by bathing
him with cool rags. The two scars he had
gained from Mando’s men were merely the latest
additions to a body well accustomed to such marks. She had never seen so many wounds before and
wondered how he had survived them all: his chest, his shoulders, his side and
back, even his legs. But the harsh
imperfections could not disguise the fitness and strength of his form, and she
found herself blushing – she, Mando’s woman – as she
ministered to him.
On the
evening of the second day, as she dozed fitfully in a chair by his bed, she
heard his moans and immediately shook off the light sleep, bending over
him. The words were hard to distinguish,
but he seemed to be fighting someone, struggling for something. She tried to rouse him with a gentle hand,
but he only struggled harder, his arms reaching for something or someone.
“No!” The cry echoed through the room, drawing
Agustin and Lucho from their beds.
“What is
it?” the old man asked, guiding the boy away.
“He is
dreaming.”
“Stop! Don’t hurt her!” He thrashed now, unaware that he was only
tearing open the wounds again. “Kitty!”
Lucero put
one hand against his cheek, rested the other on his chest. “Shh. I am here, Law. Stop moving.”
But he
groaned, calling out again. “Kitty!”
Agustin
looked at her. “Tell him you are her.”
“What?”
“This Kitty. Tell him you are her. Maybe it will calm him down.”
“Law,” she
soothed.
“She would
not call him that,” the old man observed.
“If she is who I think she must be, she would most likely call him by
his name.”
Lucero
grunted as she tried vainly to keep him from hurting himself further. Firming her grip on his rough jaw, she said,
“Matt.”
He groaned
again, but his arms stilled.
“Matt,” she
repeated, then tried more. “It’s –
Kitty.” She didn’t figure she sounded
much like this Kitty, but maybe he wouldn’t notice in his delirious state.
“Kitty,” he
whispered, reaching up.
Catching
his hand, she placed it back on his chest, but allowed her fingers to entwine
with his. “Yes,” she told him. “I am here.
Go back to sleep.”
“Kitty.” His body relaxed, his breathing grew even
again.
Gently removing
her hand from his, she went about fixing the bandages, wondering who this Kitty
was and what hold she had on the big lawman.
Whatever it was, it was strong.
XXXX
Lucero
threw out the dirty water from the basin and turned it up to catch any rare
rain that might fall, knowing it was foolish, but figuring it would do no harm,
regardless. Agustin stepped out into the
heat from the cooler house. She was
still getting used to the kindness that had replaced the accusations on his
lined features. It was good to be home,
good to be accepted again.
“You really
think he will be all right?” she asked him, knowing that Lucho
was off tending to the goats and not around to hear the real answer.
“I can only
hope,” the old man answered. “It is a
long journey he will make.”
“He is
weak, still. Not as much as before, but
some still.”
“Yes. But he had to go.”
She knew
that. It didn’t make things easier. “I wish he had someone with him, in case – “
“And who
would go, Lucero?” Agustin questioned softly.
“You?”
She
flushed, knowing he saw through her. “I
could have – helped him,” she argued, but it sounded weak even to her ears.
“And what of his – Kitty? Did you not hear how
he spoke her name?”
Of course
she had heard, had asked him about her when he was able to talk again. Kitty was his woman, not like she had been Mando’s woman. Not
at all like that. She had seen the
tenderness in his eyes when he acknowledged his love for her, had heard the
emotion in his voice – even in the throes of fever – when he said her
name.
She
wondered what it would be like to love a man like that and to be loved by
him. But experience told her there were
very few men like that in the world. She
counted herself lucky to have met this one.
She wished –
Even knowing
she could never hold such a place with him, she still wished he had not gone
out alone, not yet. “There are many
dangers out there,” she told Agustin, forcing her voice to sound casual. “I would feel better if he had a companion, that is all.”
That was
not all, of course, but it didn’t matter now.
“Until the next time,” she had said to him in farewell as he took her
hand that morning. But she did not
really fool herself into thinking there would be a next time.
Her
grandfather allowed her the ruse and simply shrugged. “Well, I am too old, and Lucho
is too young to go with him. He will be
fine. You have seen his strength.”
She nodded.
Agustin was right, he was strong. But
even strong men needed help sometimes.
Letting her gaze search the horizon, she hoped that he remained strong,
that he made it back home, back to the other people who needed him.
And despite
the conflicted emotions the wish brought, she also hoped he made it back to
Kitty.
Chapter Four: He Was That Someone
POV: Festus
Spoilers:
“Seven Hours to Dawn;” “The Bullet;” “
Rating: PG
“Here, now,
Miz Kitty, let me be a-gittin’
that fer ya.” Festus Haggen
clanged down the boardwalk to relieve Kitty Russell of her armful of packages.
“Thanks,
Festus,” she answered, her smile pleasant enough, but far from genuine. “You don’t have to – “
“Well,
golly Bill, ain’t no
trouble,” he assured her, stomping along beside her toward the
When she
didn’t continue the conversation, he said, “You bin a’shoppin’ have ya?”
Silence met
his question. “Miz
Kitty?”
Startled,
she turned to him. “What?”
“I sez, you bin a’shoppin?”
She placed
a hand on his arm in apology. “Oh, I’m
sorry, Festus. I was – thinking.”
He didn’t
doubt that a bit.
“Yes, I’ve
been shopping. Sometimes it – is a good
distraction.”
It hurt him
something fierce to see the pain in those beautiful eyes, but he knew nothing
he could do would change it. Only one
man could take that pain away – and he was also the one, however
unintentionally, causing it.
“Why doncha join Doc n’ me at Delmonicos
fer dinner?” he offered gallantly. Maybe he’d even buy her meal for her. Well, or at least get Doc to buy it.
But she
smiled that sad smile again and shook her head.
“I don’t think so, but thanks just the same.”
“Well, if ya change yer mind – “ he started, but she cut him off, turning at the doors of
the
“Here we
are. I can take them now.” She reached out to shift the packages from
his arms to hers.
“I kin take
‘em upstairs fer ya – “
Again, she
brushed away his chivalry. “I have them,
Festus. Thank you anyway.”
Then she
was gone, the doors swinging shut behind her.
He watched as she navigated the stairs, never once looking back. With a sigh, the deputy shook his head and
set his step toward the jail. He’d make
some coffee, just the kind Matthew liked –
The thought
twisted in his brain like a toady frog on the end of a gig. The jail would be deserted, unless Newly happened to drop by.
It was amazing how empty the place could be without that big lawman
stretched out across the bunk or pushed back behind the desk, or standing to
fill the entire space from floor to ceiling.
He had
wanted to go with Matthew to track down that low-life Mando
and his gang, but the big marshal insisted he was needed in Dodge. Festus had even resorted to making the
ill-advised suggestion that Dillon wasn’t in top shape yet and might not be
able to finish the job. After all, it
had been only a few weeks since they had carried him by
stretcher onto that gold train bound for
The back
wound still suffered him, Festus knew.
He had seen the way he pushed up gingerly from his desk, or the way his
face tightened when he took that first step after he stood. And the limp, which he had only occasionally
given into before, had now become a consistent component of his gait.
No, Festus
knew Matt Dillon was in no shape to go off after a band of outlaws, but his
efforts to dissuade him had drawn only a sharp glare and sour responses.
XXXX
“I’m jest a
sayin’, Matthew, that ther Mando and his bunch’ll be so fer down in
“Maybe,” came the curt answer.
But Festus
was not rebuffed. “Well,” he continued,
his voice wheedling, “doncha think it won’t matter if’n ya wait a few days?”
Those blue
eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
A lesser
man would have stopped. Festus bulled
on. “Well, jest ta make sure ya got whatcha need – “
“I have
everything I need, Festus,” he assured him brusquely, lifting his hat from the
peg and tugging it low over his eyes.
Even though
the marshal seemed a bit more rested that morning – and Festus had a pretty
good idea where he had done that resting the night before – he still wore that expression,
especially behind the eyes, of a man whose existence had just been sorely
tested and who had clawed his way out of the hole only recently. The vision fortified Festus for more
tenacity.
“Maybe ya orda wait fer another reason,” he
ventured, already bracing for the indignant protest.
“For what reason?”
It was now
or never, he figured, and took a quick breath.
“Matthew, it’s only bin a few weeks since Doc
dug that thar bullet outta yer back. Doncha think – “
Stubborn
fell over the broad shoulders like a blanket.
“I’m fine, Festus,” he snapped.
Although
Festus had expected no different an answer, he allowed the frustration at his
own failure to tweak his temper. In a
rare show of irritation toward the man he admired more than anyone else in the
world, the deputy threw up his hands and growled, “Why shore. I kin see that. That’s why ya’ve
bin hitchin’ round ‘cher
like a ninety year old shemale granny.”
The
marshal’s mouth set hard, his lips pressed together. Festus hastily continued before Dillon could
stop him. “How long ya
think ya kin set yer horse
afore that back pains ya so much ya
kaint rightly even hang onto him?”
“Festus – “
“I see’d ya scrunch yer face every time ya git up. It’s hurtin’ ya good,
and even though I ain’t wantin’
ya to tell ol’ Doc I agree
with him, ya orda stick ta what he told ya ‘bout tryin’ ta take it easy fer a while.”
He squinted
hopefully at the marshal, but Matthew merely worked his jaw a minute, then
sighed and hauled his pack onto a shoulder.
“I’ll be
back in a few weeks. Take care of –
things – while I’m gone.”
Shaking his
head, Festus followed him onto the boardwalk and watched as he threw the pack
behind his saddle. The big man didn’t
even grimace when he mounted the horse, but Festus knew it took a concentrated
effort not to. Dillon clicked Buck back
into the street, then hesitated and turned to Festus. The deputy saw the realization on his face,
the understanding and acceptance of how this trip could end. It twisted in his gut.
“If I don’t
– “ Dillon began.
Festus
flinched. “Now, no need ta go talkin’ like that,
Matthew. You’ll be back. Besides, ya don’t wanna go jinxin’ yerself.”
Finally,
the marshal allowed a vague smile to curve his lips. “Take care of her,” he said simply, his meaning
clear, tearing at the deputy’s heart, then swung Buck around and headed south
out of town.
Festus
watched him until he disappeared then stared a little longer at the empty
street. It was early yet, not many folks
stirring. He wondered if Dodge would
notice that their marshal was gone, wondered if the very atmosphere in town
would change. Maybe
not today. Maybe
not tomorrow. But he knew one
thing: if Matt Dillon didn’t come back,
And none of
those who counted Matt Dillon as friend – or more – would either.
XXXX
As he
clanged down the boardwalk toward Dodge’s only decent restaurant, Festus
couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Kitty and the melancholy expression he had
seen in her eyes. He had always known Matthew
Dillon and Kitty Russell belonged together.
Even from his earliest days in Dodge, he had observed their affection
for each other. And, although they
remained careful about revealing too much publicly, he had been privy to enough
clues to know that affection was only a surface reflection of their true, deep
love: a quick caress of a shoulder, a hand on a back, a brush of an arm, an
exchanged glance.
Still, even
those subtle moments were rare. Only
one, that he recalled, allowed him a bold demonstration of that love, with
Kitty falling all over the big marshal, her arms around his neck, her lips
against his cheek and jaw. The amazing
part was that he permitted it, returned it, even, with his head on her breast,
his lips brushing hers – right there in the middle of the
Dead.
That
couldn’t be right. Festus had leaned
down, placed his ear against that broad chest himself, and pulled back,
heartsick, when he realized Doc was right.
His swirling thoughts could not comprehend that the man who stood so
tall, who represented such strength and authority and power was left like a
two-bit tinhorn in the middle of the street.
But as terrible as it was to see Matthew just lying there, it was ten
times worse looking at Miss Kitty. He
never wanted again to see what he saw in her eyes that night: pain, emptiness,
despair, and a void so deep he swore they could all lose themselves in it.
If Matthew
were to be – if he didn’t come back from the dead this time, Festus wasn’t sure
Kitty could go through those emotions again and not shut completely down. And if that happened, he would have lost two
of the three most important people in his life.
As he
stepped through the entrance to Delmonico’s, he noted that the third was
sitting at a corner table.
“Well,” Doc
said, looking up, “I figured about suppertime you’d come wanderin’
in.”
Grateful
for the distraction from his bothersome thoughts, he spluttered cooperatively. “Oh, ya
ol’ goat.
I wuz jest gonna come ta
tell I wuz buyin’ this
afternoon, but never you mind now.”
“You’re buying?” the physician exclaimed
incredulously.
“I wuz, but now – “
“Charlatan,”
Doc accused. “You never intended – “
“I did
intend – wait thar a minute. You’d you call me?”
“Charlatan,”
he repeated, adding a hand flourish. “Fake, fraud, pretender.”
Festus drew
up. “Fake? Why you ol’ – “ He paused and
scrunched up his right eye. “Jest fer that ain’t a
gonna tell ya ‘bout Miz
Kitty.”
The
physician, as predicted, rose and reached out a hand to stop him. “Whoa, now I didn’t say I didn’t want – that
is – well, what about Kitty?”
Festus
shook his head in doubt, knowing he now held the upper hand. “Don’t know as I feel like sharin’ now, seeing as how ya’d
rather not eat with me – “
“Oh for
goodness sake, sit down and order.”
“Well, if ya insist.” Festus
suppressed the smirk that pushed at his mouth.
“What about
Kitty?”
More
serious now, the deputy sank into a chair and let out a generous sigh. “I’m worried ‘bout her, Doc. She ain’t hersef no more. The
light’s jest – well, jest about faded right outta her
eyes.”
“Well, I
jest don’t understand. Matthew’s bin
gone before – “
“Not like
this. Not this long –
and not without some word.”
Festus looked
past the doctor, not wanting to see the truth in his eyes. “Doc, do ya think –
“
“No. No, ‘course not. Matt’s okay. He’s – “ But he
faltered and sat back heavily. “Festus,
I don’t know. This time, I just don’t
know.”
Not wanting
to voice his greatest fear, but needing to address what was becoming more and
more possible, he asked, “What’ll we do if’n he’s – if’n he don’t come back?”
“I don’t
know,” Doc admitted softly.
“What’ll Miz Kitty do?”
“She’ll –
she’ll do what she has to do, Festus, just like everybody.”
That was
what scared him – what she had to do. “I
shore don’t wanna find out.”
“No.”
They sat
for a minute, their thoughts private.
Frustration built in the deputy, roiling in his gut and pushing through
his limbs until he knew he couldn’t just sit there any more. Without a word, he slapped his hand down on
the table with a fierce wham, drawing startled glances from the other patrons.
“I’m a’goin’ after him, Doc,” he decided.
“What?”
“I’m a’goin’ after Matthew.”
He almost smiled, satisfied at the first
feeling of usefulness he’d had in weeks.
But the
doctor didn’t seem quite so certain.
“Well, I never heard anything so – you can’t – “
“Shore I kin. And I’m
gonna.”
“You don’t
even know where he went,” Doc protested.
“I knowd he headed south to
“Festus – “ Doc caught his arm as he stood.
“Doc, “ he said, hoping he could convey how powerful his need
was. “I gotta
do this – fer Matthew, fer Miz Kitty, fer Dodge.”
He felt the
doctor’s hand relax its grip, then fall from his arm. The gray head nodded in acquiescence. Someone had to do something. They couldn’t just wait there forever until
some strange lawman rode into town and told them Matt Dillon was dead. Or even worse, keep waiting and never know
what had happened, wondering every day if he was coming back.
Someone had
to do something. And Festus Haggen had decided he was that someone.
Chapter Five: Hard Man to Catch
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
“Seven Hours to Dawn;” “The Badge;” “The Bullet;” “
Rating: PG
His water
was long gone, but Matt Dillon didn’t notice, couldn’t calculate his odds,
wasn’t able to manage much level of thought beyond simply existing. He vacillated between bouts of fiery pain
that coursed through his body and periods of almost total numbness when he
could barely feel himself on the saddle.
What little
bit of logical thought that was left to him kept pestering, telling him that
this was the end, that he simply couldn’t keep going, that it was foolish even
to try. But an equally persistent voice
of passion challenged him, told him he could make it, reminded
him of what he would lose if he didn’t.
Kitty.
If he gave
up, if he just let his body surrender to the persuasive forces of pain and
something far past exhaustion, he would lose her. And he couldn’t let that happen. So he drew all of his waning strength to that
end, to that focus. Instead of the
desolate flat land before him, he tried to see her beautiful face. Instead of the rough saddle under him, he
tried to feel her soft body. Instead of
the sweat and dirt, he tried to smell her heady perfume.
“Kitty,” he
whispered, almost overcome as his world transformed,
as he was enveloped by the sight, feel, and smell of her.
“Keep
going, Cowboy,” she urged. “Keep
going. I’m waiting for you.”
And he knew
she was. She always was. No, he couldn’t lose Kitty. Whatever it took, he couldn’t lose her.
So,
somehow, he plodded on – or at least hung onto Buck, who plodded on. But their pace had slowed, stretching out
whatever distance remained between them and Dodge, using up precious time. And he began to wonder if it may be too late
for even Kitty to save him.
XXXX
It could
have been hours or only minutes later when he heard them. Even in the near-delirious state he swam in
and out of, Matt Dillon had spent enough years on the trail to recognize the
sound of hoof beats from a good distance.
He usually could make quite accurate predictions as to how many horses
and how fast before any visual confirmation.
This, time, though, through the hazy consciousness he fought to
maintain, he counted himself lucky he heard them at all.
More than
one, he thought. And they were traveling
at a gallop, apparently no longer concerned about stealth. He figured whoever it was had watched their
prey deteriorate to the point he would be of no trouble to them at all, an easy
target who probably couldn’t even find the butt of his pistol, much less draw
with any speed. Blinking twice in a
futile attempt to clear his vision, he contemplated his options:
Make a run
for it? They’d drill him before he could
spur Buck on.
Try to draw
and shoot it out? In his condition, he
would be lucky to get the horse turned around before he was dead.
Turn and
negotiate? Risky – as if the other
choices weren’t.
Surrender? They’d probably kill him anyway.
None of
those choices appealed to him particularly.
Surely there was another way. He
just wished his brain could find it, could push past the thickness that filled
his head and find coherent thought.
If he
turned, acknowledged that he was aware of their presence, they might shoot him
right then, not giving him the chance to make a stand. It would probably be the smart thing for them
to do, if not very gallant. Maybe he
should wait until they called him. Maybe
they weren’t following him after all.
Maybe he was simply a stranger to them –
“Dillon!”
Maybe not.
It took
only a gentle tightening of the reins for Buck to stop obediently. Matt grimaced with the jerk to his body and
swallowed in an effort to regain some clarity.
There was no choice now; he had to turn.
Leaning slightly to the left, he urged the horse around to face the man
– or men – who had shadowed him tenaciously for over a week. With a darkly humorous thought, he figured
maybe they had earned the right to kill him, they certainly had been patient.
His eyes
tightened when he saw them, even through the fuzziness. Not one.
Not two. Five of Mando’s gang had apparently followed him, bent on avenging
their leader’s death. Even at his best,
Matt Dillon would have been sorely tested to take down five men. At the moment, he didn’t stand a chance.
He opened
his mouth to speak and found that he couldn’t, so he settled for the best stare
he had.
“We have
come for you, gringo,” one said unnecessarily.
“You killed Mando.”
He
continued to stare.
“The people
have sent us to avenge him.”
He doubted
that.
“They have
no leader now. You have left them
helpless.”
He tried to
lick his lips, to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak, but it was a
fruitless effort. Didn’t matter, anyway,
they were going to kill him.
“Law!”
His head
snapped up at the voice, unbelieving, confused.
But there in front of him, astride one of the horses, sat Lucero, very
beautiful and very angry. His eyes
squinted to see her, to try to make sense out of her being there.
“You left
me, Law!” she yelled. “You killed Mando, then left me alone! I was someone with Mando. Now I’m nothing!”
No, he tried to argue.
You weren’t someone. You are now. But he couldn’t make a sound more articulate
than a garbled groan.
“You left
me alone!” she cried, but as he tried to focus in on the wavering form,
something changed; her hair transformed from straight, dark tresses to bouncy
curls of fiery red that were very, very familiar.
“Kitty?” he
tried to say with no success.
“I told you
not to leave me!” The olive skin
lightened to alabaster.
His head
pounded as he fought to comprehend. The
Mexican woman had disappeared, and in her place stood a furious, trembling
Kitty Russell, her eyes accusing, her tone on edge with disappointment.
“I can’t do
this anymore, Matt,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t keep waiting for you to come
back.” Her hand came up, holding a
pistol pointed at his chest. “I can’t
keep living not knowing if you’re alive or dead.”
Stunned, he
tried to reach out to her, to talk to her, to ask her what the hell she was
doing, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
“I can’t
wait for you anymore. I have to put you
out of my misery. I have to.”
He heard
the gun cock, saw her finger squeeze the trigger, and still his feverish brain
could not make sense of what was happening.
“Kitty?” he
finally managed to croak, but she didn’t budge.
He wanted
to tell her that he was sorry, that he knew it wasn’t fair to ask her to wait
for him, but that the thought of her was what brought him back alive so many
times. He wanted to tell her those
moments spent in her arms were the only times he truly felt at peace. He wanted to tell her he would give it all up
if it meant keeping her with him. He
wanted to tell her he loved her.
But he
couldn’t.
“Matt?” she
asked, giving him a final chance.
His mouth
opened to say all those things, but the words turned to sand in his
throat.
With an
infinitely sad expression, she leveled the gun again. The others drew their guns, as well, all
aimed directly at him. Knowing it was useless, he could do nothing else but let his hand drop to
the holster at his hip. But he couldn’t
shoot Kitty. Dear God, how could he
shoot Kitty?
His fingers
relaxed around the handle, intent on letting go, but the others had seen his
move. With Kitty leading the way, they
opened up with ferocity. He had time
only to look into her eyes, to see the anger and loathing burn their blue
depths to red. Fire exploded in front of
him, tearing through his body and blasting him off Buck.
He didn’t
even feel it when he hit the ground.
XXXX
Matt Dillon
wasn’t sure why he wasn’t dead. He
should be dead. He had just been riddled
with at least five bullets, all at short range.
Hard to survive that. Of course, he did consider that he might
actually be dead and just not know it.
Still, the ground seemed quite substantial under his body, and the
coolness of the air spread real chill bumps across his skin and allowed a bit
more clarity to part the fog in his brain.
Cautiously,
he peeled open one eye and looked around.
It was dark, which explained the cooler temperature, and he seemed to be
quite alone, no vigilantes from Mando hovering over
him, no scorned Mexican woman waiting to punish him – and no fed-up Kitty
pointing a gun at him.
She hadn’t
shot him after all. With clearer
thoughts, he allowed himself a humorless grunt at the hallucination. Of course Kitty hadn’t shot him. His hands came up to run across his chest and
stomach, drawing a grimace as he touched the burning, infected wounds. But that was all he found, just the old
wounds. No one had shot him – not
recently, anyway.
Sighing
hard, he grimaced when the movement triggered a wave of nausea and pain. The half-healed back injury reminded him of
its presence again, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but he grabbed onto
that pain, that beat, that proof of life, figuring that
he must have finally lost consciousness and fallen off Buck. Even as much as he hurt, it was certainly
preferable to death, but not the most ideal situation since he wasn’t at all
sure that he could drag himself back on the big horse who waited patiently a
few feet away.
So he
decided maybe he would just lie there for a while, give Buck a rest, and ponder
his predicament – and it was, indeed, a predicament. He wondered what the good folks in Dodge
would think if they could see him now.
To many
in that town – indeed, across
No, he
thought, that wasn’t entirely true.
There was at least one thing pleasant associated with those scars: the
particular attention Kitty gave them when they were alone. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her
fingers sliding over the marks, some fresh and tender, others old and barely
noticeable. But she knew each one
intimately. In those times, he let her
touch, explore, knowing she re-lived each moment that created the scar. He could also, if he let himself, but usually
it was much more enjoyable just to lie back and relish the feel of her soft
hands healing him with warmth and love.
He had never stopped her searches, but sometimes the pain in her eyes
during those moments brought a quick tightness to his throat, and he had to
turn her in his arms and distract her from the task. She was usually willing to be distracted,
too, thank goodness.
That last
night before he headed out after Mando, she had lain
in his arms, her hand moving over the scars again, tracing them, remembering.
XXXX
As usual,
she had started with the oldest one and worked her way across his body to the
newest one. After a minute, with her
hand resting on one of the marks Mace Gore’s men had provided him, he heard her
groan softly.
“Kitty?”
He could
still picture her face, tear-streaked and devastated when she entered the
But it was
certainly nothing compared to the pain he knew she had felt ever since, pain
that she couldn’t hide every time he faced danger. She didn’t think he saw it, but he did.
In an
effort to comfort, he pulled her closer.
“You okay?” he asked, already knowing that she wasn’t.
“Sure.”
With a
sigh, he brushed his lips against her temple.
“Kitty, I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
He hoped.
“Sure.”
Her hand
moved to the scar so near his heart, the one that estranged them when she last
decided she couldn’t take it anymore, the one that
reminded him daily of how close he came to losing her.
“I’ll be as
fast as I can,” he soothed, but it was an empty promise.
To his
relief, her tense expression melted into seduction.
“Cowboy,
you can be fast on the trail, but there are some things that just need to be
done nice and slow.”
Grateful,
he let the desire flare in his eyes as well as other parts of his body. “I can do slow, too,” he reminded in the same
tone she had used.
“Yes, you
surely can,” she agreed, kissing the scar.
With a
pleased grunt, he twisted to bring their bodies more in line, but an awkward
turn shot pain through his back and he couldn’t stop the second, harsher grunt.
“Matt?”
Damn. “I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to buzz her
neck in distraction.
For a
while, she allowed his diversion, but when her hand slid around to his back and
ran over the sensitive scar that came far too close to leaving him helpless, he
caught it.
“Kitty,” he
insisted, “I said I’m fine.”
“Uh huh.”
“Don’t you
believe me?” he challenged, warming his voice with seduction and promise, but
unable to mask the plea that also tinted it.
He wanted this night to be good and fun, with no burdens, no
worries. Those would come soon enough.
He watched
her contemplate the choices, tried to tell her with his eyes what he wanted –
what he needed. Finally, she smiled.
“Guess
you’ll have to prove it to me,” she challenged back.
Thank
you. Thank you. “Guess I will.”
And he did,
concentrated every ounce of desire he had for her, which overwhelmed him each
time they were together. He moved to
make this night one she couldn’t forget, in case it became their last. And she seemed to want to do the same,
pressing her hands over each scar again, then moving
to areas that bore no scars except for the marks of passion her mouth and
fingers left.
He rocked
their bodies together in a bold rhythm that built and built, obliterating any
thoughts but those of yearning and desire.
When they finally lay exhausted in each other’s arms, he tried not to
think too much about what lay ahead, tried only to live in the moment, to
remember the feel of her skin and the smell of her hair and the taste of her
lips. It would fortify him through the
drought from her.
XXXX
The sound
of hooves clopping over rocks and dirt drew him abruptly out of the pleasant
memory that had brought a twitch to his body even in his battered
condition. He shifted, grimacing at even
that much movement, and wondered if this was another hallucination, if his
ravaged brain simply could no longer distinguish reality from illusion. This time, he heard only one rider, coming
more slowly than before, looking. For him?
Perhaps the
darkness would hide him, protect him since he couldn’t protect himself. But one glance around told him it was a full
moon – big and round and almost as illuminating as the sun. The sounds slowed as they neared, and then
stopped altogether. Boots crunched on
the ground and Matt dragged in enough strength to look up.
He found
himself staring at a silhouette backed by the bright white of the moon. The figure was slight, but the shadow of a
wide sombrero distorted the shape of his head.
So, they had caught up with him after all. He knew, of course, that he was
helpless. His entire body burned with
pain and fever. He couldn’t even turn
his head away, couldn’t lift a hand in greeting or supplication.
Being a
lawman, he had always accepted that violent death was a very real and likely
possibility. After that acceptance, he
had thought little about it, knowing it only caused useless worry, and could
produce too much caution on his part to do his job. Still, occasionally he had pondered ways he
might meet his end. Shot down in the
middle of
He wondered
how Kitty would take it. She’d be awful
mad at him; that was certain. The
thought almost made him smile, if he’d had enough strength to move even one
muscle. This was why he never felt as if
he could settle down, never wanted to burden her with the weight of a husband
and a family. What could he promise her
except that she would wait for days or weeks at a time for him to return, never
knowing for sure that he was? Or maybe
that she was almost certain to see him gunned down right before her eyes one
day – or even worse, be gunned down herself in his
name.
And maybe
that was really what scared him – losing her because of what he did, because of
who he was. He had made a reputation of
being a strong man, virtually indestructible.
But if Kitty died because of him, he was certain his own destruction
would follow quickly.
His final
thoughts weighed heavy with guilt. What
if they dumped his body in some ravine?
He would most likely never be found.
That would be worse for Kitty, not knowing, waiting and wondering. Of course, his assassin could just leave him
there. He knew with certainty he would
be dead by morning with no effort at all on anyone else’s part.
But the man
hadn’t trailed him for over a week just to let him die on his own. No, he figured there were plans for him, and
they didn’t promise to be pleasant. The
boots stepped closer, the sombrero dipped as its owner took a closer look. Matt heard a rough grunt.
“Gringo
Lawman,” said a voice thick with accent, “you are a hard man to catch.”
He
squinted, tried to see the face, to identify his killer for some strange
self-satisfaction, but the night and his own condition obscured the sight. His hand twitched with instinct toward his
holster, sought the familiar handle of his pistol, but his fingers brushed only
empty leather. The fall must have
knocked it loose.
This was
it, then. Not at all how he figured he
would go. Disappointing.
“I’m sorry,
Kitty,” he breathed to the woman who waited for him miles away – who would
never have to wait for him again. “I’m
sorry.”
Chapter Six: Stay in the Buggy
POV: Doc
Spoilers:
“Seven Hours to Dawn;” “The Bullet;” “
Rating: PG
Doctor
Galen Adams sipped absently at his beer, letting the ponderous thoughts that
had chipped away at his confidence sink even deeper into his brain. It was early for the
At least he
had persuaded Kitty to join him, although her usually bright company was muted
by worry and fear – and by a foreboding sense that they should all be
grieving. With a physician’s eye, he
noted the tired lines that broke the smooth planes of her face, saw the dark
circles under her eyes, ached at the pain behind her
pseudo-pleasant expression.
Matt had
been gone over a month, and while that was not unprecedented, he had never been
away so long without some contact – with Kitty, at least. A month of tracking a Mexican outlaw alone
over the border where he certainly would find no friends of a U.S.
Marshal. A month of his friends
wondering what had happened. A month of watching the edges of Dodge for that big buckskin to
trot back in. A
month of creating all sorts of dire scenarios about his fate.
A month.
A month was
a long time, and Doc was no longer able to ignore the ominous sensation that he
might need to brace himself and address the possibility
that Matt Dillon wasn’t coming back. It
was bad enough to think it himself, but the more withdrawn she became, the more
he felt he needed to broach the subject with Kitty, as well.
But it took
all morning and the better part of two glasses of beer to stuff him with enough
fortitude to do it. He glanced up from
his beer, took a breath, downed another gulp, took
another breath.
“Kitty,” he
said, tentatively. “Have you been – have
thought what you might do if – “
He
faltered, realizing she had not heard him, was staring off in the general
direction of the swinging doors.
“Kitty?” he
prodded.
Still no response. Gingerly, he placed
a hand on her arm, jerking it back when she jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She smiled
in apology, and the sadness in her eyes twisted his heart. This would be harder than he thought.
“Kitty,” he
began again, “it’s been – it’s been over a month.”
The sadness
hardened. “Doc – “she warned.
But he
persisted. “Don’t you think you need to
consider that Matt – “
“Don’t,” she
said again, voice sharp.
“I know you
don’t want to think about it, but – “
Her hands
pushed up from the table, and she stared down at him, eyes snapping with anger
and fear and pain. “Don’t,” she repeated
with even more force. Then her lips
began to tremble and she didn’t quite catch the sob that pushed at her
throat. The next word came out in a
whisper. “Please.”
Facing
reality was important, but he was damned if he would deliberately cause her
pain in the face of a direct plea. With
a nod and swish of his mustache, he sighed, sat back, watching her bowed head,
and gave some time to considering what Kitty would do, what the town would do,
for that matter if –
Matt Dillon
had been a U.S. Marshal for 18 years, serving Dodge and
After a
while, those bullet wounds had to get old, those long trail rides tedious and
not nearly as rewarding. But Doc
wondered if that key to happiness would still be hanging around when Matt
finally came to his senses. He hoped
so. Looking at Kitty then, he ached for
her, wished he could reassure her, could tell her Matt surely would be trotting
into town any minute.
But he
couldn’t, of course. And so he just sat
with her, offering what silent comfort he could for as long as she needed it.
The doors
to the saloon parted, and a man walked in, eyes glancing about the room,
searching. After a brief hesitation, he
stepped to the bar.
“May I help
you?” Sam asked with his usual customer courtesy.
The man
pushed his hat back a bit, revealing a thatch of dark hair, and leaned on the
counter. “I’m lookin’
for Deputy Haggen,” he said.
Doc
straightened in his chair and took more focused notice of the man. He was stocky, average height, several days’
growth of beard shadowing a face that fell just short of handsome. But the most significant characteristic about
him was the flash of silver at his chest.
“Festus
isn’t here right now,” Sam told him carefully.
“Newly O’Brien’s our other deputy.
He’s more than likely at his shop.”
“Obliged,” the man said, nodding once and turning.
“Excuse
me,” Doc interrupted, rising. “I’m
Doctor Adams. Can I help you?”
The man let
out a quick breath. “Not anymore, Doc.”
“Pardon?”
He lifted
his brow and extended a hand. “Seth McMannis. I’m a
Ranger outta
Doc
frowned, taking the hand, a heavy feeling settling in his gut. “What do you mean?”
“Run across
a fella out on the plains – in bad shape. I tried to tend him, but he was too far
gone. Didn’t get
anything out of him except the word ‘Dodge.’ Figured he may be from
here.” He paused, then added more softly, “He’s wearin’
a U.S. Marshal’s badge.”
That heavy
feeling began to churn. “Where – where
is he?” Oh God.
“Over the back of my horse. Big
fella. Didn’t make for an easy ride, I can
tell ya that.
Heard you folks were missin’ your
marshal. I thought maybe – well – “
Kitty still
stood, face bone white, eyes wide. Doc
placed a hand on her arm, as much to steady himself as to help her. Swallowing so he wouldn’t be sick, he
whispered, “Show us.”
They moved
together to the doors. Doc lifted a
quick, but sincere prayer before he stepped onto the boardwalk. A crowd had already gathered around the
ranger’s bay, curious about the long, blanketed body over its flanks. The only things visible were the boots and a
touch of pants legs. Both were beige,
and too familiar.
He felt
Kitty’s fingernails digging into the flesh of one hand. With the other trembling one, he reached out
to lift the wool off the dead man’s head.
Death had already begun to ravage the body, but it had not yet obscured
the features so much that he couldn’t recognize Matt Dillon.
Or not
recognize him.
Oh
God. Oh God.
With such
relief that he had to take a step back,
She leaned
her head on his shoulder, and he patted her gently. It wasn’t him. Thank God, it wasn’t him.
McMannis
smiled slightly. “Well, glad to hear
that, except I’m not sure who this poor fella is – or
was. You got an undertaker?”
“Just down
the street,” Doc supplied.
“I’ll leave
him here, then. Don’t really need his
company on my way back. I hope you find
your marshal.”
As the
ranger walked his horse toward Percy Crump’s place, Doc escorted a shaking
Kitty back into the
XXXX
It had been
not quite a day since Seth McMannis deposited his
corpse with them, just over two days since Festus had headed out to find Matt,
hopefully not in the same condition as the other lawman. Dodge had settled into an uneasy routine. It seemed as if any rider brought the entire
town out of houses and stores to look until they saw it wasn’t the man they
waited for. The stage was met by
unprecedented crowds, baffling its emerging passengers.
Everyone
watched. Almost
everyone, anyway.
Each day
that passed with no sign of Matt, Doc worried about Kitty. She had virtually confined herself to the
With
difficulty, he pushed back the well of grief that bubbled too close to the
surface these days. Chances of ever
seeing Matt again – alive or dead – had dwindled to almost none. As painful as it was to accept, he knew it
was absolutely essential to Kitty’s well being to do so.
Settling
himself next to her in the salon, he tried a smile, even though he didn’t
expect a response. “Kitty,” he greeted
quietly.
She met his
gaze, then let her eyes shift back to the door.
“Buy you
breakfast?” he asked hopefully. She
hadn’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks.
“Maybe later.”
“It’ll be
lunch later,” he teased, pleased to see a small smile in return.
“Maybe
lunch, then,” she amended, then turned her full attention to him so certainly
that it startled him. “I’ve been
thinking,” she began, “about what you said.”
“What I
said?”
“The other
day, about – about facing the fact that Matt – “ She
swallowed. “That Matt may be – may not
be coming back.”
His heart
ached for her, for all of them, and he placed a hand over hers and nodded.
“I’ll
probably go back to
He only
nodded again. What else could he say?
“He’s why I
stayed.”
“What?”
“Matt. He’s why I stayed here. Did I ever tell you that?”
He smiled,
not surprised. “No.”
“When I got
off that stage seventeen years ago, I had every intention of eating as fast as
I could, stepping right back onto that coach, and getting the hell out of
Dodge.”
“What
happened?” he wanted to know, curious as always about any rarely revealed personal
tidbit between the two very private people.
“I saw
Matt,” she said simply. “My God, he was
big, and handsome, and – and I decided maybe I’d give Dodge a try for a few
days.”
“Seventeen
years later – “
“Yeah. So you see, if Matt’s not here – well, I’ll
be going back home.”
He
understood, but the loss of both Matt and Kitty would be life altering, for all
of Dodge, he imagined. Certainly for him.
She touched
his cheek. “I’ll sure miss ya, Curly. You’ve
been a good friend to me, and to – to Matt.”
Her eyes glistened. “I just can’t
believe he’s gone. Even after all these
years of knowing it could happen. Even
after thinking it did with Mace Gore – “
Doc
flinched, still sensitive after all these years about letting her think Matt
was dead, even if it was to save his life.
He knew she had forgiven him, but that still didn’t mute the guilt.
And now she
was leaving. And Matt was dead. And things would never be the same again.
“Doc!”
Burke’s
call shot through the doors of the
As quickly
as he could, he hustled through the saloon doors to see the freight manager
sprinting across the street toward them, stopping so suddenly that Kitty
barreled into him from behind.
“Miss Kitty!”
Burke added in surprise as he stumbled to a stop before them.
“What in tarnation is it, Burke?”
“It’s
Festus! I met him coming back into town
as I was headed out to deliver a new Singer machine to Mrs. Purdy out on the
Doc felt
the blood rushing into his face.
“Burke!” he growled. “What about
Festus?”
“Oh. Well, like I said I ran into him comin’ in and he said you need to come quick.”
Not Festus,
too. Please, not him, too. “Is he hurt?” Doc asked.
“Well, no,
I don’t think so – “
Impatiently,
Burke
pondered a moment, then shrugged. “I guess it’s ‘cause
the marshal’s in pretty bad shape. I
think – “
The doctor
grabbed Burke’s arms hard, barely resisting the urge to shake him. “The marshal! You mean Matt’s with him?”
“Yeah. Didn’t I say that?”
“No, you
did not.” His heart pounded. It was Matt.
It was Matt! “Burke, why the hell
didn’t you – “
Beside him,
Kitty pulled away to grab Burke’s arm, almost jerking it out of socket. “Matt?” she prompted urgently.
Rubbing his
shoulder, Burke said, “Festus and a Mexican are bringin’
him in.”
“Bringing
him in?” Doc glanced at Kitty and saw
her jaw clench as she fought for some semblance of calm. “What the Sam Hill are you doin’ here, Burke?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you helping him?”
“Festus
send me on ahead to tell ya. Said he needed ya right quick.”
He turned
to tell Kitty to wait for him, but she had sprinted out into the street, skirts
flying, before anyone could say another word.
The only thing he could do was to follow her as fast as he was able.
“Where are
they?” he called back at Burke, his pulse racing.
But the
field manager only pointed. At that
moment, three horses appeared at the end of
Buck
clopped slowly, as if he knew his companion needed a smooth, easy pace. The big man astride him was bent low over the
mane, chest almost touching the horn, his right hand holding the reins loosely,
his left hand pressed over his right side.
Festus and whoever was with him held their hands out tentatively, as if
anticipating his imminent fall.
But he was
alive. Alive!
The
citizens of Dodge froze, all eyes on the man they had
been waiting for. Unconcerned about the
spectacle she might make, Kitty ran toward him, her hands reaching out,
touching his left leg. With obvious
effort, he slowly turned clouded blue eyes to her. Doc drew up next to them, his fingers
automatically moving to the marshal’s arm.
It wasn’t hard to feel the fever on his skin, see it in his cheeks.
“Kitty.” Matt managed to rasp, the relief evident in
his voice even through the pain and exhaustion.
“Hey,
Cowboy,” she choked back, tears trailing down her cheeks as she clutched at his
thigh.
His hand
moved from his side to cover hers, and Doc sucked in a sharp breath when he saw
the blood drip from it. “Kitty,” he said
again, but it was more of a moan this time.
Alarmed,
“Matt!” He wasn’t sure if he or Kitty yelled the
name, maybe both.
Instantly,
at least ten hands thrust out to catch the marshal’s shoulders and waist as
they did their best to lower him onto the ground. Festus leaped off Ruth and grabbed Buck’s
reins to keep him from accidentally tromping on his vulnerable master.
“Easy, now,” Doc directed. “Move back.”
Matt’s face
was scorched with sunburn, his lips cracked and bleeding. Dust and dirt clung to his thick hair, and
sweat stained his clothes. But those
weren’t the most ominous sights. It
didn’t take a trained eye to see the darkened bloodstains that soaked his chest
and abdomen, the violent rips in his vest and shirt.
“Doc,”
Festus said, voice thick with emotion and exhaustion, “is he gonna be aright?”
Kitty knelt
at his shoulder, and Doc tried not to flinch as he ripped open the stained
shirt and bared the marshal from neck to belt.
Two angry red tears, swollen and bleeding, marred his chest and
abdomen. Two more
bullets. Two
more mistakes.
“Somebody’s
doctored him some already,” Doc noted, running his hands over the wounds and
drawing a groan from the marshal. “Dug the bullets out.
He’d started to heal, but looks like the trip home aggravated them.”
“Agustin
took care of him, but he was still too weak to travel. I told him that.”
He jerked
at the unexpected voice that came from Festus’ companion and found himself gazing into a pair of black – and beautiful –
eyes. With a small smile, the Mexican
swept off the sombrero, releasing a mane of dark hair.
“By golly,”
Doc breathed, as he looked at the woman.
He didn’t
know how he had missed it before, except that the wide hat and oversized poncho
hid her assets well. He wasn’t sure who
she was or what connection she had with Matt – maybe he didn’t want to
know. That thought drew a twinge of
shame to him. Matt wouldn’t –
“Doc?”
Kitty’s urgent prompt reminded him she was there.
Filing away
that curiosity for later, he turned back to the marshal, whose breathing had
grown labored and shallow. He wished he
could tell her Matt would be fine, wished he could pat her hand and reassure
her that their stubborn marshal would be on his feet in no time. But he couldn’t tell her anything, didn’t know
anything, except that Matt Dillon was again seriously injured, and was again
barely hanging onto life.
One glance
at Festus told him the deputy had exhausted his strength just getting Matt back
to Dodge. Gesturing toward Burke, Sam
Noonan, and a couple of other townspeople, he ordered, “Get him upstairs.”
“Gently,”
Festus cautioned, then whispered, “Stay in the buggy, Matthew.”
“Doc?”
Kitty asked again, anguish ravaging her features.
He
sighed. “I don’t know, Kitty. I just don’t – if we can get the infection
under control he stands a chance.”
Stands a chance. It was the best he could offer
her.
It took six
men to haul the tall lawman up the stairs into
No, he told
himself. Stop and just focus on the
present, on saving his life now. Again.
As the
others stood around, fretting and worried and unsure what to do, he pushed
Matt’s shirt off his shoulders and assessed the damage. Under closer inspection, the angry red areas
looked even worse, and he heard Kitty moan next to him. But he couldn’t spare any attention to
comfort her.
Gritting
his teeth, he used his scalpel to open up the infection, wincing as the vile
fluids seeped out. Matt jerked beneath
his hands and hissed, throwing his head back with the pain.
“Burke, you
and Sam come over here and hold him,” he ordered, pleased to see that they
followed immediately, each man taking a side and bracing against the marshal’s
broad shoulders.
Even though
the injured man probably didn’t hear him, he found himself murmuring soothing
assurances. “Just hang on, Matt,” he
said. “You’re gonna make it.” He sincerely hoped he was uttering the truth. “I know this hurts.” That certainly was the truth.
As
They threw
their bodies against the marshal, but Matt bucked again and groaned at the
rough treatment. Feeling as if he were
trying to break a bronco, Doc decided to call in reinforcements.
“Kitty!”
Shaken and
pale, she slipped up next to him and caught the marshal’s large hand in her
own. “Matt,” she whispered. “Matt.
It’s me. It’s Kitty.”
Amazingly,
the big lawman calmed, the writhing slowed.
She ran a hand over his tousled hair and bent close to his ear. “I’m here, Cowboy. I’m here.
I love you.”
Doc
wondered if anyone else had heard that endearment, and was grateful he
had. Matt stilled beneath his hands and
groaned her name. With his sleeve, Doc
swiped at the perspiration that ran down his face, aching for Matt while at the
same time angry with him. What the hell
had he thought he was doing, going after that damned Mexican by himself like
that? Why the hell was every outlaw his
responsibility? And who the hell let him
come back in such bad shape?
But the
questions were rhetorical, at least the first two. Doc knew very well what had led Matt down
that trail, and what had brought him back.
It took
almost an hour, but with Kitty’s help, the wounds were finally cleaned and
freshly bandaged, and the doctor took a deep breath, praying that it was
enough, hoping that it wasn’t too late.
Now that
the immediate needs were met, he cut the marshal’s filthy clothes away, letting
Sam tug the pants off and wondering if Kitty’s right hand man might have done
that before for an exhausted lawman who had climbed
the back stairs late one evening and collapsed inside her door. But, of course, the bartender had never even
whispered a word of his almost-certain knowledge of Matt’s and Kitty’s private
times together. Doc wouldn’t expect him
to start now.
With clean
washcloths, he and Kitty did their best to wipe the grime and blood from Matt’s
body before he pulled a sheet up over his waist and called himself done, at
least for the moment.
“Doc, will
he – ” she asked, unable to finish the question.
He blinked
and tried to smile, although his heart wasn’t in it. “I – I hope so, Kitty.”
“You hope
so?” she asked, stricken, her hand clutching Matt’s tighter. “You hope so?”
He yearned
to guarantee it, but he just couldn’t.
“I hope so,” he affirmed.
Sighing,
she sank into the chair next to the table, leaning over to place a tender kiss
on the marshal’s cracked lips. “Stay in
the buggy, Cowboy,” she urged, echoing Festus.
“Stay in the buggy.”
With embarrassed coughs, the other men excused themselves and
left the office to join the vigil that had begun on
All he
could do now was wait.
It was all any of them could do.
Chapter Seven: You Are His Woman
POV: Kitty
Spoilers: “
Rating: PG
Kitty
Russell hurried through her last check of the
It required
a double take, but Kitty recognized the man who walked through the doors and
stepped to the bar. Only a few days
before, he had scared her nearly to death by bringing in the body of a lawman,
they thought was Matt Dillon. She didn’t
hold it against him, though. After all,
he was only trying to be kind, bringing the marshal’s body back home. Only, it hadn’t been Matt, thank goodness.
“Well,
Mister McMannis,” she greeted, closing the ledger and
easing around the counter toward him.
The Texas
Ranger turned, pushing his hat back.
“Ma’am,” he said politely but blankly, and she realized he did not
remember her; they had not been officially introduced on that dreadful day.
“Kitty
Russell,” she said, extending a hand, feeling gratitude toward this man who had
gone to so much trouble for a man he didn’t even know.
He took it
and touched the brim of his hat, eyes lighting.
“Kitty Russell?
The Kitty
Russell who owns this fine establishment?”
“One and the same.”
“A pleasure, ma’am.” Then he cocked his
head and said, “I’ve heard about you and – well, if it wouldn’t be too forward,
I’ll say Matt Dillon’s a lucky son of a b – gun.”
She pulled
her hand away, frowning. It had been too
forward, and she wasn’t sure why. It was
not like she hadn’t skillfully deflected much worse remarks over the
years. “I thought you were headed back
to
If she had
offended him, he didn’t show it. “I
was. I was. Heard the marshal came back, though. That’s good news.” His smile seemed genuine enough. “I wanted to talk with him a minute, if I
could.”
Her frown
deepened. “The marshal is recovering,”
Kitty told him. “I doubt Doc’ll let him have any visitors for a while yet.” She didn’t bother to say that Matt still
wrestled with a high fever and had yet to show much sign of coming to
consciousness.
“Sorry to
hear that. I wanted to see if he had
been able to take care of them Mexicans he went after.” McMannis threw back
the shot of whiskey Sam had set in front of him, then
stepped away. “You say he’s at the
doctor’s?”
Kitty
smiled carefully. “I don’t believe I
said.”
“No, don’t
guess you did.” With another tug at his
hat, he said, “Well, glad he’s back.
Pleasure, Miss Russell.” Nodding
at Sam, he pressed through the swinging doors and walked out onto
Kitty
looked his way for a minute, then shook her head,
pushing away the sensation of unease.
She had no reason to feel so.
Nothing was unusual about one lawman helping another. She wondered vaguely how he knew about Matt
and her. Not that it was a secret. As subtle as they had been over the years,
they had never denied their relationship, and all of Dodge – and most of
She glanced
at the clock. Festus had spelled her so
she could get a quick bath and check in with Sam. Those things done, she was more than anxious
to return to Matt’s bedside, to hold his hand, to brush through his hair –
anything that might provide comfort and bring him back to them. To her.
XXXX
The ranger
was forgotten as soon as she walked into Doc’s office and saw again the long
frame of the lawman – of her lawman.
“Miz Kitty,” Festus rose immediately and greeted her in his
own ineffective rendition of a whisper.
It didn’t
matter much, unfortunately, how loud he was.
Matt still lay, unconscious, in the bed where earlier that day half a
dozen men had carried him after Doc had pronounced him sufficiently stable to
move from the examining table. He gave
no indication that he was disturbed at all by the deputy’s voice. His holster and gun lay coiled on the bedside
table. She wondered if it was simply a
coincidence that they rested there, or if someone had decided he needed the
comfort of them when he woke. Some
comfort they gave her. She tried not to
scowl at them.
“Festus,”
she returned, closing the door behind her.
“Thanks for giving me a break.”
“Twernt much of one,” he noted with a frown. “Ye’ve hardly bin
gone a hour.”
“It was
long enough.” Too
long. A toss of her head asked
silently how the marshal was.
Festus
glanced back at the bed. “He’s a mite
restless,” he said, his squinted eyes dark with concern.
“Fever?”
“Yes’m. Mebbe the least little bit better, but not so much as ye’d notice right off.”
The disappointment must have shown on her face, because he added
quickly, “But his color’s a comin’ back, dontcha think? Not sa peaked lookin’,
if ya ast me.”
Kitty
managed a smile of appreciation for his efforts at optimism, but one glance
told her Matt looked no better now than when she had left. His face, already red from the harsh exposure
to the sun, was flushed more by the fever.
The part of his chest that wasn’t bound in bandages glistened with
sweat.
“If’n you wuz ta
need more time, Miz Kitty, I’d more more’n happy ta set up with
Matthew a whilst longer.”
“Thank you,
Festus,” she acknowledged. “I’m fine.”
Settling in
the chair by the bed, she lifted Matt’s hand in hers, caressed along the back,
tracing the bold veins, stroking the long fingers. She had always loved his hands. Even as the years took his face from a young man’s
smooth beauty to a mature man’s rugged handsomeness, his hands remained the
same. And she often marveled at how
hands that had been tough enough to haul in violent outlaws and break up
raucous barroom brawls could be tender enough to bring her such exquisite
pleasure as she had experienced in his arms.
She yearned to feel those hands again, to sigh under his touch, to give
him pleasure, as well. Before she
realized it, she had leaned in to brush a kiss across his lips and cup his
whiskered jaw in her hand.
A shuffle
and nervous cough behind her reminded her that Festus was still there. “I spose I’ll jest
see how Buck’s fairin’,” he decided. “Matthew’ll have my
hide if’n I don’t see ta
his horse whilst he’s ailin’.”
“Was Buck
in bad shape?” she asked, not looking back, but moving to grasp his hand
again. She had become rather fond of the
animal that had shown his loyalty to Matt as many times as he had brought him
back home.
“Pure
tuckered out mostly, and in need of a few good swallers
of water. Matthew musta
parted with a right good portion of his own supply fer
that horse or he wouldn’t a made it.”
“Matt
wouldn’t have made it without Buck,” Kitty confirmed.
“No’m. I’d have ta agree with ye, thar. Buck and Lucero.”
This time, she did turn, frowning. “Who?”
“Lucero. That Mexican woman what hepped me bring in Matthew.”
“Oh.” Kitty’s eyes widened,
a vague memory of the slight Mexican who rode in with Festus. A woman? “She helped you bring him in?”
“She
did. I come up on ‘em
‘bout sunup. Matthew wuz
in a bad way, I have ta say. The worstest lookin’ I ever seed him, and you know I seen him in some sitcheeashuns – “
“Festus – “
“Well, she’uz bent over him, and at first I couldn’t tell she’uz a shemale. I thought this here bandito had done kilt
him. I pulled my pistol, but then she
turned right around and I seed she weren’t no bandito. Peers she follered ol’ Matthew right straight from
“She ran
off banditos?” Kitty asked, incredulous.
What kind of woman was this? A
rugged trail woman, hardened from years of rough living? She tried to picture her, but remembered only
the sombrero and hand-sewn poncho.
“I wuz jest as doubtful as you, Miz
Kitty, but it’s the flat out fact. Said
she kilt one and pinned Matthew’s badge on him so’s
the others would think he wuz dead and go on back
home.”
“How did
Matt meet her?” Kitty wondered. “Why did she help him?”
“I ain’t got no answer to neither of them questions, Miz Kitty,” Festus admitted, “but I figure it don’t much
matter none. Matthew’s
alive ‘cause of her.”
Fair point.
“Well,” she
decided, “I’d like to meet her sometime, thank her for – “
“So, you
are Kitty.”
Kitty
Russell’s head jerked back toward the door to Doc’s bedroom. The woman who stood before her was certainly
no rugged trail woman hardened from years of rough living. Without the shapeless poncho and wide
sombrero to mask her feminine features, Kitty found herself staring at a young,
dark beauty. Despite her trust in Matt,
and despite the fact that this woman had almost certainly saved his life, she
couldn’t quell the ugly burn of jealousy that flamed in her chest. This
woman protected Matt? This woman killed a bandito?
“I’m Kitty
Russell,” she clarified smoothly, regaining her composure as she rose. “And you are – “ She
already knew, of course.
“I am
Lucero,” the woman provided, unable to keep her focus completely on Kitty. Her eyes dropped to the figure on the bed.
“Lucero. Festus told me about you. How you helped Matt. I’m grateful.” Her words were sincere, but she could not
mute the sharp warning in her tone.
Festus
shifted awkwardly, his gaze flashing between the two women, for once
comprehending the situation. “Well,” he
stammered, “I orta, uh, see ‘bout, uh – Newly might
shore nuff need hep at –
“ He turned suddenly and said, “I’ll see
ya, Miz Kitty,” and was
halfway down the stairs before the door closed behind him.
Kitty
allowed his hasty exit to bring a slight smile of amusement to her lips before
she turned back to the visitor, letting her gaze take in the slim figure and
lovely eyes. She wondered if Matt had
found her pretty. “Doc says he’s about
the same.”
“He is
strong,” Lucero observed.
Kitty
nodded, itching to know what had transpired between the two, what had brought
the obvious look of attachment into those dark eyes.
The Mexican
stood another few moments, then stepped closer.
“May I sit with you?”
“Of
course,” Kitty said with less enthusiasm than she intended. She indicated a vacant chair, then sat again herself.
“He was so
gravely wounded, I was afraid – “ She broke off, and
to Kitty’s surprise, tears pooled in her eyes.
“Thank you
for saving him.” That she could offer
more sincerely.
Lucero
continued to look at Matt, as if verifying for herself that he still
breathed. “He saved our village. He saved my family. He saved – me. He could have left, could have saved himself,
but he didn’t.”
“What
happened?” Kitty asked, unable to stop herself.
She yearned to know, to re-live whatever he had been through. This woman had experienced something with
Matt that she hadn’t, and even if it was bad, she couldn’t suppress a certain
feeling of envy over not having been there, too. On a nobler scale, she also felt that if she
could share the pain with him, perhaps she could give him the strength and
comfort to endure and overcome it.
“Mando shot him and left him for dead,” Lucero began, and
Kitty flinched at hearing it put so bluntly.
“After my
grandfather and brother found him, Lucho – that’s my
brother – came to me for medicine. He
was very brave. It was a dangerous thing
to do.”
“Why?”
“I was Mando’s woman,” she admitted.
“Oh.” Kitty digested that bit of information,
confused as to why his enemy’s woman would consent to help Matt.
“After he
had recovered some, we thought he would return home, but he did not. He sought Mando
out, rode right into him and his men. He
confronted Mando in front of the entire town, in
front of Mando’s men.” A shadow passed over her eyes. “He was so weak, he
could not stand by himself. He had to
hold onto his horse’s saddle.” Chin
lifted, she met Kitty’s gaze proudly, as if Matt’s actions somehow reflected on
her. “But he stood taller than any of
them ever had.”
Awed, Kitty
could only listen, wanting to hear what had happened, needing to know. “You were there?”
“I saw
it. I saw him kill Mando.”
“But you
were Mando’s woman.”
“Mando was – a bad man.”
“Oh.”
“The
marshal was weak, after he killed Mando. He stayed with us a few days. Grandfather and I tried to tell him he should
stay longer, but he was stubborn.”
Kitty
smiled. It hadn’t taken Lucero long to
find that out. “So you followed him, to
make sure he got back to Dodge?” she surmised.
“You followed him all the way from
“At first,
I thought only to take him to the border, but he was riding hard and I could
not catch him. After three days, I saw
that other riders were following him more closely than I and I knew they were
probably Mando’s men.
I could not let them get him, not after what he did for me and for my
family.”
“Festus
said you – you killed one?” It was hard
to believe.
“I
did. He was careless, did not see
me. I shot him. Law – the marshal – had given Lucho his badge.”
Kitty
smiled. That sounded like Matt.
“I brought
it with me, for protection, perhaps. I
pinned the badge on the man I shot. Maybe
the others following would think it was the man they sought and go back.”
“A Texas
Ranger brought in a body a couple of days ago,” Kitty said, connecting the
two. “He wore a marshal’s badge – “
“It could
be the man,” Lucero agreed. “I did not
have time to bury him.”
Well, that
mystery was solved, Kitty thought, a bit amazed at how things fit
together. “I thank you for taking care
of him,” she repeated, meaning every word despite the ache her story had
caused.
She
understood Lucero’s attachment now. If
she and Matt had gone through such an experience together, it wouldn’t be
unusual for a bond to form. She wondered
how far the bond went. It wasn’t that
she didn’t trust Matt, but she knew in times of duress, people sometimes did
things or acted in ways contrary to their characters. Still, she had never known Matt to be
anything but constant – sometimes infuriatingly so.
After a
long moment, Lucero smiled, her expression a mixture
of understanding and envy. “You are his
woman.”
Kitty
Russell had heard that term for many years, had even answered to it on
occasion, but coming from this person whose connection with Matt was so strong,
she found her defenses rising.
“What do
you mean?” she asked, managing to keep her tone even.
But Lucero
was not fooled, merely placed a hand on her arm knowingly and continued
smiling. “You are his woman,” she
repeated. “Be good to him. He is a man.”
Kitty heard
the deeper levels of meaning in that last sentence, saw the emotion in those
dark eyes, read the feelings of a woman who could not have what she wanted, but
tried to do the right thing, nevertheless.
“You love him,” she realized with a jolt.
Lucero did
not speak, but her eyes acknowledged that truth.
“How do you
know I am his woman?” Kitty wondered, reluctantly acknowledging a feeling for
Lucero she had not had before. Pity, perhaps, but no longer jealousy.
“You are
his woman,” she repeated confidently. “I
would know even if he had not told me.”
Stunned,
Kitty asked, “Matt told you about me?” Not that it couldn’t happen, but she knew how close-mouthed
he was, even with their friends in Dodge, who knew just about everything,
despite their discretion.
“He called
for you when he was in the fever. Over
and over, he cried out your name. I
could tell what you were – what you are
to him. I told him – I told him I was
you, to calm him. I hope you do not
mind. It helped.”
Swallowing
to keep the emotions from overwhelming her completely, Kitty brushed hot tears
from her eyes and turned back to look at the sunburned face of Matt Dillon – of
her man.
“You have
stayed with him a long time. You love
him.”
Kitty
nodded. “Very much,” she acknowledged.
“He loves
you.”
Smiling,
Kitty looked back at Lucero. “He told you that, as well?”
She
nodded. “He loves you very much.”
Kitty felt
the catch in her throat, turned away so she didn’t lose control. Fatigue and emotion swept through her, and
she could not stop the trembling that suddenly claimed her body.
Placing a
hand on her arm, Lucero said, “You have not slept. Go home. Become strong for him. I will stay here if you like.” Her voice softened in promise. “You do not need to worry.”
Their eyes
met, dark to light, and an understanding passed between two women who cared for
a man, two women who had suffered for a man, two women
who loved a man, but who both knew that only one would receive that love back.
“I won’t
worry,” Kitty said, at peace now. “Thank
you, Lucero. For
everything.”
She would
take the time to rest, to make herself strong again for him. Any suspicions she harbored about Lucero had
vanished. She was leaving her man in
good, non-threatening hands.
Still, as
she rose to leave the vigil to the other woman, she tugged the bedcovers up
just a bit higher over Matt’s bare chest.
XXXX
The
gunshots brought Kitty out of sleep, and she fought to shake off the confusion
of unconsciousness. No one else seemed
to notice, but the sound drew her out of the
“Kitty! Help me!”
“Matt?”
He needed
her. She had to go to him, to help
him. A shadow brushed by her, smoke from
a gun still curling around him, but she couldn’t stop to see how it was, had to
get to Matt. Stepping into the dark
room, she had to wait a moment before her eyes adjusted, but when they did, she
couldn’t suppress the scream that ripped through her throat.
Matt Dillon
lay on the floor, broad chest torn with bullet holes, blood pooling beneath
him, blue eyes staring and vacant, long, strong body limp and useless. He still held the gun, that damned gun, in
his hand, but she knew he would never fire it again. Laughter echoed from the stairs, a voice she
should know, but couldn’t latch onto. A
flash of silver passed her wavering vision.
She reached out to the body, grabbed the collar of his ruined shirt in
both hands and shook him.
“Don’t you
leave me, Matt Dillon!
Don’t you dare leave me!”
But it was
too late. She had known before she even
mounted the steps. One
final mistake. And it was
hers. Somehow it was hers. She should have known. She should have suspected. Now it was too late. Marshal Dillon lay dead on the floor of Doc
Adams’ office, and it was her fault.
Her fault. Her scream grew to a wail.
And the
wail woke her.
Kitty
Russell shot up in bed, throat raw from the screams that had been wrenched from
her. Heart thudding inside her chest,
breath coming in gasps, arms trembling, she blinked twice, took in the familiar
surroundings of her bedroom, and collapsed in sobs of relief.
A dream. Oh, thank God, a dream.
She looked
toward the window. The slanted orange
rays of the sun indicated that dusk was beginning to settle over the town. Her catnap had turned into a long sleep – and
a terrible dream, but only a dream.
A dream. Thank God.
Thrusting
away the horrid vision that her brain had conjured, she tried to calm herself
by replacing it with current reality.
She had left Lucero with Matt, intending only to catch a little nap. She wondered how he was, wondered if he was
still groaning under the fever, if he was still grimacing with each restless
movement, wondered if Lucero was taking as good care
of him as she would be.
Flinging
off the covers, she slipped back into her dress and made a perfunctory stab at
smoothing her hair, not particularly concerned that it didn’t look as coiffed
as usual. Doc would understand.
Pausing in
the hallway, she took a breath, still steadying her body. A dream, she reminded herself. Just a dream.
Evening was
beginning downstairs in the bar, and the usual bustle of cowboys and drifters
had whipped up a right lively din. That
was probably why no one had heard her scream, thank goodness. Sam caught her eye as she descended the
stairs, his craggy, but friendly features giving silent assurance that all was
well. Just as she reached the swinging
doors, Doc Adams stepped inside, taking her elbow and guiding her to a back
table.
“Doc?” she
asked, alarm in her voice.
But he
shook his head. “No trouble, Kitty. Matt’s fine. In fact, I think the fever’s dropped a
bit. That Lucero’s quite a nurse.” He smirked.
Relief at
the good report overrode irritation at his attempt to needle her. Barely. “Well, her nursing had better be limited to
strictly medical techniques,” she decided.
Doc snorted
and swiped a hand over his mustache.
“I’m gonna leave that one alone.”
“You’re a
wise man, Curly.”
“Anyway, I
wanted to talk with you a minute before you went over to see Matt.”
Relief
churned into anxiety at the pit of her stomach.
“I thought you said he was better.”
“He
is. He is. It’s just that he’s gonna have to take it
easy for quite a while, Kitty. Between
these injuries and that back wound, well, you know as well as I do that Matt’s
body has taken a lot of abuse over close to twenty years of marshalling.”
Who would
know the toll taken on his body better than his doctor and his lover? She took a breath, mentally running her hands
again over each scar, just like she did their last night together. “Yeah,” she agreed, waiting.
“Well, he
just can’t keep doin’ it, Kitty. Matt’s strong and big, but – but I just don’t
want to see him grow old before his time.”
She
chuckled humorlessly, hearing again the stifled groans as he pushed himself
from bed each morning, seeing the masked grimaces when he turned too hard on
his right leg. “You’re not telling me
anything I don’t already know, Doc. You
know Matt, though. Not much you or I can
do about it.”
“Maybe. But someone’s gotta
convince him to take it easy. At least for a while, until these latest injuries heal completely. And I don’t mean when he thinks they’re healed. If
he’d listened to me all these years and let his body mend like it should,
instead of jumping out of bed before I could even finish sewing him up, he
wouldn’t be limping around like
She smiled
at the mention of their old friend, long gone from Dodge, but still fond in
their memories. “I’ll do my best, Doc,
but I don’t think – “
“Just
listen. I’ve booked two tickets on the
train to
“Not
before?” she asked, surprised.
He leaned
in, cocking his head. “Kitty, I’d be
surprised if he’s even in any shape to get out of bed at all for at least two
weeks. After that, you’ll just have to
think of a way to keep him there another week.”
“Doc!” she
protested, blushing just a bit.
“What? Oh!” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean – well, by golly, Kitty.”
Then she
smiled wickedly. “I’ll do my best, Doc.”
Now it was
his turn to blush. “Well, if the man’s
got the strength, I guess more power to him.”
Kitty
grinned outright, then let her expression drop into
more serious lines. “I’m in, Doc. You know I’ll do whatever you think is best
for Matt.”
“Atta girl,” he said, patting her hand.
The piano
tinkled out a bawdy tune, and Kitty took just a moment to let the normal sounds
of the
“Say,” Doc
said, breaking her reverie, “that Texas Ranger was up at my place earlier
today. I told him, of course, Matt
couldn’t talk to him. Seemed
mighty anxious to check on him, though.
I guess lawman sort of stick together.”
“McMannis?” she asked, stiffening. “He was in your office?”
Doc
frowned. “Well, yeah. Seemed concerned about
him.”
“Did he
mention he had talked with me?”
“No. Not that I recall. Why?”
She sighed,
not sure why she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about the ranger. “No reason.
I just – I just don’t know about him.”
“Seemed okay to me. He was heading out
tonight anyway. Said he’d done what he
needed to do, or least he would have before he left.”
“What?”
“What what?”
“He said he
would have before he left?”
“Yeah.”
“Doc,” she
asked, a disturbing idea forming in her head, “did you tell him what Matt had
been doing?”
“What do
you mean?”
“Did you
tell him Matt was in
The
physician wiped at his mustache and thought.
“Well, I don’t know. Don’t recall
that I did. Why?”
The shadowy
figure of her dream snapped into focus, clear and distinct, and she bit out an
oath at the realization. She jumped from
her seat, upsetting the chair so that it crashed back onto the floor. Even in the raucousness of the room, a few
patrons looked at her curiously. Sam was
around the bar within a few seconds.
“Miss
Kitty?” he asked, worry in his voice.
“Kitty?”
Doc asked, rising himself.
“We have to
get over there,” she snapped, grabbing Doc’s hand and tugging him toward the
door. “Before it’s too
late!” Fear raced through her,
igniting adrenaline.
“What are
you – “
But before
he could finish, the explosion of gunfire propelled all of them through the
swinging doors and onto the boardwalk that ran in front of the
“Oh God! Oh, please, God!” she prayed with all
sincerity as she sprinted down the planks toward Doc’s office, knowing that’s
where the shots had come from, knowing what she would see when they arrived.
And sick
with the knowledge that Matt Dillon would already be dead.
Chapter Eight: He is a Man
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
“The Bullet;” “
Rating: PG
The sound
of gunfire was certainly not alien to the ears of
Yet.
The blasts
– there had been at least three – propelled the citizens of the town, already
edgy from the long wait for the lawman, out of their doors. By the time Kitty Russell reached the corner
of the
“Please,
don’t let it be him. Please!”
As she fell against the rail beside the prone form, she saw that the
hair was too dark, the frame much too short.
With a rush of relief she found herself staring down at the dead face of
Texas Ranger Seth McMannis.
“Oh, thank
you,” she lifted up toward the darkening sky, not even guilty at the lack of
regret over the lawman’s death. She
could feel bad for him later, if it was warranted. It wouldn’t make him any more or any less
dead. Still, the relief was
fleeting. If this wasn’t Matt –
Her gaze
flickered up again almost immediately to the door, which stood wide open. With dread surging in her stomach, she
hitched up her skirts and stepped over the body, taking the rest of the stairs
two at a time.
“Kitty!”
Doc yelled in warning, but she ignored him.
In the
seconds it took to reach the top, she had played out the scene, knew what she
would see in the room. It was her dream
again, and she was too late, just as she had been in the dream. Matt would be there, sprawled on the floor,
blood spreading beneath him, those beautiful blue eyes staring and vacant, that
strong body limp and useless, that deep, rich voice silenced forever.
A scream
tore at her throat, and she fought to keep it inside her. He could not be dead; she wouldn’t let him,
refused to allow it. Clawing at the rail
to keep her feet, she vaulted onto the landing, her momentum throwing her
against the frame as she took in the sight before her.
Her
nightmare came to life. Blood pooled on
the floor, beneath a limp body. She let
her gaze lock onto the blue eyes as her breath came in gasps and her heart
hammered against her chest.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes. But they weren’t staring and vacant. In fact, even though they shone gray with
pain, they were alert – well, maybe not alert, but focused enough to look back
at her. She blinked to clear her mind,
to take in the scene with better comprehension.
It wasn’t her nightmare, not exactly.
Instead of Matt Dillon crumpled on the floor, Lucero lay, blood
splattering her blouse. But her eyes
were not wide and glassy; they were not even open.
Kitty tried
to do the right thing, to worry about the woman, but she couldn’t keep herself
from centering on the man who hovered in the doorway to Doc’s bedroom, smoking
gun still grasped in one hand, the other hand clutching a blanket to his
waist. Sweat trickled down his bare
chest and into the stained bandages; unkempt hair fell wildly over his forehead;
a half-grown beard scrubbed at his jaw.
He was the
most beautiful sight she could imagine.
Even as she
watched, Matt began to sink slowly to his knees. She lunged toward him, catching his shoulders
just as he collapsed against her, pulling the fallen blanket back up to cover
his naked body from the gawking crowd that had begun to gather on the
landing. He shuddered and moaned her
name, too weak to fight when she cradled his head against her breast.
“Oh, Matt,”
she breathed in fear, in gratitude, in relief.
Working hard to keep the panic from her tone, she asked, “What
happened?”
It took
several gasps before he could take in enough oxygen to answer. Even then, his voice was strained. “Lucero – is she – dead?”
Shuffling
as quickly as he could into the room, Doc dropped to one knee beside the
woman. “She’s alive. Took it high enough, I
think.” He looked over his
shoulder and called to Festus and Newly, who gaped in
the doorway. “You two get over here and
get her on the table.”
As the men
lifted the woman gently, Kitty stroked Matt’s face and prodded again, “What
happened?”
“Mc – Mannis,” he grunted, his left hand sliding to brace his
abdomen. “Tried to – kill me. Lucero stepped in – front before – “
“McMannis?” Kitty said, her suspicions confirmed.
Settling
his burden on the table, Newly looked back at
them. “But he was looking for you,
Marshal, to help you. He’s a Texas
Ranger.”
Blue eyes
looked up, dull with pain and confusion.
“Seth – McMannis? No – not – Ranger – hired gun.”
“Hired gun?” Doc asked, as he kneeled by Kitty and reached to check Matt’s
injuries. “Are you hit again?”
Matt shook
his head gingerly, immediately grimacing at the unwise movement.
“McMannis was a hired gun?” Kitty echoed, struggling to keep
his increasingly heavy body from toppling them over.
Lucero
groaned from the table, and Doc pushed up from the floor, grunting. Her voice, weak and thin, answered Kitty’s
question. “Mando’s
men – hired him – to – follow – I did not realize – “
“There
now,” Doc admonished gently. “No
talking. You can tell them later. I’ve got to get that bullet out of your
shoulder.”
Scratching
at his beard, Festus reminded, “But Doc said that McMannis
feller done come in with a body. Sez he thought it’uz Matthew.”
“The man Lucero
shot,” Kitty realized, remembering the woman’s story.
The deputy
lifted both eyebrows. “Shore. If’n McMannis wuz a-tryin’ ta kill Matthew, he musta brawt him back ter make shore he got tha right
man.”
“And when
Doc saw it wasn’t Matt, he had to keep looking,” Kitty added, brushing her
fingers through the marshal’s tousled hair.
“Kitty,”
Matt managed through gritted teeth, “I’m – sorry – was gone – longer than –
thought – “
She looked
down at him, surprised. He had never
apologized before for being gone, had always expected her to accept that as
part of his job. Blinking away hot
tears, she soothed, “That’s all right, Cowboy,” even though it hadn’t really
been all right at all. “You’re back now,
and – “ But before she could finish, his head lolled
forward, and his body sagged heavily against her, knocking them both to the
floor. “Doc!”
Turning
away from Lucero only for a moment,
Kitty
worked to keep the blanket over his hips as they struggled with him through the
doorway and to the bed. No need to
provide any curious onlookers with a view that was meant only for her – even as
nice a view as it was. Perhaps
especially as nice a view as it was.
“There’re
some scissors on my desk. Check the
wounds for me, Kitty,” Doc instructed over his shoulder. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As she picked up the scissors, she heard him
mutter, “Don’t know how he even stood, much less fired a gun good enough to hit
anybody. Damned fool.”
One look at
the fresh blood that seeped through the bandages was enough information, but
Kitty dutifully slid the scissors under the cloth and cut it away from the damp
flesh. Matt moaned as his body instinctively
pulled back from the pain.
“Shh, Cowboy,” she whispered. “I’m right here. Stay still, okay? I need you to be still.”
He didn’t
acknowledge verbally, but the fact that he didn’t move any more under her hands
indicated he heard. Or maybe just her
touch was enough to control him. Either
way, it enabled her to remove the ruined material and get a good look at the
injuries.
She
grimaced and ran a soft finger around the reddened, bleeding tissue. The ragged holes looked raw and angry still,
but the fluids oozing from them were no longer mixed with the rancid
infection. Just blood, now. And that was definitely a good sign. Maybe Doc could close them up soon and Matt
could begin to regain his strength.
“Miz Kitty?”
She looked
back up, having forgotten Festus still stood on the opposite side of the
bed. Offering a reassuring smile, she
said, “He’s okay. Better, maybe.”
An
answering smile appeared in the deputy’s beard.
“Well, now that’s a right good thang ta hear. Right good. I knowd ol’ Matthew’d
make it. ‘Specially
with you a nursin’ him, Miz
Kitty.”
Surprised
at Festus’ blatant acknowledgment of her influence over Matt, she fumbled a
minute with the bandages, drawing a grunt from her patient when she brushed
over one of the wounds. “Oh. Well, thank you, Festus,” she finally said,
deciding to accept the compliment with the attitude in which it was given.
“I wouldna give ya two cents fer him even a gittin’ outta bed, but, golly Bill, he plugged McMannis
good. He shore
is somethin’.”
She heard the admiration in the deputy’s tone.
“He’s
something, all right,” she agreed, her heart embracing more than just the
surface meaning of that comment.
The
familiar scuffing of the doctor’s shoes drew their attention to him. “Well?” he asked abruptly, but Kitty knew it
was only concern that prompted the gruffness.
“He’s all
right, I think. Of course, you’d know
better.” She stood to give him access to
the bed.
After a few
obligatory grunts and teeth clicks, he straightened. “Not bad.
I think I can close ‘em up now. Infection seems to be gone.”
Kitty ran a
trembling hand across her brow, the adrenaline of the past moments leaving her
in a whoosh. “How’s Lucero?” she asked,
bracing on the back of the chair for support, truly concerned about the woman
who had now saved Matt for the third time.
Gathering
up his instruments, Doc said absently, “Oh, she’ll be okay. Weak for a few days, but she’s gonna be
fine.”
Kitty’s
gaze shifted to the outer room, and she stepped through the door to stand by
the examining table. Lucero lay quietly, her dark skin paler, her smooth cheeks a bit
sunken, her left shoulder swathed in bandages.
But her chest rose steadily.
Unsure if
she was awake, Kitty brushed her arm, smiling when those dark eyes opened. “Doc says you’ll be fine,” she offered, in
case the preoccupied physician hadn’t already told her.
Lucero
blinked and gave a slight nod.
“I guess I
owe you again.”
A frown and
head shake answered her.
“I do. You saved him once more. McMannis surely would
have killed him.”
“Law –
killed – the other. I – just gave him –
chance – “
But Kitty
knew better. “Well,” she allowed,
squeezing the arm, “I’m grateful.”
“Not just –
for you,” Lucero admitted.
Kitty
smiled. “I know.”
“I will –
go home.”
“Not before
you’re ready,” she insisted. “I’ll fix
you up a place at the
Their eyes
met again, and the same understanding passed between them again. Two women who cared for a
man. Two women who
had suffered for a man. Two women who loved a man.
Two women who realized that only one would receive that love back.
And yet,
Lucero had been strong enough, and unselfish enough, to risk her life again so
that the man she loved could be with another woman. Kitty wondered if she would have been so
noble. Not that she
wouldn’t willingly sacrifice herself for Matt, but to see him with someone else
–
She
shuddered and cloaked herself in the assurance that it would never be a
decision she had to make. Lucero’s
revelations about Matt calling for her had wrapped firmly around her heart and
bonded her to the big lawman with an eternal resin that nothing could
dissolve. Even when – or if, she correctly with optimism – that
day arrived when there was no victory, she would always be Matt Dillon’s
woman. And that was enough.
XXXX
It seemed
as if all of Dodge had turned out to see them off on the train, much to the
chagrin of their tall marshal. The town
had breathed a collective sigh of relief when word got around that Matt Dillon
would recover – again. Kitty tried not
to smirk at his bashful grin, or the way he ducked his head at each greeting
from the well-wishers, but she enjoyed the rare aw-shucks attitude, so
different from his usual controlled, stoic image.
And she
enjoyed seeing him freer of pain than he had been in several months. The enforced rest, two weeks in Doc’s care
and a week in her own, had gone far in restoring his strength and his appetite. In fact, that last week, when he was confined
to her room, he had tried to demonstrate just how much of an appetite he
had. It took all the will power she
possessed to follow Doc’s orders, regardless of what he had said earlier in
jest, and relegate her impatient patient to careful
hugs and platonic cuddling. But the week
was over, and she had made no promises to Doc about limiting any activities on
their vacation.
On cue, the
physician stepped toward them, his skilled eyes taking in Matt’s appearance in
a single, thorough glance. “Well, it
took a whole town to get you to take a vacation.”
Matt just
smiled.
Doc leaned
in and gave Kitty a kiss. “Make him take
it easy,” he ordered, but softened it with a wink.
“I’ll do my
best,” she said, echoing what she had promised earlier.
With a cock
of his head, he sidled up closer to Matt and said, “Marshal, remember what I
told you.” And then he shambled back
through crowd.
She looked
after him fondly, then turned back to smile up at the man beside her. To her surprise, Kitty saw his cheeks flame
crimson. Intrigued, she leaned
forward. “What was that he told you?”
Teeth
tugging at his lower lip, Matt said, “I’ll tell you later.”
Even more
intrigued, she made a mental note to ask him again as soon as they got on the
train.
“Matthew,
you an’ Miz Kitty have yoreselves
a good ol’ time, now,” Festus said, clanging up to
them and shaking Matt’s hand vigorously.
Kitty watched for any sign that the motion hurt him, but saw only a
grin.
“Thanks,
Festus,” Matt returned. “And I thank you
again for coming after me – “
“Aw
shucks,” the deputy interrupted, waving away the gratitude. “You’d a done the same fer
me.”
That was
true enough. In fact, he had done the
same before.
“I’m jest
proud everthang’s worked itseff
out. Miz Kitty
wuz sa
worried about ya, I wuz a feard she’uz jest gonna shrivel
up – “
“Festus,”
she warned, catching the shadow that passed across the marshal’s face. “Like you said, everything’s worked itself
out.”
“Well, I
reckon so. Don’t you worry, none,
Matthew, Dodge’ll be settin’
here jest a waitin’ fer ya. Newly n’ me’ll take good care of thangs.”
“I know you
will, Festus,” Matt agreed, pushing back the gray dress coat he wore and
hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, a concession she had made, knowing he
wouldn’t feel completely dressed without it.
With a
wink, the deputy stomped off in the same general direction Doc had gone. Kitty was just about to suggest they board
when a slight figure emerged from the pack.
“Lucero,”
she greeted, taking the woman’s hand in true pleasure.
“Kitty. Marshal.” Her eyes rested briefly on his face before
returning to look at Kitty. “I came to
wish you a good trip, and to thank you for your generosity.” She let her hand flow down the fashionable
new dress she wore.
“Well, you
had to wear something,” Kitty reasoned, “besides that old hat and poncho. Didn’t she, Matt?”
He cleared
his throat and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Besides,
it was the least I could do.”
“You have
been kind to me. I do not forget
kindness.”
This time
Matt spoke. “I’ll always be obliged to
you and your family, Lucero. I can never
repay – “
“There is
no repaying freedom, Law,” she said boldly, her tone accepting no
contradiction. “You gave that to me and
to so many others. How can I equal
that?”
“With his
life,” Kitty replied softly, and felt Matt’s gaze on her.
“Goodbye,
Law,” Lucero said, starting to turn away.
“Wait.”
Kitty
glanced toward Matt, watched as he pulled something from his pocket, recognized it all too well.
He thumbed
the silver badge for a moment, then pressed it into
Lucero’s palm. “I believe this belongs
to Lucho.”
She
hesitated, then smiled and took it. “He
will keep it for you, Law, until you return.”
Her gaze
met Kitty’s, and the established understanding passed between them. With a gracious nod, Matt Dillon’s woman
granted her permission, and Lucero rose on tiptoe, her lips meeting the
startled marshal’s. Kitty saw him pull
back on impulse, then relax and return the kiss gently. She smiled, secure
enough in her man to allow Lucero this moment.
But only a moment.
When the
caress lingered a bit too long for her comfort, Kitty coughed pointedly. Lucero pulled back, letting her gaze take in
the handsome face one more time. Cheeks
flushed again, Matt cleared his throat and threw a sheepish glance toward
Kitty.
“Goodbye,”
Lucero told them both. Reaching out to
squeeze Kitty’s hand, she reminded, “Take care of him. He is a man.”
As the
woman disappeared into the crowd, Kitty slipped her arm through Matt’s and
strode proudly with him toward the train.
He was, indeed, a man. That was
something no one had to tell her.
Epilogue: The Years Do Not Wait for
Us
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
“The Jailer;” “The Badge;” “The Bullet;” “
Rating: R
“The years
do not wait for us.”
Chinese
Proverb
Matt Dillon
lay still as he felt Kitty’s hand slide gently over the latest additions to his
collection of scars. She had earned the
right, after all. He knew that each mar
to his skin was an equal scar on her heart.
The least he could do was to let her touch, to let her connect somehow
with the physical trauma that caused her own emotional pain.
The
sickening illusion that had swamped him on the trail, the vision of Kitty
pointing a gun at him, accusing him, killing him, had haunted his dreams since
he had awakened in Doc’s bedroom almost a month before. In the two days they had been in
Even now,
they lay entwined in the soft covers of the ornate bed, his body sinking into
the contented afterglow of slow, tender lovemaking. It would be very easy to drift off with the
warmth of her smooth flesh pressed against him, but the contrasting tension of
Kitty’s muscles told him she had other ideas.
Propping her head on one hand, she looked down at him.
“Matt?” she
asked, and he stiffened warily at the dripping coyness in her voice.
“Hmm?”
She twirled
the hair on his chest, a literal demonstration of twisting him around her
little finger. He knew he was
doomed. “What was it Doc told you?”
“What do
you mean?” he returned, attempting innocence, but it sounded weak even to his
ears.
She eyed
him sharply. “You know very well, Matt
Dillon, what I mean. What was it Doc was
talking about at the station? You said
you would tell me when we got on the train.”
“I said I
would tell you later,” he clarified,
rather boldly, considering his situation.
She
switched tactics, pouting a bit. “I
thought you would tell me then.”
“Well, I
tell ya, you didn’t ask.” He knew he was pushing it.
“Whose
fault was that, Mister?” she wanted to know, tugging hard enough on the curls
to draw a yelp from him. “You distracted
me.”
“I thought
you’d like it,” he protested honestly.
“I know
very well that Doc didn’t fork over the extra money for passage on one of those
new sleeper cars,” she said, almost accusingly, but just as quickly her tone
softened with a smile. “But I’m awfully
glad you did, Cowboy.”
He had
hoped she would be. When the railroad
boasted of luxurious, roomy accommodations, they obviously had not had a six
foot, seven inch, 240-pound marshal in mind.
Still, cramped as he had been in the narrow bed, he was cramped in there
with her. Of course, it sure beat the
last time he had ridden that route – lying with a bullet in his back in the
baggage car.
“You
haven’t answered me,” she reminded, letting her hand drift lower, down his
abdomen and over the flesh that had already begun responding to her again.
He groaned,
helpfully arching into her touch. “Uh –
Kitty, when you do that, I can’t even remember my own name, much less something
Doc told me three weeks ago.”
“Okay,” she
agreed, “I’ll stop,” and pulled away.
He groaned
again, this time in disappointment. “I
didn’t mean you had to – “
“Apparently,
I do, to get my answer.”
“That’s
blackmail, Miss Russell,” he accused.
“It is,
indeed, Marshal Dillon,” she agreed.
“You seem
you have me between a rock and a hard place – ”
She
smirked, shifting so that she lay between his legs. “I think that’s my line, Mister.”
Even past
the levity, her persistence showed him that maybe it was time. He thought back to that day, to the
revelations that had occurred in Doc’s office, revelations about her, but even
more about himself. And he wondered just
how much he should tell her.
His sudden
silence drew her head up, her eyes intense, curious. Remembering what he had told Doc about those
eyes, he drew a breath and began.
XXXX
The marshal
dragged himself back onto the soft mattress, grimacing against the pain his
attempt had caused. He hadn’t believed
Doc earlier when he said it wasn’t yet time to try
such a move. Still, the discomfort
subsided after a minute, and he began to think about giving it another shot –
he just hadn’t gotten his legs under him good before – but Doc’s whistle on the
stairs quickly changed his mind. No need
to aggravate the physician, who was already irritated with his restless
patient. Instead, he decided to switch
tactics. Maybe if he cooperated, did
everything the doctor said, it would shock
“Morning,
Matt,” the older man called, then did a double take.
The marshal
put on his best innocent face. “What?”
The
innocent expression grew a bit strained.
“What would make you think that?”
Frowning
suspiciously, Doc turned to look at him, eyes peering closely. “Hmm. I have no idea. You have certainly never given me any cause
over the past eighteen years to mistrust you when it came to following my
medical advice!”
A diversion
was what he needed. “Kitty tells me ya booked us on the train to
He saw the
doctor’s spine straighten as if preparing for battle. “I certainly did, and I don’t want to hear
any protests about it. You need the
rest, and Kitty needs the break, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you – “
“Sounds
like a good idea.”
“ –
destroy yourself by trying to get back to work before – “ His words stumbled to a halt. “What?”
“I said it
sounds like a good idea,” Matt repeated patiently, suddenly feeling much more
comfortable. “I appreciate it.”
“Well,
sure, I’m glad to – what did you say?”
Shrugging
slightly so he didn’t move too much, he said, “I’m taking ya
up on your offer.”
“You
are?” Doc could not have sounded more
surprised if Festus had just announced he was serving high tea to the Queen.
“Yep.”
The
physician stared for a minute, scrubbed at his mustache, and stared some more,
before he nodded. “Well, all right,
then.”
“All right.”
“Good.”
Matt
nodded, struggling to keep a straight face.
He wished Kitty had been there to see the exchange. But it wasn’t hard to grow serious when he
thought about what Doc had said. Kitty
did need the break, he knew. The guilt
of what his absence and yet another injury had done to her dug at him, pestered
him, until he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his gut. It frustrated him on two levels. First – and certainly most important – that
he had caused her pain again. But
second, that he couldn’t think about anything else. That was dangerous, what he had feared from
the moment he knew he had fallen for the fiery redhead all those years
ago. His job was first, he had told her;
it had to be for him to be an effective lawman.
No one tying him down, no one causing second thoughts,
stealing his attention from what was potentially a life-threatening daily duty.
Doc must
have seen the darkness fall over his face, because he dragged a chair over to
the bed and sat. After a moment of
thought, he said, “She’d do anything for you, you know that.”
No need to
ask who “she” was. “Yeah,” Matt
acknowledged.
A few years
back, Doc had broached the subject of his relationship with Kitty, the time she
had left town after he’d been shot yet again.
When he couldn’t talk Matt into asking Kitty to stay, the physician had
flat out told him he was a fool, and Matt had not denied it.
He had been
truly afraid that was it; she wouldn’t be coming back. And he knew he had no right to ask her to,
although he yearned to tell her not to go.
But he couldn’t stand it, riding down to Ballard on the pretense of being
on official marshalling business. She
hadn’t been fooled. He still could feel
the pounding of his heart when he heard her greeting the night she came back.
“Hello, Cowboy.” The memory brought a smile to his lips,
brushing away the darkness.
“Well,” Doc
said, “that’s better.”
“What?”
“That smile
instead of the scowl you wore a minute ago.
I’m not gonna ask you what caused it.”
“Good.”
“But I am
gonna ask you what you’re gonna do.”
“Do about
what?”
“I think
you know.”
Damn. “Doc, I hate to say it’s none of your
business – “
Without
warning,
Bracing
himself for the onslaught, Matt could only hope the tornado didn’t suck him up
in its vortex.
The doctor
stood suddenly, almost menacingly, over the bed and pointed an accusing
finger. “Listen to me, Marshal. Who do you think stayed around
here and talked to her, tried to get her to eat, to go on with life, every day
you were gone? Who do you think held her
when McMannis came riding into town with a body we
all thought was you draped over his saddle? Who do you think sat up with her when the
nightmares got too bad and she woke up screaming for you?”
Oh
God. He stared at the doctor, stomach
heaving, throat constricting.
“I’m sorry,
Matt,” he said, sitting again. “I never
meant – Kitty’ll have my hide for telling you those
things.”
“No,” he
managed hoarsely, swallowing. “No, I’m –
glad you did.” He turned his face toward
the window, unable to look straight at the other man. The guilt crushed him.
“She loves
you,”
The marshal
nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
He knew that, of course. She
loved him unconditionally, even knowing what he could never offer her, even
knowing it meant facing his death on a daily basis. She loved him.
“I know you
have to do your job, Matt.” His tone had
mellowed to a more conciliatory pitch.
“But can’t you give her a little more time when you are around?”
“Kitty
knows how it is, how it has to be,” he said, voice low. “She’s never made me choose between my job
and her.” His voice dropped to a
whisper. “And I do.”
“What?”
“I do spend
time with her,” he said, stung that Doc would suggest otherwise.
“Well, I
know, some, but – “
“Every
night,” he admitted, knowing if it were anyone but Doc, he wouldn’t be saying a
word. “When I’m in Dodge, I spend every
night with her, in her room, and we – ” He flushed,
wondering why he was explaining himself.
If that was
a revelation to the physician, he gave no sign.
“It takes more than being good in bed to satisfy a woman’s needs,” Doc said,
his voice level and completely unselfconscious.
Jaw
dropping, the marshal croaked out, “What?”
“You and
Kitty seem to, well, she seems to be a lot more chipper in the mornings after
you’ve – when you’re in town.”
Matt felt
the heat in his cheeks. Apparently, he
had been rather naïve to think Doc wasn’t aware of the depth of their
relationship.
But the
physician appeared oblivious to his patient’s discomfort. “Physical pleasure, no matter how intense, is
fleeting. She’s gonna need more than
that from you for the long haul.”
He started
to ask how long the long haul was. After
all, he and Kitty had already been together seventeen years. But he decided maybe discretion was the
better part of valor at the moment.
“’The years
do not wait for us,’”
“What?”
“Something
I heard from a Chinaman who was working on the railroad a few years back. Matt, you’re a good lawman. Hell, you’re the best lawman in
“She will,”
he almost said, until an image flashed through his mind. An image of a redheaded beauty telling him
she couldn’t do it anymore. An image of a gun in those lovely hands that had once shown him
such pleasure. An image of a
fiery blast directed right at him.
“Is being a
marshal all you want?” Doc continued.
“Is that enough? Is lying with
Kitty, using her to satisfy your physical needs enough?”
He felt the
blood rush to his face. “I don’t use Kitty to satisfy my physical needs!” he
ground out, fighting for control.
Surely, Doc didn’t think –
Emotions
churned inside him, boiled to the surface.
Maybe it was the fatigue; maybe it was the pain; maybe it was the
guilt. The wall he had carefully
constructed over the years of holding in, of controlling his feelings, cracked
like a surging river through a broken dam, and he turned to the doctor, pulling
himself up in the bed, feeding on the pain of his body to ignite his words.
“How can
you – you don’t know. It isn’t like
that. When we’re – together, it’s more
than just – sex. It’s – “ He wasn’t sure he could describe what it felt like being
with Kitty, not just the pleasure, but the warmth, and the contentment, and the
completeness. “It’s – well – it isn’t
like that at all.”
He was
shaking now, shaking with both physical and emotional pain, shaking with the
memory of how tender and how passionate she was. The sensations were so strong that he almost
forgot someone else was there.
“Sometimes
I can’t breathe when she touches me.
When she looks at me and I see right down into her soul, I can’t
breathe.”
He closed
his eyes and dragged in a ragged breath, as if the mere thought had tried to
rob him of that ability.
“I love
her. My God, I love her so much, and now
I can’t even think about anything else except what I’ve done to her, how I hurt
her. How can I go to her and expect her
to – I can’t think about anything else.”
Opening his eyes again, he saw Doc’s stunned face, and out of sheer
uncontrolled frustration, made him the target of his powerful confession. “Do you understand?” he asked, voice rising
almost to a shout. “I can’t think about
anything else! I can’t think about
anything else!”
Chest
heaving, he choked back a sob on the last word, horrified at himself. The great Matt Dillon, strong, invincible,
undaunted, brought low by his own imperfections, his own insecurities, his own
guilt. Not completely able to believe
what he had just done, he collapsed onto the bed and flung an arm over his
eyes, desperate to be anywhere else but there.
The room
remained silent for a long moment until Doc Adams, his voice eerily quiet,
said, “I know it’s not like that, Matt.
I know you love Kitty. I was
there when you went crazy after you found out she headed out to that gold mine
on her own. I was there when you
followed her to Ballard. I was there
when you brought her back from Etta Stone.
You wouldn’t let her out of your sight for a week. I was there.
I saw.”
The marshal
felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.
“I’m just saying, son, it doesn’t matter whether or not you admit it,
you’ve already chosen.”
Son. It did not escape Matt, even in the turmoil, that Doc had used that term. He knew that the physician considered him
almost more that way than a friend. And
the older man felt toward Kitty like a daughter, despite the years of teasing
marriage proposals. Somehow, it made
things even harder. How many more people
could he disappoint?
But the
doctor’s voice was kind. “Just remember
what I told you,” he reminded, stepping away as if the last few surreal minutes
had never happened.
Matt didn’t
respond, couldn’t respond, wasn’t sure which thing he was supposed to remember,
except that Doc still thought he was a fool, and he still couldn’t deny
it. As he lay there with his tortured,
confused thoughts, his brain fighting to make sense of things, he wondered if
it was enough. And if he decided it
wasn’t, wondered if it was even possible to have enough.
XXXX
Kitty’s
hands were still, no longer running across his scars, or even dancing playfully
over his groin. He hadn’t told her
everything, had been careful not to mention that Doc had talked about her
nightmares, had left out the intensity of his tirade against the physician,
more from embarrassment than anything else.
But he had told her enough.
After a
very long moment, she took a heavy breath and turned so that her head rested
against his stomach. “What did you
decide?” she asked hesitantly, as if she was afraid to hear his answer.
He had
planned to do this later in the week, closer to time for them to return to
Dodge, giving him a chance to think through just how he would say it. But maybe fate had forced his hand. Fate, and a certain
pushy country doctor.
Pulling her
up his body so that they were face to face, he held her gaze steadily, working
harder to summon up his courage than he ever had when facing outlaws. “I decided it’s not enough. I decided I don’t think it’s possible to have
enough.”
“Oh.” He saw the light fade, watched the hurt
flicker.
“But I’m
gonna do my best to get there.”
“What?”
He sat up
now, brought her with him so their knees touched. “Doc was right. I’ve already chosen, Kitty. I chose a long time ago. When I was out there on the trail, when I
didn’t think I could go any farther, you were the one who keep me going.”
“But I
wasn’t there – “
“You
were. You were right there with me. I saw you.
When I closed my eyes, when I dreamed, I saw you. When I was in Agustin’s house, you took my hand, you made the pain go away.” He watched the tears slide down her cheeks
and reached to brush them away.
“That was
Lucero,” she told him, and he thought he heard just a twinge of jealousy in her
voice.
“No. It was you.”
“Matt, what
are you – “
“Kitty,
you’ve been my woman for seventeen years now.
Do you think you would mind being my wife?”
He almost
wished they had been at one of those photograph parlors so he could preserve
her expression, bring it out and look at it whenever he wanted. Shock, joy, amazement,
love. Terrible,
deep love. And again he felt his
chest and throat tighten, his breath leave him, as he looked past those
beautiful blue eyes and into her soul.
“Oh, Matt,”
she whispered. “I – I – Matt, are you
sure?”
With no
small effort, he forced air into his lungs and nodded. “I told you, I chose a long time ago. I was just too much of a fool to realize it.”
She stared
at him another beat, then threw herself forward, arms around his neck, lips on
his, breasts against his chest. They
fell back onto the bed, their passion instantly ignited. He could tell this would be no slow-burning,
gentle lovemaking. Her body writhed on top of his, her pelvis ground into
his. A groan escaped him as he tried to
slow her, but she only moved more frantically.
Surrendering to the inevitable, he let his body go, turning them so that
he hovered over her, pushing at her entrance.
“Yes,” she
breathed, clutching at his hips to pull him in.
With her
permission – or rather her order – he thrust deep and hard, carrying them both
up toward the headboard. Kitty’s cry was
one of agonized pleasure. He recognized
it because he echoed hers with one of his own.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips rose to meet each surge as
he withdrew, pulling back almost to the edge, then
plunged back in, harder and deeper.
Slick with sweat, they slid together, building faster and faster toward
the ultimate ecstasy. He bit his lip to
hang on, not entirely sure he could make it, tasted blood in his mouth. His entire world centered on her, deep inside
her, and he felt the deliciously painful tightness tug between his legs.
Desperately,
he tried to distract his overwhelmed body, closed his eyes and conjured up
visions of toothless old Miz Harper and her equally
homely eighteen children. It helped
some, and he felt the imminent release ease just a bit. Still, once he opened his eyes again and saw
Kitty’s face, mouth open and eyes wide with the pleasure he was giving her, he
couldn’t stop the rush.
“Kitty –
“he warned hoarsely, but it was too late.
His body
surged forward, carrying him as far as she could take him, and his muscles
froze with the head-to-toe contractions that shot his seed deep inside her,
hard pulses over and over. He felt her
own body answer, squeeze him again and again in uneven
spasms as she bucked beneath him. He
couldn’t keep from crying out, and hoped that no one out in the hallway thought
they might need help.
When his
muscles finally released him, he began to rock again, more gently this time, in
and out, his motions tender, soothing.
Eventually, he felt her own pulses fade, and she melted back onto the
pillows, arms and legs flung out in total and complete fulfillment. He smiled at the sight, remembering what Doc
had said.
“It takes more than being good in
bed to satisfy a woman’s needs.”
He knew, of
course, that was true, but he couldn’t deny the stroke of pride at the
knowledge that she looked pretty damned satisfied right then. Carefully, he withdrew and lay beside her,
drawing her against him, smoothing her hair, kissing her shoulder.
When she
spoke, her voice almost purred. “You
didn’t propose just so I’d let you have your way with me, did you?”
“What if I
did?” he wondered.
She
stretched luxuriously. “Works for me.”
As his
brain began to clear, he realized something.
“Hey, wait a minute. You never
gave me an answer.”
“What?”
“To my proposal.”
“You don’t
think what we just did was an answer?”
“Maybe I
need more.”
Her
shoulders shook in a chuckle. “More than that? I don’t think I can do more than that. At least not for a while
yet.”
“Kitty,” he
said, losing the tease from his tone. He
wanted to hear her say it, needed to hear her say it.
She looked
up at him, a curious, long-suffering smile on her lips. “No.”
His breath
caught, his heart skipped a beat.
No? “Wh – what?”
“My
answer,” she explained calmly. “No.”
He sat up
and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say, not expecting this at
all. She might as well have punched him
in the stomach. “Kitty, I thought, I
mean – “
“You
thought what, Cowboy?” she asked.
“I thought
you wanted – “
Her smile
contradicted what he thought she had just told him. “You asked me if I would mind being your
wife. The answer is no. I wouldn’t mind it a bit.” She leaned in and kissed him with such
tenderness that he ached. When she
pulled back, her eyes shone with mischief.
Once his
heart started beating again, he put on his best frown and said, “You are an
evil woman Kathleen Russell, playing with a man’s heart.”
“Is that
what I played with?” she asked slyly. “I
thought it was something else.”
He sighed
and lay back down, pulling her with him.
“There’s a justice of the peace a few blocks down from the hotel,” he
told her. At least he had been out
enough to find that.
She lifted
up again. “Here?”
“Why not?” Then it occurred to him. “Or maybe you want to wait until we get back
to Dodge.”
But she
shook her head. “Cowboy, you might start
thinking on it, and I don’t want to take that chance.”
He
laughed. “We can go see him tomorrow.”
Kitty
snuggled against him, and he felt her legs grow heavy over his own. “I bet Doc’ll be
surprised,” she murmured sleepily.
Matt smiled
and stroked his fingers through her hair.
“I wouldn’t count on it, Kitty. I
wouldn’t count on it.”
The years do not wait for us, Doc had said. But Matt Dillon didn’t care now. In fact, he didn’t want them to. Not anymore.
Her hands
found the scars again, touched each one, beginning with that first one, almost
faded completely, tracing each imperfection lovingly, ending with the latest
two, still pink and tender. There would
be more. They both knew that, but as
long as she was there to count them, he wouldn’t mind as much.
END
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