The West Wind
A Gunsmoke
Story
By Amanda
(MAHC)
“O wild
West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being.
Thou, from
whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven,
like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and
black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
“Ode to the
West Wind”
1819
Chapter One: Miss Satterfield
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Matt Dillon
tugged the collar of his coat higher over his neck, slouching a bit against the
brisk wind that whistled through the stagecoach
windows. The flaps proved woefully
insufficient to keep nature’s forces from touching the passengers. It was early for a cold snap – not that it
had never happened in
They were
almost in Dodge, though, and Matt kept his body warm with thoughts of what
awaited him. A two-week absence usually
earned him a very sincere welcome home from Kitty. He could use it. Joe Kendall had not been easy to track and
even harder to take. The marshal
shifted, wincing at the pain that shot through his bruised side where the
outlaw had slammed a rather substantial piece of firewood in a futile attempt
to avoid capture. A brutal left hook had
taken care of any further resistance, but Matt wasn’t too sure his injury
stopped at just a bruise. He’d suffered
enough cracked ribs before to suspect that he might be dealing with that, as
well. Each jolt of the coach reinforced
his suspicion.
It occurred
to him, not for the first time, that maybe he should have stayed in Ellsworth
one more day to rest. But Dodge lay only
ten miles ahead, and if it got too bad he always had the option of letting Doc
bind his side for him. Although, as much
as the marshal liked to avoid the doctor’s ministrations, it would have to be a
lot worse before he surrendered to him.
At least
“Solana
Satterfield.”
The marshal
looked up to find one of his fellow passengers looking at him, slender gloved
hand extended in the offer of a shake.
He had, of course, noticed her already.
It had been hard to ignore the striking figure she made as she boarded
the stage at Ellsworth. At that time,
she had given him an inviting nod and made room next to her on the seat. Matt had chosen the opposite side of the
coach and contented himself with looking out through the window flaps, thoughts
of Kitty occupying his interest. Still,
he wondered why she chose now, when they were almost to Dodge, to initiate
introductions. Nevertheless, he took the
hand, trying not to grimace at the discomfort the strain of shifting his body
caused.
“Matt
Dillon,” he returned simply.
The woman’s
smooth brow rose. “Matt Dillon? Marshal
Matt Dillon?”
After 13
years as a U.S. Marshal, Matt had grown accustomed to such recognition, forced
to accept that his reputation stretched farther than he would have preferred.
He nodded. “That’s right.”
Her face,
already bright and pleasant, lit further.
“Well now, it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you, Marshal. I’ve heard a lot – well, of course who hasn’t?”
Matt
pressed his lips together and tolerated the stares the other two passengers now
locked on him.
“You have
quite the reputation where I come from, Marshal,” she continued. “Yes, indeed.”
Not
completely sure how to respond to that, Matt asked, “Where’s that?”
“Pardon?”
“Where you
come from – where’s that?”
“Oh, why
Saint Louis,” she said. “I’ve come out West to see if it really is as wild as folks say.”
Matt
watched her carefully, judging the genuineness.
“What’ve you found out?” he wondered.
Her eyes
took on a calculating look and raked over his broad chest before returning to
his face. “There are, indeed, some wild
things out here.” Her tongue darted out
and licked at her top lip. “Of course,
the extent of the wildness depends on where I am.”
Matt nodded
and shifted uncomfortably at her blatant invitation.
“I don’t
suppose I should expect much action in Dodge, though” she said, her voice
falling in disappointment. “I imagine
you have things – under control.”
“It has its
moments,” Matt assured her, ignoring the suggestion in her voice.
“Maybe, but
I’ve heard a man would be a fool to drawn down on Matt Dillon. End up on that Boot Hill of yours.”
His
expression didn’t change, but inside Matt braced himself. The seductive tone had sharpened to sound
more like accusation.
“How many
men you figure you’ve killed, Marshal?” Satterfield asked, calculation
hardening her soft features.
Dillon’s
jaw tightened, and he met the woman’s eyes in a hard
gaze that he held steady until she blinked and broke.
“I don’t
mean anything by that,” she assured him, patting nervously at her hat. “Just curious.”
“I don’t
keep count, Mrs. Satterfield. My job’s
to protect the citizens of this territory.”
“It’s Miss Satterfield,” she corrected
pointedly, her voice warm and inviting again.
“And I’m sorry I brought up such unpleasantness.” Casually, she stretched out her arm and laid
a hand on his knee.
Matt
glanced at it, then at the faces of the two other male
passengers, who suddenly became interested in the passing scenery. Working his jaw a bit to distract his body
from the involuntary sensation a woman’s touch created, he gently nudged his
leg away. Despite his complete loyalty
to Kitty, it had been entirely too long since he had felt her caresses, and his
knee wasn’t distinguishing whose soft fingers rested on it.
With a
rough clearing of his throat, he smiled politely and tugged his hat down
farther over his eyes, trying to indicate that their conversation was
over. But Solana Satterfield ignored his
hint and shifted in her seat so that she could give his leg one more squeeze
before she leaned back. Matt considered
it fortuitous that a certain saloonkeeper was not accompanying him on this
particular trip. Of course, if she had
been, he had no doubt that Miss Satterfield would have been put in her place
from the start.
“Did you
have business in Ellsworth, Marshal?” she asked, her innocent voice
contradicting the interest in her eyes.
Unable to
ignore her without being flat-out rude, he kept his gaze aimed toward the
window as he answered. “Yes, ma’am.”
She let a
beat pass, then prompted, “Well?”
He glanced
out from under his hat. “Well what?”
“Well, what
was it – or is it a government secret?”
Her eyes lit again in delight.
“Oh, that would be so exciting, wouldn’t it? Something you can’t tell us? Something of national importance a United
States Marshal has to handle?”
He noticed
the other passengers cutting their eyes curiously toward him again. “No, ma’am. Just a man who made some
foolish choices and had to go to jail as a result. I’m sorry it’s not any more exciting than
that.”
“Is he the
one who injured you?”
His head
jerked up before he could cover his surprise.
“You’ve
been favoring your right side since we left Ellsworth.” At his frown, she hastened to add, “I’m an
observer of people, see. You’ve been quite
careful not to grab the side of the coach with your right hand when you’ve
gotten in and out. And you’ve been
bracing your ribs with your left hand, on and off, since we left.”
Self-consciously,
he dropped the hand that had been, indeed, pressed against his side, and pursed
his lips.
“And you
have a rather nasty bruise on your jaw,” she added.
“He resisted a little,” Matt admitted in explanation, stifling the impulse to run his fingers over the tender spot.
Miss
Satterfield sighed dramatically. “We are
just so fortunate, Marshal, to have such a brave, strong man as you
protecting us out here.”
He almost
laughed, envisioning the eye rolling Kitty would have given him at that
comment. Instead, he nodded politely and
returned, “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”
For his
courtesy, he received a brilliant smile. “Fortunate, indeed.”
XXXXX
Less than
an hour later, the stage pulled up to the Dodge House, and not a moment too
soon for Marshal Dillon, who was beginning to wonder if he could keep up the
ruse that his side was only a minor bother.
In the last few miles, the dull throbbing had strengthened into a
disturbingly sharp prod. It was
beginning to look as if that visit to Doc’s might not be optional. Assuming his best lawman’s mask, he climbed
out of the coach, closing his eyes momentarily against the sudden swirl of
lights before him.
“Marshal?”
He opened
them again to see Solana Satterfield looking out at him from inside the stage,
genuine concern darkening her gaze. “Are
you all right?”
Shaking off
the remaining dizziness, he forced a smile and extended his left hand toward
her. “May I help you down, Miss
Satterfield?”
Her frown
lingered only a moment longer before she brightened and rested her hand in
his. “I’d be so grateful, Marshal. Thank you.”
She stepped down lightly, her skirt bouncing with her movement, her hand
remaining in his grasp a bit longer than necessary. “It doesn’t seem quite so cold here in
town,” she noted, taking the opportunity to untie her cloak and reveal a
neckline that plunged more than a bit too low for decency.
“It’s – uh
– the – uh, the buildings block the wind,” he explained hoarsely, dragging his
eyes away from her exposed cleavage.
And just in
time, too. As they stood next to the
boardwalk, Matt looked up and saw a familiar and very welcome figure walking
toward them. Her smile shot straight
through him, triggering an explosion of emotion that he struggled to
control. Even so, he couldn’t keep the
grin from escaping onto his lips as she neared.
Following his gaze, Solana Satterfield narrowed her eyes and frowned.
“Welcome
home, Matt,” Kitty Russell greeted, stopping close but not touching him.
“Good to be
home, Kitty,” he answered, wishing he could show her right there just how good
it was. Still, a casual demonstration
might not be too obvious, and he took the liberty of placing a hand at her
back. Then, remembering his fellow
passenger, he added, “Uh, Kitty, this is Miss Satterfield. She’s from
Kitty
turned toward the other woman, outward appearances completely courteous and
pleasant, but he had known her long enough to feel the tension in her
body. With a polite nod, she extended
her hand. “Welcome to Dodge, Miss
Satterfield. I’m Kitty Russell.”
“Oh, call
me Solana, please, Miss Russell. It is Miss Russell?” she emphasized.
Kitty’s
smile tightened. “Yes, it is.”
“Well – ” the marshal began, attempting to move on. But neither woman intended to follow.
“You just staying the night, Miss Satterfield?” Kitty suggested.
“Solana,
remember?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Depends on how – interesting – Dodge
is.” Her eyes cut suggestively toward
Matt, who wondered if it was too unethical to wish for a bank robbery at that
moment.
“I assure
you,” Kitty said, “Dodge can be very
interesting.”
Slipping
his hand from her waist to grasp an arm firmly, Matt stepped up onto the
boardwalk, tugging her with him. “I
missed breakfast this morning, Kitty.
How about I buy us lunch, huh?”
After one
more beat, she let her gaze break with Solana’s and turned toward him,
smiling. “Sounds good,” she agreed,
turning her back on the other woman and sliding her hand into the crook of his
arm.
He gave one
final glance behind him, and was more than a little worried to see heated
calculation in Solana Satterfield’s eyes.
Maybe he should have stayed in Ellsworth one more day.
Chapter Two: Young and Foolish
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T++
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Kitty
Russell tried not to smile too widely and broadcast her joy to the entire town,
but the electric touch of Matt’s warm hand at the small of her back challenged
her tenuous hold on control. It was as
if every nerve in her body surged, taking power from that one connection. He had only been gone two weeks, she reminded
herself, and here she was acting and feeling like a school girl, yearning to
leap into his arms right there on
“What?” he
asked.
“What,
what?” she returned innocently.
He didn’t
answer, but the spark that heated his gaze made it hard to keep up the
tease. Her instincts screamed at her to
do something that would set the tongues of every busybody in Dodge wagging.
“Miss
Satterfield is quite pretty,” she noted disarmingly, trying to distract both herself and Matt, but the way the wind had lifted his collar
against his neck, pleasantly framing the strong jaw, claimed her
attention. She wasn’t sure she could
wait through lunch to touch him like she really wanted.
With a tone
just as innocent as hers, he claimed, “I hadn’t noticed.”
Her brow arched. “Really?”
“Not much,” he amended, his sheepish grin shattering any minor ire she might be even remotely entertaining. The lunch offer, so welcomed earlier, was quickly becoming a stumbling block to her body’s urgings.
“As long as it’s not too much.”
She smiled indulgently at him and slipped her right arm around his
waist, frowning when his own grin tightened into a grimace. “Matt?”
But with a
quick shake of his head, the grin returned.
He lowered his voice and confided, “There is one pretty lady that
I‘ve noticed an awful lot.”
“There is?”
she said coyly.
“Yep.” The grin grew mischievous. “In fact, I’m noticing her so much right now
that I’ve decided I’m not really all that hungry, after all. At least not for Delmonicos.”
“You’re
not?” she asked, not bothering to hide her delight that he had the same thoughts.
“Uh uh. You know
anywhere I could find other – nourishment?”
A thrill of
anticipation shot through her, and she lowered her gaze, her eyes sultry. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I think I know just the place.”
The
afternoon sun seemed to delight in its surreptitious peek into Kitty Russell’s
boudoir, its rays warming the contrasting skin of the two lovers, creamy
alabaster against burnished tan. The
golden light caught the reddish highlights of Matt’s dark curls, and Kitty
couldn’t resist running her fingers wildly through them as he pressed her body
to his and claimed her mouth in a kiss so deep and so hot that it melted away
any pretense of patience either might have tried to summon.
Heart
pounding beneath her breast, Kitty clung to him as desire throbbed within
her. He had already stripped off his
shirt, and now she was desperate to feel her own body unencumbered against him,
so she twisted an arm around her back, fumbling with the buttons of her dress,
too anxious to be rid of it to take her time.
“Let me
help,” Matt offered, his voice husky as he turned her and let his long fingers
deftly work the smooth circles of pearl through the slits until he could push
the fabric from her shoulders. They were
both breathing harder when he turned her back, his eyes darkening at the sight
of her half-clothed body. His hands ran up her side, his touch barely dancing
across her skin, drawing chills with each caress. By the time he let his huge palms cup her
breasts, she was trembling.
“Kitty,” he
groaned, abandoning subtleness to slide his hands to her shoulders and pull her against him hard.
Her arms
stretched around and up his back, her face burrowed into his chest, the light
spread of hair tickling her nose and chin.
She felt the firm surge of his arousal against her.
“I missed
you, Cowboy,” she murmured, letting her teeth tug at a few tufts of hair.
The surge
grew stronger, more insistent. “Kitty, I
– it’s been a long two weeks,” he croaked.
“I don’t know how long I can wait – “
“Me, either,”
she assured him, adding emphasis to her words by reaching between them to press
against the thick, hard ridge now burrowing into her stomach.
His gasp
was answer enough to let her know there would be no waiting at all. Without being completely sure of how it
happened, she found herself freed of all remaining clothes, straddling his trim
waist, his arousal liberated from its own restraints but eager to be restrained
again inside her. Shaking with
anticipation, she welcomed him home, her hand bracing against his torso to
steady them, her body arching as he entered, ripping a gasp of pleasure from
her throat.
“Oh, Matt!”
she moaned when he grasped her hips and pushed deeper.
This was
what she had dreamed about every night he was gone. The sensation was so
overwhelming that her body trembled over his, and she thought she might
collapse. Desperately, she thrust out
her hands, catching herself hard against his ribs as she fell forward. Through her haze of desire, she saw his head
snap back, heard the harsh grunt and sharp hiss.
Matt was
not a particularly vocal lover. He
tended to express his pleasure through actions more than words. But he wasn’t completely quiet, either. On the occasions when she
pried a groan or gasp from him, Kitty always felt more than a little proud. This time, though, the sharpness in his voice
warned her that this response was definitely not one of bliss.
The
realization dampened her passion, and she looked down, alarmed to see a fierce
grimace clenching his handsome features, his hands pressing against his side.
“Matt?” She slid off him instantly, her breath
catching as she noticed the mottled bruises and swollen flesh over his
ribs. Arousal must have clouded her
vision not to have seen it before.
“Matt, what happened?”
“It’s –
nothing – “ But he could barely get the words out
between gritted teeth.
“Nothing, my foot.” It took her only a
few seconds to hop off the bed and retrieve her robe. “I’m going to get Doc.”
“No!” Matt
snapped, trying to rise, but the movement only slammed him back down onto the
bed, a groan slicing from his lips.
“Matt,
you’re hurt.” And hurt pretty badly, she
feared, if he couldn’t keep from crying out.
“I’ll just be a minute. You lie
there. Don’t move.”
She was out
the door before he could protest further, if he even had the breath for
it. As she pushed through the heavy
curtain at the end of the hall, it occurred to her that her appearance might
cause more than a little speculation, but that worry seemed inconsequential to
the pain Matt was suffering at the moment.
Disregarding any gossip she might create, she peered over the balcony
and onto the main room of the saloon.
A huff left
her lips as she leaned a little too vigorously over the railing, clutching the
wrap at her throat and calling out just loudly enough for the bartender to
hear. “Sam?”
The loyal
head came up immediately, his kind eyes finding her without trouble. Moving from behind the bar, he stepped just
below her perch. If it surprised him to
see her clothed in such a way in the middle of the afternoon, he kept it to
himself. Instead, he asked simply, “Yes,
Miss Kitty?”
“Can you go
get Doc and tell him I need him up here?”
Instant
concern shadowed the weather forehead.
“Is something wrong, Miss Kitty?”
“The Mar – “ She glanced around the room at the handful of customers,
none of whom probably would have so much as blinked to see Matt Dillon walk
down the stairs at that very moment.
Still, she was hesitant to announce to everyone that their United States
Marshal was currently doubled-over in pain – and naked – in her bed. “Just tell him,“ she
instructed, keeping her voice calm, “to bring his bag, please.”
With a nod
that indicated he understood she would offer no more information, he turned
toward the door.
Spinning on
her heel, she hurried back through the separating curtain and into her room,
gasping at the sight that greeted her.
Matt lay, not on the bed anymore, but sprawled on the floor, pants
tangled around his long legs, one long arm stretched out to grip the waistband,
the other wrapped around his side.
“Matt!” she
cried. “What on earth – “
His long
bicep muscles bulged as he tried to tug the resisting fabric up. “Help me – before Doc – gets – here – “
“Just lie
there. You could make things worse.”
“No,” he
ground out. “Just – help – “
Kitty felt
a tingle of surprise as she realized what was bothering him. Sighing in fond irritation, she knelt beside
him. “That’s ridiculous. He’s seen you buck – “
“Not here,”
the big man snapped.
Oh. Still, Doc could be discreet –
sometimes. “Matt, for goodness sakes – “
But he
interrupted her once more, a rare note of warning in his voice. “Kitty!”
Knowing it
would only delay things to argue, she shook her head and reached for the
pants. “Oh, all right. You are the most stubborn man.”
His only
response was a grunt as she tugged at the twisted material. Between the two of them, they managed to pull
up the trousers the rest of the way, taking only enough time to fasten a couple
of buttons so they wouldn’t fall back down.
With effort, he struggled to his knees, fingers white around the
bedpost.
“Please,
Matt. Maybe you should just stay on the floor until Doc gets here,” she urged,
concerned about how pale he had become and how the sweat beaded on his upper
lip.
“I’ll –
make it,” he insisted.
And he did,
but only barely, and not without an agonized groan when he finally managed to
stagger to the bed.
As best she
could, Kitty smoothed the covers and helped him ease down until he rested on
his back.
The knock
on the door was discreet, but firm. “Kitty?”
She pulled
the robe tighter around her and opened it for the figure whose extra-rumpled
suit and scattered hair gave testimony to the continued fierceness of the wind
outside.
“You okay?”
Doc asked immediately, his eyes roaming up and down her in a quick professional
assessment.
“I’m fine,”
she assured him, then jerked her chin toward the bed. “It’s Matt.”
She knew
very well that Galen Adams had no illusions about her relationship with Matt. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had
been witness to touches and murmurings that were intended to be private. The most telling moment had occurred a few
years earlier with a brief and unintended interruption in his office when a
recovering marshal and his comforting visitor had allowed a chaste kiss to
develop into some not-so-chaste groping.
Since then, the physician had been diligent about knocking before he
entered any room the two occupied alone.
Despite
that experience, she saw the older man blink at seeing Matt Dillon sprawled out
on her bed, trousers only half-buttoned, chest bare. Even though he was aware of just what kind of
relationship existed, they had been careful to remain discreet, and now here he
was being allowed into her bedroom with their Marshal just one piece of
clothing shy of being completely naked.
Surely, he could have no doubts about their activities. To his credit, though, the physician took only
a moment’s pause before he brushed off any surprise with a swipe at his mustache
and shuffled purposefully to his patient.
Matt’s
chest glistened with perspiration now, and his face had drained white beneath
skin permanently tanned by years under the sun.
He pressed a hand against his side, taking shallow breaths.
“How bad’s the pain?” Doc asked, not giving him the chance to
deny there was any at all.
Teeth
clenched, Matt managed to rasp, “Not – too – “
The
physician grunted skeptically. Kitty
watched as his sure, experienced hands eased over the ugly bruises marring that
beautiful torso. More than once, the
marshal grunted, even under the gentle touch.
Finally, Doc straightened and clucked his tongue.
“How’d this
happen?” he asked as he dug into his bag.
“Joe –
Kitty
winced at the thought of the outlaw smashing a solid piece of wood against
Matt’s ribs. Suddenly, her worry
doubled.
“He caught
you, all right,”
“How bad is
it, Doc?” Kitty asked, her eyes flitting over her lover’s tense face.
“Feels like
at least two ribs are broken, maybe another cracked.” He fixed his pointed gaze
on the marshal. “How long ago was this?”
“Four
days,” Matt admitted, too miserable to deflect the doctor’s accusation.
The bushy
eyebrows rose sharply. “Four
days! And it never occurred to you to
see a physician about this?”
Matt winced.
“How in tarnation did you even tolerate a stage ride all the way
from Ellsworth?”
But the
Marshal just pressed his lips together, choosing to devote his energy to
remaining conscious.
“It didn’t
seem so bad until – “ Her voice suddenly faltered as
she realized what she was about to reveal.
Despite Doc’s awareness about them, neither she nor Matt relished
sharing more of the intimate details of their relationship with their old
friend.
“Until what?” Doc asked, eyes narrowing.
“Until we –
and then I – uh – ”
Doc raised
his head and stared at her, comprehension coloring his cheeks. “Well, for Pete’s – you mean, you two – “
“What can
you do for him?” she urged, feeling guilty enough without his scolding.
Doc cocked one eyebrow and considered her for a long, uncomfortable moment before shaking his head. She thought she might have glimpsed a hint of a smile, but when he spoke, his voice was all business.
“Well,
wrapping them’s about it. He’ll need to stay very still the next couple
of weeks.”
Not
unexpectedly, Matt grunted. “Couple – of
– days,” he groaned, “will be – enough – “
“You tell
me that two days from now,” Doc challenged as he
unraveled a roll of bandages and started winding the cloth around Matt’s broad
ribcage. “Hell, you tell me that ten days from
now.”
“Don’t
worry, “ Kitty assured him, “he’ll stay still.”
Doc
snorted. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. I don’t doubt that at all. Those ribs’ll take care
of that.” When Matt gasped as Doc pulled
a little too tightly on the bandage, the physician paused and withdrew a dark
bottle from his bag. “You have something I can pour this in, Kitty?”
“Sure,” she
answered, her eyes still focused on her suffering man even while she pulled a
cup from her cabinet and handed it to the physician.
Doc poured
a generous amount of liquid into the cup, holding it out for Matt. “Drink this,” he ordered without explanation.
Obediently,
the Marshal took it and choked it down, unable to suppress a shuddering cough
at the end. “Ugh.”
“You’ll be sayin’ that laudanum was mighty tasty when your side’s not
pounding you so much.” He turned to
Kitty. “That oughta
knock him out for a while.”
“Thanks,
Doc,” she said, not worried about how it looked anymore to have Matt almost
naked in her bed. They certainly
wouldn’t be finishing what they started earlier – at least not tonight.
After he
completed the wrapping,
Despite his
pain, Matt frowned. “What’s that – supposed
to mean?”
But the
older man merely chuckled lightly and shook his head as he left, repeating the
phrase softly.
When the door closed, Kitty gingerly perched on the bed and brushed a hand over Matt’s chest just above the bandage. “You heard what Doc said.”
His face flushed, a welcome change from his pain-induced pallor. “I guess it was kinda
foolish, but I never think straight when you’re – well, when I – when we’re – “
She
laughed. Of all the adjectives that
could be used to describe Matt Dillon, “foolish” was definitely not on the
list. “I was talking about him telling
you to stay still, but I’ll take the other as a compliment.”
His hand
reached to pull her closer. She allowed
it, at least until he slipped his fingers under the robe. Reluctantly, but firmly, she eased him away,
clasping his hand instead. “Down, young
man,” she scolded.
“Young?” he asked, his smirk letting her know the laudanum was beginning to work.
“Well, I’m
certainly still young, I’ll have you know, and I don’t mess
around with old men – at least not yet – so that makes you young,
too.”
“Young and
foolish,” he reminded, his voice slurring.
“You just
go to sleep now. I’ll be here.”
“Don’t –
want to – “ he mumbled, but the fight was sliding from
his grasp, as his hand was sliding from hers.
“If you’re
good,” she promised, “you can be young and foolish again real soon.”
Tonic and fatigue tugged his eyes closed. “With you?”
“Oh, yes,
Cowboy.” Then, as she thought of the
calculating eyes of Miss Solana Satterfield, she added firmly, “and only
with me.”
The smile
that touched his lips as his breath grew heavy made him look truly young, and
Kitty found it difficult to resist being very foolish with him right then and
there.
Chapter Three: If Only I Thought You
Were Serious
POV: Doc
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Galen Adams
slouched in a chair at his usual table in the
Up in
Kitty’s bedroom, he had managed to maintain his professional demeanor, mainly
because the ashen color and cold sweat of Matt’s face gave him immediate
evidence that the Marshal was in genuine distress. But now that the crisis was over – or at
least subdued, his brain could not rid itself of the sight of Kitty in that
robe, the silken material clinging to the incredible curves of her body.
That was
another fact that convinced him Matt was truly in pain. No sane man would have forfeited an encounter
with that alluring creature without overwhelming cause; that fact convinced
him, and the fact that he had been allowed – invited even – into an intimate
situation. Oh, it wasn’t that he had
been blind to their relationship before.
On the contrary, there wasn’t a person in Dodge who didn’t assume the
Marshal and the saloon owner were together – at least
nobody who had been in town any length of time.
It took only one glance between the two to see the spark, feel the heat,
no matter how much they tried to dampen it in public.
So, of
course, Doc knew about them. And they
knew Doc knew about them. And he knew
they knew he knew about them. Still,
that didn’t mean he wouldn’t respect their desire – their need, really – to
remain discreet.
Sometimes,
though, that was easier said than done.
He blushed deeper with the memory he kept safe, the memory of a moment’s
impulse when he had interrupted them in his office. And even though it was his office,
damn it, he felt like an intruder at the sight that had filled his vision for
the few seconds he stood immobilized in the doorway. From the look – and sound – of things, Matt
Dillon’s skills weren’t limited to upholding just the law. The confirmation of what the physician had
suspected for years came as a bit of a shock, but a pleasant shock. After another second’s hesitation to enjoy
the view, he mumbled an apology and left the startled lovers to themselves.
He doubted,
however, that any such activities would be occurring upstairs now. In fact, he doubted they would occur for some
time. Matt had taken a good shot to the
ribs, hard enough to break two and bruise up his side nicely. The average man would be in bed for a month,
recovering. But, of course, Matt Dillon
was anything but the average man. Doc
figured a week would be all he could count on to keep the hardheaded lawman
convalescing.
Smiling to
himself, he lifted the glass of beer to his lips and took a healthy swig.
“Good
evening.”
A voice as
smooth as
“Evening,”
he greeted, when he could find his voice.
After a moment, he scrambled to his feet, berating himself for
forgetting his manners. “Won’t you sit
down?”
She beamed
at him, as if he had just offered her Queen Victoria’s throne. “I do thank you so very much. It was such a long trip, and I’m just a bit
weary.”
“You came
in on the stage?”
“Yes. From Ellsworth.”
“What
brings you to Dodge?”
“Adventure. Excitement.”
“Be careful
what you wish for,” he warned, in good humor. “How long are you staying for
this adventure and excitement?”
“A week,
and I’m delighted to meet such a distinguished citizen so soon after I’ve
arrived. Are you perhaps the mayor of
this metropolis?” she asked, settling in at the table so that her breasts
billowed over the top of her dress.
“Uh – no –
no, I’m – uh – “ What was he, again? “I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor!”
she declared, as if that was the most impressive of all occupations. “How noble.”
“Well,
now,” he blushed. “And here I am
forgetting my manners. May I buy you a
drink, Miss – “
“Satterfield,”
she supplied, offering her hand. “Solana
Satterfield.”
“Galen
Adams.” Doc took the hand, holding it a bit longer than necessary, before he
turned and motioned for Sam. “Sam, could
you get the lady a -
“ Turning back, he raised a brow in question.
“Oh, I’ll
just have a little pick-me-up. Perhaps a glass of wine?”
Sam
shrugged. “We don’t get requests for
wine that often, Miss, but I’ll see if Miss Kitty has some in the cellar.”
Doc saw
Solana’s eyes narrow slightly. “Miss – Kitty?”
“Kitty Russell,” Sam explained. “She owns this place.”
“Really? A woman owner? Isn’t
that interesting,” she noted blandly before returning her full attention to the
doctor. “You know, Doctor Adams, it’s
rather a coincidence that I’ve met you so soon in my visit.”
“Why’s
that?”
“I shared
the stage with one of your fellow citizens, and he certainly could have used
your expertise.”
He sat up,
his professional instincts suddenly activated. “Who was that?”
“You know
Marshal Dillon, I’m sure.”
“Matt?”
Her smile
broadened. “Yes. Matt.
The poor man was trying bravely to hide it, but I could tell he was
suffering a great deal during our journey.
It looked as if he had been in some sort of altercation. I was quite worried about him.”
“Oh.”
“I found a bottle of wine,” Sam announced, reappearing from the cellar. Throwing a warning glance at Doc, he added, “But it’s kind of expensive.”
“I’m sure
it will be delightful,” Solana said confidently, turning her charms toward the
craggy barkeeper. “Thank you so much for
going to all that trouble for me.”
Doc's hand slid into his pocket to finger the few coins there. Good thing Kitty let him keep a running tab.
“You’re
welcome, ma’am,” the bartender replied politely, dipping his head as he set a
glass in front of her and popped open the bottle.
As the
rich, blood-red liquid flowed into the glass, she asked Doc, “You’ve seen him,
then?”
“Who?”
“The marshal. You’ve seen him?”
“Oh, I’ve
seen him.”
“And he’s
going to be all right?” Smiling up at Sam, she took a sip of the wine. “Oh, this is delicious. Just delicious.”
“I’m glad
you like it.” Leaving the bottle, he retook his usual position behind the bar.
“Yes, indeed.” And just as smoothly, she was talking with
Doc again. “Well, that is good
news. About the marshal, I mean. I was so worried. A man like that – “ Her
lashes fluttered. “So strong and robust
– “
Doc
chuckled. “He’s not too robust right
now. In fact, he’s – “
He stopped, frowning with a sudden realization that he had been close to
betraying a doctor/patient fact. “Well,
right now he’s taking it easy.”
“As well he
should.” Looking up over the rim she
asked, “Maybe I could take him some chicken soup later.”
Doc caught
Sam’s raised brow. “I
– uh – maybe.”
“A man like
that needs tending. Taking care of so that he can recover and
return to his valiant protection of our citizenry.”
The
physician cut his eyes toward Sam, and the two men exchanged bemused
glances. “Oh, of course,” Doc agreed,
pursing his lips.
“I suppose
he has – a wife to do that, though?”
Clearing
his throat, Doc said, “Uh, no – no. He,
uh, no, he doesn’t have a wife.”
“He
doesn’t?” she exclaimed in astonishment. “I can’t imagine why not. Such a fine male specimen. You would think some woman would have claimed
him years ago.”
“You would
think,” Doc agreed wryly.
“Of course,
there was someone who met him at the stage – as I recall.”
“Was
there?” He knew, of course, what someone had met him at the stage, knew
that someone had probably been watching the clock all morning waiting
for that stage.
“A very attractive redhead.”
“Why, that
would be Miss Kitty,” Sam offered innocently from behind the bar.
“Yes,”
Solana agreed after a moment’s reflection.
“Yes, I believe she did say her name was Kitty. She and the Marshal seemed
– close.”
Doc just
smiled. Despite his willingness to be a
little manipulated by her beauty and her charm, Solana Satterfield didn’t fool
him.
“Well,” she
said after a moment, barely masking her disappointment with his lack of
confirmation, “thank you so much for the lovely glass of wine. I’d best get
myself registered at that fine hotel down the street. If you see the Marshal, please tell him how
concerned I have been.”
“Well, I
sure will,” he agreed, wondering if Kitty would appreciate that message as much
as Matt.
She rose,
and Doc remembered his manners this time, standing with her. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around town, Miss
Satterfield,” he said.
“You most
certainly will, Doctor. You most
certainly will.”
After
taking a pleasant moment to admire her exit, Doc heard a door close
upstairs. Turning to his right, he
glanced up to see Kitty Russell emerge from the curtained area that marked the
beginning of her private quarters.
She smiled
tightly at him as she walked down the hallway and descended the stairs. Mild disappointment tugged at him when he
noticed she was clothed much more completely than she had been upstairs. Not
that he really expected her to waltz through the barroom in her robe. Still, it was an agreeable fantasy.
“How’s
Matt?” he asked when she slid tiredly into a chair beside his.
“Sleeping like a log. You give him an
extra dose of laudanum?”
Doc smirked
in guilt. “Couldn’t take a chance on him
– well, you and him – well, dagnabit, if Matt isn’t
going to use common sense, someone has to do it for him.”
That was
ironic. Matt Dillon had the most common
sense of any man he had ever known – except when it came to Kitty Russell.
With a
rueful smile, she admitted, “It was me.”
“What?”
“The common sense, or lack of it, anyway.
I was the one who, who started – things.
I – encouraged him to –
Doc rubbed
a hand over his mouth and shook his head.
“You can’t tell me he didn’t want – I mean he could have stopped things
if – “ He took a good look at the stunning face, those riveting blue eyes, that
creamy skin, those smooth cheeks, and sighed.
“No,” he decided, “I don’t suppose he could have. Not with you.”
“Doc!”
“Don’t
guess I can blame him, either. He’s
paying for it, now, though.”
Her
indignation gave way to real concern.
“Is it really bad?”
“Those ribs
are busted good.
It’s a wonder they didn’t tear into a lung. We’d have really been in trouble, then.”
She paled a
bit at that news. “If I’d known – I
mean, I could tell he was sore, but – but that’s nothing unusual. A few bruises have never stopped us bef – “ She faltered, her cheeks
flushing deeply.
Doc’s
coloring matched hers as he cleared his throat.
“Yeah, well – he just needs some rest.”
His eyes sharpened. “For two
weeks, but I know he won’t take that long, so if you can get him to stay
still for at least five days, he should be able to get back out. But it’ll be slow going. Real slow.”
“I’ll do my
best, Doc.”
“If anyone
can keep him in bed, you can,” he murmured.
“What’s
that?” she asked, her eyes suspicious.
“Nothing. Say, I met a woman who rode the stage with
Matt.”
That did
it. The pretty face frowned with an
entirely new concern. “That so?” she
asked, feigning nonchalance.
“Yep. In fact, she was just in here a minute
ago. I bought her a glass of wine.”
“You bought
– “ Kitty glanced over at Sam, who confirmed with a
nod and a broader-than-necessary smile.
“Oh, yeah. And she’s pretty, too,” Doc picked.
Those blue
eyes flashed. “Really.”
“Askin’ about Matt.”
“She was?”
“Yeah. Said she might bring him
some chicken soup later.”
Another flash, this one a little brighter. “She did?”
“Asked if he was married.”
He could
almost hear the thunder rumbling with that flash.
“Just being
friendly, I’m sure,” he said, innocently.
“Oh, I’m sure.”
Doc let her
stew on those thoughts for a long moment before he laughed aloud and shook his
head.
“What?”
Kitty asked.
“As if you
think that overgrown civil servant has eyes for anyone but you.”
A frown
swept her brows down. “It’s not that
overgrown civil servant I’m worried about,” she confided. “It’s the female citizens who have it in mind
to serve him.”
Leering,
His ploy
worked. Kitty’s face brightened in
laughter. “Curly, if only I thought you
were serious.” Pushing up from the
table, she gave him a loving smile. “I’m
going back to check on Matt. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure he stays in bed – asleep.
I’ll see you later.”
A
bittersweet smile curved his lips as he watched her walk up the stairs. If only.
Chapter Four: The Right Other Woman
POV: Solana
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Relieved
that the persistent prairie wind had taken a rest, even if it was only
temporary, Solana Satterfield paused long enough to push a wayward strand of
hair back into her otherwise perfect coif before she strolled over the
threshold of the U.S. Marshal’s office.
As was her practice, her dark eyes took in the surroundings with a
simple glance, noting the sparseness of the room. It was neat, clean, and efficient – much like
its inhabitant, she figured.
She, of
course, did not expect to find the Marshal there, having heard from the town
doctor – a rather charming, but frustrating gentleman – that
he was convalescing from the wounds he had grudgingly admitted to her on the
stage. She was surprised, then, to find
that the outer room was not empty.
On a cot
that butted the wall, a crumpled figure lay, his beard
scraggly, his eyes closed, and his mouth open.
His snores resounded impressively throughout the jail, so much so that
she was amazed she hadn’t heard them outside.
At first she thought he might be the town drunk sleeping it off, but a
closer look revealed a silver badge on his chest. With a mental shrug, Solana accepted this
little surprise quickly and moved on.
“Excuse me,”
she tried, in between snores.
The figure
was not phased.
Moving
closer, she touched his shoulder gently.
“Excuse me.”
Still nothing. With a little more force, she
pushed at the shoulder. “Excuse me!”
And almost
jumped out of her skin when the man bolted upright, pulling his gun from the
holster and pointing it right at her.
Eyes wide
and glazed, he asked, “Whaizzit?”
“Oh, dear!”
she exclaimed, clutching at her chest in a genuine attempt to calm her pounding
heart. “Oh, I am so sorry to have startled
you, sir.”
The eyes
that had widened now squinted, and the man stared at her for a moment before
his brain seemed to comprehend the situation.
Frowning, he re-holstered the gun, which afforded her more than a little
relief.
“Wael, thet’uz a fool thang ta’ do,” he fussed. “I cud’a drilled ya’ plumb through.
If it’d bin Matthew – “ He paused, getting a
better look at his guest. His voice
softened. “I mean, ya’
need ta’ be more keerful,
ma’am.”
“Oh, I
assure you, Marshal – “
“Deputy,”
he corrected. “Deputy Festus Haggen. Pleased ta’ meet ya’.”
“Likewise, Deputy.” She extended a
hand. “I am Solana Satterfield.”
“Miz Satterfield,” he returned. “You wuz lookin’ fer th’ Marshal, wuz ya’?”
“I was,”
she lied. “Is he not in?”
“Oh, no ma’am. He come in
yes-terdy a mite roughed up from tekkin’
in a no-count.”
“I’m so
sorry to hear that,” Solana professed passionately. “He’s not terribly hurt, I hope.”
“Ol’ Doc sez he’s got hisseff some busted ribs and sich.”
“How terrible.”
“Oh,
Matthew’s had worse.”
“Poor man.
How long will he be invalided?”
“In –?”
“Unable to fulfill his duties as Marshal.”
“Oh. Doc sez two weeks,
but Matthew don’t never listen ta’ Doc. I figger he’ll be
back up an’ around in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days? That doesn’t give me much – “ She
stopped herself abruptly, irritated at the lapse. “Uh, is that wise?”
“Ain’t nobody kin talk Matthew outta
nothing onest his thankin’s
on it.” He smiled slightly. “’Ceptin’ Miz Kitty, I reckon.”
Solana
narrowed her eyes. Kitty
again. Brushing past that bit of
irritation, she awarded Deputy Haggen her best
smile. “I’ll bet you have lots of
interesting stories about keeping the peace in this rowdy town.”
“Wael, I reckon I cud spin a yarn er
two.”
“This seems
like such a depressing place to talk, though.
Perhaps we could – share a beverage at one of your local
establishments?”
“Uh – “
“May I buy
you a beer, Deputy?”
“Oh! That’d
be jest fine.”
“You have a
suggestion of where?”
“The
“If it’s
good enough for Miss Kitty,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth. “The
He glanced
down at the delicate hand on the rough material of his shirt and flushed. “I don’t s’pose I
do, ma’am.”
“What are
we waiting for, then?”
The
“I’ve heard
a great deal about Matt Dillon,” she noted casually, ignoring the stares. “The
papers back East seem to paint him as a great heroic figure, but sometimes when
one finds out the truth, one realizes the papers occasionally – exaggerate.”
”Oh, no, ma’am,” the deputy assured her.
“Them papers is rite as rain. Marshal Dillon is the best lawman I ever seen
– an’ I seen plenty, I kin tell ya’.”
“I’ve heard
he’s ruthless in bringing in prisoners,” she prompted.
“I’ll tell ya’ one thang, I shore am
gratified ta’ be on Matthew’s good side, thet’s fer sartain. He don’t abide too
much by ones whut run afowl
of th’ law.”
“He’s
pretty rough with them, huh?”
“Rough?”
Festus echoed, warming to his subject.
“I seen him tek on five outtielaws
an’ shoot ‘em all stone dead without even breakin’ a sweat.”
She took a
breath. “My. That is remarkable.”
“Other
times I seen him tek two er
three bullets an’ still be standin’ to plug th’ other feller rite through th’ heart.”
Despite her
vow not to get emotionally involved, she couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Goodness. I wonder why anyone would even think of crossing him.”
“There’s
fools everwhar, Miz
Satterfield.”
“I suppose
there are. How do the citizens of Dodge
feel about having such a – violent man among them?”
Festus
blinked. “Violent? Wael, I guess you
cud say thet, but this ‘chere
part of th’ country is rougher n’a
porcupine’s backside. Teks a hard feller ta’ tame it.”
“And Matt
Dillon is a hard fellow?”
Festus
shrugged. “He kin be, ‘ceptin’ when it come ta’ Miz Kitty. I reckon
she’s ‘bout th’ onliest one whut kin soften him
up some.”
“Miz Kitty? By Miss
Kitty, you are referring to Miss Kitty Russell, proprietor of this fine
establishment?”
“Shore.”
“She and
the Marshal – “
He
hesitated, and she sensed that he realized he had perhaps said too much. “Wael – “
“I saw them
together yesterday,” she added quickly, smiling. “They certainly make a lovely couple.”
“Wael – “
“How does
she feel about her man – about the marshal being in such a dangerous job?”
“Uh – “
“Well, I
can just imagine. How about another beer, Deputy?” She
had heard enough not to keep pushing – for now.
His teeth
showed under his beard. “Thet’s rite genrus
of ya’, Miz Satterfield.”
“Not at all.”
By the next
afternoon, Solana had talked with enough Dodge citizens to gather a fairly
complete picture of Marshal Matt Dillon.
She had almost grown weary of hearing the countless tales of his courage
and honor and strength. Only the
occasional sour note was sung by some disgruntled shopkeeper or visiting drover
– but those were the ones that interested her the most.
Still, she
had no confirmation of her suspicions about the nature of his relationship with
Kitty Russell. Everyone just hinted at
it, talked about their “friendship.” For
that reason mainly, she found herself sitting at a side table in the
Delia was
the only name the girl would share, but Solana didn’t mind. Her story was much more important than her
name. She was a typical dove, from what
Solana had read about them: heavy make-up, gaudy clothes, coarse
language. Still, there was something
almost eager about her voice. Perhaps
Solana’s interest in her was enough, or maybe the small monetary token had
helped warm up her vocal cords, as well.
Whichever the reason, Delia seemed more than happy to talk about Dodge,
Matt Dillon, and especially Kitty Russell.
“Miss Kitty
treats us girls well,” she volunteered before Solana could ask. “Real well. She pays the best of any place in town, and
she don’t make us do nothin’
we don’t want to do – if you know what I mean.”
Solana
cocked her head. “Does Miss Kitty – uh –
do any business personally?” Her brow rose to make her suggestion
clearer.
“Oh, no.”
Delia cut her eyes toward the bar where the bartender – Sam, she remembered –
was serving the few customers that had wandered in early. “Well, I don’t guess it’s any real secret,
even though it’s supposed to be.”
“What’s not
any real secret?” Solana asked, trying not to leap eagerly at the lead.
“Miss Kitty
and the Marshal, of course.”
Feigning
ignorance, Solana prompted, “Marshal Dillon? And Miss Kitty?
You mean, they – “
Delia
nodded. “For a long time, now, since way
before I started here, even.”
At last. She smiled in satisfaction at the
affirmation. “How do you know, then, that they’re – “
The woman laughed. “How could I not know? You seen ‘em together? You can
feel it in the air.”
Indeed,
Solana had experienced those sparks personally at the depot, but she feigned
innocence. “Really?”
“Sure. Oh, they’re real careful.”
Not that
careful, Solana mused silently, since everybody in town seemed to know about
them.
“They don’t
do nothin’ too obvious in public, but – “ She leaned in, lowering her voice, conspiratorially. “But I’ve seen things.”
Skin
tingling with the possibility of some valuable insight, Solana asked, “You
have?”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes, I help Miss Kitty close up. You know, when I’m not – uh – occupied. Anyway, if the Marshal’s in town, the
“He leaves late?”
Solana guessed.
“More like
he leaves early,” Delia amended. “Early the next morning.”
“You don’t
say.”
“Yep. ‘Course, I don’t blame Miss Kitty none a‘tall. No, ma’am,
none a’tall. Ain’t a female in Dodge, who does, I suppose. Even those
high falootin’ biddies who
put on airs that they’re better than other folks. I see their eyes following him when them long legs take him down that boardwalk.”
It was an
appealing vision, Solana had to admit.
“Fact is,
if I thought that big man would pay me any mind a’tall,
I’d forget Miss Kitty was my boss and go after him right fast. He sure is some more good ta’ look at.”
Despite
herself, Solana felt the blush creep into her cheeks. “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “He sure is.”
Delia’s
voice grew even softer. “Once, I’d been – occupying – a gentleman over at the
Dodge House, and I was coming in late. I
used the back way ‘cause Sam had already locked the front. Soon as I got in the hallway, I heard these
noises comin’ from Miss Kitty’s office. I was worried something might be wrong. Not everybody around here is a Christian
person, you know,” she confided.
Solana
raised a sardonic brow.
“Anyways, I
eased open the door, and – “ She blushed, a reaction
contrary to her station. “Well, let’s
just say I won’t look at Miss Kitty’s desk the same way ever again.”
Mouth
dropping, Solana asked, “Her desk?”
“Oh, yeah. I got a big old eyeful – and I mean big. I know why Miss Kitty ain’t
gone lookin’ for nobody else
all this time, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, my.” This was more than she could have expected.
Swallowing, Solana savored the image that swelled in her mind before she asked,
“What – what did they do?”
“Oh, they
didn’t see me.” Delia smirked. “They were – busy. I slipped back out quick as I could.”
“My goodness.”
“Anyway, to
answer your question, Miss Kitty don’t entertain nobody
except the Marshal. And even though
other women have tried, he don’t want to be
entertained by nobody except Miss Kitty.”
Solana
arched her brow suggestively. “Maybe he hasn’t met the right other
woman, yet.”
With a
raucous laugh that drew a few too many glances, Delia said, “Honey, even if he
did, I’d pay good money ta’ see
what she looked like when Miss Kitty got through with her. Yes’m, good money.”
And despite
her determination to do whatever it took to reach her goal, Solana couldn’t
suppress a flinch at the thought. After another drink, she thanked the chatty
woman, sent her on her way, and sat back to muse over the various stories she
had heard.
Some were
told with admiration, some with awe, and some with accusation, but all led to
two clear conclusions. First, Matt Dillon was not a man to have as an enemy;
second, if you did make an enemy of him, there was just about only one area of
vulnerability you could target:
Miss Kitty
Russell.
Chapter Five: Bait
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T+
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
The first
thing Matt Dillon noticed when his eyes squinted open was the bright daylight
that streamed through the window into the room.
The second thing was the room itself: not the jail, not Doc’s
office. Kitty’s room. That usually meant that he had enjoyed her
company the previous night and was waking relaxed and, more often than not,
slightly aroused. Something told him,
though, that wasn’t the case. Maybe it
was the daylight, since he usually eased out of her arms before dawn. Maybe it was the pounding in his head, a sure
sign the evening had not gone well.
He blinked
a couple of times and pushed up with his elbows.
“Damn!”
Or maybe it
was the knife-like pain slicing through his ribs.
With a
gasp, he collapsed back onto the bed, his teeth gritted against the burning
rush that clenched his muscles.
Like rapid
fire, visions of Joe Kendall slamming a stick of wood against him flashed into
his memories, conflicting with more pleasant thoughts of Kitty draped over him,
her back arching in ecstasy, her mouth open in pleasure. Then, cruelly, the images snapped as she fell
forward against him.
He winced,
and ran a hand over his side, confirming what had happened with the feel of the
firm bandage that wrapped around him. It
wasn’t difficult to recall how his desire had significantly diminished when
Kitty’s open palms crashed into the already injured ribs.
He blinked
hard and shook his head gingerly in a vain attempt to clear the fuzziness, an
all-too-familiar after-effect from laudanum.
Damn Doc
and his overdeveloped sense of protection.
With an ironic chuckle, which he quickly re-thought at the pain it caused,
he figured Kitty would have told him he was the pot calling the kettle black on
that point.
The sound
of footsteps outside the door cheered him with the prospect of her return, but
his eyes widened at the sight of his visitor who entered carrying a china bowl,
the rich smell of chicken soup wafting from it.
The blonde woman from the stage smiled warmly at him, her gaze sweeping
appreciatively over his bare chest.
Clearing his throat, he tugged the covers up higher.
“Marshal
Dillon,” she greeted, her tone warm and familiar, as if they were long-time
acquaintances.
“Miss – uh
– “
He watched
those eyes narrow in irritation before she managed to hide the response. “Satterfield. Solana Satterfield. Oh, surely you haven’t forgotten me that
quickly, Marshal,” she pouted. “That’s
not very flattering. Of course, you have
been terribly hurt, so I can understand.
Why, I knew on the stage that you were just being brave.” Just as quickly, her mood brightened. “I’m so glad to see that you are recovering.”
He stared
at her as she placed the tureen on Kitty’s table and stepped closer to him,
still chatting away.
“When
Doctor Adams told me you were in such a bad way, I was so very distressed,” she
confessed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Pressing
his lips together, he decided he and Doctor Adams would have a little talk
later.
“Tell me,
Marshal,” she began, and Matt swore her voice sounded almost like a purr. “What’s it like having to live in constant
danger, wondering what evil men might be hovering around the corner just
waiting to steal your soul from this world?”
Still
working to clear the fog from his mind, he said, “Sometimes, Miss Satterfield, it’s evil women who are waiting to steal my soul.”
His candor
brought a blush to her cheeks, and, even though he was wary of her intentions,
it was not an altogether unpleasant look.
“Why, Marshal Dillon,” she protested, her voice sugary, “surely you’re
not insinuating that I –“
“Nope.
Nope. Not at all. I was just – clarifying.”
“I
see. Yes, I suppose it could be women,
too. In fact,” she noted, leaning closer
to him, “I’d bet you’ve had to fight off more than your share of – evil women,
Marshal. Or maybe, you didn’t
fight them off, at all.”
Before he could figure out how to answer, she continued, “Have you made many enemies? I would imagine there are men out there – and women, of course – who might be interested in revenge.”
“Probably,”
he conceded.
“People who
have lived with the consequences of your actions – oh, justified, of course –
feeling they weren’t given a fair chance, perhaps?”
His gaze
hardened. “I uphold the law, Miss
Satterfield,” he told her. “If someone
chooses to break that law, they pay the price.” Where the hell was Kitty? Or Doc, for that matter? Normally, he couldn’t get away from their
hovering when he was hurt. Now, they had left him to the wolves.
“And I hear
that many have, indeed, paid the price with one of your bullets in them.”
He felt his
jaw harden to match his gaze. This visit
wasn’t nearly as pleasant anymore – if it ever had been. “Miss Satterfield – “
“But you
had no choice, I realize. The hard-nosed
lawman who lets nothing come between him and his job.”
“Miss
Satterfield – “
“Except
perhaps a woman,” she added, laying a gentle hand on his bare shoulder.
Teeth
gritted, he tried once more. “Miss Satt – “ But the effort to push up
only succeeded in shooting pain through him, and he froze, a grimace tightening
his features.
“Oh, I am so
sorry,” she said, sounding only mildly distraught. “Broken ribs, I understand.” Her tongue clicked ruefully. “How awful.” Her hand stroked over his shoulder. “Is there – anything I can do to make
it – feel better?”
Swallowing, he opened his mouth to ask her to leave, but before he could manage it, the door opened again, and his rescuer, or his executioner – depending on her mood – arrived.
“Figured
you might be up to taking a little soup – “ Kitty
Russell’s voice faltered, as did her footsteps, when her eyes settled on the
scene in her bedroom.
Valiantly,
Matt gave her his best Cowboy grin, knowing the gesture was futile. “Kitty, look who’s come to visit.”
Although
her demeanor remained cool – too cool, perhaps, Matt could feel the fury
crackling beneath the cordial façade.
“Miss –
Satterfield,” Kitty greeted, her voice rising a bit with the last
syllable. She carried a tray with a bowl
similar to the one Solana had already placed on the table, and now she rested
it next to the first one.
“Miss
Russell,” Solana returned just as coolly.
“I was bringing the Marshal some chicken soup. After talking with Doctor Adams, I was afraid
he didn’t have anyone to take care of him.”
She bestowed a syrupy smile on Kitty.
“Obviously, I misunderstood. How Christian of you to see to his – needs.”
Matt winced
at the fire that lit Kitty’s eyes. He’d
most likely have to wait in line for that little talk with Doc.
“Yes,”
Kitty agreed, lingering a bit on the “s” so that it sounded vaguely like a
hiss.
“I had no
idea he was injured so badly when we shared the stage. I mean, I could tell there was some distress,
but – “
“The
Marshal is tough,” Kitty said bluntly.
Solana’s
eyes sparkled. “Indeed.”
Shifting,
Matt wasn’t sure which was more uncomfortable: his ribs or the tension in the
room.
Solana
squared up with Kitty, finally letting her hand slip from Matt’s shoulder. “How long have you been a nurse, Miss
Russell?” she asked, voice dripping with innuendo.
With a
dangerous look, Kitty asked, “How long have you been a – “
“Kitty!”
Matt interrupted quickly. Looking up at
Solana, he said in a polite but firm tone of dismissal, “Thank you for the
soup, Miss Satterfield. I think I’d
better get some rest, now.”
Stiffening,
Solana nevertheless took the hint and nodded at him. “Of course, Marshal. We wouldn’t want you tiring yourself
out.” She arched a pointed brow at
Kitty. “I’ll just come by later and pick up the tureen.”
“I’ll be
glad to take it back to Delmonico’s for you,” Kitty offered generously.
“How kind.” The smile vanished as soon as it appeared.
“Don’t
mention it.”
With chin
lifted, the woman strolled from the room, and Matt relaxed, only then realizing
he had been bracing the busted ribs.
It took
only a second for the anticipated explosion to occur.
“Oh! Of all the nerve!”
“Now, Kitty
– “
“How dare
that woman come in here – to my room – and – and there she was all sugar
and – and with her hand on your shoulder, and – and how the hell
did she know you were here in the first place?”
He didn’t really figure Doc would have blabbed, but Solana Satterfield was a beautiful woman, and probably quite persuasive to men who didn’t have Kitty Russell to occupy their attentions.
“Don’t you
eat that soup, Matt,” she instructed, pointing at the bowl as if it were
poison.
“Wouldn’t
dream of it,” he assured her wisely.
Perhaps it
was the amused tone of his voice, but after another moment of outrage, Kitty
turned to him, her beautiful mouth suddenly curving into a reluctant
smile. “Hussy,” she declared, bending
over to fluff absently at his pillows.
“No doubt.”
“She’s up
to something.”
“You think
so?”
“Besides
trying to seduce you, I mean.”
“Oh, she
wasn’t – “
“Are you blind,
Matt? She was fawning all over you. And while I don’t blame her, I’ll kill her if
she tries it again.”
He chuckled lightly, conscious of the aching ribs, and reached for her hand. As his long fingers entwined with hers, he said, “I think maybe that won’t be necessary.”
“No?” she
asked, sitting gingerly on the bed and tugging their clenched hands to her
breast.
His breath
caught as his thumb brushed the enticing swells. “No,” he managed hoarsely.
“Why not?”
Swallowing,
he said, “Because I’m not blind, Kitty.
In fact, I see very well. Right
now, I see an intelligent, beautiful, charming redhead, who is more woman than I
deserve.”
That comment – uncharacteristically effusive for him – earned him a kiss
so deep that he had to pull away to catch his breath.
“Kitty,” he
gasped.
But she
just smiled and pressed a breast into his palm.
“Kitty,” he
moaned, caressing her and wondering just how much activity his ribs would
take. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Last
night?”
“About not
finishing – “
Her fingers
brushed his cheek softly. “Oh, Matt,
that was my fault. You made me so, well,
so – oh, it felt so wonderful to be with you again, that I couldn’t – well, it
was my fault.”
“No – “
“It was
my fault. But it wasn’t last night.”
“It
wasn’t?”
“No.”
Sighing, he
asked, “How long?”
“Three
days.”
“What?”
Damn Doc.
“You needed
to be still, Matt, and Doc knew you wouldn’t – well, he said it could have
punctured a lung when I
– “ She swallowed, tears brimming in those clear eyes.
His hand
ran up her arm, then cupped the back of her head to
pull her toward him. After a gentle
kiss, he whispered, “It wasn’t your fault, Kitty.”
“It was – “
Another
kiss silenced her. “No. If anything it was my fault. I knew those ribs were in bad shape, but you
were so beautiful, and it had been two weeks – “
“So, it was
my fault,” she said, but her smile let him know she was teasing – mostly.
“I guess it
was.”
“So you
won’t eat Solana Satterfield’s soup?”
By now, he
was kissing her again, so that he had to murmur. “I won’t ever eat anyone’s soup but yours,
Kitty. You never have to worry about
that.”
“Because
mine is the best,” she fished, her lips moving against his.
“Even if it
wasn’t,” he assured her.
The sudden
stiffening of her body let him know he had made a mistake. “What?”
“But it is,”
he added, hastily.
“Matt – “
His mouth
covered her once more, and he felt her relax, giving into his caresses. With soft but determined moves, her fingers
stroked over his shoulders and chest, twirling the fine tufts of hair over his
breastbone. He wondered if she could
feel his heart pounding beneath her touch.
When she brought her body close enough for her breasts to press gently
against him, he groaned. In addition to
the throbbing of his side, he felt other parts of him throbbing, as well – for
an entirely different reason – and started planning out how they might follow
through with their desires and still keep from hurting
–
“Hey!”
Abruptly,
her lips tore away, leaving him with raw, aching desire. “What the – “ But
his words stumbled to silence when he saw who their intruder was and got a
glimpse of the consternation that darkened his face.
“Now I know
you haven’t got any sense.”
“Doc,”
Kitty scolded, pushing her fallen tresses back in place. “You’ve stopped knocking?”
The
physician shook his head in dismay.
“Hell, I knocked five times already.
I thought I saw you a few minutes ago at Delmonico’s so I – well, when I
didn’t get an answer, I figured Matt was asleep, and – well, dagnabbit, what are you two doing in the middle of the day
– and with Matt barely awake from – for Pete’s sake!”
“Well,”
Matt fumbled, completely guilty and searching for a distraction. Then it occurred to him. “Yeah, well, what are you doin’,
goin’ around telling folks I’m up here,
anyway?”
The flank
worked. Doc reared his head back and
stared. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Solana
Satterfield,” Kitty interjected, joining forces as she sensed a shift in
advantage. “That’s what he’s talking
about.”
“What about
her?”
“Why’d ya’ tell her I was up here?”
“Well, what
do ya – I mean, I didn’t!”
“You didn’t?”
Kitty echoed, her tone skeptical.
But Doc’s
answer was in earnest. “’Course
not. What do you think – well, you two
know I’d never – “ He sounded genuinely wounded, and
Matt felt even more guilty for suspecting him.
Kitty shook
her head, the accusation gone. “How did she know, then?”
“Well, I
sure don’t know, but – wait, you mean she was up here?”
“She was,”
Kitty snapped.
“And you
were up here, too?”
“I was.”
For a
moment, Doc’s eyes crinkled. “Say, I’m
awful sorry I missed that.”
“Doc – “ Matt warned. He
didn’t want to get Kitty riled again, and it wouldn’t take much.
“I’d watch
the woman, Matt,”
Kitty
snorted. “She’s fishin’ for Matt.”
He felt his
ears warm. “Kitty – “
“Could be,”
Doc allowed. “Could
be. I hope that’s all it is.”
“All?”
“Well, if
she’s fishin’ just for Matt, I don’t figure she’s
gonna have any luck.”
“Why’s that?” Kitty wanted to know.
He chuckled
and cocked his head toward the marshal. “Because I happen to know that that big ol’
bass there has already been caught by a much better fisherwoman with a
lot better bait.”
Despite the
flush that reddened his cheeks, Matt couldn’t argue. Doc was right on the nail with that one. He felt confident that whatever Solana
Satterfield was up to, Matt Dillon wouldn’t be part of it.
Chapter Six: Waiting on Lede
POV: Solana
Episode
References: (not telling, yet)
Rating: T+
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Solana groaned
as pleasure tingled through every nerve in her body. She really couldn’t believe this was
happening, even though she had imagined it from the moment she boarded that
stage in Ellsworth and got a delicious look at that big, beautiful man. Even after discovering there was a woman
waiting for him at the end of the line, she had decided that she wanted
him. And now –
Her breath
caught as his lips left hers, and he pulled her hard against him, his long body
solid with muscle.
“Oh, Matt,”
she breathed when his arms enveloped her.
He was everything she had imagined, and she let herself press into him,
unable to keep from gasping when his strong arousal pulsed against her
stomach. How she yearned to feel that
strength deep inside her, taking her again and again until she screamed in
ecstasy.
What would
Kitty Russell say now if she could see them?
Solana almost wished the smug redhead were there to watch her man
get thoroughly bedded by a woman who knew how.
Heart
pounding, she ran her hands over his shirt, tearing through the buttons to feel
the hard planes of that broad chest beneath her fingers, to rub over the light
hair that trailed down his abdomen.
Effortlessly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed,
his blue eyes burning with desire. She
somehow managed not to cry out with longing as his large hands stripped her of
her garments and laid her bare and open to him.
Those same hands worked quickly to unbuckle his belt and push the
straining trousers to the floor, evoking a startled gasp from her at the sight
of his need, generous and eager – and all for her.
After that,
he wasted little time, bracing his big body over her and joining them, his firm
entry bringing both pleasure and pain.
When he felt she was ready, he began moving, slowly at first, but then
with increased power. Finally, his
thrusts grew so hard that the bed started to knock against the wall, over and
over, harder and harder. Solana clung to
him, her body alive with sensations she had never imagined she could feel,
building and building until she knew they were both almost at their peaks.
“Miss
Satterfield!” he cried out, and she smiled at the formality. Surely he could
call her Solana in this intimate moment.
The
headboard continued to pound against the wall with a steady beat. “Miss Satterfield!”
“Yes,
Marshal!” she answered, carried away by the intensity of her pleasure. “Yes!
Yes!”
More pounding, again and again. “Miss
Satterfield!”
“Oh, yes!”
“Miss
Satterfield, are you awake?”
What?
“Are you
awake?”
Awake?
Abruptly,
Solana Satterfield’s eyes snapped open, and she stared into the early light of
her hotel room. Her body surged with
desire, her legs and arms trembled with passion, but one look around told her
that even though she still burned with the pleasure Matt Dillon brought her,
she was alone in the bed.
Alone.
The knock
sounded again – the door, not the headboard.
“Miss Satterfield?” came the voice from beyond
it in the hallway. “It’s Howie, the hotel clerk, ma’am. You asked to be wakened at seven?”
Oh.
Oh, hell.
Oh, damn it
to hell.
“Are you
awake?”
Yes. Unfortunately.
Still
panting from the very, very vivid dream, Solana took in a deep,
disappointed breath and answered, as calmly as she could. “Yes.
Yes, I am.” Damn it. “Thanks a lot.”
“My
pleasure,” Howie said, his
voice muffled as he retreated down the hall.
Falling
back into the rumpled bed sheets, she closed her eyes and tried in vain to
recapture those rapturous moments. Dear
God, they had been intense. She wondered
if that big marshal was anywhere close to as
incredible a lover in real life as he had been in her dream. If he was, how she envied Kitty Russell.
She had to
admit that whore Delia had been right.
Matt Dillon was “some more good to look at.” More than anything, Solana regretted that the
Marshal’s injury would prevent her from having time to work on him a bit
more. No man she had seriously turned
her sights on had ever turned her down, and she had every confidence she could
tempt Dillon if she put her mind – and body – into it.
Besides,
Paul Hill hadn’t mentioned that the lawman was so very attractive. Of course, she didn’t figure Paul would have
noticed that, anyway. And it had been five years since he had been to
Dodge – five years he would just as soon forget, she knew.
She would
do what he wanted in the end; she would give him his revenge, but in the
meantime, there was no harm in enjoying herself, was there? Even though she and Paul had an
“understanding,” she knew he didn’t restrict himself when she wasn’t
around. Why should she,
then? Previously, her flirtations with
the marshal had been superficial, but after that heated dream, she began to
wonder just how easy a mark Matt Dillon would be. Still savoring the warm feeling those visions
had left her with, she decided that it might be quite satisfying – in more ways
than one – to give Miss Kitty Russell a run for her money.
Despite her
request for an early wake-up, it was nearly noon by the time Solana stepped out
onto the Dodge streets again, finding it necessary to clap her hand over her
hat to keep it in place against the best efforts of the whipping wind, freshly
returned from its brief hiatus. She wondered how these people could stand the
dust and dirt that swirled into their eyes and noses and mouths, and she was
grateful that her exodus from Dodge was imminent.
Sauntering
into the small telegraph office, she awarded the wrinkled operator with a
smile, hoping that not too much sand clung to her teeth. “Good morning.”
Glancing
up, he smiled back. “Well, good
morning. What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“I’m
expecting a telegram from
He sat
upright. “Oh, sure. Came just a few minutes
ago. Kinda
strange, but then I don’t mess with others’ messages. No sirree.”
“I’m sure
you are the epitome of discretion,” she agreed.
“Uh. Sure.”
“May I have
it, please?” Solana asked, itching to jerk the paper from his hand.
“Oh.” He held it out toward her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Anxiously,
she looked down at the words, cryptic to the Dodge telegraph operator, crystal
clear to her:
WAITING ON LEDE. STOP. HAVE TO KILL IF NOT RECEIVED THREE DAYS. STOP. COUNTING ON YOU. STOP. PAUL
Three
days. Damn. And she was already behind.
“Problem,
Miss?” A quick glance up revealed the
concerned face of the old telegrapher staring at her.
Pushing
down the flash of irritation, she granted him a grateful smile. “Oh, no, not at all.” Damn fool.
“Can you send a reply?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. How
about, uh, ‘Message received. Stop. Do not kill yet. Stop. Lede
will come soon. Stop.’ And sign it ‘Solana’.”
The
telegrapher glanced up at her, his crinkled eyes curious, but he didn’t
question. “I’ll send it right out,
Miss. You want to wait for a reply?”
“No. That’s
fine.” Laying a hand on his arm, she
smiled again. “Thank you so much. You are very kind.”
He cleared
his throat, a bit flustered. “Oh, no problem. No
problem, at all.”
As soon as
she turned away, she allowed the insipid grin to fall from her lips. Damn Paul
and his deadline. She just needed a
little more time. Besides, it was all for him, now, wasn’t it? What did she care about Marshal Matt Dillon
and his almighty reputation? But she did
care, and she had to admit that her interest had become personal. That could play to their advantage, though.
Surely Paul wouldn’t mind a little bonus, would he? In fact, she figured maybe
Paul owed her. After all, he had sent her
to do his job, the coward. She
deserved a bonus, herself.
Her
excitement waned when she considered that her bonus was currently under the
protective – irritatingly protective – watch of Kitty Russell.
Damn that
idiot who had broken Dillon’s ribs.
As she
stepped back into the blustering day, though, her mouth dropped at a sudden and
completely unexpected sight. Standing on
the boardwalk in front of the
Just as she
started to walk toward him, she saw Kitty Russell step through the swinging
doors and stand beside him. Even from
down the street, Solana could see the tenderness in her gaze. And even worse, it was clear the marshal
returned that tenderness. Without
touching, their bodies leaned close to each other, communicating in that
universal language. Russell said
something to him, resting her hand on his chest. Solana felt her eyes narrow. Dillon smiled down and said something back,
letting his hand cover Kitty’s. She saw
him raise his eyes to glance around as if checking to see if anyone was
watching, then lean down to give the redhead a quick, but gentle kiss before
Russell returned to the saloon.
Bits of
dust flew into Solana’s mouth, and she closed it quickly, stamping out the
flame of jealousy so that it didn’t deter her from watching him walk down the
boards between the
“Oh,
Marshal!” she called, one hand bracing her hat against the persistent wind as
she crossed toward him.
He turned,
perhaps a bit too quickly, because the movement drew a grimace to his
features. Still, he had wiped it away by
the time she reached him.
“Miss
Satterfield,” he greeted, touching a couple of fingers from his left hand to
the brim of his hat.
Satisfaction
tingled in her stomach. He remembered
her name that time. Other feelings tingled in other places. She tried not to flush at his closeness.
“Why, what
a surprise to see you up, Marshal,” she drawled, not having to work too hard to
be genuine. “It was my understanding
that you would be invalided for two weeks.”
Leaning in conspiratorially, she confided, “But I should have known a
big, strong man like you couldn’t be kept down by a couple of little ol’ broken ribs.”
The
amusement on his face warned her she might have taken that a bit too far, and
she reminded herself that this was no gullible rube she was dealing with. Paul had warned her that Matt Dillon was
tough, intelligent, and skilled. She had
already found out most of that herself – although she really would like to test
some particular skills more thoroughly.
“I guess it
was my soup that did it,” she teased, taking the liberty of placing a hand on
his forearm.
“Maybe so,”
he acknowledged politely, stepping back just enough for her hand to drop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – “
Before she
could protest, a frantic call drew his attention. It came from across the street, one of the
seedier establishments that Solana had avoided.
“Marshal! Come quick!”
Dillon
stepped off the boardwalk, and she was pretty sure she heard him grunt as his
right boot hit the ground hard, but he continued without faltering. Catching up her skirt, Solana followed instinctively,
forced to run to keep up with his long strides.
By the time
they reached the doors of the saloon, the fracas was in full swing, with
cowboys and drifters alike throwing punches, bottles, chairs, and tables. Solana considered herself a worldly woman,
but she had never had the opportunity to observe a
honest-to-goodness, all-out brawl. A
thrill of excitement mixed with more than a little anxiety shot up her spine.
Dillon
didn’t hesitate to wade into the melee.
“All right!” the Marshal yelled, his voice commanding. “Break it up!”
A few of
the scrappers fell back with the order, but some were so absorbed in their
fight – or so drunk – that they didn’t pay any attention to the warning. To
Solana’s astonishment, Dillon stepped between them, tearing men apart and
slamming them back to splinter tables and the few remaining intact chairs. She had never seen anyone manhandle other
human beings so completely. Of course,
he was at least a half-foot taller than any other man in the room. As she watched him subdue the crowd, her eyes
flickered with interest and calculation.
When
everyone finally stood or sat or lay submissively, he shook his head and said,
“Boys, it’s too early for roust-a-bout.
Now, go get some sleep and sober up before you come back tonight. And if I have to come back for you, you’ll
spend the rest of your stay in jail.”
The few who could still walk nodded obediently and helped their
companions out the door, apparently heeding the formidable lawman’s threat.
She watched them shuffle out, carrying various
assortments of scrapes and bruises as their warnings. When the room cleared, Solana peeked back
through the doors, her impressed smile fading as she saw Dillon leaning against
the bar, a grimace tightening his handsome features, a hand pressed to his
side. Not sure whether she should go to him, she waited. After a moment, he opened his eyes and met
her gaze. The hand fell abruptly; he
straightened, not quite able to suppress a wince, and pushed past her to walk
back into the street.
But he had
barely made it to the center of the dusty road when another voice called to
him, this one familiar and clearly agitated.
Solana turned to see Doctor Adams shuffling as quickly as he could
toward the marshal.
“What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?” he asked, pale eyes
flashing with anger.
It was
possible that the larger man actually flinched. “Now, Doc – “
he began, his own tone pacifying.
“Don’t
‘now, Doc’ me, Marshal! I told you to stay in bed for two weeks and it’s only been
four days. All you’d have to do was turn
the wrong way and one of those ribs could snap right into a lung. And then see
who’d come to help you!”
Solana’s
brows lifted. Obviously, the doctor had
no idea that only a few moments before his patient had done quite a bit more
than “turn the wrong way.” If he was mad at seeing the marshal simply walking
down the street, how furious would he be to know Dillon had just broken up a
fight in a saloon?
Not
surprisingly, the marshal didn’t confess to anything. He merely smiled at the physician’s
tirade. “I have every faith in your
dedication to your oath, Doctor.”
But the
threat remained unfinished because once again, the marshal’s name was called,
this time by a dark-headed man with a mustache, one of the townspeople Solana
recalled having noticed a couple of days earlier. He hurried down the street, waving a folded
piece of paper in his hand.
“What is
it, Burke?” Dillon asked wearily, and Solana saw that when he turned to face
the other man, he took extra care in the move.
“Marshal,”
Burke greeted, holding out a piece of paper.
“This here telegram come for ya’. Barney says
it’s real important.”
Nodding,
Dillon took the message. “Thanks.” She noted that he used his left hand.
“Nathan,
Matt’s supposed to be convalescing. What are you doing bringing him work?”
Burke
looked confused. “Well, he’s right here
in the middle of the street, Doc. Don’t
look like he’s convalescing to me.”
Frowning up
at the marshal, Doc muttered, “No, it doesn’t, does
it?”
“It’s from
the sheriff over in Ellsworth,” Burke volunteered.
Ellsworth?
Solana watched, her interest piqued, as Dillon’s eyes scanned over the
contents, his jaw hardening.
Helpfully,
Burke added, “Had an escape.”
“This ain’t mail, Doc,” he argued. “It’s a telegram.”
“Well, it’s
the same – “
“Besides, I
didn’t read it. Barney told me. Some fella named
Doc
started. “
Tugging at
his lower lip, Matt sighed. “Yeah, Doc. Joe
Kendall was the man I trailed and took in to Ellsworth.”
“And now
he’s escaped? All that for nothing.”
“Oh my,”
Solana interjected. The others glanced
at her as if they had forgotten she was there, which was a bit insulting. “You don’t think he’s going to come after
you, do you, Matt?”
“Don’t know
why he would,” Dillon figured, acting as if he didn’t hear her use his given
name.
But Doc
waved a hand. “Oh, no. No.
‘Course not. It’s not like
anybody else you’ve caught has tried to get revenge on you or anything.”
Solana
decided Doc Adams did sarcasm well.
Suppressing a smile, she made a mental note to check out this Joe
Kendall a little more deeply.
Stuffing
the telegram in his shirt pocket, Matt took a deep breath – apparently too
deep, the gritted teeth and tightness around his eyes betraying his discomfort.
“I’ll see
you later, Doc,” he said, cutting off the older man’s fussing. He gave Solana another perfunctory touch to
his hat – left-handed again – before he turned back toward the jail.
As she
watched him disappear through the jail door, she calculated how much time she
had before Paul’s deadline forced her hand.
Probably not as much as she needed, and certainly not
as much as she wanted.
Sucking in
a determined breath – and paying for it with another mouthful of dust – she
clapped her hand over her hat again and headed toward the office of the U.S.
Marshal.
Chapter Seven: Hero or Heel?
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Fire burned
unsuppressed across Matt Dillon’s long torso, forcing him back against the
closed door of his office, no longer able to fight through the pain that had
pounded at him since his ill-advised disruption of the fight at the Oasis. He hadn’t been at all sure he could make it
out of sight before the flames doubled him over, but somehow he had managed to
bluff his way past Burke and Solana Satterfield – and even Doc – to take refuge
inside the jailhouse.
Wrapping
his arms around the throbbing ribs failed to bring even minor relief, and he
tried in vain to blink past the needles of darkness that pricked at his
vision. He ground his teeth together in
an effort to avoid passing out, at least long enough to stumble to his narrow
bunk. The last thing he wanted was for
someone to saunter into the office – Heaven forbid it would be Kitty – and find
him sprawled out on the floor.
Those few
feet seemed like miles as he dragged his battered body toward the haven of the
bed, the long legs, usually strong and solid, giving way just as he reached his
goal. He couldn’t keep from gasping at
the abrupt contact with the mattress, and it was a long, long moment before he
caught his breath. Lying as still as
possible, he tried to snatch at any bit of logic to deter his mind from the
searing agony that threatened to pull him into oblivious blackness. Doc was right – as much as he hated to admit
that. He should have stayed in bed,
maybe not for two weeks, but at least another few days. Hauling apart those
reprobates in the saloon had done something – he didn’t know exactly what, but
he was pretty sure it wasn’t good – and he was pretty sure Doc would be mad.
Concentrating
on each breath, he let the air ease between gritted teeth. In. Out. Slowly. Slowly. Trying to regulate the movement, to minimize the expansion of the
unforgiving bone and sinew. After
a few moments, the intensity seemed to diminish, not much, but enough so he was
relatively sure he wasn’t going to lose consciousness. The steady rhythm of his breathing began to
lull his struggling body to sleep, enveloping him mercifully in its murky
depths, and he decided that perhaps that kind of unconsciousness was welcomed.
The pumping
of his heart echoed in his ears, loud and hard at first, then easier as his
muscles unclenched and relaxed. Relief
washed through him. His thoughts swam
lazily until he was back in Kitty’s bed, in her warm, loving arms, her lovely
body pressed against him, those soft lips tracing over his chest and down his
stomach until they teased at his pulsing arousal. Soft, talented fingers caressed him, soothed
his old aches and created new aches that brought pleasure instead of pain. Overcome, he called her name, reached out to
guide her, to hold her, arching up in growing desire.
“Kitty – ” he gasped.
“Well,
well.”
Kitty?
Something
about that voice wasn’t right. It didn’t sound like Kitty, at all. It sounded like –
Reality
jerked him rudely from the pleasant vision of his beautiful redhead hovering
above him, doing delicious things to him.
His eyes opened abruptly, squinting at the door of the office – at the open
door of the office. Solana Satterfield
stood in the threshold, her eyes disturbingly hungry and fixed on one
spot. Following her gaze to that
particular spot, he felt the hot flush sweep over him as he realized just what
held her undivided attention; his dream Kitty had been impressively successful
in her efforts to arouse him – most impressively successful.
Instinctively,
he bolted upright, only to find his face against his knees when his shoulders
snapped forward, snatching the air from his lungs. Fresh pain ripped through him, so intense
that he was afraid he might be physically sick right there in front of her.
Hiding his
arousal was no longer a problem – not at all.
“Marshal?”
Her voice was not sultry now. In fact,
it sounded rather alarmed.
Vaguely, he
felt her arm slip around his back, but he was in no condition to accept or
reject her attempt to comfort.
“Marshal,
are you – you’re really not all right, are you?”
No, I’m
fine. Go away. Leave me alone. Had he managed to say that aloud? He didn’t think so.
“You let me
take care of you,” she cooed, letting her hand brush through his hair.
“No,
really,” he tried to say, but the words emerged only as a low groan.
Her arm
tightened around him, and he wasn’t sure if it was in genuine sympathy or
convenient manipulation. It didn’t
matter, anyway. It was completely
superfluous to his attempt at overriding the pain.
Somewhere
in the midst of the haze that clouded his thoughts, he felt her fingers slip
down his shirtfront, fingering open the first few buttons and sliding in to
skim over his chest. What was a welcome
sensation when it was Kitty’s touch merely irritated him now. Even through the pain, he managed to grab
hold of her wrist and pull her hand away.
“Miss –
Satterfield – “ he ground out. “Don’t – “
But she
wouldn’t be put off that easily, and he found himself at a disadvantage as the
pain continued to throb through him, robbing him of the ability to process
clearly what she was doing.
“There,
now, Marshal,” she whispered, her free hand straying lower over his stomach.
“Let me take care of you.”
The caress
continued lower, and he couldn’t mistake what her destination was. With a focused effort – at considerable cost
– he dragged his body up and used his left forearm to push her away.
“I can make
you feel better, Matt,” she assured him, reaching for him once more. “So much better.”
“I don’t –
want you to – make me – feel better. I –
want you to – leave.” After taking a
moment to swallow down a fresh wave of nausea, he added, “Now.”
Her full
lips pursed into a pout. “Oh, you don’t mean that.”
“Yes,” he
snapped, unable to dampen the response with his usual courtesy.
Those
sympathetic, coaxing eyes hardened instantly as she straightened. “You are making a serious mistake, Marshal.”
“No,” he
told her. “You – are, Miss – Satterfield.”
Fury
darkened the beautiful features, and her hand drew back as if she might slap
him. He braced for the sting, not
willing to pull away the arm that cradled his ribs. But it didn’t come. Instead, the voice softened again,
deceptively calm.
Sliding her
arm back around him, she purred, “I still don’t think you really meant that.”
She took the liberty of propping on the bunk next to him, leaning into his
body, her lips close to his ear.
He tried to
tell her to go away, tried to move his own body from hers, but it suddenly
seemed like too difficult a task. His
head pounded, his ribs groaned with each slight movement. Through the distractions, he heard footsteps
outside, followed by an audible gasp.
“What the
hell is going on?”
Now, that
voice did, indeed, sound like Kitty. Ice hard. Quietly furious. He opened his eyes and couldn’t keep from
grimacing at the look on her face. I
warned you, he wanted to tell Solana, but one glance at Kitty convinced him
that discretion was the better part of valor in this case. He would be content to let her do the
talking.
“Oh, Miss
Russell,” Solana acknowledged boldly, her arm not budging from its possessive
position around the broad shoulders. “I
was just – comforting – the Marshal.“
“I can see
that,” Kitty noted, voice dangerously quiet.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to back off.” The last two words shot out as if they had
been propelled from Matt’s .45.
Bristling,
Solana began, “I will not – “ but her words broke off
abruptly, accompanied by a dull thump and a sharp grunt. At first, Matt wasn’t sure exactly what had
happened, since he was focusing on just breathing at the moment, but a quick
glance revealed that Solana had been expediently and unceremoniously booted
from her perch and now sat, open-mouthed, on the floor.
Another arm
slid around him, this one truly comforting and familiar. “Hey, Cowboy,” she whispered, the calm
clearly forced. “What happened?”
“Stupid,”
he confessed, able only to get out one word at a time with the limited amount
of air he could take in. “Fight – Oasis
– I broke it up.“
“Well, why
did you think you could do that?” she fussed, her sympathy breaking
slightly. “Never mind. Because you’re Matt Dillon
– indestructible.”
Not hardly,
he thought. “Stupid,” he repeated,
willing to admit to the truth.
“Stupid,”
she agreed, but her voice was soft and sympathetic again.
“I’ll tell
you what’s stupid,” Solana screeched. She had recovered enough to pick herself off the floor and now stood glaring at them, her
beautiful face screwed into an ugly, red scowl. “How you could want this – this
– trollop over me!”
“Trollop!”
Kitty echoed, her body stiffening as she stood.
“Kitty – “
His redhead
leaned forward in clear warning. “Look,
sister, I haven’t fought a woman in a very long time, but if you don’t get out
of here now I’ll forget my manners and tear out those bedroom eyes you’ve been
batting at him since you flounced off that stage.”
Solana
flinched, and Matt saw her back up – which he considered a prudent move on her
part – but before Kitty could make good on her threat, the other woman fled
through the doorway, pausing only long enough to spit back, “You’ll be sorry
for this, Marshal Matt Dillon, even more than you were already going to be. Paul was right, you are stubborn.”
Paul?
Matt’s lawman’s brain flashed in alert, but before he could process anything,
she was already out the door, her final vow snapped over her shoulder.
“Rest assured, you will be sorry.”
The office
door slammed shut as she rushed into the street, her own furious tornado
whirling with the wind that already whipped outside. Matt knew he should probably be concerned on
some level about the threat, but he couldn’t quite think past the misery that
demanded most of his concentration.
“Paul?” he
repeated, trying to sift through 13 years of enemies for a connection.
“Matt?”
A calm,
soothing voice eased through the pain, gave him some measure of focus. He clung to it and fought down the nausea
that had returned. After a moment, he
found that he could open his eyes. The
sight of Kitty’s beautiful eyes, concerned and loving, buoyed him further.
“I’m –
okay,” he whispered, an attempt at reassurance that neither of them believed.
“Sure. Just lie back,
Cowboy,” she urged gently. “I’ll go get
Doc.”
No, he wanted to say. I don’t need him. But even his own stubborn brain chided him
for the bravado. It was pretty clear
that he did, indeed, need Doc. So he
acquiesced to her, and simply nodded, almost smiling when he saw the alarm that
his rare concession created.
As much as
he hated laudanum and usually fiercely resisted Doc’s forcing it on him, Matt
decided that sometimes – on the rare occasion – it could be a wonderful
thing. Of course, he would never admit
that to the physician, but lying on his bunk, drifting in and out of
consciousness, he considered the benefits of a pain-free – or at least
pain-reduced – existence. During his
more lucid moments, he caught bits of conversation between the two people he
was closest to in the world.
“ – don’t
know what the hell he was thinking in the first place, throwing himself in the
middle of that bunch of hell raisers,” Doc fussed.
I didn’t
throw myself, Matt
wanted to interject, but he couldn’t muster the energy. Plus, some clear thinking brain cell deep
inside told him he would be better off just to keep quiet.
“Damn fool
thing to do. If he’d a punctured a lung
– “
“But he’ll
be all right, won’t he, Doc?” Kitty’s
question cut through the bluster, seeking the most important piece of information.
“Well – I
think so. ‘Course, just because he has such a fine – “ But
he didn’t finish. Instead, he wiped at
his mustache and repeated, almost to himself, “I think so.”
“Wouldn’t
he be better off back in – “ She hesitated, even
though it was just Doc. “ – well, in my
room?”
That
sounded like a good idea to Matt, but Doc said, “Normally, I would say yes, but
he needs to stay here for a while. I’m
still worried about a puncture.”
“Doc, you
think – “
“No,
no. He’ll be fine, if he stays still
like I told him to in the first place.”
His voice softened. “You gonna
stay here with him, Kitty?”
“Yeah.”
No hesitation.
“All right,
then. I’m gonna check on the Widow Parsim. She’s got
the ague again – “
But his
words were trampled by the flurry of activity outside on the boardwalk and the
sudden wham of the door crashing back against the wall. Matt jerked, grimacing at the fresh flood of
pain, even past the laudanum buffer.
Squinting, he peered up and saw Nathan Burke standing in the middle of
the room, hatless, his hair ruffled, his eyes wide.
Behind him,
the buildings of
“Burke!”
Doc yelled. “What in tarnation
do you think you’re doing? Matt’s tryin’ to – “
“I gotta see the Marshal!” the freight clerk declared, eyeing
Matt on the bunk and striding toward him.
Doc tried
once again, but the younger man ignored him.
Matt noticed for the first time that he waved a piece of paper. Setting his teeth, he pushed up from the
bunk, keeping one arm carefully around his ribs until he managed to brace his
back against the wall behind him.
“Matt!” Doc’s ire broadened to encompass his
patient. “Here, lie back down. Damn it, Burke, you see what you did? Matt, lie down. Burke, close that door!”
“Matt,”
Kitty cajoled, her hand resting on his shoulder. “Do what Doc says – “
But he was
up now – at least partially, suddenly realizing as the gush of wind rushed in
and chilled him, that the shirt Solana had so brazenly unbuttoned earlier was
now completely gone, and new, uncomfortably snug bandages wrapped his ribs.
“What – is
it, Burke?” he asked. Even knowing the
other man’s tendency toward drama, Matt could see real alarm in the dark eyes.
“It’s
this,” Burke said, shoving the paper into Matt’s left hand. “You gotta see
it. It says that you – well, you just gotta see it.”
Blinking
away the spots that danced in front of him, Matt attempted to focus on the
words, but they kept leaping off the page.
Finally, he gave up and handed it to Kitty.
For a moment, she kept her eyes on him, but then shifted to the paper, and he saw them widen as she read.
“What?” he
asked.
“Oh!” she
exclaimed, her face flushing. “Why,
that’s ridic – of all the – oh! Oh, how dare they! How dare they!“
Panic was
not in Matt Dillon’s nature, but he did allow some alarm to creep into him at
her reaction. “Kitty?”
“What is
it?” Doc asked, stepping closer to her.
She swallowed,
as if to regain some control. “Where did
you get this, Burke?”
“Some fella just tried to put it up by my place. I set him straight right quick, but he
claimed it wasn’t him that wrote it. Wouldn’t tell who put him up ta’ posting
it. On my way over here, I saw
more all over town.”
“What?”
Matt asked again, the heaviness in his chest forcing him to take deeper
breaths, which only caused more pain. “Kitty, tell me. “
“Okay,” she
agreed, even she didn’t sound at all as if she wanted to share the contents of
the notice. “It starts – it starts with
a title: ‘Matt Dillon: Hero or Heel?’”
Hero or heel? That didn’t bode well.
Her voice
shaking with rage, she continued, “The people of
A red fury
swept through him as she read the last part.
He didn’t care what was said about him, but once Kitty was involved, the
game changed completely, and someone was about to be in real trouble. His teeth grated together as he fought to
maintain control.
“Find out what (or who) this hard lawman’s only soft spot is. Find out what some people don’t want you to know. Find out what the ‘real’ Matt Dillon is like.”
She
finished and looked up, her eyes blazing.
“How dare they!” she spat again.
“Who do you
s’pose done this, Marshal?” Burke asked.
Although he
had no doubt there were untold numbers of lawbreakers who would have delighted
in discrediting him, Matt didn’t have to wonder in this case. Pressing his lips together, he glanced at
Kitty and saw that she thought the same.
Together, they answered, “Solana Satterfield.”
Doc ran a
hand over his mustache and grunted, whether in disgust or agreement, Matt
couldn’t tell. The
“who” of the matter was clear; the “why” – not so clear. Surely there was more to it than just the ire
of a woman who didn’t get her way.
Suddenly,
the haze of laudanum lifted, and even though stark pain returned, he gladly
accepted it. He would most certainly
need a clear head and a sharp eye to deal with whatever else awaited him either
from Solana or from Paul – whoever he was.
He sighed
gingerly and reflected – not for the first time – that he really should have
stayed in Ellsworth one more day.
Chapter Eight: Soft Spot
POV: Joe
Kendall
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Joe Kendall
squinted as the bits of dust and dirt, whipped to sharp pellets by the prairie
wind, stung his face. He briefly considered
nudging his weary mount west toward Garden City and forgetting the revenge that
had seemed much more appealing in the calm weather of Ellsworth. But hatred welled in him anew as he thought
of all the trouble caused by that damned giant of a marshal who had dogged him
for over a week. If it hadn’t been for
the assistance of an underpaid dove who now had stage
fare to greener pastures,
Absently
rubbing his jaw, he cursed the man again.
He still couldn’t figure out how the big man’s ribs hadn’t been crushed
by that formidable chunk of firewood.
And he was damned if he knew how he’d let Dillon get in that sucker
punch that knocked him flat.
That was
gratitude for you. Fine thanks for not
shooting the guy point-blank when he first rode up to the cabin
Tugging his
collar higher around his neck, he wondered if Dillon was even in Dodge,
yet. Despite his initial strength after
the fight, the lawman had shown definite signs that the blow to the ribs had
hurt him more than he originally let on.
The way he had stayed bent over in his saddle those last few miles into
Ellsworth, Kendall figured he’d be laid up for a month or so. It gave him some minor satisfaction. If he was, it might be a bit of a wait. Still, from what he’d heard,
It was just
past ten in the morning when
His horse
needed tending, and he saw a sign advertising a stable a few buildings
down. Clicking to the mount, he guided
the animal toward it.
“Mornin’,” greeted a wizened fellow as he approached.
“Mornin’,”
“Looks kinda lame,” the old man noted, jerking his chin at the
horse.
“Yep.”
“You reckon
on stayin’ a while or you gonna need another mount?”
“Not
sure. Can you tend him?”
“Sure. Where’ya stayin’?”
“Don’t
know.”
“Dodge
House is the best.” Then the man took a
closer look at
“Thanks.”
Kendall
tugged out a couple of coins and tossed them to the man before turning back to
survey
Pausing just outside an oily spot called the Oasis, he was about to enter when he noticed a fluttering piece of paper, half-ripped by the wind from the nails that tried to hold it in place on a post. He wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, not being a man that paid much attention to advertisements – or writing, for that matter – but a name caught his eye.
He placed a
hand over the tatter that seemed close to tearing away completely and read, his minimal reading skills taxed.
“…people of Dodge City…won’t want to miss the upcoming
article…about their own Marshal Matt Dillon…hero or heel…supposedly upstanding
lawman’s brutal treatment…bullying…and most especially his not-so-secret…with
none other than the owner of a gaming house…find out what (or who) this hard
lawman’s only soft spot is…”
Suddenly,
The Oasis was about as sleazy as
He paused to spit out the dust that had swirled into his
mouth as soon as he left the saloon and was almost plowed over. Steadying himself from the collision, he
looked up to see a dark-haired, mustached man doing the same thing.
“Oh, I’m sorry, mister,” the man said, looking as if he
actually meant it.
“Can’t keep my head up too well in this wind. Get a mouthful of dirt.”
“You new in town?” the man asked.
“Just passin’ through.”
The man offered his hand.
“Name’s Burke.
Nathan Burke. I run the freight office here.”
“Joe – Smith,”
Burke snorted. “Maybe
at noon, but you just wait ‘till sundown.
That’s when things really pick up.
‘Course, Marshal Dillon keeps things in hand nowadays.”
The thrill that shot through him was hard to conceal, but
The freight clerk raised a surprised brow. “Surely you heard of Matt Dillon.”
He squinted in feigned thought. “Seems like maybe I have. He’ll, uh, he’ll be out tonight?”
“Well, not tonight.
Marshal’s laid up a while,” the man revealed. “Pretty bad case of broken
ribs, I hear. Supposed to be down for a
good two weeks, but ain’t much can keep him off the
boards for that long. I figure we’ll see
him out and about in a few days.” Burke
cocked his head and raised a brow.
“’Course, if I was set up in Miss Kitty’s room to convalesce, I might be
inclined myself to take the healin’ a little slower.
“That so?”
“Just what I’d do,” Burke confirmed. “You got business with the Marshal?”
He certainly did. “Nothin’ that can’t wait,” Kendall shrugged.
“Well, nice to meet you, Smith. If I can doing anything for ya’ – “
Shifting slightly,
“Yeah?”
“You got any gaming houses in town?”
Burke laughed. “One or two.”
“What’s the best one?”
“That’s easy. The
“Miss Kitty? ‘Course. I told ya’ it’s the
best one around. Maybe
the best this side of
“Do tell.”
“I am tellin’.”
“Well, maybe after I get me a bite, I’ll pay Miss Kitty a little visit later.” He offered his hand. “I’m obliged for your help.”
Burke smiled and accepted the handshake. “Sure. Hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I aim to. I aim to.”
Stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets, he watched
as Burke hurried down the street, head lowered against the force of the
wind. So Dillon was back, but he was
laid up a while. It pleased
Maybe Dillon’s ‘soft spot’ wasn’t going to be hard to find at all.
Chapter Nine: Compliments of The Constitution
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
(PG)
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
“So, what
can you do about it?”
Matt sighed
lightly, laying his head back against the pillows on Kitty’s bed and contemplating
Doc’s simple question about Solana’s article.
What could he do about it?
There were laws to protect journalists, laws to allow freedom of the
press. Good laws, he believed
usually. But this time –
“Don’t know,” he admitted, hating it.
“Well, it’s
– it’s libel, that’s what it is!” Doc exclaimed, and
Matt had to smile a bit at the older man’s ire on his behalf – and Kitty’s, of
course.
“Hard to prove.”
“Hard?
Anybody who knows you knows that stuff is rubbish.”
“Not the
stuff about Kitty being – “ He let his sentence fall
unfinished. Doc knew.
Just as the
older man opened his mouth to speak again, an urgent knock at Kitty’s door
stopped him. Exchanging a wary glance
with Matt, he stepped across the room and let his hand rest on the knob.
“Who is
it?” Doc called, and the marshal wondered if he was being protected from Solana
or outlaws. Or maybe they weren’t much
different.
“Barney. Got a telegram for th’
marshal.”
Matt
winced. If Barney knew where he was, everyone else in town did, too. Still, he nodded toward Doc’s questioning
look to let the telegraph operator in.
The old man
hurried inside, his eyes widening a bit as he allowed himself to take in the
opulent surroundings. At Matt’s frown,
though, he cleared his throat and turned his attention on the marshal.
“Sorry ta’ disturb ya’, Marshal, but I
been thinkin’ on this a while, and I figure you
really need ta’ know about it.” The tone of his voice dispelled any
irritation Matt might have felt at the intrusion.
“What is
it, Barney?” he prompted.
“That
female that come in on the stage a few days ago – “
“Miss
Satterfield?” Doc asked.
“That’s the
one.”
Matt felt
the short hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “What about her?”
“Well,
couple of days back she come into the office lookin’
for a telegram from Saint Louie. Now,
you know I try ta’ be all confidential with the
messages that come across my desk.”
Doc
snorted.
“Well,
anyways, I can’t help but know what’s in them, seein’
as how I’m the one taking down the words – ”
“What’d it
say, Barney?” Matt asked, his patience wearing thin.
“That’s why
I’m here. Just didn’t seem like I should
keep that to myself.”
“Barney!”
Doc snapped.
He pulled out a
crumpled sheet of paper. “When I wrote
it down for her, it made an imprint on the page beneath, so I know exactly what
it said.”
“And – “
“’Waiting on Lede. STOP. Have to
kill if not received three days. STOP. Counting on you.
STOP. Paul.’”
Alarm
flashed across Doc’s worn features.
“Barney, why the hell haven’t you brought this
to Matt sooner?”
“Well,
telegrams are confidential – “
But Matt
wasn’t listening anymore. Waiting on Lede. Who was Lede? And who was going to kill or be killed? And there was the name Paul again. Looking up, he asked Barney, “Did she send a
return telegram?”
“Oh, yeah,
she did. Thought you
might be interested in it, too.”
“You
thought right. What’s it say?”
“’Message
received. Stop. Do not kill yet. Stop. Lede will come
soon. Stop.’
And she sent it with her name.”
“Who’d she
send it to?”
“Fella named Hill.”
And there it was in an instant. Matt pressed his lips together and swore
softly, drawing surprised looks from both of the other men.
“What is
it?” Doc asked.
“I should
have figured it out sooner.”
“Figured
what out?”
Matt gritted his teeth and tried to push up from the bed, completely ignoring Doc’s sudden frown. “I gotta get up.”
“No you
don’t.”
“I’ve gotta send a telegram.”
“Telegram?”
Doc stood and laid a hand on Matt’s shoulder.
“Barney’s standing right here. You just write it out and give it to
him. I don’t want you movin’ around.”
“I have other things to check on too, Doc. Besides, it’s been five days, and I feel fine.” Of course, he was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it.
“It’s only
been two days since you pulled that stunt at the Oasis – “ The furrowed brow came down suddenly, then
“What?”
The
physician swept an arm in front of him.
“Be my guest. Get on up and do
what you’ve gotta do.”
The blue
eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Really?”
“Sure.”
Gingerly,
the lawman threw his long legs over the side of the bed and started to sit, but
something got in his way. Something like a bayonet plowing straight through him. When the stars stopped flashing before his
eyes, he found himself flat on the bed again with an unsympathetic Doc shaking
his head.
“Now, stay
there and don’t move.”
“I’ll take
care of that telegram, Marshal,” Barney offered helpfully, his face grimacing
in empathy.
“Thanks,”
Matt breathed. “Just send a message to –
chief of police in –
The old
man’s eyes widened as he scribbled down the requested message. “Sure thing, Marshal. I’ll get right on it.” Without another word, he rushed from the
room, the importance of his job hurrying his pace.
“Listen,
Doc,” Matt managed tightly after Barney left, “you remember – Newly O’Brien
mentioning that he worked – for a newspaper when he was – back in Philadelphia?”
The
physician ran a hand over his mustache. “Seems like maybe I do.”
“Get him –
for me, okay? I need to – ask him
something.”
The pale
eyes softened a bit, but the voice remained firm. “If you promise you’ll stay right there and
not move while I’m gone.”
He ran a
hand over the throbbing ribs, closed his eyes against the pounding in his head,
and decided that Doc didn’t need to worry about his patient trying to escape,
at least not anytime soon.
The sun’s
rays cast long shadows in the room the next time Matt was aware of
anything. Blinking awake, he glanced
about, noting that he seemed to have been left to himself, at least for a
while. He had no doubt Kitty wasn’t far
away. With a bit of surprise, he noticed
that a fresh set of clothes lay folded neatly in one of the chairs near the
fireplace. A smile touched his lips when
he saw the blue shirt in place of his usual bugger-red one. He knew Kitty preferred the blue, said it
brought out the color of his eyes. And
while having his clothing match his eyes meant very little to the lawman, the
fact that Kitty liked it was reason enough to wear it occasionally. Of course, he had never told her that he
usually stuck with the red one because dirt and blood didn’t seem to draw
attention so easily on the darker color.
No need for Kitty to know that.
Still, he didn’t anticipate any rough and tumble activities this
afternoon, so he was glad to oblige her.
Certainly,
it was not Doc’s intention that his patient drag himself out of his sick bed
anytime soon, but Matt had things to do.
Find out about Solana Satterfield, for one. And solidify the connection he suspected she
had with Paul Hill. Bracing the ribs, he
eased upright, pleased to discover the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been
just that morning. He gave himself a
moment to adjust to sitting, then made the final move to stand, his hand
automatically grasping the bed post as his head swam suddenly. After a beat, though, he was able to take a
few cautious steps toward the chair. As
he struggled into the clothes, he let his mind filter back through the years –
five years, he figured – to his encounter with Hill.
It had
started with a trip to
He shook
his head at the waste. Hill had gotten
probation from a lenient judge and left Dodge as quickly as he could. Matt hadn’t heard what happened to him since,
but apparently the journalist wasn’t through with him, yet. Barney’s revelation about the telegram Solana
had sent and Newly O’Brien’s clarifying information had helped the puzzle
pieces come together. Still, he wasn’t
completely sure how Solana was involved, wasn’t certain about what her true
motives were. Maybe it was time to find out.
He
considered himself fortunate that he had made it to the Dodge House without
being spotted by either Kitty or Doc, and wondered how long it would take one
of them to figure out he had sneaked out.
It wasn’t that he sneaked out – exactly.
He had just been careful not to be seen.
Of course, all his stealth wouldn’t do him much good if he ended up
face-down in the middle of
Howie’s
long face dropped in surprise when he looked up to see Matt enter the hotel
lobby. “Marshal! Well, I sure didn’t expect to see you anytime
soon. Burke said – “
“Thanks, Howie,” Matt cut through, completely uninterested in what
Burke had said. “Miss
Satterfield in?”
The clerk’s
eyes widened, as if that was the last person he would have expected the marshal
to come looking for. “Uh,
yes, sir. I think she is. Want me to get her?”
Matt let
his gaze trail up the stairs and winced, thinking they hadn’t seemed quite so
steep the last time he had climbed them.
“No thanks.”
“Room
Eight,” Howie offered helpfully.
Matt could
feel his curious stare at his back as he took the first step, clenching his
teeth together to push back the groan that threatened. Somehow, he managed to gain the top without
having to stop to rest halfway up. That
wouldn’t have inspired much confidence from anyone – especially from himself.
Fortunately,
Room Eight was just past the banister.
Sucking in a fortifying – but careful – breath, he rapped firmly on the
door.
“Yes?” The
reply was guarded.
“It’s Matt
Dillon.”
There was
an audible gasp from behind the closed door, then a rustle of clothing. After a moment, he heard the lock click and
Solana appeared before him, a bemused half-smile on her full lips.
“Why,
Marshal,” she declared, pushing a strand of hair back into place, “I certainly
didn’t expect to see you here.”
“May I come
in, Miss Satterfield?” he asked, his tone courteous but formal.
Her brow
rose, and he thought he saw a light pink flush her cheeks. “Oh, well, of – of course.” Sweeping an arm back, she nodded him into the
room. “What can I do for you?”
No need to
draw it out. “Miss Satterfield, I came
to talk to you about those flyers you posted.”
“Oh, but I
didn’t – “
“You might
not have posted them, but you wrote them.
Didn’t you?”
“Well, why
do you – “ But his steady gaze cut through any
pretense at innocence, and her demeanor hardened. “What of it?
It’s a free press, Marshal, is it not?
Compliments of The Constitution you are sworn to protect.”
“How do you
know Paul Hill?” he challenged, rewarded by the shock on her pretty face.
“What – I –
I don’t – “
“I don’t
have time to play games with you, Miss Satterfield,” he said, the throbbing of
his side and his head alerting him that he was overreaching his endurance. “You said something about Paul. You were talking about Paul Hill, weren’t
you? I just sent a telegram to
To his
surprise, anger flashed in her eyes, and she took a deep breath. “All right, Marshal. Doesn’t matter anyway, now. I haven’t done anything wrong. Truth is, I’m a
newspaper woman.”
That was no
scoop. “You don’t say.”
“I do. And I’m out here to do a story for my paper.”
“A story
about me,” he summarized.
She held his gaze boldly. “About you. Marshal Matt Dillon. Champion of Law in the Wicked West.”
He
grimaced. “I don’t seem like much of a champion
in those flyers.”
“That just sells papers, Marshal.”
“Uh huh.
What about your threat that I’d be sorry – ”
“Oh, I was
simply – hurt that you spurned my affections. I didn’t mean –
“I think
you did. And I think this is more than
just getting back at me for turning you down.”
“Turning me
down!” she snapped before she could stop herself. With a calming breath, though, she amended,
“Of course, that’s all it is. The
finished article – “
“Will probably be much worse. The telegraph
operator came to see me earlier. Seems
you got a telegram a couple of days ago from
“Kill
you? Oh, no, Marshal, lede’s not a person. You see, in the newspaper business, that
means – “
“I know
what it means.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And you’ve
sent your ‘lede’ to
“But it was,”
she said, not denying his theory.
“Paul Hill
caused the deaths of two men and almost got a United States Senator
killed. He played with people’s lives –
on a bet. He was fortunate to get
away with just probation. Any other
judge probably would have given him much worse.”
“He did
get worse,” she snapped. “No paper will
hire him anymore. He was ruined because of you.”
“No, he did
that to himself. Hill was a fool, and
you’re a fool to be involved with him.”
Her eyes
narrowed coldly. “I don’t think that’s
what’s really bothering you, Marshal. I
think you’re worried about what that article will reveal about you.” She
paused, then added, “And about her.”
He tugged
off his hat, fighting a grimace at the discomfort that move caused. “Miss Satterfield, you can write whatever you
want about me, but – leave Kitty out of it.”
“Kitty? Miss Russell, you mean? Worried about your reputation, Marshal? Or perhaps hers?”
Anger
gathered between his brows. “I don’t
care about any reputation. And Kitty
Russell is too strong a woman to let something like that bother her. It has nothing to do with – propriety.”
“No? What, then?”
He took a
breath and lowered his gaze for a moment.
After a hard exhalation, which he cut short as soon as his ribs
protested, he looked up again. “Miss
Satterfield, a lawman lives a dangerous life, an uncertain life. At any moment, any place, a two-bit thief
could pull the trigger of a cheap pistol and I’d be history. I chose that way. I accept that way. Most lawmen do, or they wouldn’t be
lawmen. But a lawman’s family – that’s a
different thing altogether.”
“Family,
Marshal? Are you saying you and Miss
Kitty – “
“I’m saying
that she didn’t choose that life, but my line of work puts her at risk. I have enemies, Miss Satterfield. Enemies that are constantly
looking for any weakness. Any vulnerability.”
“And is
Kitty Russell your weakness, Marshal?”
His head snapped up, eyes burning. “If certain people found out she was my – “ He hesitated, gritting his teeth.
Damn.
“Your woman?” Satterfield supplied.
Matt didn’t
confirm it, but he didn’t deny it, either.
“She would be in danger, and I can’t – “ He
stopped suddenly, calming the emotions he had almost allowed to surface. When he spoke again, it was with absolute
conviction. “I can’t allow that, Miss
Satterfield. I can’t allow that.”
She stared
at him for a long moment, her beautiful eyes open wide and knowing. After several seconds of silence, she tilted
her head toward him and smiled coldly. “I
thank you for your hospitality, Marshal.
I’ll be headed back to
She stormed
out into the hallway, leaving him staring after her, his stomach clenched with
both pain and the prospect of what her public revelations about him – and about
Kitty – would bring. The embarrassment
wouldn’t matter. He figured most of
Dodge knew anyway. But those beyond,
those who might be searching for anything to get him for –
A wave of
dizziness swept through him, and he caught the bedpost to keep from pitching
forward onto the floor. Blinking back
the black spots that threatened to merge into complete darkness, he found
himself on his knees by the bed. He had
to get out of there, had to stop her some way.
Through sheer willpower, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled to
the door, bracing against the frame for an agonizing moment before thrusting
his body forward again. It would be a
miracle if he made it back to Kitty’s without help, but the vision of being
carried across
Chapter Ten: Death Packs a Powerful
Punch
POV: Solana
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Solana
Satterfield flounced out the doors of the Dodge House and onto the rough
boardwalk, not even pausing to ask for her messages or even to acknowledge the
clerk’s meek but hopeful greeting.
Normally, she would be the epitome of courtesy, whether she meant it or
not, but this time that infuriating marshal had inflamed her with rage – and,
if she admitted it, uncertainty.
It had been
easy to be caught up in Paul’s encompassing bitterness toward the lawman, had
been simple to create in her mind the picture of a swaggering, hardened,
dictatorial, self-serving braggart who twisted the law to fit his needs. That had been the Matt Dillon she had
expected when she headed out from
That had not
been the Matt Dillon she met on the stage from Ellsworth. That had not been the Matt Dillon who
practically pleaded with her – in his own way – to spare not him but the woman
he so obviously, and exclusively, loved.
Damn it.
Things had
seemed so clear before, but now they were jumbled around in her head. Solana had been many things in her life, but
very rarely had she been uncertain. She
prided herself on independence, on her powers of observation and deduction, on
her ability to manipulate most men – and a few women.
But Matt
Dillon hadn’t bent to her desires. And
she wasn’t sure if she was madder at him or at herself.
She drew in
a deep breath before she remembered about the wind, choking on the gulp of dirt
that impulse earned her. A drink would
be welcome – for more than one reason.
Now that she knew exactly how her little announcement had affected the
marshal, it might prove interesting to see Miss Kitty Russell’s reaction – from
a safe distance, anyway. Besides, on a
practical note, it hadn’t taken Solana long to realize that the redhead did run
the best place in town.
By the time
she had crossed
“Ma’am,” he
greeted, his head ducked slightly as a deterrent to the dust.
He was of
average height, but not bad looking, if you didn’t study his clothing too
closely. The smile he gave her might
have been pleasant, if it didn’t possess the slightest leer.
“Sir,” she
returned, forcing her manners to the surface.
“Couldn’t
help noticin’ yer fightin’ th’
dust. Can I help ya’ inta’ th’
“Well, now,
that’s exactly where I was headed. You’re right about the dust. Some folks just might be in need of a little
– refreshment.”
He
laughed. “Yes, indeed, they might. Good fer
business, too, huh?”
A puzzled
frown drew down Solana’s smooth forehead.
“I – suppose.”
But he
didn’t seem to notice. “I’d be right
proud, ma’am, if you’d join me fer a beer.“ The leer pushed on through to dominate the smile.
Solana
relaxed. This type of man she could
handle. “I’d be so appreciative.”
“Well, it’s jest that I’m – new in town,” he confided, taking her arm. “Don’t know many folks.”
Solana fell
easily into the conversation as they neared to saloon. “Are you, now?”
“Yes’m. Been meanin’ ta’ come over to th’
She gave
him a grudging nod. “That’s what they
say.”
He smiled
knowingly. “’Course, I guess you’d have
to say that, wouldn’t you? They told me
the owner was the prettiest woman in town.”
It took
effort to maintain pleasantries. “Really?”
His smile
stretched into a grin. “Yes, ma’am. ‘Course
I also heard there might be a
“Marshal
Dillon,” she confirmed, pleased that her flyer had apparently been noticed by
the newcomer. Smiling coyly, she started
to add that Miss Kitty might have some competition, but she never completed her
sentence.
To her
irritation, she realized that he was staring past her shoulder to something
behind her. Turning, she saw the marshal himself walking – or trying to walk –
across the dusty street. He was none too
steady, though, his gait halting, his steps faltering. Solana stared at him, shocked. In her hotel room, she had noticed that he
still appeared rather drained, but now the man looked like he had just run a
horse race – without a horse. Sweat
darkened the front of his shirt and curled his hair against his neck. The blood had drained from his face. Where before he had been pale, now he was downright ashen.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the other man beat her to it.
“Well,
well, well. The great Marshal Dillon,”
the man sneered. “Shore don’t look sa’
great now, do ya’?”
Dillon’s
head snapped up, despite his condition, and he squinted at them through the
dust. “
Before she
could move,
He snarled
back at Dillon, his words vengeful, malicious. “From th’
looks of ya’, I can tell ya’
still remember ol’ Joe.”
“
Solana’s
eyes were white around the irises.
“Drop yer gun, Dillon, or I’ll kill her. You know I’ll do it.”
His teeth
clenched. “Don’t be a fool,
Kendall. Let her go.” He drew in a
ragged breath, and Solana wondered what was keeping him on his feet.
“I would
be a fool if I did that.”
“
“I mean it,
Dillon. Drop it or yer
woman gits it.”
Shocked
comprehension slammed into Solana. She
raised her eyes to meet Dillon’s, saw the mirrored shock in them.
Heart
pounding, Solana stared at the marshal, conjectures racing through her
mind. She wondered if he would give in
to
But after a
quick breath, he merely shook his head. They stood there, all three of them,
for a good ten seconds, no one moving.
“How’d you get loose,
“Good to
have friends,” the outlaw allowed.
“Don’t look like you got none right now.” His head nodded to indicate the deserted
street, the whipping wind the only sound other than them.
Dillon
didn’t answer.
“Arrite, enough stonewallin’.
Drop yer gun or I swear I’ll kill her.”
Raw terror
clawed through Solana. For the first
time in her life, she felt genuine fear.
This man wasn’t a character in a novel, he
wasn’t the topic of a feature story for her paper. He was real, and he was going to kill her
because he thought she was Matt Dillon’s woman.
She watched
the marshal consider his choice another few seconds, then saw reluctant
confirmation cross his face, and sighed both in relief and despair as he slowly
drew the Colt from his holster and tossed it to the ground a few feet in front
of him.
Breath
held, Solana let her eyes dart between the two men, the wind whistling past her
ears until the sudden squeak of saloon doors jarred them all.
“Matt! There you are! Oh, for Pete’s sake, what do
you think you’re – “
All eyes
swung to the interruption, and Solana saw the beautiful, redheaded Kitty
Russell step from the
“Get back
inside,” Dillon barked immediately, his gaze quickly returning to its lock on
the outlaw.
The woman
stopped short, suddenly seeing the gun in
“Who are
you?”
Carefully,
Dillon repeated his command. “Get – back
– in.”
But the
other woman didn’t budge. “Who are you?”
she demanded of Kendall, who stared at her for a minute, then laughed.
“Red, I’m a
man who’d like to buy you a drink after I take care of this marshal and his
woman.”
Solana saw
Kitty look askance at the marshal.
“He doesn’t
want you,” Dillon emphasized pointedly.
“He wants Kitty.”
The outlaw
grinned, squeezing harder around Solana’s waist. She fought not to be sick. “Yep. I want Kitty.”
Her
expression guarded, the redhead allowed only her eyes to betray the shock.
Solana thought Kitty was about to say something, but once again the swinging
doors intruded onto the moment and Doc Adams emerged, his face screwed up in
clear consternation.
“Stubborn
fool,” he was muttering, his head bowed to shield against the wind. Lifting his chin just enough to see the
saloon owner standing on the boards, he added, “Kitty, you stay here while I’ll
check the jail. That big oaf of a civil
servant is probably – “
“What the hell?”
The
doctor’s head came up at
“Get back,
Doc,” Dillon ground out through gritted teeth, then added with a jerk of his
chin toward Kitty, “and take her with you.”
But
“Kitty?” he
breathed, looking back and forth between Solana and Kitty. “Kitty? But I thought – “ Fury
darkened his face. “Damn you, Dillon!”
Whipping the gun from her head, he swung it toward the marshal.
Solana saw
the whole scene go by as if she were an innocent onlooker. He would kill Dillon for sure, and she
realized suddenly that she would very much hate for that to happen. Besides, he’d probably kill them all after
Dillon was dead. Without contemplating
the possible consequences, she sank her teeth into
“Solana,
move!” the marshal yelled.
Pushing
away from
The
outlaw’s gun fired again, but his bullets veered wide as he jolted with the
impact of Matt’s shots, his body contorting almost as if it were caught in the
wind before it dropped to the ground, its final seconds of life flowing out to
wet the dust with a crimson pool.
Stunned,
Solana stared at the dead man, then let her eyes shift
to the other figure that lay face-down twenty yards away.
“Matt!”
Kitty cried, rushing into the street to fall down beside him.
Solana
heard him try to take a breath, but he managed only a rasping gasp that didn’t
sound as if it provided any air at all.
“Oh my
God!” the redhead yelled. “Doc! Doc!”
Then
Dirt clung
to the marshal’s face as they eased him onto his back. His breathing was labored, his eyes
unfocused. Solana’s heart pounded when she saw the flecks of pinkish blood on
his lips.
“Get him
into the
“Why not yer office, Doc?” Festus asked.
But Doc
shook his head. “Not sure he’d make it that far.”
“What –
what’s happening to him?” Kitty’s hand closed around the physician’s arm as six
men hauled the long, limp frame toward the saloon.
Solana
stepped closer, her newspaper instincts blaring that she could be witnessing
history here – a terrible, tragic history, of course, but wasn’t that the best
kind in her business? Somehow, though,
she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to pull out pencil and paper and record the
moment. Until a few minutes before, she
had never seen a man die. Now she was
beginning to realize she might very well see another.
Doc’s
answer was muttered while he hurried after his patient. “Pneumothorax.
Collapsed lung.
I was afraid of this.”
“Doc,”
Festus asked, struggling with his share of the heavy load, “whut
does thet mean, actual?”
“Air
accumulates in the pleural cavity and – “
“Doc!”
Kitty choked.
His pained
eyes turned to her. “Kitty,” he said,
unable to soften the news much, “I’m gonna do my best, but – “
At the
moment, Dillon made a horrible, gasping attempt at breath, his broad chest
heaving with the futile effort to draw in enough vital oxygen.
“Stop!
Stop!” the doctor yelled. “Just put him
on a table. We can’t wait.”
Obediently,
their eyes wide with fear, the men placed the marshal as gently as they could
on one of the green felt gaming tables.
His long legs hung off the end, and someone dragged over another table
to stretch them out. He tried to cough,
the nominal success speckling reddish-pink across the front of his blue shirt.
Kitty bent
over him, tears streaming down her face, one hand wiping his lips, the other
hand tearing at the buttons of his shirt, as if the material was somehow
restricting the airflow. “He can’t breathe!”
Doc shook
his head, looking helpless. Somehow,
Solana understood it was a rare expression on him. “There’s air in the pleural cavity, so he
can’t – ”
“Do
something!” Kitty snapped, and Solana knew she was seeing this strong woman as
close to breaking as she had ever been.
“I don’t
know – there’s just nothing I can – “ He ran a hand
over his mouth and looked down at the marshal, tightening his jaw. “Unless – “
Kitty
pounced on the glimmer of hope. “Unless
what?”
“Something
I read about a few months ago. A new technique, experimental. Theoretically, you can re-inflate the lung by
inserting a syringe into the cavity between the third and fourth ribs to remove
the air.”
Festus
frowned. “Doc, that sounds dangerous.”
“It
is. I wouldn’t even attempt something
like that unless – “
“Unless
what?”
Dillon’s
body bucked up, forcing the men nearby to hang onto him wildly. Just as suddenly, he went limp again, and
Solana saw that his lips had begun to turn blue.
“Doc!”
Kitty urged. “Hurry!”
Solana
glanced at the people gathered around the prone man. It seemed that all of Dodge hovered, equally
worried expressions from the affluent to the bum. The bank president stood next to the chatty
saloon girl Delia. Both wore wrinkles of
genuine concern. It was apparent to every one of them that Dillon was
dying. Doc’s treatment couldn’t make it
any worse.
“Kitty?”
“Yes,” she
breathed. “Do it.”
And with
the decision made, the doctor snapped into action. “Get his shirt out of the
way,” he ordered as he turned and thrust a hand into his bag, extracting a
glass syringe.
As the
broad chest was bared, Solana stared at the array of scars that slashed and
puckered the skin. She had first noticed
them when she had brought the marshal soup in Kitty’s room, but their meaning
hadn’t seemed as relevant then. Now she
clearly saw the years of duty, of pain, of sacrifice etched into his
flesh.
Still,
somehow, even their ugliness couldn’t diminish the physical beauty of his
strong body. If it had been any other
moment, Solana might have enjoyed the view.
But this wasn’t any other moment.
This was
the only moment Dillon had. Perhaps the last moment he had.
The
marshal’s ragged breathing suddenly stopped completely, and Kitty cried
out. At the same time, Doc ran a hand
along Dillon’s side, then shoved the needle of the
syringe into him, pulling the plunger back with agonizing slowness, murmuring
the entire time.
“Come on,
Matt. Come on, son, you can do it. Breathe boy.
Breathe.”
The room
froze as they waited for several tense seconds, then several more.
The soft,
sad twang of the deputy joined the doctor.
“Come on, Matthew,” he urged. “Git back in th’
buggy.”
“Matt,”
Kitty pleaded, her tortured voice painful for all of
them to hear. “Please, Matt. Please.”
And still
they waited, every eye on the formidable figure that
lay in unaccustomed vulnerability before them.
More seconds ticked by. Doc
sighed heavily and withdrew the needle.
Finally,
Solana let her gaze fall from the beautiful, scarred, unmoving chest and turned
away, tears stinging her eyes, nausea bubbling in her throat.
Death, she
realized with a soft sob, packed a powerful punch.
Chapter Eleven: Even One
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
A dagger, piercing straight through her heart.
That’s what
Kitty Russell knew must be happening.
She had never felt such pain, and she wondered if that vulnerable muscle
could actually be ripped in half, because that’s what it felt like to her as
she watched Doc withdraw the useless syringe from Matt’s side. Aching deep inside, she stared at that broad
chest that she loved so much, willed it to move. Not since Mace Gore’s men had pumped four
bullets into his body had she been so scared, so heartsick, so empty. But she had been granted a reprieve that
terrible, terrible night; a miracle had occurred, had rescued her from despair,
had brought Matt back to her.
Now,
though, as her eyes blurred from the tears that burned them, she fought back
all sorts of urges wrestling inside her: the urge to scream, the urge to throw
up, the urge to sob, the urge to beat on that still chest and make it rise
again. Surely there would be a miracle
again. Surely he wasn’t – gone. Not now.
Please God, not now.
But the
seconds ticked by and there was no miracle, no reprieve. Matt was dead.
Impossible.
A cry of
disbelief was wrenched from her throat, and she threw her arms around his
chest, burying her head against the firm muscles that had held her, soothed
her, ignited her passions for so many years. Vaguely, she felt Doc’s hand on her shoulder,
and knew that even his strength would not be enough.
Matt was
dead. Dear God. Matt was dead.
What would
they do? What would she do?
The stunned
onlookers had not moved or spoken, and the silence lengthened, the sheer lack
of noise accentuating the blunt impact of death. His death. She felt herself spiraling away from reality,
her disbelieving mind seeking solace in some dark, removed corner, as if she
could escape the terrifying finality of what she had always feared.
Her head spun as grief pulled her deeper and deeper into that vortex, so deep that she almost didn’t feel the body jerk beneath her. Almost. As the dimming ember of comprehension sputtered back to a flame, she fought her way out of the darkness, clawed her way back into the world of reality.
And just as
she broke through, the body beneath her jerked again – followed by a gasp.
A harsh, labored, ugly gasp – but a gasp.
And it was the most beautiful sound Kitty Russell had ever heard.
Because it came from him.
Her head
snapped up, her eyes focused, staring down at him, watching as the broad chest
filled, listening as the air rushed into his lungs, wheezing and hard, but there. And then it happened again.
And again.
And again.
In. Out. In. Out. Until it became a steady
rhythm.
“Oh, my God!” She pushed up, her eyes searching his face, her hands caressing the
thick, scattered waves of hair. “Doc! Doc!”
But
“Thank
God,” Doc sighed, not bothering to hide the tears that slid down his cheeks.
It was as
if the entire room could finally breathe as well, and they all took a common
gasp of relief and joy.
Kitty
closed her eyes and buried her face against Matt’s chest, reveling in feeling
it rise and fall. “Oh, Matt,” she
whispered. “Oh, Matt.”
As the
overwhelmed citizens of Dodge gathered around their marshal – and their friend
– she felt another hand on her shoulder.
Looking up, expecting to see Doc’s kind face, she was startled to find
herself staring instead into Solana Satterfield’s eyes. This was just about the last person she
wanted to see at the moment, but even the sight of that woman couldn’t quell
the elation of Matt’s revival.
The blonde
woman nodded to her, her face devoid of its usual calculating mask. “Miss Russell,” she began, and Kitty was
surprised not to hear any sarcasm at all.
“I’m glad he’s all right,” Solana told her, truthfully. “I’m glad you’re both all right.”
That might
be a nice sentiment at any other time, but at the moment Kitty Russell didn’t
give a damn what Solana Satterfield thought.
“Look, I
didn’t – realize,” the woman admitted.
“I didn’t know it would – turn out this way. I just wish it hadn’t – “
She lowered her eyes, an uncommon expression of something akin to
humility crossing her fine features.
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.”
With a tight nod, Kitty acknowledged the half-apology. “I hope you understand now why you can’t write that article.”
Raising her
head again, Solana held Kitty’s gaze steadily. “Marshal Dillon undoubtedly
saved my life, and I’m grateful.” She
sighed, a regretful smile crossing her smooth lips. “But despite all this, I am a
newspaper woman. And I hope you
understand now why I have to write that article.”
Kitty stared at her, incredulous, but before she could say anything – or slap her, Solana gave another courteous nod. “Goodbye, Miss Russell.” Kitty could only watched in disbelief as the other woman pushed her way through the crowd and out the door of the saloon.
But her
ire, clashing with disappointment, shattered when another ragged breath drew
her attention back to the man who still lay beneath her touch, and she decided
she couldn’t worry about Solana now.
Suddenly, the woman’s advances and her threats didn’t seem nearly as
important anymore. Matt was alive. Matt was alive!
There was
yet another touch at her shoulder, and she turned to smile at Doc, but when she
looked up, she saw a new crease in the furrowed forehead.
“Doc?” she
asked quietly.
“Let’s get
him upstairs, now,” the physician urged, motioning to the men who had placed
the marshal’s body on the tables a few moments – an eternity – ago.
“He’s all
right, isn’t he, Doc?” she asked, reluctantly letting go of Matt as he was
carefully lifted into the capable hands of his fellow townsmen. Her gaze sought
the reassurance of the older man.
But Doc’s
hesitation was anything but reassuring.
He sighed, and rubbed at his mustache.
“Doc?”
Finally,
following the men up the stairs, he said, “Wait until we get him settled, and
then – then we need talk about some things.”
Things? The surge of joy that had lifted her now
receded with the somber tone of his voice. “What – what do you mean?” she
asked.
But Doc
merely shook his head. When they reached
her quarters, she stepped in front of the men with their burden to fling open
her door, not paying any attention at all to the wide-eyed looks her opulent
furnishings received from everyone except Sam and Festus.
Once Matt
was settled on her bed, Doc instructed two of the men to remove his boots. “I’ll cut his shirt and vest off,” the
physician told them. “No need to jostle
him any more than we have to.”
Finally,
she and Doc stood alone next to Matt’s bed, and she realized that these two men
who meant the most to her in the world were both suffering – just for different
reasons. Placing a hand on the older
man’s arm, she asked, more calmly than she would have thought she could, “What
is it, Doc?”
Her dear
old friend turned to her, and the sorrow in his eyes almost broke her
heart. “Kitty, we don’t – know much
about the brain and how it works, but we do know that it needs oxygen on a
regular basis. If it goes too long
without – it starts to shut down.”
“What are
you saying?”
“I’m saying
that – that Matt wasn’t breathing for – for a long
time, Kitty. I just hope it wasn’t – too
long.”
“What if it
– was too long? What does that
mean?”
“When the
brain goes without oxygen, there can be – damage.”
“Damage?”
she managed to echo, somehow hearing him over the sudden pounding of her heart.
“What – kind of damage?”
“You mean
like he might not be able to – to ride a horse or shoot a gun or – or— “
Gently, the
doctor said, “Those might be the least of his worries, Kitty.”
“What –
kinds of abilities, then?”
“Memory, maybe. Or reasoning. Speech. Mobility. He might not be able to talk, or walk, or to
– think clearly.”
“Dear God.”
Stunned,
she sank into a chair by the bed and stared down at the man who was considered
by many to be the strongest, sharpest, most courageous, and most skilled lawman
in the country. He was certainly the
most impressive man she had ever known.
How on earth could he not be those things anymore? How on earth could he not be – Matt Dillon?
“Of
course,” Doc allowed, his voice even heavier, “that’s assuming he – wakes up.”
She
swallowed. “Assuming?”
“He could –
he could be this way for the rest of his life, Kitty. There’s no easy way to tell you that, but you
have to know.”
“What are
the chances that – that he’ll be perfectly fine? That there is no damage?”
The gray
head shook. “Don’t know. The brain is such a mystery, still. He could come out of it just fine, just like
himself again. Or – “
“What will
we do if – “
“I don’t
know, Kitty. I just don’t know.”
Dragging in
a decisive breath, she said, “I’ll be here.”
“What?”
“I’ll be
here with him. No
matter what. If – if he doesn’t
wake up, I’ll take care of him. If he
does, but he isn’t – the same, I’ll take care of him.”
“Kitty, you
can’t – “
“I
can.” She raised her eyes to look
directly into Doc’s pale ones. “And I will.”
It was
difficult night. Kitty spent most of it
shifting from her uncomfortable perch in a chair to her place by the bed,
wiping Matt’s fevered brow. Except for
an occasional groan, the marshal had not made a sound beyond the harsh wheezes
that at least let her know he was still breathing. Sometime just before dawn, sheer exhaustion
took over and threw her into a fitful sleep, which lasted only until the
irritatingly persistent squeak of a milk cart shook her from dreams she would
much rather not remember.
She
shrugged the heavy drape of sleep from her shoulders and blinked, her first
sight Matt’s long body, still lying motionless in her bed. The sunlight caught the stubble that
scratched over his strong jaw, and she took a moment to notice the interesting
play of colors, mostly dark brown, but some red, and even a few blond. She wondered how long it would be before any
of them turned gray, wondered if he would live long enough for that to happen. He needed a shave, something that had come second nature to him before, something she enjoyed
watching him do. A pang of sadness
touched her as she considered the possibility that he would never be able to
shave himself again.
An abrupt
feeling of selfishness swept over her.
She had wanted Matt Dillon to live – no matter what, regardless of his
condition, but as she watched him lying there, helpless, she realized at what
cost she might have her wish. A man like
Matt, strong, controlled, independent, could not bear such a fate. She knew he would rather be dead than live as
he was. She knew that.
But, God
help her, she was not ready to let him go.
Not yet.
His mouth was slightly open, the breath he had fought so hard for a few hours earlier finally coming easier now, almost like normal. Her own breath caught at how the expression made him look like a little boy. If he could have smiled, she knew the grin would be toothy and endearing. She loved his grin.
She wanted
him to open his eyes and grin at her now.
His eyes.
The first time they met she had decided that she had never seen eyes so
blue, and she hadn’t changed her mind in the 13 years since. And when those eyes held hers, whether it
was with the mask of casual courtesy in the midst of the
His right
hand lay on top of the covers, the fingers long and slender, but strong,
capable. She thought of his hands, could
still feel their touch on her body, sometimes gentle and tender, sometimes firm
and insistent, but always exciting, always loving.
And she
wondered. Would her breath ever catch
again with the thrill of his grin? Would
her heart ever pound again with the flame in his eyes? Would her body ever tremble again with the
touch of his hands?
She
wondered about these things – and more.
Would breakfast yesterday morning become the last meal they would
share? Would the kiss she had given him
as he slept become their last kiss? Would the night before he left for
Ellsworth become the last night they made love? There were too many “lasts” to
think about.
Even one
was too many.
Chapter Twelve: As Long As It Takes
POV: Kitty
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Two days
after Matt’s collapse, Kitty Russell sat in the chair by his bed, her fingers
stroking the back of his right hand, tracing along the strong veins that
carried the blood that nourished him, blood that he had shed much too often,
blood that might not flow through him much longer. The long shadows of dusk had begun to stretch
across
Softly, she
called, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Miz Kitty.”
Relief and
sadness touched her as she opened the door for the deputy. Festus entered, tugging the ragged hat from
his head as soon as he cleared the threshold.
Despite his best attempts, he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes when he
looked at Matt.
“Ain’t thar no
change?” he asked quietly, disappointment heavy in his voice.
Kitty shook
her head. No need to give false hope.
After a
moment, he pulled his gaze away from the bed and gave her a valiant smile. “I come ta’ see whut kinda vittles ya’ might cud eat.
Doc sed ya’ ain’t had nothin’ since yesterdy.”
The mere
thought of food roiled her stomach, but Kitty simply tilted her head at his
kind gesture. “Thank you, Festus, but –
not right now.”
“But ya’ kaint keep a’goin’ like this chere.” A knowing
brow arched. “Matthew’d
not want ya’ ta’ make yerseff sick.”
Matthew. She had always found it rather charming that Festus
used Matt’s full Christian name, and she wondered why he had started in the
first place. Certainly no one else did,
unless it was the occasional old acquaintance who knew him from a life before
Dodge. Kitty envied those people,
coveted the experiences they’d had with Matt, experiences she didn’t have, and
she fought back a sob at the realization that there may not be any more
experiences for any of them.
“Miz Kitty?” Festus asked, alarm on his rough features.
Patting his
hand in an attempt to sooth herself as well as him, she managed, “I’m all
right, Festus. It’s just – I’m all
right.” She wiped quickly at the tears
that had slipped down her cheeks and sucked in a fortifying breath. “Maybe I changed my mind. Why don’t you bring me something to eat,
after all? Whatever the special is at Delmonicos will
be fine.”
Of course,
she had no desire at all for food, but at least it would give Festus something
to do, some way to feel as if he were helping.
With an
eager nod, he said, “Yes’m. I’ll be back quicker’n
you kin say rat-run-over-th’-rooftop-with-a-piece-o’-raw-liver-in-his-mouth.”
She could
almost smile at that, but he was gone before she had to make the attempt. Turning back toward the chair, she intended
to continue her vigil, but another knock stopped her.
“Festus, I
said anything was fine – “
But the voice beyond was deeper, more gravelly than the deputy’s. “It’s Sam, Miss Kitty. You need anything?”
She opened
the door for her loyal bartender – her loyal friend. Did she need
anything? A miracle would be nice. “No, thank you, Sam.”
His brow
rose in doubt. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Acknowledging
her wishes, he nodded and said, “I’ll check back in a bit.”
“No need.”
“I’ll check
back, anyway. Just in
case.” He didn’t say just in case
of what, and Kitty refused to let herself think about just what kind of case
might necessitate a check.
She had
almost turned again when the sound of taffeta swishing caught her attention,
and Delia peeked around his shoulder, her face devoid of the heavy paint she
usually favored. Sam frowned and took
her elbow as if to guide her away, but the woman looked at Kitty, her eyes
sympathetic.
“Please,
Miss Kitty, may I have a word with you?”
“You can
come back later,” Sam suggested, his hand still on her
arm.
Something
in the other woman’s expression prompted Kitty to say, “It’s all right, Sam,”
even though she would have preferred his way.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What is
it, Delia?”
“Well – “ She glanced uneasily back at the barkeeper, who took the
hint and stepped away.
“I’ll be
back, Miss Kitty,” he promised as he left.
Despite her
willingness to let Delia talk, Kitty wasn’t as willing to let her into the room
and perhaps satisfy her curiosity about Matt’s condition, so she remained in
the doorway, blocking the other woman’s view.
Delia didn’t seem to mind.
“Miss
Kitty,” she began, fingering the gaudy ruffles of her dress, “I just – well,
the girls and me wanted you ta know that – that we
hope the marshal’s gonna be all right.”
Kitty
allowed herself a weak smile. “Thank
you, Delia.”
“He’s a
good man,” she said, then after a beat, continued, “I hope you don’t git mad at me, but – I just gotta
tell ya’. It’s bin botherin’ me ever since.”
She found
herself at least slightly curious, even though Delia was prone to be a bit
dramatic. “What’s been bothering you?”
“Oh, Miss
Kitty, I’m sorry, but I – I talked to that lady reporter. Didn’t know what she was then, or I’d – well,
I just hope I didn’t cause – “
“You didn’t
cause anything, Delia,” Kitty assured her graciously. “Matt – the marshal’s job places him in
danger every day. Things like this – “ She swallowed, fighting back the well of emotion. “Things like this – happen.”
Delia’s
face softened so that she was almost pretty. “I know how ya’
feel ‘bout him, Miss Kitty.” She lifted
her chin in Matt’s general direction, even though Kitty knew she couldn’t see
much past the door. “Ya’
might not think I’m a prayin’ woman, but I figure the
Good Lord knows I’m as sincere as anybody, and I jest wanna
tell ya’ that I bin keepin’
the marshal right there at th’ top of my list.”
Kitty
allowed a shuddering breath to escape before she smiled her acknowledgement.
“I mean
it. All us girls are, well – “
“I
know. Thank you.”
“I just
wanted you ta know.”
Delia nodded
once, then turned and left. Sighing,
Kitty closed the door, letting her weary body fall back against it.
The night
had been rough, not because Matt was feverish or restless, but just the
opposite. He lay still and quiet, and that was worse than any delirium she could have
imagined. By morning, she figured she
had slept maybe two hours, the rest of the time spent just staring at his face,
wondering – as she had wondered too much recently.
Doc’s
arrival was both welcome and dreaded, but when her dear old friend walked
through the door, she put on a brave face and gave him a smile.
“Morning, Curly.”
“Morning,
Kitty,” he returned, his eyes going first to Matt, assessing quickly that there
was no change, then to her. “You eat what Festus brought last night?”
“Sure.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He
grunted. “I have a feeling Festus got
more nutrition just smelling it walking from Delmonicos
to here than you did.”
Her
expression revealed that he was too close to the truth. “I’m all right, Doc.”
“Sure, sure.” But he mercifully let it go and
looked toward Matt again. “Anything?”
She shook
her head, wishing with all her heart that she could give him a different answer, that she could say Matt had opened his eyes, or
spoken, or even just moved. But she
couldn’t.
A heavy
sigh lifted the old man’s chest. Her
body automatically braced for what he was going to say. “Kitty, I know you
don’t want to – to think about this right now – “
Never. She never wanted to think about it.
“But we
have ta’ look at what we’re gonna do if – if Matt
can’t, well, if he doesn’t come out of it.
He can’t just – lie here forever.”
“He can,”
she whispered. “If he – “ She swallowed, bracing herself to say the words. “If he doesn’t ever – wake up, he can stay
here.”
“Kitty, I
don’t think you know what you’re saying.
Somebody in that condition has – special needs, needs that are – hard to
deal with.”
“You don’t
think I’ve already thought of that? You
don’t think I’d do anything for him? Anything, Doc.
You know what Matt means to me.” Her eyes held his, her soul bared within them. “I
don’t have to pretend with you, do I, not with you, of all people?”
He blinked but didn’t back away from her intense gaze. “No, Kitty, you don’t have to pretend. I know what Matt means to you, and I know what you mean to him. I just – wanted to make sure you understood what – what you were getting into.”
“I
understand. I understand that this man
has been my life for thirteen years. I
understand that he’s risked his own life for me. I understand that he’s given me trust, and
loyalty, and – “ Her voice broke. “And love.
For me, Doc.
He doesn’t care about my past. He
doesn’t care about what other people think – at least not about him. He is the only man who has really known me,
the only man I’ve ever let know me.”
Her chest heaved with emotion. “I
understand.”
Gathering
her into his gentle embrace, Doc held her for a long moment, and Kitty drew the
strength she needed from the man who was more her father than Wayne Russell
could ever dream of being. As he let her
go, he wiped roughly at his eyes and cleared his throat.
“I’ll –
I’ll be back in a few minutes. Gotta check on – I’ll be back.”
“Thanks,
Curly,” she whispered, her gratitude for his friendship and his love too deep to
express adequately. Turning back to look
at Matt, she sighed, the enormity of the situation close to overwhelming.
Reality was
forcing its way into her thinking, much as she tried to combat it. Doc was right. It was time to make some
decisions, time to think about what they could do – what she could do –
for Matt. Leaning her head against his
hip, she succumbed to the swell of tears that had been pushing at her
mercilessly for three days. She had been
strong – and she would be strong again, she had to be. But for a few moments, at least, her body
needed the release, and she gave in, the sobs wracking her chest and throat,
her tears soaking the bed linens.
“Oh, Matt,”
she choked out. “Oh, Matt.”
She felt
something tug through her hair and was horrified to think that Doc had returned
and was now witnessing her break down.
Desperately attempting to control her weeping, she wiped at her eyes,
still fighting the gasps that jerked through her.
“Doc?”
But her old
friend didn’t answer, and she lifted her head and blinked a couple of times to
clear her sight. The touch in her hair
grew heavier, then fell. Startled, she sat straight, her gaze
instantly seeking Matt’s face.
It was as
if someone punched the breath right from her lungs. Those blue eyes held
hers. Still glazed
from fever, still tight with pain.
But they looked at her.
It took
only a second for her body to act, and that act vaulted her to her feet so that
she leaned over him, her face close to his.
“Matt? Matt!”
The door
flew open behind her. She didn’t spare a
glance to look at the visitor, but it was only a second before the doctor’s
voice announced him, anyway.
“Kitty? Kitty, what is it? I heard you call out – “ He stopped suddenly. “Is he – “
Beaming,
she twisted toward him. “Doc, he’s – “ Unable to keep her eyes from Matt any longer, she turned
back to him. “Matt?”
His eyes
shifted between Doc and her, their beautiful blue clouded, uncertain, confused.
“Matt?” Doc
asked, his voice tight. “Can you hear me? Can you say something for me?”
He blinked
slowly once, then twice, without a verbal response. Kitty caught her hand to her throat with the
impact of the sickening realization.
“Oh, Matt,” she whispered, unable to avoid reaching out to caress his
rough jaw. “Oh, Cowboy.”
He regarded
her blankly for a moment. Kitty felt
Doc’s supporting hand on her shoulder, bracing her to deal with what fate had
dealt them, what fate had dealt Matt, and she knew without doubt that she could
do whatever was necessary.
Finally, she
forced a brave smile to her lips and let her hand slide from that strong jaw to
thread through the tousled hair, ready to give him calm reassurance that she
was there, even if he didn’t understand what she meant, even if he couldn’t
respond to her comfort.
She took
heart to notice that he continued to look at her, and she hoped it meant he had
some recognition, some memory. With
time, perhaps, she could bring him back, help him remember.
As long as
it takes, she vowed. As
long as it takes.
She saw him
swallow and draw a shallow breath, and she realized with a twist of excitement
that he was trying to speak. She prayed
he might say her name, or maybe his own.
Would he know that much? Could he remember? And she promised she would be happy with whatever
little success he might have.
But to her
complete astonishment, the faintest smile hinted at his lips, and he whispered,
his voice soft but crystal clear, “That was – some speech, Red.”
If she hadn’t been afraid she would seriously injure him – again – she would have leaped into his arms, even with Doc standing right there. “Matt!” she cried. “Oh, Matt! I thought – ”
“I’m – all
right – Kitty,” he murmured, and even though she knew he definitely wasn’t,
she also knew now that he would be.
Thank God.
Doc stepped
up to the other side of the bed, his own delight unmasked. He raised one hand, fingers spread. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Matt
blinked and squinted. “Eleven.”
“Funny boy.” But his tone remained pleased as he took Matt’s right hand and pressed
their palms together. “Can you push
against my hand?”
It was only
a second before Doc’s own hand was thrust backwards firmly. He grunted.
“How about the other?” The left one performed equally well. “Move your legs for me, too.”
The covers
shifted cooperatively, and Kitty almost screamed in triumph when Doc nodded to
her, satisfaction on his face.
“You two
gonna – tell me what – happened?” Matt asked, somehow managing to sound
irritated despite the weakness in his voice.
Through her
tears, Kitty said, “I’ll explain later.
It’s just – oh, welcome back, Matt!
Welcome back!”
She stared
into that rugged, handsome – and slightly confused – face, almost giddy with
the joy that pumped through her veins, and suddenly she couldn’t stop herself. The whole town could have burst in on them at
that moment and she wouldn’t have given a hoot.
With a girlish squeal, she threw her arms around him and showered him
with kisses.
And he
endured them all without one murmur of protest.
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
The wind
tugged at his vest as Matt Dillon drew in a deep breath, satisfied with that
renewed ability, and eased down Kitty’s back steps, feeling better than he had
in two months – albeit a little sore, a condition that had nothing to do with
his injury. Conscious that eyes could be
on him as soon as he emerged onto the boards, he tried
not to smile too broadly at the memory of how he had just spent a very pleasant
couple of hours. The timing was unusual
for them – middle of the afternoon in broad daylight – but the opportunity had
presented itself, and after two months neither had the willpower or even the
inclination to wait. Doc had been the
instigator, whether premeditated or accidental, Matt wasn’t sure. Despite the marshal’s assurance that he was
well enough to work again, the physician had insisted that the convalescing
lawman do only part-time duty, then went so far as to instruct Festus and Thad
to relieve him at lunch, ignore his anticipated protests that he felt fine, and
threaten to tell Kitty if he didn’t leave.
That being the case, the banished marshal figured he might as well spend
his time productively. And he and Kitty
had been extremely productive that afternoon. The smile spread into a
bona fide grin as he thought about their time together.
For a
minute, he couldn’t see. Spots danced
before his eyes, taunting him, threatening to rob him of consciousness again,
but he fought them, struggled to stay awake even as his body argued against
him. Not that the sensation was
uncommon, or even particularly unwelcome, at least in the present situation,
because at the moment he lay in Kitty’s bed, in Kitty’s arms, his muscles
stripped of strength and trembling from the intensity of the release she had
just brought him. Gradually, the spots
faded, and he looked down at the gorgeous redhead who lay on top of him, their
bodies still intimately joined.
“How ya’ doin’, Cowboy?” she
whispered, the tone light but the question serious.
When he
felt like he could draw in enough oxygen to speak, he murmured, “I’m fine – real
fine.”
Her chuckle
shook them both. “Oh, I’ll definitely
agree with that.”
He was too
spent to muster even a modest protest, but he managed an answering grunt and
drew his long arms around her, cradling her against him.
She didn’t
wait long before she asked again. “You really
okay? Having trouble breathing?”
This time
his laugh shook them. “I’m having a lot of trouble breathing, but not for any
bad reason.”
“A good
reason, then,” she teased.
“A very
good reason,” he confirmed.
“Okay. I was a little worried. Your breath was
coming pretty hard there.” With a delightfully sensuous laugh, she added, “Of
course, that wasn’t the only thing coming pretty hard.”
Heat rushed
to his cheeks. “Kitty!”
“And I
enjoyed every minute of it.”
“More like
every second of it,” he conceded, his face
flushing even redder.
“You might have noticed, Cowboy, that I was right there with you.”
Oh, he had
noticed, all right.
“Two months
is a long time.” Sliding her legs on either side of him, she pushed up, and he saw
that she was careful to keep her hands braced on the bed instead of his ribs.
“Kitty,” he tried to assure her, “really, I’m fine – “
“I know, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
“Really – “
“Shh.”
Sliding her smooth body off his, she snuggled down beside him, her hair fanning over his shoulder, her soft breath tickling his neck, her gentle fingers playing with the hair that trailed down his abdomen, her slender leg draping across his thighs. He drew in a satisfied breath, intending to relish the moment as long as possible, not even aware when he fell into a relaxed slumber, but very aware when she woke him again to continue their afternoon.
Standing at
the edge of the alley by the
“Marshal!”
Matt cringed
at the sound of Nathan Burke’s call, and he resisted the urge to duck into an
alley. At least the irritating sound
might provide the inspiration he needed to push back the dangerous images of
Kitty lying there on the twisted covers, her creamy skin bared, her full
breasts inviting him to –
Damn. Exhaling hard, he tugged the hat from his
head and tried to look casual as he held it in his hands. Turning, he waited for the freight clerk to
catch up with him.
“I bin lookin’ for you all afternoon,” came
the accusation.
“That so?”
Matt didn’t offer any additional information.
Holding out
a large brown-wrapped package, Burke said, “This come for ya.” His voice lowered as if he were divulging a
state secret. “It’s from Saint Louie.”
Matt
hesitated only a moment before he took the package, not even remembering to
thank Burke, a courtesy that usually came second
nature to him. Matt Dillon was not a
fatalist, but he knew there were some things that were just going to happen,
especially in his line of work, so he had long ago decided not to worry about
things he had no control over. Of
course, as a United States Marshal, he exercised a significant amount of
control over quite a few things. One of
those, apparently, was not Solana Satterfield.
They had not heard a peep from her since she left Dodge,
and he had begun to wonder if she had actually listened to his reasoning there
at the Dodge House not to get involved in Paul Hill’s vengeful scheme. The package he held gave him his answer –
most likely not the one he wanted.
Nodding to Burke, he shoved the hat back on his head, no longer needing
its strategic placement elsewhere, and tucked the parcel under his left
arm. He should tell Kitty, he supposed,
but the fortification of a whiskey before that conversation sounded like a good
idea. Pressing his lips together, he set
his long strides toward the front door of the
It took him
a good ten minutes to cross those few yards, though. As soon as his tall frame
was spotted by one citizen half the town crowded around him, pumping his hand,
slapping him on the back. Ma
Smalley even dared to rise on tip-toe and kiss him on the cheek.
“Sure is
good ta have ya up and
around again, Marshal,” Moss Grimmick said, the lines
of his face stretched in a grin. “Sure
is.”
Wilbur
Jonas nodded, clicking his teeth. “We
were surely worried there for a while.
Glad you’re better.”
“I’m kinda glad myself,” Matt acknowledged, warmed by their
sincerity but – as usual – ill at ease with the attention.
Even Mr.
Bodkin, who generally stayed away from the more common elements of a saloon,
stepped up and proposed that Matt’s return to duty called for a drink. “I’ll treat,” he offered, then quickly
amended, “the first round only, though.”
And before
he knew it, the marshal was ushered ceremoniously and noisily into the
“What on earth?” spluttered Doc Adams from his previously quiet seat in the corner.
Matt
shrugged, accepted his beer, and waded through the crowd that was clamoring at
the counter for their share, much to Mr. Bodkin’s growing regret. He folded his long body into a chair next to
the physician, smiled a bit helplessly, and explained, “My welcome back.” Then
he hoisted the glass for a slow draw.
“Ah.” Slyly, Doc leaned in and, with a bold glance
toward the upstairs rooms, said, “I thought you’d already had your welcome back
this afternoon.”
Caught in
mid-gulp, Matt sprayed a good portion of the cold ale across the table. When he had swallowed what was left in his
mouth, he scowled. “Doc!”
But the old
man just shrugged and brushed a few drops of beer from his sleeve. “What’s in the package?” he asked, pointing
to the parcel Matt had dropped onto the table.
With a
sigh, Matt clunked the glass down once more and shook his head. “It’s from
“
Matt
nodded.
“Kitty know?”
Matt shook
his head. “Burke just gave it to me
after I left – uh, Burke just gave it to me.”
“You know
what it says?”
“I can
guess.”
“Yeah.”
“Good to
see you back, Marshal.”
They both
looked up in response to the craggy voice.
“Thanks, Sam,” Matt said, knowing that the barkeeper had seen him on
more than one occasion during his convalescence when he wasn’t in the role of
marshal.
“You want
me to tell Miss Kitty you’re here?”
Matt
cleared his throat, certain that Sam was aware that he had spent the afternoon
in Kitty’s room. “Uh, well, if she’s available.”
“I’ll see.”
“You know,
it’s just too bad,” Doc murmured.
“What’s
that?”
“How a lady
who’s so beautiful on the outside can be so ugly on the inside.”
“Solana?”
The
physician nodded and started to say something else, but movement from above
them turned his head, and he looked back, grinning. “Now speaking of beautiful ladies inside and
out – “
Matt’s head
tilted up, a smile spreading his lips as Kitty flowed down the stairs, graceful
and lovely and breathtaking – as usual.
He sensed Doc’s grinning gaze on him, but didn’t care.
“Hello,
Matt,” she greeted casually, giving no indication that her slightly swollen lips
were from his fevered kisses.
“Kitty,” he
returned, trying to sound just as cool, but still able to feel her hands on
him, running over his chest, down his stomach.
Staying strategically seated, he cleared his throat and motioned for her
to sit next to him, her knowing look drawing a blush to his cheeks. Doc’s smirk was incorrigible.
Mercifully,
the clanging spurs of his deputy shifted attention before Matt embarrassed
himself. They saw the tattered hat and
scruffy whiskers emerge through the crowd.
“Matthew!”
Festus greeted, jangling over to their table. “Whut’s all th’ hoohah about chere?”
“Oh, uh,
well, that’s my welcome back. Mister
Bodkin set everybody up with a drink.”
The squinty
eyes gleamed. “Wael,
he did now?”
“I’m sure
he’d want you to have one, too, Festus,” Kitty said, generously extending the
banker’s offer.
“’Course,”
Festus agreed. But before he left to
claim his gift, he nodded toward Matt in satisfaction. “Thet thar nap musta done ya good, Matthew. Yer lookin’ mighty refreshed.”
Doc nodded
slyly. “I’m not sure he napped, Festus,
but he did find something to occupy his time for a couple of hours.” He fixed his blue eyes on Matt.
Matt threw
a glare at his friend and torturer.
“Wael, shore,” Festus agreed. “Thar’s lots a thangs ta’ do besides nappin’: checkers, poker, fishing. You go fishin’
Matthew?”
“Don’t
forget that beer, Festus,” Kitty reminded, and Matt let a mix of embarrassment
and amusement reflect in his eyes when he gave her a
quick glance.
The tactic
worked as the deputy hastened over to the bar with a quick “’Scuse me.”
“Did you?”
Doc persisted.
“Did I
what?”
“Go
fishing?”
“Doc, so
help me – “
“Oh, don’t
go getting your back up. I’m just meddling you. Besides, weren’t you going to show Kitty, uh – ” He gestured at the package lying on the table.
Well,
frying pan into the fire. But Doc was
right; he needed to tell her.
“Show me
what?” she asked.
“Uh, this
came today,” he said, nodding toward the brown parcel and lifting it.
Curiosity
lifted Kitty’s pretty eyebrows. “What is
it?”
He suddenly
felt guilty about bringing it up so abruptly, but there wasn’t much he could do
about it now. With a deep breath, he
revealed, “It’s from
It took
only a couple of seconds for the impact of that statement to change Kitty’s
expression. Her lips pressed together as
she swallowed, staring at it. Finally,
she eased into the chair next to Matt.
“Well, might as well get it over with.”
“It doesn’t
matter, Kitty,” he told her gently, knowing he was wrong. It mattered a great deal.
She smiled
back, her eyes tender and thankful.
Reaching forward, she picked it up and slid the string from around it,
revealing exactly what he expected her to reveal: a neatly folded newspaper
proclaiming itself to be the Saint Louis
Post-Dispatch.
“Kitty,”
Matt urged, resting his hand over hers, “it doesn’t matter. Don’t.”
But she
shook her head. “It does matter,
Matt. It matters if what she’s written
is going to bring danger to you. It
matters if she’s writing lies about – about us.”
Or the
truth, he thought.
“You open
it, Doc,” she decided, handing the paper over to their dear friend. Matt gritted his teeth against the words he –
and Kitty – would have to hear.
Rubbing a
hand quickly over his mustache, the doctor unfolded the paper, the odor of
newsprint assailing them. He didn’t have
to look far, apparently, because he glanced down at the front page, his eyes
widening. Looking up at them once, he
then lowered his head and began reading.
Matt wanted
to tug Kitty against him, to enfold her in his protective embrace, or at the
very least to hold her hand and lend her strength to deal with the spiteful
accusations. Instead, he made sure he
caught her gaze and sent a message of love that she could take to bolster her.
Doc’s voice
began tentatively, as if he were wary of being too blunt. As the words of the article unfolded, Matt
found himself frowning, but not in anger or pain. Instead, he frowned in confusion – and
growing astonishment.
“’To those who have heard of his daring exploits for years
now, Marshal Matt Dillon, stalwart protector of Dodge City and beyond, may seem
larger than life. Before I met the real
man, I considered this description to be in the abstract. Now, however, I realize it is quite concrete.
Marshal Dillon, the legend, towers over his adversaries. Matt Dillon, the man, does the very
same. At over six and a half feet tall,
with shoulders broad and chest wide, he is a veritable giant among men from all
sections of this great land. But his
stature isn’t limited to physicality alone.
What became crystal clear as I followed this dedicated lawman around
that
“What?” Matt managed to ask.
Doc shrugged.
“That’s what it says.”
Her expression equally shocked, Kitty lost any
trepidation and pulled the newspaper from Doc’s hands, continuing to read it
herself.
“Let’s see – crystal clear – dedicated lawman – tall in character. Okay, here it is. ‘And you don’t have to take my word for it. The citizens of Dodge are more than willing to share their opinions. Those who have never run afoul of him use words like honest, brave, noble, compassionate. Those who have prefer tough, unbending, fearless. Both groups are accurate, and both groups have their own reasons for looking up, both literally and figuratively, to Marshal Matt Dillon.’”
A grin lifted the physician’s lips beneath his mustache. “Well, I’ll be.”
“But no one truly knows the real Matt Dillon – at least no one who’s going to share. Those closest to him are almost frustratingly closed-mouth, especially on the subject of his personal life. Surely even a man like that – or especially a man like that – needs someone to lighten the load at the end of the day. Rumor is he has a woman – which I’m sure comes as a disappointment to all our lady readers out there. What kind of woman would this man want – or even need? She would have to be quite remarkable, a woman whose strength matched that of the intrepid lawman.’”
Matt found
himself staring at Kitty. What kind of
woman would this man want – or even need?
His need for Kitty almost overpowered him sometimes. Had Solana seen that? Had he convinced the reporter of it somehow
throughout the ordeal? Still stunned, he
could only listen.
“’Is
there such a woman? You won’t hear it from this reporter, who has to admit to
being rather taken with the handsome marshal, herself. Still, if there were, one might imagine he
would be as protective of her as he is of the law – and he is VERY protective
of the law. This reporter’s advice to
anyone inclined to run outside of the law is to do it outside of
There were a few more lines devoted to a brief history of his career, and a final comment that proclaimed them all to be immeasurably fortunate to have him as their protector. As he listened to the effusive compliments, Matt felt the usual flush of chagrin, but he didn’t stop Kitty from reading. When she finished, the three friends stared at each other for a long, long moment, their astonishment complete. It was almost impossible to believe that Solana Satterfield had actually printed this article.
“I just can’t – “ Kitty stammered.
Matt shook his head slowly. “Me either.”
“Who would have thought?” Doc added with a cock of his head.
Finally, Matt shrugged and said, “By golly,” which was all he could think of at the moment.
When he glanced up at Kitty he was greeted with a relieved grin, one which was mirrored on Doc’s face, and – he knew – his own. If they hadn’t been surrounded by most of the town, he would have allowed himself to kiss her – or at least give her a solid hug. Instead, he reached out and squeezed her hand. Her return squeeze conveyed more emotion than most people’s kisses, anyway. But he’d still make sure he shared one – or many – with her later.
Laughing out loud, Kitty scooped up the ripped brown wrapping paper to ball it up and discard. As she did, a square enveloped dropped out, the fancy script on the front spelling out “Marshal Matthew Dillon.”
Without a word, she handed it to him, her eyes trusting. Slipping a long finger under the edge, he tugged out the single sheet of paper and read the message from the woman he had been certain was determined to ruin his life.
“Dear
Marshal,
I
suppose sometimes things aren’t as they seem, or at least don’t turn out as we
initially envision. I hope that this
note finds you in good health. I, myself, am alive and well, thanks to you. I
want you to know that it was truly my pleasure to meet you and discover that
there are men in this world who are honest and true. I now know there are some women like that, as
well. Just so you will not worry about
him anymore, I want you to know that Paul is no longer in the newspaper
business. Last I heard he was in the
Orient trying his hand at promoting a traveling prizefighter. Although it is unlikely to occur, if the
occasion ever arose again to share a stage with you, it would be my
privilege. I assure you that your knee
would be safe this time.”
He fumbled over the last
few words, uncomfortably aware of Kitty’s suddenly raised brow. Clearing his throat, he managed to continue
without a comment from her.
“Please
accept my wishes for a long and happy life.
And give
my regards to the owner of the
Fondly,
Solana
Satterfield”
He had not imagined he
could have been more astonished than he was when Doc and Kitty read the
article. He was wrong. And he wasn’t the only one. All three of them
stared at each other again. Even Doc
found himself at a loss for words.
After a moment, Festus’
reappearance broke their silence. “Thet beer shore whet th’
whistle,” he volunteered. “Thet thar wind’s bin a twistin’ th’ dirt all around in my mouth. I ain’t
bin able ta’ swaller
without chokin’ down half of
“You don’t have to worry
about that anymore, Festus.”
They looked up to watch
the tall, gangly figure who had squeezed through the
crowd and now walked toward them.
“Thad,” Kitty greeted
warmly.
“Missy Kitty,” the young
man acknowledged, touching the brim of his hat.
“Matt. Doc.”
“What air ya’ talkin’ about, Thad?” Festus
asked.
“I just walked over from
the jail. Looks like the wind’s gone.”
“Gone?” Doc asked, his tone incredulous. They had been fighting the swirling dust for
two months.
“Not even a breeze,” the
young man assured them. “It just all of
a sudden quit.”
Matt felt Kitty’s eyes on
him and looked up at her. As impossible
as it seemed, he saw the same thought written on her face.
“When did it stop, Thad?”
he asked as casually as possible.
“Well, I saw you head into
the
“Stopped?” Kitty repeated,
clearly having trouble believing it.
“Stopped,” Thad confirmed.
“’An ill wind blows no man
to good,’” quoted
But Matt let his gaze
sweep over the elaborate handwriting that graced the letter he still held and
smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Maybe not always, Doc.
Maybe not always.”
“An ill
wind that bloweth no man to good.”
John Heywood
Proverbes. Part ii. Chap. ix.
“Except wind stands as
never it stood,
It is an ill wind turns none to good.”
Thomas Tusser
A
Description of the Properties of Wind.
“Not the ill wind which
blows no man to good.”
William Shakespeare
Henry IV, Part 2, Act
5, Scene 3
Epilogue: Fair Winds
POV: Matt
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Matt Dillon
shifted on the hard seat of the stagecoach, knowing from experience that he
wouldn’t find a more comfortable position, but giving it a shot anyway. Winter had ensconced itself firmly into the
air, biting at his bones. From the tight
expressions of his fellow passengers, he could tell he wasn’t the only victim
of the weather. Tugging the collar of
his coat higher, he crossed his arms over his chest and accepted that he would
just be cold until they reached Dodge.
It was certainly not the first time.
Prospects
of how he would get warm again made the wait more bearable. And this time he wasn’t nursing broken
ribs. This time, nothing would stand in
the way of their reunion. Not if he
could help it.
“Sierra
The marshal
looked up to find the woman who had boarded at Wichita looking at him, her
once-clean traveling suit chalked with the dust of the trail, just like the
rest of them. She might have been thirty; she might have been fifty. He couldn’t decide if life had been pretty
good to her or pretty bad.
Sierra
“Matt
Dillon,” he returned simply.
The woman’s
brow rose. “Matt Dillon? Marshal
Matt Dillon?”
Damn.
Matt sighed
wearily. “That’s right.”
“My, my. I never figured I’d – well, I read about you
in the Saint Louis Post-Dispatch.
Of course I’d heard about you before – and I should have recognized you,
certainly. ‘Shoulders broad, chest wide. A veritable giant,’ I believe was the
description.”
He pressed
his lips together and tolerated the stares the other two passengers now cut to
him. Her eyes moved over Matt from boots
to Stetson, and he shifted, his discomfort having nothing to do with the hard
seat.
“That
article surely was right,” she noted boldly.
“You are mighty tall, Marshal – and those shoulders are
broad.” Before he could think of a response, she continued eagerly, “Tell me, is Dodge really as wild as they say?”
“Once was,”
Matt allowed. “Can
still be at times.”
“I’ll just
bet!”
He gave her
a tight smile. “You headed to Dodge?”
“Well, I was
headed to
Good, Matt
thought, then felt guilty. “I wish you
safe travel.”
“Of course,” she amended, “I just might linger a few days
in your fair city.” Her hand reached out
as if she might place it on his knee.
With a feeling that was disturbingly familiar, he crossed his left leg
over his right, smoothly avoiding her uninvited and unwelcome touch, and
wondered if he should have stayed in
When the stage
pulled into Dodge two hours later, he practically leaped from the coach, eager
not only to see Kitty, but also to escape the fawning admiration of Miss Sierra
Cimarron, who had been ogling him the entire time. His legs cramped from keeping them as far
away from her wandering hands as possible.
“Aren’t you
going to help me down, Marshal?” she asked, perched expectantly at the door of
the stage.
He cringed,
but ever courteous, turned and extended his hand for her to take, which she did
– after letting her fingers caress down his forearm first.
“Uh, Miss
Cimarron – “
Just as she
lighted on the ground, he raised his head to look into the most beautiful eyes
he had ever seen. Desire jolted through
him, and he reined it in for proper appearances. But those eyes didn’t belong to the woman who
now pouted slightly as she lost his attention.
They belonged to the woman who had his attention. Completely.
A fine
eyebrow arched upward, a mixture of joy and irritation flashing across her
lovely face. Despite that, he grinned at
her, not caring who saw.
“Welcome
home, Matt.” Kitty gave him her customary public greeting, but her eyes
promised much more when she offered him her private welcome back.
“Good to be
home, Kitty,” he answered, as usual, fighting to control his body’s immediate
reaction to her presence.
At the
pointed throat clearing by Sierra, he tugged his lower lip between his teeth
and said, “Uh, Miss Cimarron, this is Kitty Russell. Kitty, this is Sierra
Cimarron. We met – “
He sighed, then finished, “On the stage.”
“You do
have a knack, don’t you, Marshal?” Kitty observed wryly. He winced.
“Miss
Russell,” Sierra greeted formally. “It
is Miss Russell?”
Here we go
again, he thought and braced himself, feeling Kitty tense. Experience – recent and painful experience –
prompted quick action. Matt slid an arm
around Kitty’s back and pulled her against him, making his motion deliberate
and clear. With a courteous but firm
tone, he said pointedly, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Cimarron.”
Sudden
comprehension widened the other woman’s eyes.
For a moment, she shifted her gaze between Matt and Kitty, but then,
just as suddenly, a rueful smile curved her lips, and she arched a brow. “I see. You know, I told the Marshal that I
had read about him in the
Matt felt
her arm reach around his waist snugly.
Relieved, and eager to run while his pony was in the lead, he touched
the brim of his hat in farewell to Sierra Cimarron, vowing that next time he
boarded a stage he’d make sure there were no windy women on the passenger list.
“It was
still a pleasure, Marshal,” Sierra told him, her sigh more than a little
regretful. “I’ll tell my sister about meeting you when I get to
“Good luck
to you, Miss Cimarron.”
“To both of
you,” she returned, more graciously than Matt had expected, before she turned
back to the driver. “Just leave my bags
up there,” she instructed, disappointment weighing down her tone.
Alone with
Kitty – or at least mostly alone – he resisted the urge to swing her into his
arms and press her hard against him, compromising by keeping his arm around her
as they stepped onto the boardwalk. They
walked a few feet in silence; then he looked down at her to find those
beautiful eyes on him and that sensuous mouth smiling toward him.
“What?” he
asked.
“Nicely done, Cowboy. I think you should
get some kind of reward for that.”
Reward? His heart pounded at bit harder at the
prospect. “How about you buy me some lunch?” he asked, in a vain attempt at
nonchalance, knowing that he was very close to embarrassing himself. If she moved her hand a bit lower –
But she
shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t
think so.”
“No? But
you said I should get a reward – “
“See,” she
said, “I wasn’t thinking about – food.”
“No?” he
asked hoarsely, swallowing hard at the insinuation in her tone.
“Uh uh. You have in
mind any other – reward?”
His body
throbbed in anticipation, and he let the fire burn through his gaze. “Yes,” he murmured,
voice deep and husky. “Yes, I think I
do.”
He thought
for a moment she might leap on him right there in the street, but she just
squeezed him hard and urged him forward. “What are we waiting for?”
Absolutely
nothing, he decided.
He wasn’t
sure how long he had slept, not too long, he hoped, wondering if anyone had
tried to find him while he indulged in the pleasures of Kitty’s embrace. Her head rested against his shoulder, her
hair tickled his cheek, and he felt a swell of emotion at his good fortune. He would not have dreamed 13 years before
that he would have someone like Kitty in his life, would not have even thought
he would still have a life. When
he was brutally honest with himself, he knew he wasn’t fair to Kitty. What he told Solana Satterfield was
true. The woman of a lawman lived in
constant worry, constant fear, and he had told himself numerous times that
Kitty would be better off without that – which meant without him. But as strong as Matt Dillon was, he didn’t
have the strength to push her away – even for her own good. He needed her. Independent, self-sufficient Matt Dillon needed
her – more than he had ever needed anyone else in his life. But the thought of what she had been prepared
to sacrifice for him tore at his heart – and at his conscience.
A sigh
lifted her chest, and he smiled, admiring the lovely view. “You awake?”
“Mmm.”
“Kitty?”
“I’m awake,
Cowboy.”
“I probably
should go.”
“So soon?”
“We’ve been
here all afternoon.”
“Mmm.”
“Kitty?”
“Mmm?”
“There’s
something we need to talk about.”
Abruptly,
her body stiffened and she propped on an elbow and regarded him with those
amazing blue eyes for a moment. “What?”
He didn’t
remember much about those few days after Joe Kendall came back, but he had seen
enough in Kitty’s eyes to know it had been a near thing.
“It’s about
what you said to Doc when – “
Her fiery
waves danced as she shook her head and straightened so that she sat
cross-legged next to him. “We don’t need to talk about that.”
“We do,” he
insisted, sitting as well, his hands gripping her shoulders both to support her
and to keep from crushing her to him.
“We both know that something like this could happen again.”
“Matt – “
“It’s not
going to change things to ignore it.” Lifting her chin with his thumb and
forefinger, he held her gaze. “I want
you to promise me you won’t give up your freedom, your life, if I’m – if
I end up like you and Doc thought – ”
“Matt
Dillon,” she snapped, “don’t you dare ask me to let you die – or to abandon you
if – ”
“Kitty – to
live like that – I’d rather – “ He gritted his teeth
at the thought of what might have been – what might still be. “There are things worse than death. I don’t
want you to be tied down with me if – “
“Matt, how
could you think – Oh, Matt, I couldn’t leave you like that.” Tears streaked her face now, and he felt guilty
for bringing up the subject. “You’d need someone to take care of you, someone
who – who knows you, who loves you.”
He ran a
hand down her arm in comfort and said softly, “Kitty, it won’t matter. If I’m – if I’m in that condition, I won’t
know if it’s you or someone else taking care of me.”
Softly,
with absolute conviction, she said, “I’ll know.”
The love
and deep promise in her eyes stole his breath.
When he got it back, he pulled her against him with a surge of emotion
so fierce he thought he might actually pass out from the sensation. She clung to him, and he felt warm tears
trail down his chest. Fighting back his
own tears, he swallowed once, then again, in a vain attempt to form some
adequate response to her declaration, deciding that the best thing he could do
was just hold her. Finally, when he had gathered the ragged edges of control
together enough to speak, he made an effort to share with her – really for the
first time – how very deeply he felt.
Oh, he’d told her he loved her before. He’d certainly shown her, physically, many,
many times. But he was, admittedly, a
man who kept a tight hold on his feelings.
Unaccustomed to letting them go, he struggled for the right words.
“Kitty, I –
surely you know that I – “
Automatically,
she started to interrupt, to save him the discomfort of confession, but he
placed a long finger over her lips and shook his head.
“I love
you,” he told her, allowing the extent of his emotions to color his tone with
richness and truth. “I love you so very,
very much.”
This time,
it was he who stole her breath. Tears
streamed down her cheeks again as she fell into his arms, and he cradled her
against him. After several minutes, her
body relaxed, and he became aware of how close he was to being completely overcome
by the moment. Swallowing, he searched
desperately for some topic, some diversion to bring
them back to a state he could control, a state that didn’t threaten to undo
him.
“Kitty, about before – uh, earlier. I mean, when
we – well, I hope I wasn’t too – rough,” he apologized hoarsely, praying that
she understood his motive. “I know how
you like it slow and easy – “
Kitty sat,
regarded him for a long moment, wiping her eyes dry. He let his gaze hold hers, asking her to let
him have this moment. Finally, she smiled gently, her fingers touching his
lips. “I like it lots of ways, Cowboy.” He knew that, too. “Did I sound like I was complaining?”
Relief
lightened his features, lifted his brow.
“Well, now that you mention it, those moans didn’t sound like you were
in pain – “
Her fingers
trailed sensuously over his chin and down his chest. “The only pain is when I want you so badly
that – well, when you walk through the doors of the
“Yeah?” he
asked, her steamy confession making it difficult to keep the touch of
satisfaction from his voice and impossible to keep the swell of arousal from
another area.
“Yeah. A real hard time.”
She threw a leg over his pelvis and wiggled seductively against him,
encouraging his reawakening desire. “And
since we’re speaking of hard – “
“Kitty!” he gasped as she let her hand trail past his abdomen to sheathe his revived erection.
“So
hard,” she murmured, her voice husky, her gentle grip sliding down the iron
shaft, then up again.
Matt
wondered vaguely if a heart – or anything else – could pump so hard it
exploded. Certainly there was some
powerful explosion awaiting him. Intense
pleasure flooded his body as his neck arched, and his head snapped back against
the pillow. “Oh, Red, that feels good,
but you’d – you’d better stop now.”
But she
didn’t stop. In fact, she eased down his
long frame to replace her fingers with something warmer and softer – and wetter. He couldn’t keep the groan from his throat as
the moisture from her tongue cooled on his enflamed flesh.
“Kitty!”
Just when
he was about to surrender to her seduction, she moved over him, spreading her
thighs so that he was poised at her entrance.
Another
groan pushed past his lips as her snug heat enveloped him, squeezed him, and he
surged within her again. Grasping her
hips, he rolled so that she lay beneath him, moving
into her with slow, deliberate strokes, the relief of his earlier climax granting
him more control, despite her torment.
Her delicious moans rewarded him and inspired his movements to grow even
more measured, teasing her by pausing just at her entrance, then inching back
in with agonizing leisure. He felt her
writhe beneath him, arch up in an effort to make him move faster, harder, but
he held strong, taking her to the edge again and again, then remaining still
just as she was perched to go over.
After a while, he was drenched in sweat and trembling with the effort to
draw it out, to build up her need until she cried out to him. But he was beginning to wonder who would cry
out to whom first.
Finally, her voice deep with desperate passion, her body arching madly beneath his, she pleaded, “Matt, please!”
And so he
had mercy on her – and on himself as well since she
wasn’t the only one barely hanging on at this point. With a relieved grunt, he thrust forward,
swinging into a firm, steady rhythm that drew gasps from both of them. Kitty’s legs wrapped around his back as she
pushed against him, her fingernails biting into his shoulders, her cries
inflaming him, ripping away the last of his control.
“I love
you, Kitty,” he whispered, his eruption imminent, burning between his legs.
With a
ragged groan, he felt the powerful waves break over his body, felt his hot
release rush through him to punch hard and deep within her, again and again,
welcomed by her own eager contractions.
She bucked against him, and he kept coming, certain he had no more to
give, yet giving still. Finally, when
his arms could no longer support him, he collapsed on top of her, breath
heaving, chest pounding, groin still throbbing inside
her with the lingering sensations.
Barely able to make a coherent sentence, he murmured his love to her
again, brushed his lips across a lovely, damp breast, and used the last of his
strength to withdraw and fall to her side.
Outside the
warm confines of Kitty Russell’s bedroom in the
END