Hostage of the Heart - Part 6

Vin had been outside for most of the morning, going inside after lunch only under protest. He had to admit though, at least to himself, that it made sense, considering the fact that he had fallen asleep at least three times while he and Chris sat on the porch. He was beginning to think he'd never again get through an entire day with his eyes open. And he was getting damned tired of it.

Chris watched the younger man move restlessly on the bed, seeming to be in a fitful doze. He continued to sleep much of the time, and often that sleep was far deeper than the young man typically slept. But it seemed that, the longer his convalescence dragged on, the more restless he became. Nathan seemed to consider it normal, but Larabee wasn't certain that he shouldn't be concerned.

The blond's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a wagon coming up on the shack. He turned from where he stood leaning against the door frame to see Nettie Wells coming into view. He allowed himself a smile and stepped from the porch to meet her. The widow had been away since before they had returned to town. He had been expecting her to come check on Tanner as soon as she got home. As the wagon slowed and stopped near the corral, he stepped out to meet her, still smiling.

"Where is he?" Never one to mince words, the woman stared a hole through him before he could answer.

"Inside, resting." He reached up and helped her from the wagon seat. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off, nearly running toward the shack. Chris shook his head as he began tending her horses. It was truly amazing that Nettie Wells and Vin Tanner weren't related, they were so much alike. Stubborn and single-minded... and very protective of one another. And Larabee decided that she might be just what Vin needed right now.

Nettie entered the dim room, slowing just enough to allow her eyes to adjust to the shadows. As soon as she could make out the slender form tossing fitfully beneath the blankets, she hurried over and settled on the edge of the mattress. She covered her mouth with one hand to keep from crying out. He looked so frail that she was almost afraid to touch him. His burned and abused skin reminded her of red clay; his usually loose, tousled curls seemed lifeless and dull. Dark smudges beneath his closed eyes, and the way his brows were knitted together told her that he wasn't resting well. The thing that broke her heart, though, was how tiny he looked in the bed, as if he were nothing more than a shadow of the man she knew.

Tentatively she reached out, gently stroking back the locks that fell across his face. Her hand lingered, stroking tenderly down the side of his face, along the square jaw. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she allowed them to roll down her face as she continued to watch him.

Roused by the gentle touch, Vin's eyes opened slowly. He studied the figure before him, finally realizing that he was staring at his 'old biddy'. A smile spread across his face, and he put out a hand to touch her. Frowning when he found that she was crying, he asked softly, "what's wrong, Nettie?"

Realizing that she was being observed, Mrs. Wells struggled to bring herself back under control. Wiping the tears away, she said, "nothing, son. I'm... I'm just glad to see you, is all."

If anything, his smile broadened, and Tanner said, "glad t' see you, too. Casey told us y' had t' go take care a some family business up in Claremont."

"Just got in last night... I... I would have been here earlier, Vin, but - "

His fingers covered her lips, "ain't no cause t' explain, Mz. Nettie. Y' know how I feel 'bout family... ain't nothin' more important 'n that."

Her hand stroked down the side of his face, the tears flowing once again. "But honey, you're family, too."

He took her hand, kissing the gnarled fingers. As he looked up into the weathered face that he had come to know so well, his breath caught in his throat. Emotions, held at bay for so long, churned through his soul and left him breathless. His hand wrapped so tightly around hers that she winced at the force. Loosening his grip only a little, he looked into her eyes, as if searching for refuge in their depths.

Nettie watched him as he began to tremble, his soul-deep eyes boring through her. She felt his hand tighten around hers and thought her fingers would break. But she didn't let go. His breathing took on an almost frantic pace, hitching from time to time as he tried to inhale. Then she watched as those big blue eyes filled with tears. She frowned, worrying that perhaps she should call Chris Larabee in. Reaching out to cup her hand around his jaw, she called, "Vin? What is it honey?"

He couldn't tell her, couldn't get the words to come. So much welled up inside him, that he feared he would blow apart right there on the bed. He began to tremble harder, his entire frame quivering until the bed itself started to rattle. Then, without thinking, he threw himself up off the mattress and into the startled woman's grasp. He wound his arms around her, holding on as tightly as he dared. And he began to cry.

Uncertain as to what was going on, Nettie wrapped her arms around the thin young man, cradling him to her as tightly as she dared. One hand stroked gently through the loose chestnut curls, and she began to rock ever so slowly.

The damn had broken now, leaving him with no defense in keeping the emotions contained. Everything that he had held at bay over the past weeks erupted in a torrent of raw pain. Anger, frustration, degradation, fear... all of it poured from the fragile young man. He clung to Nettie desperately, needing that lifeline to keep him from coming completely apart.

The widow held him, her heart breaking at the pain-filled sobs that wracked the reed-thin frame. She pulled the blanket closer around him, covering the trembling back and shoulders. Her hand continued to stroke through his hair, and she continued to rock. Leaning a cheek against one of his tear-stained one, she whispered, "shhh, honey, it's gonna be okay. You're safe now, sweet boy, you're safe. No one's gonna let anything happen, shhh."

It was several minutes before he began to calm down, slowly relaxing into her arms. The sobs slowed, quieting as the torrent dissipated. Finally his head settled onto her shoulder, his tears slowed but continuing to flow. The trembling slowed as well, until it became an occasional shiver coursing through him.

"Son, I don't know what all happened to you, but you need to believe that you're all right now. Chris and the others will keep you safe... make sure nothing happens to you. Shhh." As more of his weight rested against her, she began to hum softly, her lips against his ear.

Vin heard Nettie's voice, heard it as she began to hum an old lullaby. He felt her arms around him, one hand running through his hair. He felt her heart beating against his own chest, and willed his own to slow to match it. He felt himself drifting off, and allowed himself to relax into her embrace. Finally, with a sigh, he drifted off to sleep.

Feeling the entire weight of her 'boy' slowly collapse against her, Nettie continued to hum and rock for several minutes. When it seemed that he was deep asleep, and seemed that her aged body would break from the dead weight, she slipped one hand behind his head and the other behind his shoulders. With infinite care, she lowered Vin to the bed, settling his head on the pillow. He whispered something, his brows knitting at the loss of contact, but didn't wake. Bending forward, she hummed quietly against his ear until he quieted once more. Raising up, she took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the drying tears from the finely chiseled features. Stroking the unruly curls back from his face, she straightened, watching him for several minutes.

A sound pulled the widow's attention from the sleeping man, and she turned toward the door. She wasn't surprised to see Chris Larabee standing there, but was surprised to see the tears streaming down his handsome face. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that she couldn't. Nettie watched as he dropped his head, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and turned to stride quickly away.

The rain continued for hours, the tarp only doing so much in keeping them dry. Vin drew Darry to him once more, and the two of them huddled together against the elements. The night came and went, dawn a barely noticeable change. He shivered, and felt her shivering as well. Pulling her closer, he coaxed her against him, cocooning himself around her.

She rested her head against his chest, feeling the faint beat of his heart against her cheek. She slid her hand beneath the soiled overall back, gently stroking along his flesh, mindful of the still healing cuts. Without thinking, she pressed a soft kiss against his chest, hearing him gasp softly as he felt her lips against him.

Vin stroked a hand through her tangled hair, brushing through it with his fingers. He rested his chin against the top of her head, then turned, settling his cheek there. Her hand continued to move lightly over his back, like a spring breeze. Even when she didn't manage to avoid the deeper cuts, the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. His other hand moved to the small of her back, resting there comfortably. The storm was forgotten as they clung to one another.

He felt the hot sting of tears against his chest, and nuzzled his chin in the tangle of her hair. "You go 'head, Darry. Reckon if anyone d'serves t' cry, it's you."

The tears flowed, her body tensing and then spasming as her grief took flight. For the first time since her son had been so savagely murdered, she gave it vent. Darry felt Vin's arms tighten around her, and she clung desperately to him. Great, violent sobs tore through her, threatened to rip her apart as the anger, betrayal and helplessness battered her from within with more force than the storm without.

Vin held her, feeling the pain and anguish flowing from every inch of her body. His hands continued to soothe her, to reassure her that she wasn't alone. "S'okay, Darry, you go ahead. I'm right here, Darry... I've got'cha."

It was nearly afternoon before the storms diminished. Tanner felt the young woman's body relax as she expended precious energy. Her breathing slowed, becoming a whisper against his flesh. Her gut-wrenching sobs quieted until they were occasional whimpers. Finally they stilled, and she lay limply in his arms. Shifting her slightly, he tried to make her as comfortable as possible in their barren world.

His eyes scanned the gray world around them, as if some sense of hope could be found in the wretched landscape. His mind wandered, drifting from reality to hallucination. His eyes widened as he saw Chris sauntering toward the cage, his body moving with the ease of a predatory cat. He smiled as the blond drew near, that almost-smile lighting his ruddy features as he smiled in return.

"Thought I'd see if you wanted to go for a ride," Larabee said quietly.

"Wouldn't mind it," he replied. "Don't know's I can leave here quite yet. Cain't get outta this damned cage."

"Come on Tanner, you want to go or not?"

"Chris, I need a hand, pard. Cain't get outta here."

"What's the hold up?" The blond brows knit together in a frown as Larabee frowned down at him. Shrugging, he said, "guess you're not interested?"

"Chris! Help me... I wanna get outta here!"

"Well, I'll see you later," the black clad apparition turned and walked away.

"Chris," it was nothing more than a whimper.

JD Dunne watched from the shadows, tucked away inside the jailhouse. The other four men were all in town for the first time in days, and he had sent word for them to meet him. He let them know that it was important. It hadn't been a lie, he could think of only one thing more important, and he had no idea where to go looking for the other two men. That being the case, he had decided to act on Mary Travis' words. He had been mulling those words over for two days now, and had made a decision. If they needed to mend their chain of command, then he would see to it that the chain was mended.

He watched as Buck Wilmington strolled down the boardwalk, having come from visiting one of the women at Virginia's. JD watched as the big man wove a meandering course down the street, speaking and tipping his hat to every woman he met. The young man was forever amazed at how long it took his friend to get from one end of the boardwalk to the other.

As Wilmington approached the saloon, Ezra Standish exited the batwing doors. As immaculate as ever, the Southerner stood preening just outside the saloon door. He tugged at the sleeves of his red jacket, brushing at the frilled cuffs. Then he smoothed his lapels, picking something from the edge and flicking it away disdainfully.

The two men regarded one another for a brief few seconds. Finally, nodding, they turned to approach the jail.

Dunne's attention turned to where he saw Josiah Sanchez approaching from the other direction. The big man shuffled along as if the weight of the world had settled upon his broad shoulders. He didn't look right or left, barely acknowledging the townspeople who greeted him.

The last to appear, Nathan Jackson strode down the dusty street with an hurried gait. Unlike Sanchez, the former slave seemed to be watching in every direction at once with an uncommon wariness. Suddenly the vision of a cat, tensed to spring, came to the young man's mind. He watched as the former slave quickly caught up with the gray-haired former preacher, and the two men exchanged a few words. Fast friends for longer than the others had been together, they usually seemed so comfortable in one another's company. Not so today. JD watched as they walked stiffly toward the jail, looking for all the world like two enemies.

With a sigh, the young sheriff wondered for a moment if he had lost his mind. He watched the four storm clouds approaching the jail, and suddenly felt the urge to run like hell out the back door. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stand his ground, to face whatever came.

The quartet entered the shadowy interior of the little jail, not one of them speaking to any of the others. Their footsteps ringing too loud on the wooden floor, they moved into the room, each standing and facing the youngest of their number. Waiting.

He tried to take another deep breath, but felt as if someone had wrapped their fingers around his throat. He couldn't seem to find enough air in the room, and wanted desperately to sit down.

John Dunne stood his ground.

He locked eyes with first one and then another, until he had met the gaze of each of the other men. Crossing his arms across his chest, he tried to ignore the feel of his heart pounding against his chest. He blinked. He ran his hand through his hair. He blinked again. He cleared his throat.

"Well damn it, JD, what was so all-fired important that y' had to drag me away from Miss Lou?" Buck growled the words impatiently.

"I do believe it would be prudent for you to explain your reason for bringing us all here," Ezra said. Although his voice was smooth and cultured, the impatience rang just as loudly in his tone.

"I... I thought it was about time that we made some decisions," he answered them, hating how his voice cracked.

"Decisions about what, son?" Josiah asked with as much patience as he could muster.

"About... about what we d-do... what we do now that Chris and Vin are... well - "

"Are what, boy? Good lord, would y' stop spittin' an' sputterin' around like a virgin on her weddin' night an' just get on with it?" Buck glared down at the younger man, looking as if he would turn on his heel at any moment.

"We need to figure out the chain of command now that Chris and Vin are gone. We need to find a way to mend it do we don't just fall apart," he spoke the words rapidly, not taking a breath until he finished.

The four men stared at him.

None of them said a word.

The grotesque caricature hobbled toward him, Chris staring openly at the sight of his family's murderer. The entire right side of the man's face was a hideous mass of scared flesh, stretched tight as if it had melted onto the bones below. His right eye was hidden below the mottled skin, his right ear nothing more than a blob of tortured flesh atop the ruined features. His right arm, already withered, was curled and drawn up against his chest tightly. His right leg was oddly bowed, drawing his body into an odd, sideways slump.

"Not a pleasant sight, is it? Your handiwork, I mean," the killer said.

"My handiwork? What the hell are you talking about? You walked back into that fire on your own, I didn't force you back there."

"Didn't you? I certainly couldn't allow myself to be taken into the custody of you and those bastards you ride with, could I?"

"Why aren't you dead?" He asked, a sense of confusion clouding his mind. He began to wonder if he hadn't gone completely mad. Maybe he was still back in that damned room, his mind destroyed by that bitch as surely as she had destroyed his life.

"Perhaps I am... perhaps this is hell. What do you think, Chris Larabee, is this hell?"

"You're asking me? I've been in hell for three years now, thanks to you, you son of a bitch!" He struggled to pull himself from the floor, but slumped back against the wall. Breathlessly he continued, "you may not be dead yet... but you will be. I'll make damned sure of that!"

"Can you look at me and believe that to be a threat?"

Chris glared at the other man, but he didn't even flinch. Fowler simply stared back at him from that ruined face. After a few long moments, he broke off, turning away from the murderer.

Fowler limped over to the wall, his left hand reaching out to trail along one of the idealized portraits of Ella Gaines. He drifted from one painting to another, his one-eyed gaze taking in each of the figures hungrily. He seemed to forget Larabee was there for some time but, finally, "she is a beautiful woman, isn't she?"

"I thought so once, but now I know... she's a monster," he spoke the words softly, the emotions he felt far too immense to be released.

Cletus didn't seem to hear him. "You asked how I survived. It was her... dear, sweet, Ella. I walked through those flames and out through the back of that stable, for her. And I would again. I would do anything for her." He turned to regard the gunslinger through a single, cold, eye.

"I have done anything for her."

Larabee realized then that his sanity wasn't the one in question. Looking up at the man, he realized that Cletus Fowler had - indeed - done anything for Gaines. "Including murdering an innocent woman and child."

Laughing, Fowler said, "you may not believe this Chris, but that was not the worst of it. Oh, I'm sure it may seem like it to you, but murdering your wife and son was only a small part of what I have done to make her happy."

The blond felt his skin crawl at the thought of what else the fool had done to stay in that whore's good graces.

"You see, I walked through those flames because I knew that she would be waiting for me on the other side."

"She was in Eagle Bend that night?"

"No, nothing as mundane as that. She was waiting for me, however. It simply took some time to reach her. I stumbled from that stable, my clothes... hell, my body... on fire. When I couldn't walk any longer, I crawled. I crawled on my belly for hours... days..." he drifted off, his gaze settling on something only he could see.

"I've never known exactly when or how she found me... or I found her. Things are... foggy about that time. She hid me away, took care of me."

"You were there... at the homestead," Chris whispered.

"Yes, of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "Just as she does now, she provided a place for me... away from prying eyes. Just as she always will. She promised that to me."

Looking up at the other man, he saw just how pathetic Cletus Fowler was. He was in love with her. In love with Ella Gaines. So horribly in love with the bitch that Fowler had done everything in his power to help her pursue her own twisted love of him.

For a reason he couldn't quite fathom, Larabee suddenly found the entire thing incredibly funny. Staring into the face of yet another life ruined by Ella's insanity, he began to laugh.

The sound, shrill and hysterical, filled the room.

Staying at Vin's bedside long enough to be certain that he was sleeping soundly, Nettie quietly rose and tiptoed from the room. Standing at the door, she pulled her attention from her friend and protector, and focused it on Chris Larabee.

The blond was in the corral, currying horses whose coats already shone. He moved with quick, tense movements, causing the big animals to snort and wicker as he raked the brush through their coat with too much force. Studying the gunslinger for a few minutes, Nettie finally shook her head and walked with sure steps to the wooden fence.

"Land sakes, Chris, you're gonna draw blood like that."

Larabee's head jerked up and he fixed her with a stare that was part anger and part embarrassment. Tossing the brush aside, he walked to the gate, opened it, and strode toward the house. The little widow followed close behind, not about to let him walk away from either his troubles, or her.

Reaching the porch, the blond sighed. He knew he was being followed, knew that she wouldn't give up until she'd had her say. He was also certain that he didn't want to deal with any of this at the moment. With another sigh, he pulled the chair from the table, holding it for her. Once the older woman was seated, he grabbed a second chair and dropped wearily to it. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared off into the distance, waiting for Nettie to speak.

"You figure I'm gonna dress you down for what happened to him, don't you?"

"Aren't you?"

Looking him up and down, she shook her head. "Can't see as I could do a better job than what you've already done to yourself, son."

He had no answer for that, her quiet words too far from what he had expected. He dropped his head, trying to hide the pain that never quite left his face these days. Finally he spoke, his voice filled with the pain he struggled to hide. "Don't reckon you can."

Nodding, the woman said, "you seem to be doing a fine job of it... carrying all the guilt for whatever happened to the two of you out there."

"It's mine to carry."

Silence stretched out for a full minute before Nettie replied, "granted, you've got broad shoulders, Chris Larabee. But, I ain't for certain they're broad enough to carry all the burdens you seem set to carry. Now, I don't know what happened, but I think I know the two of you fairly well. I'm certain you didn't lead that boy into anything he wasn't set to face, and like as not he went willingly. Am I wrong?"

"No ma'am."

"Does Vin hold you responsible for what happened?"

"No ma'am." He was beginning to feel like a schoolboy, being chastised by the schoolmarm.

"I know him well enough to know that he's got a pretty firm grasp of reality. If he considered you to blame for it, he'd let you know. Am I wrong?"

Again, "no ma'am."

She smiled compassionately, watching the big, bad, gunfighter almost squirm under her questioning. Reaching out, she laid a hand on his knee. Softly, she said, "Chris, Vin would follow you into hell if you asked him, I know that as well as you do. But he'd go there willingly and of his own accord. I figure that going after that... that bitch... who caused the death of your family is as close to hell as either of you could go. And I also know without a doubt that the things that happened while you were both gone happened because of her."

Chris couldn't help but smile faintly at the proper woman's use of profanity. Lifting his head, he looked into her soul-deep, wise eyes. "Yes ma'am."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Wells said, "then why are you wasting time wallowing in guilt and self-pity Chris Larabee? That boy in there needs you to be strong for him 'till he's able to be strong for himself. For both your sakes, you'd better straighten that backbone and shed this foolishness, son."

Running his had over his handsome features, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, the blond said only, "yes ma'am."

Rising stiffly from her chair, Nettie Wells said firmly, "good. Now, I know they sent plenty of stuff out here for the two of you to eat, but I brought out more. Vin needs some fattening up, and he's never been able to back away from my chicken and dumplings, or my apple pie.

"I'll be staying over tonight, so I'd appreciate it if you could fetch the stuff from my wagon for me. I'm not one to tell a man what to do in his own home, but I'm gonna do it this time. You saddle your horse and ride into town for the night. You need a chance to relax a little, and this place isn't big enough for all three of us, anyway."

"Miss Nettie, Vin's not strong enough to do a lot for himself and, pardon me for saying it, you're not strong enough to help him with some of the things that are bound to come up over night."

Although a faint blush shone through the leathery bronze of her cheeks, the widow said, "you'd be surprised at what I'm strong enough to do, Mr. Larabee."

Hazel eyes glittering with humor, the big man said quietly, "no ma'am, I wouldn't."

Cletus had disappeared into the shadows, leaving him once more alone. He didn't know how long he'd lain there, his mind spinning with the horrors thrust upon him by Ella Gaines. Finally, Larabee pushed himself wearily from the wall and limped to where an old couch sat across the big room. Dropping to the seat, he settled his injured leg onto the heavy cushions and leaned back with a sigh. Running his hand along his face, he tried to clear his mind. He needed to look for options that would allow him to escape, and to rescue Vin.

But, at the moment, he found nothing to give him any hope that either of those things were within his reach.

The sound of someone approaching the couch caught Larabee's attention, and he looked up to see Fowler appear out of the shadows. The crazed killer shuffled over, a bottle tucked between his crippled right arm and his withered chest. Hooking a chair with his good hand, he came to sit near the blond. Without a word, he removed the stopper from the bottle and handed it to Larabee.

Staring for a minute, Chris almost didn't accept the offering. In the end, however, he took the bottle and swallowed as much of the fiery liquid as he could before stopping for a breath. His eyes never left the disfigured man, not trusting Fowler not to do something. Handing back the bottle, he watched as the other man wiped off the mouth of the whiskey bottle and tipped it back, drinking a healthy share of the contents.

For several minutes they drank in silence, before the insane man spoke. He sounded surprisingly sober as he said, "I truly am sorry for what I did to your wife and son, Chris. I don't expect you to believe that, and certainly don't expect forgiveness. Unfortunately every war has its casualties."

"It was never a war, Fowler, it was just pure insanity. I was done with that crazy bitch long before I met Sarah."

Fowler's single remaining eye flashed with anger as he responded to the blond's description of his beloved. "You have no right to refer to her like that."

"I have every right, you damn fool." He knew he was taunting a rattlesnake, but didn't care. "What she's done... what she talked you into doing... it was nothing but pure evil and twisted hatred."

"No! Ella had every right. You were stolen from her, all she did was reclaim what was rightfully hers... nothing... nothing more."

"You're a fool to believe that. If something was never yours to begin with, it can't be stolen from you. I was never Ella's property."

"But the two of you shared... share... a great love, one of a purity and magnitude - "

"What we shared was nothing more than lust as far as I was concerned. Lust and a love for the bottle... that was the only love that ever entered the picture."

"That's not true!" Fowler threw the whiskey bottle, the glass shattering against the wall behind Larabee, showering the man with scotch and glass. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying as he lurched the few feet between himself and the blond. "She told me that the love you shared was so great that it would have killed lesser people!"

"You sick, twisted bastard," Chris spit the words out in a tight growl. "You believe anything that whore tells you because you're blind in love with her!"

"No! Damn you!"

Cletus fell on the blond, his useless right arm not hindering his attack as he began battering Larabee. The gunfighter recovered quickly, and the men began trading blows. The big room echoed with the sounds of their fight, which continued for several minutes. Despite the man's crippling disabilities, Chris found him a strong opponent, the man making up for his useless right arm with his head and leg. Larabee, his own leg still all but worthless, found himself time and time at a disadvantage when he tried to fight the other man standing up. But, fighting from the ground, they were well matched.

And in the end, Chris Larabee's anger was far greater than that of Cletus Fowler. Sitting astride the grotesque caricature of a human being, he ploughed one fist after the other into the ruined face, battering him until -

"Stop it! Stop it right now!"

Ella Gaines stood between two of her men, at the top of the stairs. The sounds of the fight had echoed through the house, sending her to make certain that her 'beloved husband' was safe. Finding him sitting atop the crippled Fowler's chest, pummeling the man, caused her heart to leap. She had known something like this would happen when she had Chris brought to the attic. Had counted on it. There had never been anything that made her feel quite so excited as watching the handsome man fight.

He fought for her, of course.

But, finally, she called a halt to it. She didn't want Cletus dead. Not now at any rate. With a single gesture, she sent the men flanking her into the fray. They quickly subdued Larabee, dragging him to his feet and pulling him across to face her. Reaching out one manicured hand, she stroked his sweat and blood soaked face tenderly.

"Chris, Chris, Chris. You have never been able to hold your temper."

Glaring at the embodiment of evil he had once given himself to freely, Larabee growled. His spit at her, the bloodied saliva hitting her on one cheek.

Ella shrieked, a banshee sound that bounced off the walls around them. She drew back, slapping him with every ounce of force she could muster.

Held firmly between her henchmen, Chris offered no resistance. He simply smiled.

Vin continued to stare after the apparition of his best friend. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness he knew it had been nothing more than his fevered imagination, but the feeling of abandonment continued to plague him. Where was he? Where was Chris? He had promised to come for him, to rescue him from his prison.

"Where are y', cowboy?"

Still wrapped in Tanner's arms, Darry stirred from an exhausted sleep. Shifting in his embrace, she looked up at the haggard features, she said softly, "Vin? What's wrong?"

Slowly he pulled his attention back to the present, looking down at the young woman he held. "I'm sorry Darry, didn't mean t' wake y'."

"S'okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothin'... well, nothin' new."

"Don't look like nothin' from th' look on yer face. It ain't like we've got anythin' else t' do, y' might 's well tell me what's eatin' at y'."

"Chris... he was here... at least I thought he was... I don't know... I... ah, hell." He slumped against her.

The young woman shifted around, taking the tortured man into her arms now. He curled against her willingly, allowing her to comfort him. She sighed, feeling the faint tremble of the lean frame and the hint of fever that never seemed to leave his body. And now he was having fever dreams, seeing things - people - that weren't there. It was only a matter of time now, and the weeks of torture would prove too much for the man she held.

She only wished Vin was right, that Chris Larabee had been there. Because if that didn't come true soon, the gunman would be rescuing a corpse.

"Well, lookee here. Ain't that just too sweet."

Darry started, alerting the man she held. Both of them looked up to see Hiram and Lafe standing over the cage.

"What do you want?" Wade growled hoarsely. "Ain't neither of us got th' strength t' do anythin' t' y'. Why don'cha just go t' hell."

"Don't sound like y' lost yer fight, y' little wildcat bitch," Lafe said with a cold, hard laugh. He unlocked the door to the little makeshift prison. Reaching inside, he grabbed her by one ankle and began to pull. "Y' know I always did like havin' a woman with a bit a fight in 'r."

"No!" She struggled to get loose.

Vin held onto her, struggling against his growing weakness as well as the other man. He couldn't let the bastards take Darry... not without a fight.

Lafe growled and kicked at the other man. With a final tug, he dragged her through the opening. Slamming the door closed and locking it, even as Vin crawled after them, the disfigured man laughed again as Tanner fell against the wood and barbed wire. Reaching down, he pulled the young woman to her feet, dragging her behind him. She fought him as well as she could but, in the end, could only stumble after the man.

Still in the cage, Tanner pulled himself from the door, at the same time realizing that he wasn't alone. He looked up to see Hiram staring down at him, raw, animal hunger in his piggish eyes. The big man reached down, opening the cage door wide, and standing aside.

Vin knew it was a trap. He knew he stood no chance against his captor. But still he crawled through the opening and, drawing on a strength he didn't have, he pulled himself to his feet. With short, stumbling steps, he tried to get away.

Behind him the bear-like man smiled coldly and followed a few steps behind. He allowed the half-dead man to stumble along until he fell back to his knees. Still he tried to escape, crawling until even that was beyond his abilities. Still unable to give up, Vin pulled himself along on his belly. Finally, just as he was within arms reach of the barn, he collapsed.

Hiram reached down, wrapping his hands through the braces of the oversized overalls. Just as he lifted the smaller man into the air, he heard a cry from inside the barn. Lafe was having his fun. Now it was time for him to have some fun of his own. With a deep chuckle, he carried the now half-conscious man like a rag-doll back toward the front of the house. He knew exactly where he wanted to take his little party.

Chris had been dragged down from the attic, cleaned up, and returned to the room he had come to know far too well. Ella had stayed long enough to gloat over his fight which, in her twisted mind, had been for her honor. He simply ignored her deluded ramblings until, undaunted, she left the room in a swish of satin and petticoats.

Limping to the window, Larabee stared out into the gloomy afternoon light. The storm had passed outside, but his own raged unabated. Leaning his arm against the window, he rested his forehead against it, eyes focused on a place out of sight beyond the trees. He had no idea of what was happening to his friend, but knew it wasn't anything good.

Blinking hard, the blond frowned. His focus went to the yard below, watching the movement there. One of the 'hiders was riding up into the yard, but he wasn't alone. Chris watched in growing horror as he recognized the limp form slung across the saddle before the big man.

"Vin!"

Hiram dismounted, looking up to make certain he was where he wanted to be. He smiled, his broad slash of a mouth revealing broken and decayed teeth, when he saw that the blond bastard was looking out the window. He watched as Larabee pounded against the glass, his mouth open in a scream.

Screaming for his friend no doubt.

Pulling the limp body from the saddle, he dropped him unceremoniously on the ground. Tanner dropped with a thud, but didn't respond otherwise. Neither did he move, simply lying where he landed. The big man handed over his horse to one of the others, then glared until the small gathering of hired men moved away. He planned for an audience, but it was going to be a very select one.

"What in the hell are you talkin' about?!" Buck Wilmington, never one to hide his feelings, fairly screamed the words in red-faced anger. "Y' act like they're dead! They ain't dead, y' dam fool, they'll be back!"

As Wilmington advanced on his much smaller friend, Sanchez and Jackson each grabbed one of his arms.

"Boy, if you value your life, I suggest you come to a point if you've got one," Nathan ordered shortly as he continued to struggle with the volatile ladies man.

"Buck! I never said they were dead! I'm just saying that... that they were our l-leaders," Dunne stammered. "Since we don't know how long they'll be gone, we need to form a new chain of command. Otherwise we're going to come apart. Do you want Chris and Vin to come back to a big mess, to find us at each others throats instead of taking care of the town?"

Chest still heaving, Wilmington slowly began to calm down. By the time JD had finished his little speech, he stood quietly between the other two men. Frowning down at the younger man, he said, "well hell, Kid. Why didn't y' say so?"

Slumping against the desk, the youngest peacekeeper ran his hand nervously through his long black hair. With a sigh, he said softly, "I thought that's what I was doing."

With a compassionate smile, Sanchez said, "I think Buck just wanted you to make your point a little quicker, son. I agree with you, we do need to find away to keep our little band together until Chris and Vin return. But, how do we do that?"

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "It just sort of came natural with the two of them. If it was gonna happen with us, it would a done so by now. So that means we've got to find a way of assigning those roles to one or two of us. We gonna draw straws or hold a vote?"

Shaking his head, Ezra said, "well, I for one have no desire to take on the duties of either Mr. Larabee or Mr. Tanner."

With a broad grin that belied his words, Jackson said, "don't worry, Ezra, I don't think any of us would 'a voted for you, anyway."

"I doubt that any of us has the desire to take on their jobs willingly," Sanchez offered. "Perhaps we should consider delegating different aspects of their duties amongst the rest of us."

Nodding in agreement, Buck said, "sounds like a plan t' me, pard. I mean, I don't wanna take on so much that it cuts int' visitin' with Miss Lou an' th' other ladies 'round here."

The other men rolled their eyes at the big man's declaration, but chose not to comment.

"So, how do we decide who's going to do what, then?" JD asked, drawing them back to the issue at hand.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance there."

The five men turned to find a familiar figure framed in the doorway. Each of them smiled and greeted the man. "Judge Travis."

Vin roused slowly from a dreamless sleep, his nose wrinkling as he tried to discern what he smelled. Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around the shadowy room, his still recovering vision fighting to make out the shape nearby. "Mz. Nettie?"

Nettie Wells looked up from where she stood over the big pot of chicken and dumplings she was carefully stirring. Smiling, she said, "it's about time you woke up, Vin Tanner. I thought I was going to have to eat these all by myself."

"Chicken 'n dumplin's?"

"Of course. Think you're ready to eat?"

"Yes 'm." He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the narrow bed.

Stepping across the little room, Nettie said, "you can eat right here, I'll bring over a plate."

Shaking his head, the young man said, "I'll take m' dinner at th' table, if y' don't mind ma'am. I'm awful tired a bein' a'bed so much a th' time."

Nodding, the old woman said, "all right then, let's get you settled in, and I'll dish it up."

Biting back an argument, Tanner allowed her to help him to his feet. Leaning on the surprisingly strong woman, he shuffled the few feet to the table, dropping to chair with a sigh. "Thank y' ma'am."

"It's no problem, son. Now, let me get your dinner dished up. I warmed some of the rolls Gloria sent out, and there's fresh butter, too." As she spoke, she bustled around the little room, trying very hard to fight the pain she felt at his weakened state. This was not the man she had come to know and love, and she feared that man could be lost forever.

"Mz. Nettie?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Chris?"

She smiled. "I ran him off."

"What?" Panic caused his voice to quiver.

Hurriedly, she explained, "I sent him into town for the night to get some rest. Poor man looked done in. I figure you know better than any of us how much guilt he's carrying, Vin. I thought he could use a few hours in town, relaxing. I spoke to Buck before I came out here, and they're going to take care of him. That leaves me to take care of you. Think you can suffer through that?"

With a chuckle, the sharpshooter said, "yes ma'am, I reckon I can."

They said little during the course of the meal. Nettie made certain that he didn't eat too much, but didn't allow him to leave the table hungry. She wrapped her arm around the too-thin body and led him back to bed under protest after watching him struggle to keep his eyes opened. Settling him back in Larabee's bed, she said, "there, now. You get a little sleep, and I'll clean up. If you're up to it later, we'll visit for awhile."

He started to answer, but yawned broadly instead. Sated, he folded his hands over his taut belly and let the sounds of her bustling around the room lull him back to sleep. The weary man didn't sleep long, however. He suddenly found himself back in his prison, trapped without hope behind wood and barbed wire. Looking through the roughhewn bars, he watched the trio of violent 'hiders coming closer and closer, matching looks of perverse amusement on their faces. He scuttled back into the corner of the cage, trying to make himself invisible to the human monsters. It was to no avail, they reached in, dragging him through the bars themselves.

"NO! OH GOD, NO!"

Nettie jumped up from where she sat doing needlework, rushing to the terrified man's side. Perching on the edge of the narrow bed, she gently took hold of Vin's shoulders, calling to him as he flailed weakly on the mattress. "Vin! Vin, honey, it's all right. Vin, it's just a dream, son, you're all right. Vin!"

Slowly the struggle ended, leaving Tanner to lay panting on the mattress. He moaned softly, still trapped between the nightmare and reality. Then he felt a gentle caress on the clammy skin of his face, the touch bringing him a sense of peace and calm. Slowly his eyes blinked open, searching for the source of that touch.

"Ms. Nettie," his voice was little more than a croaking whisper.

"I'm right here, son. You were having a nightmare, but you're safe now. You're safe." She started to get up, to find something to bath the perspiration from his fine features, but he grabbed her arm. Looking down into the panic-stricken face, she said softly, "honey, it's all right. I just want to make you a little more comfortable."

He blinked rapidly, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to spill down his ashen cheeks. Slowly he relaxed his hold, allowing her to move. His eyes never left her, however, following her to the water bucket and back to sit beside him. As she sank to the bed beside him, he breathed a heavy sigh and lay limply against the mattress.

Nettie gently bathed Tanner's face, then ran the cool cloth over his arms and chest. She couldn't help but notice the patchwork of injuries that covered the spare frame of flesh. She continued stroking the cloth over his upper body for several minutes, her actions slowly relaxing him enough to return to sleep. It was only then that she gave vent to her own feelings, hot tears streaming down her weathered features.

"Dear lord, child, what happened to you?"

 tbc......