Hostages of The Heart - Part 2

"Go away," Larabee ordered brusquely as someone pounded unrelentingly at the door.

"It’s Ezra," came the Southerner’s voice.

"Don’t give a damn who it is. Go away."

"No," the answer was direct and to the point. Standish opened the door and entered the room, prepared for anything. What he found was Chris Larabee, clothed only in his familiar black jeans, sitting on the floor in a corner with a half empty bottle in his hands.

Holding one hand over his nose, Ezra walked to the window and opened. "Good lord, I don’t believe it smelled this gamey in Lucius Stutz’s room."

"Get the hell out of here, Standish, " Chris growled, favoring the smaller man with a glare.

"No," Ezra repeated, leaning against the wall. "Not until I have spoken my piece."

"Consider it said, cause I ain’t listening. Get the goddam hell outta my room," he picked up a nearby bottle, this one empty, and threw it at the gambler.

Catching it deftly, Standish sat it on the dresser. Staring evenly at the man in black, he stepped over and stood before him. He sighed heavily and, showing a strength that his diminutive size belied, he reached down and pulled the other man up by one arm. "Larabee," he said harshly, "you are the sorriest excuse for a man I have ever met. I do not pretend to understand why any of us care in the least whether you live or die, but we do."

Chris leaned heavily against the wall, staring daggers at the other man, but made no move against him.

"While you hide away, wallowing in self-pity, those who have followed you into hell on more than one occasion are being vexed to distraction by your callous and simpering actions. And, the man who, to no one’s surprise, offers you the deepest devotion, is the one you have done the gravest injury to. Mr. Tanner lies abed, barely able to speak, but shows his greatest concern for your miserable well-being.

"If you wish to die, do it and be done. However, do so alone. Do not take the life of Vin Tanner in the process. I dare say that he has much to offer the world yet. Our scruffy, long-haired savage has a zest for life that is rarely seen in this violent age. I believe that we would all prefer it if you would allow him to remain in our midst." The conman released his hold-out derringer, removed it from its mechanism, and slapped it against the other man’s bare chest. "I know that your weapons have been confiscated by Mr. Wilmington and that has left you lacking the resources to end your life efficiently. I offer you my own derringer for your use. I am confident that it will serve adequately to effect your demise. You may linger for some time depending upon alcohol to affect your departure." With a final cold, green-eyed glare, the Southerner turned on his heel and stomped from the room without a look back. The slam of the door echoed off the room’s walls.

Still staring at where the other man had been, Larabee slid down the wall, folding himself limply in the corner. He turned the small gun over and over in his hand, contemplating the other man’s words.

Each step the horses took moved the man in black away from his friend, and he felt yet another knot grow in his stomach; felt any sense of hope dying. He had been an idiot, a pompous fool bent on revenge and self-destruction. In the process, he had condemned his closest friend to a shortened life and a long, agonizing death.

The fact that they had untied him gave Chris little hope. Hiram and Lafe flanked him, their weapons at the ready. Without being told he knew, too, that at the first gunshot Vin Tanner’s life would be forfeit. As painful as it was, Larabee knew that he would have to bide his time, keeping both eyes open for any opportunity that might present itself. "Don’t give up on us yet," he mumbled to himself, although he saw fever-bright blue eyes as he spoke.

It took only fifteen minutes to reach the "big house" on the hill, but to Chris it was a lifetime. By the time they reached the porch, Chris Larabee had disappeared, leaving behind only an emotionless shell that offered no resistance to his captors. Nor did he offer any response to the woman that suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Chris!" Ella cried joyously as she ran across the porch and threw her arms around him. He stood passively in her embrace, his gaze focused in the distance. She barely seemed to notice. "Oh, I’ve missed you so much! I told you we would be together again." She stood back and looked at him closely. "You look tired. How was your trip?"

He glared at her, but said nothing.

"Come on inside," she continued. "I’ll have Marta fix you something for dinner." Taking his hand, the woman led him into the house.

He allowed her to pull him through the lamplit house and guide him to a chair. Without looking he knew that Hiram and Lafe followed, guns at the ready. Sitting stiffly on the wooden chair, he did not even give the suggestion that he was considering any movement. Continuing to stare straight ahead, he resembled nothing so much as a flesh-and-bone statue.

Returning from where she had gone to instruct the cook on dinner, Ella swept up to him with a girlish giggle. "Well silly, aren’t you even going to take off your coat?" Receiving no response, she sighed and shook her head. "Poor, poor dear. You really must be exhausted. Here, I’ll help you." She took his hat, laying it carefully on the sideboard. Returning to the blond, she tousled his hair and tugged at his duster’s sleeves. Finally getting the coat off, she tossed it on a chair and knelt down to kiss him. Taking his hand in hers, she started to kiss it, then stopped. Turning toward the men in the shadows angrily, she yelled, "what happened to his wrists?"

"He...he done it hisself, ma’am," Hiram stuttered. "We stopped him soon’s we seen whut he’s doin’."

She leapt across the space and slapped the big man across the face, ignoring the shotgun in his arms. "You fools! I told you that he was to be delivered in perfect condition. No excuses!"

"Yes ma’am," the men seemed cowed, as if they were afraid of her.

Chris watched the exchange with only faint interest. He wondered vaguely what Ella had over the men. Hiram could have easily broken her pretty back with a single action. Larabee knew that whatever held the men in check had to be important, at least to them.

Ella turned back to him. "You really must be more careful, my darling. We can’t have you hurting yourself over some ill-advised attempt to leave me again. I’ve worked far too hard to clear the way so that we could be together again...once again and forever."

He slowly opened his eyes, staring around him in confusion. The sun was just beginning to color the shadeless window nearby. He was sitting on the floor, shoved into the corner of the room as tightly as he could be. He felt something hard in his hand and looked to find Standish’s little hold-out weapon in his palm. Suddenly the night before replayed in his mind; Ezra yelling at him, telling him to kill himself. It stood out crystal-clear in his otherwise foggy memory. "If you wish to die, do it and be done. However, do so alone. Do not take the life of Vin Tanner in the process." The words cut through him like a knife. Staring at the little gun, he had to wonder if it wouldn’t be the best for all concerned if he just took the gambler up on his offer, and blew his brains out.

A faint sound pulled his attention away from his death-thoughts, reminding him that there had been a similar sound a few minutes earlier; the reason for his waking. What was it? The sound came again. Knocking? It was hardly audible, as if someone were hammering somewhere down the street or something. Then a voice followed the knock.

"Chris?"

Oh damn! It was Vin. How the hell could it be the sharpshooter? He wasn’t even able to sit up alone. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Maybe he was still drunk, or dreaming even.

"Chris?"

Shaking his head, Larabee pulled himself up from the floor and staggered across the room. He’d just have to prove it to himself that Tanner was not at the door, but indeed over in Nathan’s clinic, being cared for by the other men. Managing to reach the door without falling over, he pulled it open quickly.

And just as quickly grabbed for the frail tracker who had collapsed against the door even as he knocked and called for the man in black.

"Oh, hell Vin," Chris moaned, pulling the younger man into his arms. He turned back into the room, kicking the door closed as he did. Carefully carrying Tanner to his bed, he gently lay the ailing man on the disheveled sheets, pulling the quilt over the emaciated form. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

"Had t’ come see...if y’s...alright..." He whispered.

Sighing, the gunfighter went to the washstand and returned with a damp rag. Bathing the sweat-covered face, he said, "you shouldn’t be worrying about me, cowboy, you’ve got to concentrate on getting better."

Not seeming to hear him, Vin said, "you okay...Chris?"

"I’m fine, you stubborn fool. Dammit Vin, who was supposed to be sitting with you?"

"You sure...y’ look like hell..." wrinkling his nose, he said, "don’t smell...too good...neither..."

"Vin –"

"Chris...heard y’s...takin’ the blame fer...ever’thin’ that....happened o-out there...mean t’ make certain that...ain’t true. Y’ ain’t...are y’...pard?"

"Vin, everything that’s happened, now and three years ago, all came about because that sick bitch things she owns me. Of course it’s my fault. Who’s else could it be?"

"Hers...said it yer...self...Chris. She’s a...sick bitch...sh’ain’t right inna head...Chris. This ain’t...yer...fault..." Tanner was losing ground, slipping back toward sleep.

Watching the man’s eyes unfocus and flutter shut, Larabee whispered, "yeah, it is. You sleep now."

"NO!" Blue eyes flashed open, bright with anger. "You gotta b’lieve...it...Lar...bee...yer too damn...stubborn...fer yer own good. L-listen t’ me cowboy...this...ain’t yer fault..."

"Vin, you’re sick. You don’t need to be worrying about this right now. I want you to go to sleep now. We’ll talk about it all later."

"Ain’t sleepin’...til y’ hear...me out." Tanner pushed himself up in the bed, groaning as his body protested any more movement. "Tell me...why y’ think...it’s your...fault. Didja make...’r do them things? Kill Sarah ‘n Adam? Wh-what she had done t’ me? You...make her...do them things?"

"I must have...somehow..." he shook his head. "I don’t know how or what Vin, but something I did, or didn’t do, it caused her to want to hurt everyone around me. If it weren’t for me, Sarah and Adam would be alive. You wouldn’t have gone through hell these past weeks. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have roped all those people into her sick little schemes..."

"You...didn’t ask fer...it, Chris. You thought y’s...shed a her a...long time ago. Why’d y’ leave...’r Chris?"

Pulling himself up, Larabee crossed to the window, watching the sun brighten the dusty little town. "Because...because she scared me Vin. She was wild, always trying to cause some sort of scene. She loved to flirt with any man that came along, acting all sweet and innocent. The whole time she’d be giving me the eye, trying to see if I was getting jealous."

"Were y’?"

Nodding, the gunman said, "I can’t tell you how many fights I ended up in because of her. She’d come on to some guy and wait til I got mad enough to call him out. Then she’d stand on the side, smiling while I put a hole in the man...or he put one in me. Vin...I killed men because of her." He rested his head against the warming glass.

"Y’ woulda...ended up...dead ‘r somethin’...goin’ on like that. Y’ kn-know I’m right...pard. Y’ done right by...gettin’ a...way from ‘r."

"Yeah, this way I wasn’t the only person she killed," the man in black said sarcastically.

"Damn...yer a...stubborn cuss..." Tanner shook his head slightly. "Always...gotta be... right, don’t y’...cowboy?"

Smiling, Chris turned back toward the bed. "In this case I am, pard."

"No...y’ain’t. Y’ain’t responsible fer Ella Gaines bein’ the bitch she...is. Ain’t yer...fault."

"Vin, look, we’ll talk about this later, okay?"

"Well hell, Chris Larabee...didn’t re’lize you’s God Almighty!" Tanner snapped.

Taken aback, Chris could only reply, "what?"

"Must be...figgerin’ y’...gotta be r’sponsible...fer th’ whole damn world...ever’thing’s yer fault. Didn’t re’lize y’s that important." He glared at his friend.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, the blond shuffled over to the bed and dropped to his knees next to his best friend. "God damn you Vin Tanner. What do you want from me?"

"Yer word."

"My word on what?"

"That y’ain’t gonna...sit here feelin’...sorry for yerself...gonna quit takin’ on...guilt that ain’t...yers t’ bear. And," he paused reaching out one thin hand and resting it on the other man’s shoulder. "Promise y’ain’t leavin’ me...us...just yet."

Blue eyes bored into his, making Chris ache to run and hide. How could he ask such a thing? Didn’t the hunter understand what he was asking of him? How could this scruffy, unkempt mutt put these demands on him? Who the hell did Vin Tanner think he was? Then he looked deeper into those eyes, wise beyond the number of years they had watched the world, and knew. Vin understood exactly what he was asking of him. And he meant to wait til hell froze over if need be to get that promise. Dropping his head to the mattress with a heavy sigh, the gunman nodded. Then reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the little derringer he had put there earlier after the stubborn bounty hunter had collapsed into his arms. Pressing it into his friend’s hand, he said only, "reckon you best keep this for now, then."

Fear flashed across Vin’s face, but he quieted it, and replaced it with a smile. "Reckon I’ll do that." Wrapping his fingers around the little gun, he let his eyes drift shut then. "Gonna...rest a...minute...then I’ll...go...back..." he was asleep.

Straightening the quilt around him, Chris pushed the always unruly curls away from the younger man’s face. "Yeah, you rest, cowboy. Reckon you’ve earned it."

Vin had forgotten what it felt like to be comfortable and warm. He had been a prisoner of the hiders for at least a week, although he wasn’t certain that he had the days right. He had tried to keep track by scratching a tally mark on one of the rough wooden poles that made up his tiny prison, but he was beginning to suspect that he had either too many or too few. He spent his nights huddled in the tiny prison that reminded him of nothing as much as a miniature stockade from the war. His walls and ceiling were hardwood poles while his floor was the damp earth. He had never minded sleeping on the ground, he had done it often enough, and found a comfort in the feel of the earth beneath him. But the other times he had the benefit of clothing to keep him warm. Now he had only his drawers, and they gave little comfort against the cool nights. At least they had allowed him that dignity after the first couple of days. When he had first been pulled out of the wagon they had stripped him of every stitch of clothing, saying that they knew he would never run off without his clothes. They certainly didn’t know him well. If he had to run buck naked all the way back to town, he would just to get away from the crazy family.

Only he knew he wouldn’t run back to town. He’d run in the other direction; toward Chris and that damnable woman who had instrumented everything they had endured since the third anniversary of Sarah and Adam Larabee’s deaths. He knew that Chris would do the same if he could get away from her. He worried that Larabee hadn’t already come down the hill in a blaze of fury to get revenge on the hiders who had become Ella Gaines accomplices. Not because he thought that Chris might have opted to save his own life, that thought never even crossed the young hunter’s mind, but because he feared the blond’s safety. He had no idea as to what his friend was having to endure at his former lover’s hands, and it left him with a bad feeling in his gut that nothing could cure.

A sound drew him away from his thoughts and he looked toward the house, worry etched deeply in his azure eyes. He could see a figure walking toward him in the shadows; a hulking human form that staggered toward him. It was HIram, he could have told without seeing even his shadowed outline; it had been Hiram every night since he’d been held at the little hard scrabble farm. After they had all eaten, the big man would stumble out, already drunk enough to pass out, and bring Vin his allotment of food for the day. Usually it was little more than the scraps from their table, and little enough of that. The first two or three days Tanner had ignored his aching stomach and left the food where it lay. Usually during the night he would hear the scurrying of little feet and knew that field mice or ‘coons had come to carry away the meager meal. After several days of no food, healing from his injuries, and being made to work in the field all day, he had succumbed to necessity and ate whatever was delivered. It was nothing compared to what would happen later, after the others had gone to bed. The big man would sit, leaning against a nearby tree stump, watching the young hunter. At first Vin had assumed the man had been told to guard him. Such was not the case, and he found that out soon enough.

The man had not raped him. Not in the physical sense. But it hurt no less for that fact. After the lamps had been dimmed inside the big man would unlock the cage, and crawl inside. The first night Vin had fought back as hard as he could, and had been beaten unconscious for it. He had regained his senses to find the big man touching him in a way that brought the taste of bile to his throat. He had lashed out once again, and had again been beaten. Three times that night he had been the recipient of the big man’s rage. He still fought, but the beatings, along with everything else, had weakened him far more than he wanted to admit. He had finally surrendered as much of his dignity as he could live with, and filled his mind with images of what he would do to the bastard when he was free.

After the bastard had sated himself, he would stumble back into the house, always certain to lock the cage behind him. Vin would huddle in the corner, trying his best to put the memories of what had just occurred out of his mind. He knew it was impossible; he would probably never be able to rid himself of them for as long as he lived. Still, he tried. A short time later, he would hear more footsteps, softer and lighter, approaching. The smaller cowboy who had never spoken in their presence would step from the shadows and slip a warm wet cloth through the wood bars. Vin would try and scrub the feel of Hiram’s hands from his body, giving up only when the cloth turned cold. Laying it back outside the bars, he would find it replaced by a worn blanket. He would huddle beneath it until just before daybreak. Sometimes he would know when it was removed by his benefactor, other times he would awaken to find it gone.

Vin roused from his nightmarish memories at the sound of the tin plate being slipped into his cell. Pulling it to him, he hurriedly ate the bitter scraps he found there, the meager amount barely taking an edge off his hunger. He saw Hiram take his place nearby and raise his ever-present jug. Tanner wondered abstractly if the man ever ate, or just lived on the moonshine in the earthen container. If so, it would go far in explaining his actions. The young man sighed when all too soon he had retrieved every single morsel of food from the plate. Reluctantly he knew that he could only stall the inevitable for so long. The big man would come for him regardless of whether he signaled that he had finished. With a shaking hand, Vin pushed the plate back to the other side of the bars. He watched the big man rise up from the ground.

Chris turned at the sound of someone entering the room. Ella floated in on a cloud of swirling white and cream, yet another one of her elegant gowns. She was smiling, a sign he had come to recognize as meaning that she was in her own little world once more. It had taken him a couple of days to understand how to read her emotions. When she came in like this, Ophelia in petticoats, then she was convinced that they were married and living a fairytale life. When she came in wearing dark clothing, or more of a straight-laced outfit, then she was the Ella he had thought he knew. She would talk to him of ranching and horses, even acknowledging the fact that he was being kept in the fine house against his will. Tonight, he would be dealing with the demented princess.

"Good evening, darling! How was your day?"

He simply stared at her, unwilling to enter into her fantasy.

"Oh, are you being petulant again this evening my dear husband?" Her smile turned into a pout. "Why am I being punished this time? Chris, I just cannot understand why I am made to bear the brunt of your moods. If you had a bad day out on the ranch, please tell me about it, but don’t treat me so coldly. I have done nothing to deserve it."

"You know what you’ve done, you damned bitch," he growled under his breath.

"CHRIS!" She cried out his name, then sobbed openly and hysterically for several minutes. As always, no one came to inquire as to why she was upset. The man in black doubted that anyone cared enough to look in on them. And as always, her theatrics diminished quickly, leaving her to drape herself wanly on the fainting couch, staring at him with those big dark eyes that he at one time thought were beautiful. Now he saw only the depths of hell in them.

"If you’re not going to be a gentleman, then I am going to leave," she cooed.

"You know where the door is, and you’ve got the key," he said in emotionless tones.

"You don’t mean that. You don’t want me to leave...do you?" She ascended on him, her slender arms wrapping themselves around his waist.

Chris stood rigidly, staring over her head at a spot on the wall. It was the only way he could manage to suffer through her attentions without throttling her with his bare hands. He kept his mind on Vin, looking for ways to get away that would allow him to rescue his best friend without risking his life.

"Chris?" She was looking up at him, pain and sadness in her eyes. "Chris, why don’t you love me tonight?"

"I’ve never loved you, Ella," he said honestly.

"Damn you!!" She screamed, slapping him across the face, scratching him with her long nails along his cheek. Again and again she slapped him then, balling up her delicate hands, she began beating him with her fists. He stood stock still, his eyes averted, staring at that spot on the wall, not even registering the blows. She attacked him until she ran out of energy then, panting and crying, she ran from the room. Chris continued to stare at the wall.

Chris stood at the window, looking out at the dusty street below. He had been watching the townspeople coming and going for awhile, turning occasionally when a sound from his bed would tell him that Vin was stirring. The tracker had not regained consciousness, and seemed content to stay where he was. Larabee continued to watch the street until he was finally rewarded with what he had been waiting for. Buck Wilmington ran first down one side of the street, and then up the other. He stopped in every doorway, peered into every nook and cranny. He was looking for Tanner. Chris could only hope that he was feeling the sense of panic that he should; his inattentiveness could have cost the young sharpshooter his life. The man in black wanted his oldest friend to dwell on that for a time; he was in no hurry to let him know that the man he sought was safe and sound.

A knock on the door drew the blond’s attention away. He stopped at the bed long enough to pat the frail shoulder as Vin reacted to the strange sound. Going to the door, he opened it a crack to find Josiah in the hallway. "You looking for Vin by any chance?" He said with a cold gleam in his eye. He stepped back and allowed the startled preacher to enter the room.

Sanchez went to the bed, leaning over to see for himself that Tanner was alright. "How long’s he been here?"

"Long enough."

"Buck’s about to go crazy –"

"Good. Damn fool wasn’t paying attention. Vin could have collapsed and died and Buck wouldn’t have known it til it was too late. He needs to sweat this a while."

Josiah almost asked the angry man if he were being too hard on his friend, but one look in the handsome face told him the answer. Chris and Vin had gone through hell, and Chris had fought hard to bring Vin back to them. The fact that Buck had allowed the ailing young man to slip away in the middle of the night was almost a slap in the face to the gunfighter. That simple act of carelessness could have made whatever it was that he had gone through come to nothing. Josiah nodded.

"He’s been sleeping pretty sound, but reckon he’d be better off at Nathan’s where he can get the care he needs. Could you take him back?"

"Of course." The big man leaned over and scooped the insubstantial form off the bed, quilt and all. "I’ll go the back way, don’t think Buck’s thinkin’ clear enough to check there yet."

Chris grinned faintly then sobered. Looking down at himself and then around the disheveled room, he said, "if he wakes up, tell him I’ll be over in a bit. Reckon I ought to make myself fit to be among humans again."

With a broad grin, the preacher nodded. "I’ll tell him." With that he swept from the room, the quilt-covered figure huddled in his arms like an over-sized doll.

Larabee sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. What had he been thinking? Why had he been so selfish, thinking only of his own need to escape? The answer was clear to the gunman; it was what he did, what he always did. When life became too difficult, Chris Larabee slithered away and found solace in a bottle. Staring angrily around, the blond picked up one of the bottles he had emptied and slammed it into the brick wall of his room. Growling wordlessly, he vented some of the rage he had tried to drown with whiskey. No more.

Pulling a set of clothing from his bureau, Chris Larabee strode angrily yet purposefully from the room. He was through hiding; he was going to return to the world, to their problems, and too his best friend’s side. It was time to put his own feelings aside and tend to the business of living.

"Damn it…EZRA!" Buck yelled the name across the saloon. "Get your sorry butt up an’ out here, NOW!"

"Excuse me, MISTER Wilmington?" Standish said coldly. "Are you by chance addressing me?"

"Y’ know damn good ‘n well you were supposed t’ relieve me nearly an hour ago. What th’ hell are you doin’ in here?"

"As one might ascertain from the obvious fact that I am sitting at a table with three other gentlemen, holding a small number of cards –"

By this time the gunman had strode across the saloon, and now stood towering over the gambler. "I ain’t in th’ mood t’ listen to your smart mouth right now. Get yourself over to th’ jail. Them cowboys need watchin’ –"

"I shall be along shortly, Mister Wilmington," Standish’s Southern drawl became more pronounced, despite the fact that his jaw was clinched tightly in anger.

"You’ll ‘be along’ right now," Buck grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him out of the chair. Cards went flying everywhere and the other players bolted from the table.

The smaller man responded quickly, jerking himself out of the other man’s grasp, he delivered a series of blows to the big gunman’s midsection. Buck retaliated, punching the gambler so hard that his head snapped back. They were quickly brawling in the middle of the saloon, sending the other patrons scurrying to the corners of the big room or out the door. Inez hurried out the door as well, searching for one of the other peacekeepers.

A few minutes later the young saloon manager returned, Josiah Sanchez quick on her heels. The big man quickly located the combatants and crossed to where they rolled on the hardwood floor. "You two knock it off!" Josiah bellowed. His words made no impact; they continued fighting. Finally, seeing an opening, the older man grabbed each of the other men by an arm and physically separated them. They both turned on him, ready to deliver a punch to the preacher as readily as they had to one another. Something in the big man’s face stopped them; the anger they each saw there told them very quickly that he would break every bone in their bodies. Still seething, they backed away, each glaring at the other with anger. "Now, that’s better brothers. I don’t know what this is all about, but I do know that the last thing we need right now is the two of you acting stupider than those three trail bums in the jail. Now what happened?"

The two younger men glared at the third man, seeming to consider their next move. Neither lifted a fist, however. Then as one they both stood with heads hanging low as the preacher chastised them. Finally Wilmington said softly, "Nothin’," he spoke like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"A simple misunderstanding," Ezra contributed.

"Yeah, right," Sanchez was buying none of it. Nevertheless he released the two, glaring at them as he said, "another misunderstanding like that and you two will be the ones coolin’ your heels in jail." He turned and stormed back out the door. As he passed through the batwing doors, he nearly collided with J.D. Dunne stared inside at the two men, a look of sadness on his young face.

"Two weeks…two weeks and we’re at one another’s throats," the sheriff said to himself. "If Chris and Vin don’t get back soon, they’re gonna come back to a full-fledged war."

Vin didn’t hear the footsteps coming near him, a sure sign that he was failing. When something banged hard against one of the poles, he jerked awake with a strangled gasp. Falling limply back against his cage wall, he tried to focus on what had wakened him. It was Lafe; the man glared down at him from his single eye, a rifle cradled in the crook of his single arm.

"Git up," the man said gruffly.

Tanner struggled to obey, weakly pulling himself to his knees he crawled the few feet to the door of his prison and waited as the maimed man unlocked the door. Once that was done, the young tracker dragged himself out and pulled himself to his feet. Standing for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning, Vin gripped the wooden frame of the door. As always, it felt as hard as iron. He had tested the poles almost constantly when he had first been locked inside. Even when he had most of his strength he couldn’t get the bars to move. Now, he could no longer even scratch the surface with the small stones he found enough to tally the endless days as they slowly passed.

"Git movin’," the man ordered, nudging Tanner with the butt of his rifle.

Vin staggered, barely righting himself before he fell back to his knees. Glaring at the other man, he kept his feet under him, and shuffled slowly away from his little prison. They moved toward the sparse plot of ground that the family had set aside to be farmed. Vin had been working steadily on the patch, clearing it of brush and other debris. He had spent the first few days clearing the stumps that dotted the property, and now worked to clear the scrubrush and small stones. As quickly as he was weakening, it took as much effort to move this as it had when he had moved the stumps.

He was going to die. He knew that now; there would be no escape or rescue, no return to the little town and his friends. His friends. Vin sighed, chancing a look over his shoulder toward the hill. Chris was somewhere up there. He had no idea as to what was happening to the man. Vin hoped that the man was okay, that Ella was treating him alright. What was going to happen when Chris found out he had died? If he found out. Would that cold-hearted bitch lie to him, keeping him from finding out that Vin was dead? He wouldn’t put it past her. With a second, tired sigh, Tanner turned back to his job. Chris would know. He had to believe that. Somehow Chris Larabee would know if Vin were dead.

"Don’t you go blamin’ yourself for this, pard," he whispered softly. "I ain’t about t’ let y’ carry th’ guilt a my death on your shoulders."

Chris stood staring out the window at the trees beyond. Somewhere below the tree line was Vin, their hostage against his possible escape. He spent most of his waking hours standing at the window, trying to find any way to get away…to rescue Tanner. He faintly hoped that the younger man had found his own way to freedom, but knew better. Had he managed an escape, there was only one place his friend would go, he would be up the hill and facing off against the men who stood guard at the house. Larabee had seen them prowling the grounds, rifles in hand. Typically he would recognize one of them, one of the men who had captured them. What had it been…two weeks? Three? He couldn’t remember anymore, the long days and nights blended into one endless nightmare.

A key jiggling in the door’s lock caught the man in black’s attention. Turning, he watched passively as Marta brought a tray into the room. Looking beyond her, Chris saw one of the guards in the hallway, rifle at the ready. This was one of the strangers, not one of their original captors. The man looked vaguely familiar, and Larabee wondered for a minute if he had seen him somewhere before. Perhaps one of the men who had ridden with Averil? It would make sense, Ella had bought them off once, why not keep them in her employ?

The woman left the tray and exited the room, locking the door behind her. He could smell the food that sat beneath the cloth covering and wondered briefly if he should indulge. He had barely eaten since coming there, only consuming enough to keep his strength. Just in case. If he saw an opening he would take it, heading directly to the little farm where Vin was being held.

Turning back to the window, Chris leaned against the glass. He had only felt this helpless one other time. The feeling ate through him like a disease, making him almost physically ill. He had to find a way to escape, to get to Vin. Something told him that time was running out on them both. A single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He felt it, but did nothing to stop it. It didn’t matter now…only one thing mattered; getting away. With a heavy sigh he splayed one hand against the glass, as if he could touch his friend somehow.

"Just hang on, pard," he whispered. "Hang on."

He turned as he heard the key turn in the lock once more. He knew who it was, and he steeled himself for her entrance. He wondered which Ella he would be facing this time…

Josiah felt a slight movement beneath the blankets as he made his way down the stairs. By the time he had reached the landing at the bottom, he realized that the young man he carried was awake. "Vin?"

"Josiah…that…you?" the voice was soft and tired.

"Welcome back brother. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. You…you carryin’ me?"

With a soft chuckle, the big preacher said, "yep."

"Why?"

"Chris thought you’d be happier back at Nathan’s. Said he’d be over as soon as he cleans up a bit."

"I…I walked…over here," his voice took on a sharp edge.

"Yes you did. Would you prefer to walk back?" He knew the young tracker’s independent streak as well as the others did.

"Yep."

"All right then." Josiah gently lowered the lean body to the ground. Vin wore nothing but pants, so he kept the quilt wrapped around Tanner. He kept one arm wrapped protectively around the other man’s shoulders, walking slowly beside him. The tracker’s steps were tentative and unsteady, his knees buckling from time to time. Sanchez marveled at the fact that he had made his way here from the clinic alone. He would have to ask Vin about that later. For now, he provided a steady source of comfort and support to the other man. True to his word, he escorted him through the back way to the healer’s clinic. The steps almost proved the young man’s undoing, a daunting tower of wood leading back to the room.

"You want me to get you up there?" Sanchez asked quietly.

"I can do it," Vin said stubbornly.

"Never doubted it for a minute," the preacher chuckled. He carefully guided Vin’s hand to the banister, holding the other with one hand, while he wrapped his other arm around Tanner’s back. Slowly they made their way up the stairs one at a time. The two men stopped every three or four steps so the younger man could rest. His chest heaved, his body trembled, he took gasping breath after gasping breath as he tried to force air into his aching lungs. Halfway to the top, he was forced to slump to the step. Josiah sat down beside him, holding him comfortably in one arm while the hunter fought to keep from collapsing completely.

"Vin?"

"I…c…can…do’t…" he whispered hoarsely.

Squeezing his shoulder, Josiah didn’t argue. Sometimes you simply had to watch a friend’s struggles. When it seemed Vin had regained enough strength to stand once more, Josiah helped him to his feet and they resumed their journey. By the time they reached the landing, Tanner was leaning heavily on the bigger man. As they reached the door, Vin finally gave in, collapsing against Sanchez’s chest. Easily lifting Vin into his arms once more, the big man started into the clinic. Just as he reached for the handle, footsteps behind him drew his attention. Turning, he saw the blond gunslinger step up onto the landing. Chris still looked drawn and haggard, but he had cleaned himself up and looked more like the man he had met just over a year before.

Somehow the gunslinger knew as soon as he took in the scene before him. Or perhaps it was the bond he shared with the tracker that told him what had happened. Whatever it was, Chris shook his head and said simply "stubborn fool woke up."

"Yep," Sanchez replied with a grin. "Think you could get the door for me?"

Stepping around the two men, Chris pushed the door open and stood aside to let Josiah pass with his burden. The big man carried Tanner to the bed and gently lowered him to the mattress. Pulling the quilt from around Vin’s shoulders, he made him as comfortable as possible. Turning around, he said, "I’ll go see if Buck’s collapsed yet."

With a sarcastic smirk, Larabee said, "why don’t you tell him I want to see him up here."

"Lord Chris, you want to just drive that last coffin nail in tight, don’t you?" Josiah pretended shock, but gave a conspiratorial wink to the other man as he turned to leave.

"Josiah," Larabee said softly as he sat on the edge of the bed next to Vin.

Turning back, Sanchez simply waited for him to continue.

"Thanks," he said with a nod, "for all of it."

Smiling again, the big preacher said, "no problem brother." With that he left the two men in the clinic to tend to his errand.

Chris watched him leave, then turned his attention back to the man in the bed. Vin looked peaceful enough at the moment. He slept deeply, not even the feel of Larabee’s hand on his forehead woke him. Relieved to find that Tanner wasn’t feverish, the man in black wiped the perspiration from the finely chiseled face, then settled back in the chair next to the bed. In only a few minutes he heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Swiveling in the chair, he waited for the door to open. When it did, it creaked slowly to reveal Buck Wilmington standing there with a hangdog look. As it registered with the big man that Vin was laying in the bed, safe and relatively sound, he slumped against the doorframe in relief.

"Hello Chris," Ella said the words calmly. Larabee knew then that she was in one of her saner moods. That thought gave him little comfort, however.

"Ella," he replied evenly.

"What exactly is it that you find so interesting outside that window?"

He did not reply, choosing instead to simply turn back to the glass. He heard her approach and tensed as she drew near. It took everything he had to stand still as her hands ran down his back. Then she leaned against him, her cheek snuggled against his back and her arms wrapped around his chest. He continued to refuse further acknowledgement of her presence.

"You’re punishing me again," she said softly. "Your petty games will do little to make his life easier you know."

"Is he even still alive?"

"Yes," she replied sharply, turning away and marching to the center of the room. There she turned to face his back once more. "The unwashed, ignorant creature is still alive."

"He’s done no more to you than…than Sarah…and Adam. All three have been innocent of anything but being a part of my life." He was surprised at how calm he sounded.

"But I AM your life Chris Larabee! Just as you are mine. We belong together, away from those who want to meddle in our affairs. That’s why I brought you here. We can live together as we should have all this time. You have no more need for anyone else in your life than I do in mine."

"You’re wrong, Ella."

"NO!" She screamed, launching herself at him. He felt her slender fists pounding at his back, but ignored the attack. He couldn’t care less what she did to him now, nothing mattered. As far as he was concerned, Ella Gaines could kill him here and now. In fact he almost wished that she would do so and get it over. The only thing that he wanted to live for was to get Vin away and to watch her die. Nothing else mattered any more.

"Chris…Chris, I’m sorry…I’m sorry. If you wouldn’t make me so angry I wouldn’t do these things. I wish you would realize that, my love. None of this is my fault after all. Why can’t you admit to that…you make me angry…make me need to do these things. If it weren’t for you, she would still be alive. If it weren’t for you, he would be running free like the savage he is. I don’t enjoy doing these things. If you would only do as you’re supposed to, I wouldn’t have to do them."

She rambled on for several long minutes, berating him for every sick and demented thing she had ever done in the past twelve years. He was secretly appalled at how long the list was, but kept his feelings to himself. Marshalling every ounce of inner strength he possessed, he remained standing impassively at the window.

"…ANSWER ME!" Ella’s voice cut through his thoughts. She returned to where he stood and grabbed his arm as hard as she could. He didn’t resist her, allowing the petite woman to turn him around. Staring at a spot over her shoulder, he didn’t respond to her, either. She slapped him hard across the face and, when that didn’t make an impact, slapped him again and again. Other than the snap of his head as her open palm landed full force on his face, he made no move against her. Soon he felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and knew she had split his lip.

"Now look what you’ve made me do!" She screeched shrilly. "Why do you insist on making me lose my patience like this? We could have something so perfect, but you just have to spoil it. Fine, if that’s the way you want it…" She stepped to the door, pulling it open she called out "Davis!"

One of her hired men came quickly at her call. "Yes ma’am?"

"I want you to tell Lafe to go back down to the farm and tell Hiram to punish Tanner. Tell him that I want him to make him hurt for awhile." Her face turned cold, the smile she favored the man with that of pure evil. "Then I want you to take Mr. Larabee to the cellar. He needs some time to consider his behavior."

"Uh…yes ma’am," it was clear that Davis was having trouble with the logistics of what she wanted. Finally he motioned Chris forward with his shotgun, stepping back when the glaring gunslinger got close to him. Nervously the hired gun escorted the blond down the stairs. At the bottom he called to another of Ella’s hired guns who stood near the front door.

"Mace, where’s Lafe?"

"Down yonder to th’ barn I reckon," the other man drawled.

"Well go git ‘m. Mz. Larabee has somethin’ fer ‘m t’ do."

Chris bristled at the name these men attributed to the bitch, but he said nothing. He watched intently, hoping that perhaps this close to the front door he would be able to make a bid for freedom. It had to be done right, though, the slightest misstep on his part could end in Vin’s death. He watched as the one named Mace left the house. Looking through the open door, the gunman was able to see enough to know that he had a clear shot to the woods. Getting to the front door was the biggest question in his mind, though. Davis kept his gun trained on him, never taking his attention completely away no matter what. Larabee felt his heart sink as the hired man instructed him to start moving once more. Slowly he complied, holding onto a faint hope of escape until they reached the cellar door. Opening it, Davis motioned him down the stairs. There was no light and Chris nearly fell more than once as he stumbled down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he shuffled forward slowly, feeling his way into the darkness. Reaching the nearest earthen wall, he slid to the ground, leaning against the cool clay. Above him, he heard the door shut and the bolt shoved into place. The darkness now complete, he allowed himself to relax and feel the pain and frustration that he had held back. He pounded his fists and head against the wall until he saw stars and felt the pain of growing bruises.

"Damn it…damn it…damn it!!!" He growled through clenched teeth. "I’m sorry Vin…I’m sorry. I don’t know what that bitch has in mind, but I’m sorry. This is all my fault…I’m to blame. I’m sorry." He continued his litany of self-recrimination until he finally slumped back against the wall and allowed sleep to claim him.

Vin watched listlessly as Lafe rode up to the little house and called out to Hiram. The big man walked out, glaring at the smaller one. From where he lay huddled in the wooden cage, the tracker couldn’t tell what they were saying but, considering how often they looked over at him, he knew what they were talking about. He wondered what they had in store for him now. Not that it mattered. It had ceased to matter…all of it. The only thing that mattered was that Chris not take on the guilt of his death.

A cold laugh reached his ears, and he saw Hiram starting toward him. With a sigh he steeled himself for whatever was to come. The giant of a man came to the wooden pen and unlocked the door. Crooking a big sausage-like finger, the man beckoned him forward. Slowly he crawled toward the opening, drawing his knees under him to sit in a huddled ball, he waited. The wait was short, Hiram reached down and pulled him to his feet by his hair. Vin grunted, but otherwise made no protest.

"Well, my purty little boy," the bear-man growled, "I just got me permission to play with you fer awhile." The laugh that followed was as ugly as any human sound could possibly be.

Vin made no response, simply stood on trembling legs waiting for the pain to begin. It was only pain, it barely fazed him anymore. He felt the broad fingers twist themselves through his hair tighter, yanking his head back. He tried to avoid looking into the man’s face, but had no choice, as Hiram glared at him from mere inches. Tanner knew this was a face that would haunt him for as long as he lived. There were dozens of tiny scars across the man’s face, which was broad and fleshy. It looked as if something had blown up in his face at some point, and the tracker reasoned that this member of the hiders had been in the war. Hiram’s face was permanently dirty, he probably never got wet unless he fell into water or got caught in the rain. Dirt filled the many creases in the face, making his complexion appear striped. The big man’s eyes were as black as night, and seemed to reach up from the gates of hell. And those gates couldn’t be any more vile than the man’s mouth. It was a broad slit that had only the merest hint of lips. The teeth inside were black, broken and missing, his breath worse than a sun-broiled carcass that had been dead for days. Vin tasted bile as the man spoke to him.

"C’mon purty boy…let’s go have us some fun." Hiram dragged him forward by the hair, unheeding of the fact that Vin’s legs were barely able to support him. They traveled only a matter of yards, but the weakened young man was near collapse by the time they stopped. Hiram released his hold, and watched in amusement as Vin struggled to remain on his feet. "Whut’s th’ matter, purty boy…tired?"

The big man hardly expended any energy as he followed Ella Gaines’ orders. He cuffed the smaller man several times, drawing blood from his lips and nose. Tanner slumped to his knees, his chest heaving as he fought to remain in control of his emotions. Hiram might do things to his body that no one had ever done before…might degrade him as no one ever could before…but he would not allow the man the satisfaction of seeing him break. With a deep breath, he raised his head and glared at his torturer.

Laughing once more, Hiram said, "damned if you ain’t ‘bout th’ toughest purty little thing I ever seen b’fore. Reckon I’m gonna have t’ git a little tougher on y’." Pulling Vin back to his feet, he dragged him toward the little barn. Looking over his shoulder, the big man called, "Lafe, bring me some rope…and the whip."

As the man’s words forced themselves into his tortured mind, Vin struggled to free himself from the iron grip. His movements did nothing more than anger his captor. Still holding onto the thin tracker, Hiram began slapping him open handed across the face. When that didn’t seem to satisfy the man, he doubled up his big fist and punched him hard in the face. The smaller man fell backwards, not going to the ground simply because he was still held by the ugly ‘hider.

When Tanner next came awake, it was in reaction to a bucket of stale water being thrown on him. Choking on the foul liquid, he struggled to catch a breath. Looking up, he found himself tied to the big doorframe of the barn. His arms were stretched taut, a noose tied around his neck, just tight enough to keep him from moving far or breathing deeply. He fought down the panic as his mind screamed that he was choking to death, making himself breathe in even shallow breaths. When he had calmed down, he focused on his surroundings. Hiram stood before him an evil smile on his face and a long whip in his hand.

"’Bout time y’ woke up, boy. I’s getting’ worried that y’d miss all th’ fun." He walked slowly toward Vin, slapping the whip against his leg. "I’d a been real disappointed if y’d spoilt m’ fun." Now standing before the bound man, he stroked the butt of the whip along his lean chest. "But now we can have us a real good time." Smiling once more, Hiram strolled leisurely around, until he was behind Tanner.

Vin took a breath, as deep as his bonds would allow, and waited for what was to come. Seconds drug by like hours, until he was ready to scream for the big man to get it over with. But when it came, it took every ounce of strength he possessed not to scream from the pain. Lash after lash, each one harder as Hiram built up a momentum, fell across his back, shoulders, legs. Several of the strokes sent the whip wrapping around to dig along his ribs and stomach. He felt the blackness come to claim him once more, felt the noose tighten around his throat, and realized that he no longer cared.

Chris wasn’t certain how long he had been locked away in the cellar. It had to have been days; his body told him that. The hunger didn’t really bother him, but the thirst was becoming a problem. He had crept around the windowless, airless, dug-out earthen hole, searching for anything he could use to get away, or use as a weapon. He found nothing of any worth. He did find that moss of some sort clung to the walls however. It wasn’t much, but he could draw a little moisture from it. When the thirst became too much, he sucked the bitter plants until he thought that he would vomit from the taste.

He thought he was hearing things when the bolt was thrown on the door at the top of the stairs. The faintest of lights flared like the midday sun, causing Larabee to grimace and close his eyes tightly. Other than that, he did not move, waiting to see what happened next. It wasn’t a long wait.

"Are you ready to behave yourself?" Ella’s voice called down to him. "Chris?"

He did not answer.

"Chris? Are you all right? CHRIS!" She called out, a hint of fear in her voice.

He heard footsteps on the wooden stairs, too heavy to be hers. The light became brighter, keeping him virtually blinded by a single lantern. He still made no move. When the steps came closer, he continued to keep his eyes tightly shut. The light found it’s way beneath his lids, forcing him to put a hand over them. He felt a rough hand grab his arm, hauling him to his feet, and he was pulled across the cellar floor and up the steps. He knew how many there were; he had been up and down them often enough. Several times he had gone up, trying the door and finding it locked. He had pushed against it, trying to force it opened. He had tried to remove the hinges, only to find them impossible to budge. He moved up the stairs easily now, not needing sight to make it to the doorway.

Once out of the cellar, his hand was forced away from his face. He blinked back the tears that the daylight caused, and managed to focus on his surroundings. Ella stood before him with a smile. Reaching out to touch his unshaven face, she stroked down his cheek. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him gently, then stepped back to look him over.

"You’re a mess. I had Marta draw a bath, and I’ve laid out clean clothes." Turning to the man who had brought him out of the cellar, she ordered, "Mace, escort Mr. Larabee to clean up. And stay with him." Looking back at Chris, she said, "when you’re ready, we’re going to take a little trip." With a curt nod, she dismissed the men. Mace pushed him forward, keeping his gun trained on the gunslinger.

A short time later, Ella joined them in the little room, watching as Chris finished shaving the several days of growth. He felt a chill run down his spine as he thought of another time she had watched him shave. He wished now that he had used the razor she requested to slit her throat then. He considered it now, but knew only too well that Mace would respond with a bullet. He was damned if he would cause Vin’s death now.

"You look very handsome my love," Ella cooed. Her hand ran down his side, stopping at the ugly red scar on his chest. She traced it, raising gooseflesh beneath her touch. "I’m glad Jack’s dead. He should never have shot you. I would have killed him myself for disobeying my orders like that. Your…friend…did me a favor."

He caught her in a hazel-eyed glare that caused her to step back several steps. "You’ve got a hell of a way to repay a favor."

Sighing dramatically, she said, "Chris, when are you going to understand? He isn’t important…no one is but you and I. If you would only come to realize that, things would be so much better. I wouldn’t have to do things to punish you…we could live happily. Why don’t you understand that?" She waited for an answer and, when she didn’t receive one, she said, "fine. I believe that I know a way that will help you to understand. Let’s go on that little trip." She smiled at him, and he felt his blood run cold. But it was nothing compared to what was in store.

"Howdy Chris," Buck said tentatively as he entered the little clinic. "Is he…how’s he doin’?"

"How the hell do you think he’s doing? He wandered off while you were supposed to be watching over him. He ain’t got the sense to stay put…that’s why you were supposed to look out for him. Were you too tired from chasing half the women in town to stay awake? Would it even have made a difference to you if he’d fallen down the stairs and broken his neck?"

Throughout the man’s tirade, Buck said nothing. When he saw that Chris was finished, he said, "reckon I deserve most a that, pard. It was a stupid mistake and you got every right t’ be pissed at me. But one thing you aint’ got a right to think, and that’s that I wouldn’t a cared if he’d gotten hurt. Damn it Chris, if y’ only knew what I’ve been through in the past few hours –"

"YOU! What you’ve been through in the past few hours?" Chris’ voice didn’t raise, but his tone was harder than any yell. He jumped from the chair and advanced on the bigger man. "You’ve got no idea what it means to go through something –"

"Cowboy," a quiet voice broke in, causing both men to look at the figure in the bed. Vin’s expression was stricken, his eyes wide with concern. "don’t, Chris…wasn’t B-Buck’s…fault."

Larabee gave his oldest friend a fiery look, letting him know that it wasn’t over, then turned to his other friend. "Don’t worry about it, Vin, you don’t need to be worrying about anything." He resumed his seat, dismissing Buck’s presence.

Wilmington stood helplessly at the foot of the bed, unable to take his eyes from the frail form that barely seemed to crease the blankets that covered him. "Vin…I’m sorry pard, I’m really sorry. I should a done a better job a takin’ care a y’."

Smiling tiredly, Tanner said, "ain’t a baby…Bucklin. Y’ain’t…r’spons’ble for me…" with a sigh, he returned to sleep.

Wilmington’s look of relief lasted only until he turned around and caught Larabee’s hard-set profile. "for what it’s worth Chris, I’d do anything t’ make this up to you, but I can’t. So, you go on bein’ mad at me. I’m still glad y’ both made it back from wherever y’ were. I missed y’." With that he turned on his heel and left the clinic. Behind him, Chris sighed and slumped into the chair with one hand laying gently on the tracker’s arm. He watched the younger man as he settled deeper into sleep, trying to remember how things had been before Ella Gaines had returned to his life. He found it difficult to believe such a time even existed.