By the time darkness fell, Chris had begun to wonder if the day would ever end. He’d tended Vin as best he could, wishing bitterly all the while that Nathan was here, or that the bullet had at least gone through. Once again, though, events had conspired against Chris Larabee, and he’d been forced to accept his limited ability to help his lover.

He’d been right about the laudanum, though; Nathan had packed a bottle, and some carbolic, along with the bandages. He silently thanked the healer for his pessimism. Marshalling every bit of experience he’d gathered over the years – no man lived long in these parts without learning at least the basics of doctoring – he’d cleaned the wound as thoroughly as he could, hating every moment of pain he’d had to inflict on Vin, and bandaged it carefully. He’d also gotten some water and even a bit of food down the tracker, dosed him with laudanum and prayed for the best.

Then it was time to take care of Morgan. He’d buried him far enough away from the camp that they wouldn’t be bothered by any scavengers, though he’d resented like hell having to put that much effort into the bastard’s resting place. He’d also done what he could to spread enough dirt over the blood shed by Morgan and Vin to keep the smell from attracting any unwanted visitors. And after scrubbing the smell of blood and death from his own body and changing clothes, he’d checked once more on the horses, then finally eaten something.

And now, at last, he could rest. He spread his bedroll next to Vin’s and stretched out upon it, leaning back against his saddle and feeling tired to his very soul. Part of him longed desperately for sleep, while another part rebelled furiously at the very thought. Beside him, still wrapped in blankets to ward off the chill that had gripped him, Vin seemed to be resting fairly well, and Chris told himself he should do the same.

But that damn bullet was still in there...

"Hey, c... cowboy."

The soft, slurred summons stirred him from his thoughts and he sat up, leaning over and frowning into the tracker’s pale face. "You’re s’posed ta be asleep," he scolded gently, cupping Tanner’s face in his hand and lightly stroking his cheek with his thumb.

"Was," Vin breathed, treasuring the feel of that loving touch against him. The pain in his shoulder was reviving as the laudanum wore off, but just having Chris with him made it bearable. "Got... good hands, cowboy."

"Wish they could do more," Chris said softly, hating the lines of pain etched into the pale, fine-boned face. "I hate the thought of you havin’ ta carry that bullet all the way back ta town. Gonna make for a real hard ride."

"Ain’t nothin’... I ain’t done b’fore," Vin said. "Rode hurt... lotsa times."

"Still don’t make it easy." Chris exhaled sharply and shook his head, frustrated by his own helplessness. "Just wish I could do somethin’!"

"Y’are." He closed his eyes and nestled his face into that hand, seeking refuge from the pain in Chris’s presence. "Yer here, ain’tcha? ’S all I need."

"I’m always gonna be here, Tanner," Chris whispered roughly. "It’s you I’m worried about."

Vin forced his leaden eyes open and tried to focus them on Chris’s face. He couldn’t quite manage it, but didn’t need to. Didn’t need eyes to see the man. "Ain’t goin’ nowhere." He took Larabee’s hand in his good one and clung to it as the fire burned ever deeper into his shoulder. "Reckon... yer stuck with me."

Chris swallowed hard and nodded. "Good. I’m gettin’ kinda used ta havin’ you around."

Vin tried to come up with one of his customary smart-ass answers, but couldn’t think past his pain. The burning agony in his shoulder was getting steadily worse, searing down every nerve in his arm and spreading into his back. He shifted slightly on his blankets, trying to escape it, but only made it worse. He groaned thickly and tensed against the onslaught, trying to ride it out.

"Easy, pard," Chris soothed, holding Vin’s hand tightly and stroking his good shoulder with his other hand. "Easy. Just lie still. Don’t wanta do nothin’ that’s gonna break it open again."

"Chrisss..."

"I’m here," Larabee assured him. "I’m right here."

"Shoulder’s... on fire..."

"I know." He continued rubbing Tanner’s good shoulder and the uninjured side of his chest, trying to get the tight, pain-racked body to relax. "Gotta lie still, pard," he said as Tanner tried to shift again. "Movin’ around’s just gonna make it worse."

"Don’t... see how... that’s possible," Vin hissed.

Chris winced at that, knowing how painful such a wound was. From what he’d been able to see, the bullet had lodged against Tanner’s collarbone, just to the left of his shoulder joint. There was nothing mortal in that area, but still an awful lot that could be damaged.

Especially in a man’s shooting arm...

"Just let go," he urged as Vin tensed and hissed again. "I’m here, and I ain’t leavin’. I’ll watch yer back. You go ahead and let go."

Vin wanted to, truly wanted to, but couldn’t. Through too many years with no one to depend on but himself, through too many years spent on the run, he’d taught himself never to let go, never to relax his guard. And though he knew he could trust Chris to watch over him, though he wanted nothing more than to escape the hellish pain burning through his shoulder, the habits of a lifetime were just too hard to break.

He didn’t know anymore how to let go, even when he wanted to.

Chris recognized this, and felt a wave of mingled sorrow and anger wash through him. His own life had been hard enough, God knew, but he couldn’t begin to imagine what Vin’s had been like. What taught a man that pain was to be expected? What took away his hope of ever having someone on whom he could lean and resigned him to going through his entire life alone?

"’S all right... cowboy," Vin rasped, feeling the man’s anger through his touch.

"No, it’s not all right!" Chris spat. "It’s not all right that you’re layin’ here with that bastard’s bullet in ya, and it’s not all right that you got nobody but me ta help–"

"Yer enough."

"You need Nathan–"

"Need you more." He squeezed Chris’s hand weakly and managed a faint smile. "I c’n stand... anything... long’s I know... yer with me."

Chris’s anger faded at once. With just those few words, Vin had made clear just how much Chris meant to him, and not even the formidable Larabee anger was strong enough to stand against such a love.

"What am I gonna do with you, Tanner?" he asked softly, brushing gentle fingers through the tracker’s hair.

"Could... come up with... a thing ’r two," Vin rasped, tensing as the hot pain again sliced through him. "If I didn’t have... a hunk’a lead... burnin’ a hole in me."

Chris couldn’t stand any more. Freeing his hand from Vin’s, he turned and reached for the bottle he’d set nearby. Uncapping it hurriedly, he splashed a stiff dose of laudanum into a cup with an unsteady hand, then filled the cup with water. Picking up the cup, he turned back to Vin.

"Got somethin’ here that’ll help," he said softly.

Vin stared at the cup and licked his lips uncertainly. He hurt – Lord God, he hurt! – but he hated laudanum with a passion, hated the deep, dark sleep into which it pushed him, and the sluggishness of his mind after he awoke. Those things could get a man like him killed.

Chris saw the uncertainty and understood it. "You gotta sleep, Vin," he said quietly. "We got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, and it’s gonna be hell on you. Might as well rest while ya can." He reached down and gently brushed the damp hair back from Vin’s forehead, suddenly noticing the unnatural warmth of the tracker’s flesh.

Fevered already...

"I’ll be right here," he went on, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. "I’ll watch over ya, pard, you know that. But you gotta sleep, and we both know this is the only way you’re gonna do it."

Vin wanted to resist, to refuse, but couldn’t. He hurt like hell, and wanted only for the hurting to stop. And if it took laudanum to do it...

Chris saw his slight nod, and exhaled sharply in relief. Slipping a hand beneath Tanner’s head, he lifted just enough to allow him to drink, and held the cup to his lips. "Drink it all," he ordered. "I’ll be right here, I promise."

Vin drank slowly, but drained the cup, hating how much he needed its contents. But even this slight jostling of him by Chris drove white-hot slivers of pain through him, and, for one terrible moment, he feared he would be sick. Before he could, though, Chris took the empty cup away and settled him back on his blankets, and he prayed the laudanum would kick in soon.

Chris turned away again and poured water from the canteen over a clean cloth, then turned back to Vin and began bathing his sweat-covered face and throat. Vin’s eyes were open and fixed on him, the blue depths almost black in the firelight, and he smiled reassuringly down into them.

"It’s all right," he soothed, sliding the wet cloth slowly over the younger man’s face. "Just let go. Close your eyes, go ta sleep. I’m right here, Vin. I got your back."

Vin opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t dredge forth any words. Pain and fever had already clouded his mind, and now the laudanum was addling it even further. But he could feel Chris’ strong hand at his good shoulder, its touch warm and comforting, could feel Larabee’s other hand moving over his face and throat, bringing a wondrous coolness amid the heat rising through him. There was so much he wanted to say to Chris, but he couldn’t find the words. Then, against his will, his eyes began to close.

Chris smiled slightly as he saw Tanner’s eyelids fall, as he watched the wounded man lose his fight against unconsciousness. "That’s right, cowboy," he murmured, still caressing Vin’s shoulder and bathing his face, "sleep now. Just sleep. Save your fight for tomorrow." He sighed heavily and shook his head, frowning worriedly at the ordeal that lay before them. "God knows, you’re gonna need it."

=======

The remaining healthy peacekeepers gathered in the brawl-ravaged saloon and, over breakfast and hot coffee, again tried to sort out yesterday’s events, and today’s plan. Even Ezra was present, having just come off watch at the jail.

"And how fares Mr. Jackson this mornin’?" he asked, suspiciously eyeing the plate Inez had set before him and wondering just where she’d hidden the fiery chiles this time.

Josiah sighed and shook his head, his blue eyes troubled. "He’s sleepin’ now, but he was in a lotta pain earlier. That arm’s throbbin’ somethin’ fierce, and his fingers are swollen. But at least the fever he was runnin’ last night broke. He just needs ta rest."

"We gonna hold all them cowboys for trial?" JD asked, stuffing a tortilla into his mouth and following it with a forkful of eggs.

"Good Lord," Ezra groaned in disgust, "some decorum, if you please, Mr. Dunne! And here I thought Mr. Tanner was the only uncouth savage in our midst."

"Sowry," JD mumbled around his food.

"Don’t see how we can hold ’em all," Buck sighed. "Figure all we can do is get ’em ta pay for damages and let ’em go. It’s the ones who started all that damn blood-lettin’ that we need ta hold. Pullin’ guns and knives in a brawl like that. They coulda killed somebody!"

"And most certainly we need to detain the culprits responsible for Mr. Jackson’s injury," Ezra added, delicately cutting a tortilla stuffed with eggs and sausage and raising a bite on his fork. "If I remember correctly, they were all from the James ranch, and seemed to take a particular delight in manhandling our esteemed healer."

"That’s about what I’d expect from that bunch," Buck said coldly, contempt in his eyes and voice. "Ol’ man James ain’t never forgiven us for bringin’ in that no-good nephew of his, and he takes ever’ opportunity ta let us know it. Man’s a goddamn snake."

"They did an awful lotta damage," JD mused, looking around at the broken tables and shattered chairs still littering the interior of the saloon. "I don’t think they’ve got enough money on ’em to pay for it."

"Well, then, brothers," Josiah put in with a grim smile, "maybe it’s time we held the ranchers accountable." He sat back in his chair and swept cold blue eyes around the table. "We all know they encourage this kind of thing because of how they feel about us, so I say it’s time they reap what they’ve sown." As three confused gazes met his, his smile broadened. "Have Inez draw up a list of damages; Ezra, you help her. Make it a very detailed list. JD and I can take it around to James, Royal and King, and let them know we’ll be holdin’ their crews until they pay the tab."

"You’re talkin’ about extortion," Ezra said, staring in surprise at the preacher. All at once, a grin spread across his face, and his green eyes gleamed. "Brother Sanchez, it is indeed an honor to know you!"

=======

Chris gazed across at Vin, and felt the sharp twist of fear in his gut. The younger man was bowed over in the saddle, his head falling forward, his long hair and clothing soaked with sweat, his good hand wrapped around the saddle horn in a death grip. Chris knew the only thing keeping him on Peso was instinct.

But not even Tanner’s instincts were strong enough to hold him there indefinitely.

Larabee swallowed hard. They’d been riding since just after sunup, and it was now getting on noon. Vin had done all right, for a while. He’d been in a lot of pain, as they’d both expected, and the fever that had set in last night had been even higher this morning. But he’d been conscious, even fairly alert, and had managed coherent responses to the uncharacteristic chatter Chris had kept up just to keep him awake.

But that hadn’t lasted more than a few hours.

Since then, even despite periodic stops for rest, the tracker’s condition had steadily deteriorated. His fever was still rising, the wound had begun to bleed again, and the hellish heat wasn’t helping at all. About two hours ago, he’d stopped guiding Peso, and Chris had taken the slack reins from him and curled his hand around the horn. Larabee had no doubt that, before it was over, he would either have to tie Vin into the saddle, or take him onto Pony with him.

Now, though, they had to stop. Vin needed water, and Chris needed to see just how much blood he’d lost.

He looked around, and spotted a small stand of desert willows about two hundred yards away, along what looked to be a dry wash. Without hesitating, he turned the horses – his, Vin’s, Morgan’s and the packhorse – toward the trees, refusing to think about how much further they still had to go. It didn’t matter; Vin needed tending now.

They reached the trees and Chris slid off Pony’s back, ground-hitched the gelding, and walked around to Peso. There, he reached up and laid a hand on Vin’s thigh, squeezing lightly.

"Hey, Tanner," he called, "you with me?" Vin didn’t answer, didn’t even stir, and fear twisted harder at Chris’s gut. "Don’t do this ta me, Tanner!" he pleaded in a low, tight voice. "You ain’t gonna let a measly little shoulder wound get the best of ya, are ya? Thought you Texans were tougher than that!" He waited for the predictable smart-assed reply; again, there was none. "Shit!"

He stalked back to Pony and untied his bedroll with sharp, impatient movements, made angry by his worry and helplessness. Hell, it never should’ve come to this! He should’ve known Morgan would try something, should’ve just shot the bastard when he had the chance...

He jerked the bedroll free, found a fairly smooth piece of ground, and spread the roll with that same impatience. He should’ve... should’ve...

What? Left Vin alone last night to go for help? Thrown the tracker onto his horse and headed for town while he was still in shock? What? What could he have done any differently?

Not a thing. Not one goddamn thing.

He thrust himself to his feet and went back to Peso, forcing down his anger, his fear. The big horse would pick up on them in a minute, and the last thing Chris – or Vin – needed right now was for to Peso to start acting like, well, like Peso. He’d been remarkably well-behaved so far, hadn’t so much as side-stepped when Vin hadn’t been able to mount on his own, had even submitted to the indignity of being led, which he hated with a passion. And for the whole two hours he’d had Pony’s inviting haunch within reach, he’d never one, not once, even attempted to bite the black.

Chris came damn near loving him for that.

"All right," he sighed, absently stroking the blazed nose as the shapely head swung around to see what he was up to, "I need you to behave a few minutes longer. Think you can do that?"

But this was one horse he didn’t want to surprise.

"Vin’s hurt bad," he said quietly, continuing to rub Peso’s nose as he would Pony’s, "and I gotta get him down. He just ain’t up to gettin’ off you on his own. So," he gazed into the large, intelligent dark eyes as he’d seen Vin do so many times, "you think you can let me do that? I know you must be dyin’ ta stomp or bite the hell outta somethin’ or somebody by now, but I’d truly appreciate it if you’d hold off just a while longer." He smiled as Peso lowered his head and held it against his chest, clearly wanting to be scratched behind one ear. "He’s got you spoiled good, don’t he?" he chuckled. "All right, you be good, let me get him off you without killin’ either one of us, and I’ll see if I can find somethin’ for you. I’m sure Vin’s got some kinda treat stashed away somewhere. Deal?"

Peso twitched an ear, as if considering, then shook his head and swung it back to the tree, nibbling placidly at the tender leaves.

Chris eyed the gelding’s relaxed stance, and knew permission had been giving. Shaking his own head at the thought of just having struck a bargain with a horse, he sighed and returned his attention to Vin.

But, hell, he’d bargain with the Devil himself for Tanner.

"All right, pard," he murmured stepping closer and prying Vin’s left hand from the horn, "I won’t say this ain’t gonna hurt, because we both know it will. But I gotta see how you’re doin’."

He circled an arm about the unresponsive tracker’s slim waist and pulled him slowly toward him, bracing himself to take the injured man’s weight. As he came closer, Chris draped Tanner’s left arm around his shoulders, wanting to have as much leverage as possible. He continued to pull, praying he didn’t drop him.

"Unnh," Vin moaned, stirring slightly as some part of what was happening registered in his befuddled brain. "No..."

"Easy, pard," Chris soothed, tightening his hold on the tracker, "it’s me. I gotcha. You’re all right."

"Hurtsss..."

"Yeah, I bet it does." He paused and stared into the sweat-slick face. "Vin, can you hear me? I gotta get you off Peso. If you fight me, we’re both goin’ down. So just let me do this, all right? Don’t help, but don’t fight. Just let me do this. Hear?"

"Ch...ris?"

"Yeah, it’s me. Gonna get ya down, take a look at ya. All right?" Vin didn’t answer, but didn’t fight, either, and Larabee took that as a good sign. "All right, cowboy, here we go."

As smoothly and as carefully as he could, he eased Vin off Peso and held him upright, gripping his good arm and holding him firmly about the waist, then walked him slowly to the bedroll. Once there, he slowly lowered himself, and Vin with him, to the ground, then rolled the unconscious tracker onto the blankets.

And saw the dark, wet patch staining Tanner’s shirt.

"Jesus!" he groaned, hanging his head and closing his eyes tightly against the sight. Christ, how much more blood could the man afford to lose?

With a sharp curse, he lurched to his feet and stalked to the horses, stripping them of canteens and loosening their saddles, then taking the bag of medical supplies from the packhorse. He knew the animals needed attention, too, but they could wait. Vin couldn’t.

He returned to the tracker and squatted at his side, digging through the bag and pulling out all he’d need. "I’m gettin’ too goddamn good at this," he snarled, pulling out a wad of bandages and shooting a burning green glare at Tanner. "I could do without the practice!"

When he had his supplies laid out, he leaned over and unbuttoned Tanner’s shirt with trembling fingers, remembering how many other times he’d done this. But his reason for getting the tracker out of his clothes then had been for far different reasons. He pulled the sodden fabric away from Vin’s right shoulder, and felt his stomach lurch sharply at the sight of the crimson bandages beneath.

"Aw, shit!" he groaned, rocking back on his heels and covering his mouth with a shaking hand. He struggled for long moments against his fear, finally quelling it with an iron will. He didn’t have time for this. And it sure as hell wasn’t like he’d never seen blood before!

Getting his rioting emotions firmly in hand, he began tending Vin. He cut through the bandages with his pocket knife and carefully pulled them away, then tossed them aside. The pad he’d placed over the wound was still in place, but thoroughly soaked. Chris figured it would also likely be stuck to the wound and, wanting to spare Vin whatever suffering he could, wet it with water from a canteen while pulling it slowly away.

"Oh!" The soft, breathless cry escaped Vin as the pad was pulled free, and his lean frame tensed in pain.

"Ssh, easy, pard, easy," Chris murmured, tenderly stroking Vin’s wet hair. Fresh blood oozed from the wound and, with his other hand, Chris reached into the bag for a clean cloth. "Gotta clean ya up, get this hole tended. Don’t want Nathan thinkin’ I can’t be trusted ta take care of you when he ain’t here." He folded the cloth into another pad and, steeling himself, pressed it firmly into the wound.

Vin cried out hoarsely and arched off the blankets as agony erupted through him. He muttered incoherently and writhed weakly and tried to bat away the hand shoving red-hot blades into his shoulder.

"No, don’t, don’t!" Chris ordered, alternately pressing a hand to Tanner’s good shoulder to hold him down or pushing aside his hand. "I know it hurts, but I gotta do this. If I don’t, you’ll bleed ta death. Easy, Vin, easy," he soothed. "I know it hurts, cowboy, but I gotta do this. Can’t have you dyin’ on me."

"No, d... don’t... hurts!" Vin moaned, his ashen face contorted into a mask of agony. His eyes opened, glassy with fever and unfocused, and he stared up at Chris without a hint of recognition. "Hurts... so..."

The pain and the fear in that ragged, raspy voice tore at Chris’s heart. But he knew more hurt still lay in store. "Sorry, pard," he whispered harshly, his green eyes dark and deep. "I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to, you know that. I’d rather die than hurt you. But I’d rather hurt you than see you die."

Vin fell back with a wrenching groan, his eyes closing, his strength gone. His breathing was fast and shallow, and the pulse in his throat throbbed wildly. He tried to remember what the hellish pain searing through him was, tried to remember who was hurting him and why.

Oh, God, where was he? Where was Chris? Why was he lettin’ ’em hurt him like this? Why didn’t he make ’em stop?

"Chris?" he whispered, his head moving against the blanket. "Chris, where..." He lifted his good hand weakly. "Chris?"

Larabee immediately caught the hand in his and gripped it tightly. "Here, Vin," he said clearly. "I’m right here."

Confusion still held Vin fast, but he knew that touch as he knew nothing else. Instinctively, he closed his fingers about the ones holding his, taking comfort from them. "Chris," he breathed, his fevered thrashings calming.

"Yeah, Vin, it’s me. I’m right here, just like I promised." He lifted the pad, and heaved a sigh of relief to see that the bleeding had stopped. But the ordeal wasn’t over yet. "God, I’m sorry, cowboy," he whispered, reaching for the bottle of carbolic. "But I gotta do this."

Vin cried out again and jerked once more as the liquid fire hit his shoulder. Strong hands gripped him, held him down, and he fought against them in a sudden panic, struggling frantically to escape.

"No... NO!" he cried, opening his eyes and staring into a blurred and featureless face. Terror pounded through him as the hands tightened their hold upon him, as dark memories of other times he’d been held down broke open deep inside him. "I won’t... No!" he screamed hoarsely, fighting wildly against the leering specter looming above him. "I won’t... letcha... Bastard! I’ll kill ya ’fore I letcha hurt me again!"

"Vin!" Chris called sharply, fighting to hold the enraged tracker down, terrified he’d start bleeding again. "VIN! Stop it, STOP IT! It’s me, Vin, it’s Chris. Ain’t nobody here but me! Now, settle down before ya start bleedin’ again! Goddamn it, Tanner, SETTLE DOWN!"

Instinctively, Vin tried to lash out with his right hand, and howled as agony tore through his shoulder and into his back. The fight went out of him at that, and he collapsed against the blankets, rolling onto his left side and clutching with that hand at his shoulder, almost sobbing as pain and nausea swept through him.

"Jesus, Vin!" Chris breathed hoarsely. Terrified for his wounded lover, he leaned over and gathered him carefully into his arms, lifting him gently and cradling him close against him. "God, cowboy, you gotta stop doin’ this ta me!" he whispered, rocking Tanner as if he were a child. "My heart just ain’t up ta this!"

That embrace went through Vin as could nothing else, and, even through his pain and fever, he knew at once who held him. No one else had ever held him like this, had ever sheltered him like this. The hands that had hurt him, that had taken so much from him, were gone, replaced by those that had given him only love and healing.

"Chris," he breathed faintly.

Larabee relaxed and exhaled deeply at that soft sigh, and he rested a cheek against Vin’s sodden hair, closing his eyes tightly against the sudden prick of tears. "Yeah, Vin, it’s me," he whispered. "I gotcha, cowboy. And I’m gonna take care of ya."

"Hurts... so," Vin moaned. "Hot..."

"I know." He swallowed hard. "I gotta tend your wound, Vin," he rasped, "then I’ll see if I can cool ya down. But you can’t fight me, all right? I know it hurts like hell, but you gotta let me take care of ya." He gazed down at the man he held. "You trust me, don’tcha?"

"Always," Vin sighed.

Chris kissed the top of his head, then checked the wound again. To his great relief, and by some miracle, it was not bleeding. "Damn, Tanner," he whispered shakily, "you’re gonna turn me into a prayin’ man yet!"

Working carefully, he wound fresh bandages about Vin’s shoulder and chest, speaking softly, soothingly to the injured man the whole while. When that was done, he gently lowered Vin back against his blankets, then wet a clean cloth from one the canteens and began bathing the tracker’s too-hot flesh, knowing he at least had to lessen the fever burning in him.

That touch, moving against him with such a tender intimacy, was more familiar to Vin than his own breathing, and reached him even through the fever and pain that held him fast. He groaned softly in inarticulate pleasure and relief, knowing with instinctive, unshakable certainty that he was safe, that he could rest, that he need fear nothing while his own dark angel kept watch over him.

Chris saw the faint smile touching the pale, dry lips, the expression of peace settling upon the ashen, pain-lined features, and wondered just how in the hell Vin Tanner could look so content with a goddamn bullet in him and a fever burning him alive. What was it in the tracker’s soul that allowed him to accept all the shit life kept dumping on him, all the ways fate had of stomping on him, without ever losing the deep balance, the unbreakable calm, that shone from him like a beacon?

"Don’t leave me yet, Tanner," Chris pleaded softly, his heart aching with love and fear. "I still got too much ta learn from you!"

"Ain’t goin’... nowhere," Vin breathed weakly, roused from his stupor by Larabee’s voice and touch. "Still got... too much... t’ show ya." He opened his eyes, the blue depths still clouded, but lit now by recognition. And love. "Ain’t... near done... tormentin’ ya yet... cowboy."

Chris chuckled as his fear loosened slightly its stranglehold upon him. "Don’t reckon you’ll ever be done with that, Tanner," he griped with a smile, reaching down to brush the wet hair back from Vin’s face. "You seem to’ve made it your lifelong mission."

"Man’s... gotta have... a mission," Vin sighed, his eyes closing of their own accord. "Somethin’... t’ give his life... meanin’."

"Yeah," Chris rasped, his worry returning in full force as he saw Vin’s strength ebbing before his eyes. "I reckon I got that with you. And I sure as hell don’t wanta lose it. Don’t think I could go through that again."

"Listen t’ me," Vin urged, forcing his eyes open and fixing them on Chris’s face, then reaching weakly for Larabee’s hand with his good one. "Y’ain’t ever... gonna lose me. Cain’t. I’m part’a ya... ’n yer part’a me." He smiled. "I’m always with ya... even when ya cain’t see me. Ain’t no further away... than the beatin’ of yer heart." He swallowed and licked his dry lips, his eyes again closing. "Thought ya knew that... by now."

Chris squeezed Vin’s hand tightly and nodded. "I do," he said past the hard knot in his throat. "I guess I just need a little reminder now and then."

"Damn... stubborn... cowboy," Vin breathed, drifting once more into unconsciousness.

"Damn sorry-assed tracker," Chris whispered hoarsely, still clinging to Vin’s limp, hot hand. "Gonna make me shoot ya yet."

=======

"He won’t never go for it!" sneered Curly Wilkes, Guy Royal’s foreman. "He won’t give you fellers a goddamn nickel!"

"Then he’s gonna have a real hard time workin’ his ranch," Josiah said calmly, checking his guns. "Considerin’ we got so many of his hands locked up." He glanced up at JD and lifted two heavy gray brows. "You ready, son?"

JD grinned and settled his bowler hat on his head. "Ready as I’ll ever be." He dropped his hands to his Colts and gave a firm nod. "Let’s get this done."

"You boys be sure and give them bastards our regards," Buck said, propping his feet up on the desk. "And, JD," he cast a knowing glance at the boy, "try not ta get hurt, son. Remember, we’re short a healer for a while."

"Aw, hell, Buck, you know me!"

Wilmington sighed, lowered his head and shook it. "Yeah, I do," he breathed. "And that’s what worries me!"

=======

The horses topped a familiar rise, and Chris released a deep sigh of relief. He’d long used this particular point as a landmark; Four Corners was less than twenty minutes away. He was sorely tempted to spur Pony to a run, but held back. While he wanted desperately to tear into town and get Vin to Nathan’s as fast as he could, he doubted the tracker could bear the kind of pain that would cause.

And Lord knew the trip had been hard enough on him already...

He reined Pony to a stop and instinctively tightened his arms about the man who now rode with him. Vin was limp, his head lolling against Chris’s shoulder, his good arm dangling at his side. Chris had secured his right arm to his chest with bandages at their last stop to ease the strain upon his wounded shoulder. Heat radiated from the tracker’s inert body, evidence of his soaring fever, and both men’s clothing was sodden with sweat.

At least, Chris hoped the wetness he felt in Vin’s shirt was sweat...

"Hey, Tanner, you hear me?" he called quietly, turning his head and pressing his lips close to Vin’s ear. "C’mon, pard, wake up. We’re almost there. Don’t wanta miss your own homecomin’, do ya? Vin?"

"H... home?" Vin breathed faintly, his brows drawing down over closed eyes as he tried to make sense of the words buzzing in his ear. "Chris?"

"Yeah, I’m here. How ya doin’?"

Vin frowned weakly, trying to puzzle out the sounds, and licked his dry lips with an even drier tongue. He thought he felt sick, but couldn’t be sure. All he could be sure of was that he hurt unmercifully.

"Tired," he finally sighed. "Hot. Want... wanta... lay down."

"Soon, pard, I promise," Chris assured him.

Vin jerked violently in the saddle, his eyes flying open in alarm. "Morgan!" he gasped as pain tore through him in sharp waves. "Got... gotta find... Morgan! I p... I promised... find him... Harlan..."

"Ssh, easy, Vin, easy," Chris soothed, pulling his lover back against him and holding him close. "It’s all right, we found him. Tracked him down, remember? He’s dead now, Vin, you don’t have ta worry about him anymore. You hush now, and rest. Morgan’s dead. He can’t hurt anybody ever again."

"Hurts," Vin moaned, relaxing against Chris and closing his eyes, his thoughts of Morgan fading as quickly as they had arisen. "Chris?"

"Yeah, pard, I’m here," Chris murmured, resting his cheek against Vin’s despite the heat emanating from the younger man. "I’m right here."

"Stay... stay... with me," Vin whispered faintly. "Need... feel... y’ near."

Chris tenderly kissed Vin’s hot, whiskered cheek. "I ain’t goin’ anywhere, cowboy," he murmured. "I wouldn’t leave you for the world." He felt his lover slipping back into unconsciousness and lightly spurred Pony forward. "C’mon, pard," he said hoarsely, "let’s get you home ta Nathan!"

=======

Buck was sitting outside the jail, drinking coffee and reading about yesterday’s brawl in the Clarion, when he glanced down the street and saw the familiar black horse entering town by the church, leading a string of horses. He frowned and set down the paper, leaning forward. Somethin’ just didn’t look right...

"Aw, hell, he’s got Vin in the saddle with him!" he breathed sharply, rising at once to his feet and hurrying down the boardwalk. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good if Vin had to ride with Chris.

Chris saw Buck coming, and felt an immediate surge of relief. He reined to a stop in front of the gunsmith’s and waited for the big man, never troubling to wonder why, after all these years, after all the trouble they’d been through, after all the trouble Buck had caused, he still got a feeling of safety, of security, whenever the big man was around. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, had stopped trying years ago, but things just never felt quite as bleak as they should when Buck Wilmington was around.

"Jesus, what in hell happened ta him?" Buck asked sharply, stopping at Pony’s side and staring up at Vin. "Looks like ten miles of bad road!"

"Morgan," Chris rasped, suddenly realizing how tired, how thirsty and how worried he was. "Bastard tried ta get away, shot Vin."

Buck switched his attention from the unconscious tracker to the dusty, sweaty gunman, and saw the tightness of his jaw, the brittle calm in the diamond-bright eyes. "Reckon we ain’t gotta trouble with a hangin’, then," he said quietly, noticing the outlaw’s absence.

Chris’s expression turned ugly. "Could go back, dig him up and hang him," he snarled.

Buck swallowed hard at that tone, knowing Larabee wasn’t above such right now. "I’ll tell ya what, pard," he said gently, his voice low and soft and soothing, "why’n’t we get Vin here settled, see what’s what. We’ll take care of him, then, if you’re still of a mind to, we’ll decide what games ta play with that bastard’s corpse. That sound all right?"

Chris bowed his head and closed his eyes tightly, absently clutching Vin to him as all his worry, all his fear, washed through him again in a wrenching wave. "Bullet’s still in his shoulder, Buck," he whispered hoarsely. "Been in there since yesterday afternoon. He needs Nate. Needs him now."

"Well, sure... Oh, shit," Buck breathed, his eyes widening, his big body stiffening as memory hit. The color drained from his face. "Chris," he said softly, slowly, "we got a problem."

Larabee’s head snapped up at that and he glared at Buck. He didn’t have time for problems! Vin didn’t have time! "What?" he growled.

Buck felt cold fear pool in his belly. He could see that Vin was in a bad way, could almost feel the tracker’s fever from where he was standing. And that dark patch staining his shirt sure as hell wasn’t sweat. "There was a fight in the saloon yesterday," he began in a low, even voice, his gaze never leaving Vin, "three ranches got into it – Crown, James, Royal. It was a mess. Some of the stupid bastards broke out guns and knives..." He swallowed and licked his lips. "Nathan got hurt. Somebody slashed his left hand. And... broke his right arm."

Chris listened in mounting horror and rage to Buck’s story. Nathan... hurt? His arm broken? But... "Vin needs him," he protested, as if that overrode everything. "Got a bullet in him. Nathan’s gotta take it out."

"Nathan can’t, Chris," Buck insisted gently, as if talking to a child. "His arm’s broke. His fingers are so swelled up right now he can’t move ’em. He can’t do it."

Chris stared at him for long moments, refusing – unable – to believe him. "He has to," he said at last, and with the finality that usually saw his point carried. "Help me get him to Nathan’s, then get JD to look after the horses–"

"JD’s gone," Buck sighed, wondering why in hell things were never bad enough, but always had to slide right into worse. "Him and Josiah left about half an hour ago ta let the ranchers know we’ll be holdin’ their men ’til the damages are paid. Won’t be back for a good while yet."

Chris continued to stare at the big man, wondering if he were really trying to drive him crazy. Just what in hell had happened while he was gone?

"Come on, pard," Buck sighed, stepping closer to Pony, "Vin ain’t gettin’ any better while we’re standin’ here jawin’. Let’s get him up ta the clinic, see what’s what and what we need ta do." Chris seemed not to hear him, seemed unable to rouse himself from whatever shock he’d fallen into, so Buck said the only thing that he knew would get the gunman’s attention. "Y’ain’t got time for this, Chris. Vin needs ya."

And it worked, as Buck had known it would. The green eyes cleared, the proud head lifted, and a look of fierce clarity settled on the strong features. "Send somebody for Yosemite, tell him ta collect the horses," he ordered. "You help me get Vin up to Nathan’s." He narrowed his eyes and stared at Buck. "There anybody in town besides you?"

Wilmington grinned. "Ezra. He’s still asleep–"

"Get Inez ta wake him," Chris rapped out. "I want him in the clinic in ten minutes. If he’s not there, I’m comin’ ta get him myself. Tell Inez ta tell him that. Ten minutes, or he’ll answer ta me."

Buck nodded silently, trying to figure out how he was supposed to relay all the messages and help Chris get Vin upstairs. Well, hell, he’d just have to find a way. Larabee clearly was in no mood to listen to reason right now.

"Okay, pard, I’ll get it done." And he would.

Chris saw that determination, and felt something in him soften. "Thanks, Buck," he said quietly, gratitude beyond his words showing in his eyes. "Always said I could count on you."

Buck smiled broadly at that. "Well, hell, pard, dependability’s my middle name!"

Chris arched a brow. "Thought ‘show of force’ was."

Buck winked. "I’m a man of many talents," he joked. "Might’s well be a man of many middle names, too."

"JD’s right, you know," Chris said in a warm voice. "You are full of crap."

"Yep," Buck agreed, still grinning. "But it does come in one attractive package, don’t it?"

Chris almost laughed, then shook his head and kneed Pony toward the clinic.

God have mercy, what was it about Buck Wilmington, anyway?

=======

Nathan all but leapt off the bed as the clinic door crashed open, and uttered a harsh cry as the abrupt movement jarred his throbbing arm. But all thoughts of his own pain immediately vanished when he saw Buck carrying in Vin’s limp, bedraggled body, followed closely by a dirty, tense and fretting Chris Larabee.

"Good Lord," the healer breathed as Buck laid Vin on the bed, "what happened?"

"Been shot," Chris rasped in a low, tight voice. "Morgan. Bullet’s in his shoulder. Needs ta come out."

"Jesus," Nathan groaned, his gut clenching hard. Forgetting for the moment his own disability, he gathered his thoughts and turned them all to Vin. "Y’all git him stripped down. Lemme see what we got."

"Bullet’s in his shoulder," Chris said again. "Needs ta come out."

Nathan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, marshalling all the patience he required to work with these men when one of their number was hurt. "I heard. But I’d like ta see fo’ m’self. Now, do what I said."

As the two gunmen went to work, Ezra hurried into the clinic, his appearance rather less than its usual immaculate state. He’d gotten Chris’s message and, upon hearing the words "Vin’s hurt," had known at once that Larabee would be in no mood to tolerate tardiness. Given ten minutes, Ezra had made it in seven.

"Dear Lord," he breathed, his green eyes widening at the sight of the bloody bandages swathing Vin’s body. "What on earth–"

"Morgan," Chris snarled, sitting on the bed at Vin’s side and working to unfasten the bandages, his hands as gentle as his voice was harsh.

"I see," Ezra said, though he didn’t. But this was no time to ask for an explanation. "What can I do?"

Nathan glanced at the gambler and nodded gratefully. "Gon’ need warm water, clean cloths, my carbolic ’n laudanum. There’s water in that kettle, jes’ put it on the stove. You know where I keep my supplies."

Without a word, Ezra went to work. Buck set Vin’s boots and gunbelt aside, then looked up at Nathan. "What about me?"

The healer sighed and ran his bandaged left hand over his face. "Get my tools, boil ’em. Pan’s there, by the stove," he said, waving. "Then... I’ll letcha know."

Within moments, the small clinic was a virtual whirlwind of activity, all directed with a deep, unfailing calm by Nathan. Refusing to let anyone else do it, Chris tenderly bathed Vin’s face, throat, shoulders and chest, and carefully cleaned the ugly wound with strong, sure fingers whose very touch communicated love and concern. Ezra’s deft hands were put to use measuring and mixing medicinal compounds, while Buck’s strength and gentleness were used to hold Vin when he tried to fight against the hands that, despite their care, only caused him more pain.

At last, Nathan motioned Buck away and sat in the chair the big man vacated, leaning over Vin and doing his best to examine the wound. Chris sat immovably at Tanner’s left side, one hand holding the tracker’s tightly, the other still sweeping a wet cloth in slow, soothing motions over the man’s ashen face. All the while, hard green eyes bored fiercely into the healer, willing him to do something now.

Nathan tried – Lord, how he tried! – but his own injuries defeated him. With his right hand completely useless, he took the probe clumsily in his bandaged left hand and maneuvered it as best he could to search for the bullet. He was more than competent with his left hand, had used it quite capably in the past, yet now he was hindered by the gash and the bandages covering it, and simply could not make it function as he needed. He exhaled sharply in defeat, gave a wholly uncharacteristic curse, and all but threw the probe aside in frustration.

"Nathan?" Chris asked tightly, staring at the man in a mixture of expectation and dread.

Jackson bowed his head and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the injured man he could not help. "Ain’t no use," he said softly. "I cain’t do it. Not with these." He opened his eyes and stared down at his useless hands.

"You have to!" Chris insisted in a low, hard voice, his eyes brimming with an anger born of his fear. "Vin needs–"

"Vin don’ need me pokin’ around in that wound an’ doin’ mo’ damage than that bullet’s already done!" Nathan snapped, raising his head and meeting Larabee’s angry gaze with his own. "I cain’t do it. I won’t do it. You gon’ hafta wire Eagle Bend, git Doc Thomas over here–"

"And he won’t be here until tomorrow, if he comes at all!" Chris snapped. "Vin can’t wait that long, Nathan! That bullet’s been in since yesterday afternoon, he’s burnin’ up with fever, lost more blood than I care ta think about... How much longer d’you think it’ll be before that wound starts ta turn? Hell, in this heat, and with all the ridin’ we done, I’m surprised it ain’t turnin’ already! He’ll lose his arm, or die–"

"I cain’t do it, Chris!" Nathan spat through clenched teeth, infuriated by his own helplessness and Larabee’s stubbornness. "Look at my hands! How’n the hell am I s’posed ta go pokin’ into him and pullin’ out a bullet when I cain’t even move my damn fingers? You got any idea what could happen to ’im if I even try?"

Chris impaled the healer with a flaming gaze. "I got a pretty good idea of what’ll happen if ya don’t," he seethed. "He’ll die."

"He’s strong–"

"He’s bled out and fevered!" Chris shouted. "He ain’t strong! Goddamn it, Nathan, look at him!"

Nathan did look, and nearly choked upon his frustration, his anger, his fear. Vin was hideously pale, his fine-boned face deeply lined with pain, his body radiating an intense fever. Nathan could see that just breathing hurt the tracker, that even the subtle rise and fall of his chest jarred the wound in his shoulder unmercifully. Now and again, the lean body tensed as yet another wave of pain seared through it, but, for the most part, even unconscious, Vin tried to keep himself as still as he could just to hold the hurt at bay.

"I cain’t," he whispered at last, his voice breaking. He lifted his head and stared pleadingly at Chris, needing the man to understand. "If I thought fo’ one minute I could, you know I’d try. If I had even one good hand, I’d do it. But, Chris, look at me!" he begged, holding up his injured hand and arm. "How’m I s’posed ta go cuttin’ inta Vin when I cain’t even hold a knife? You tell me how, an’ I swear ta you, I’ll do it!"

Chris stared long and hard at Nathan’s hands, frantically searching his mind for some answer, for any answer. But the evidence before him spoke for itself. And when he looked into Nathan’s eyes, saw the anguish mirrored there, he knew the truth hurt the healer every bit as much as it hurt him.

"I’m sorry," he breathed in a hoarse, hollow voice. "I know... you’d do it if ya could... But he can’t wait another day." He bowed his head, then absently reached out and brushed the wet hair back from Vin’s hot forehead. "Jesus, what’re we gonna do?"

"I got a suggestion," Buck said softly. He stood just inside the doorway, having come in with a bucket of cold water while Chris and Nathan were arguing. He set the bucket down, then straightened, and his dark blue eyes, unusually serious, caught and held Larabee’s tortured green ones. "You could do it."

Chris came off the bed as if he’d been scalded, his face losing what little color it still had, his green eyes widening in shock. "WHAT?" he spat. "Goddamn it, Buck, this is no time for jokes–"

"Easy, pard," Buck soothed, holding up his big hands placatingly and moving slowly toward the bed. "I’m serious as I can be here. Think about it, Chris," he urged, determined to make the man see reason. "You got the steadiest hands of anybody I’ve ever known, and I know you can handle a knife. Seen the way you carve–"

"Vin ain’t no goddamn chunk of wood–"

"No, he’s not," Buck answered in that same soft, gentle voice. "He’s yer friend, and he’s hurt, and he can’t stand much more hurtin’. He needs help, and he needs it soon. I’d do it, but I ain’t ever fished a bullet out of a man, and I ain’t about ta learn on that boy. Ezra might could do it, but I’ll bet he ain’t had more’n three, four hours of sleep since this whole mess started. And Josiah ain’t here. That leaves only you."

Chris backed away, his eyes wide and filled with horror, until he was standing with his back to the wall. "Buck, you don’t know what you’re askin’..."

Buck sighed sadly. "Yeah, I do. Believe me, Chris, I know exactly what I’m askin’. But I know you can do this. Hell," he gave a slight, reassuring smile, "how many times’ve you doctored me up in the past after some bit of foolishness we got into? Even seem ta recall you cuttin’ some buckshot outta my ass once, after Flora Mae Weaver’s pa caught me comin’ outta her window. Ya done a real good job of it, too, ol’ pard." He winked. "Or so the ladies tell me."

Chris stared at Buck and shook his head slowly, his mind reeling. "That was years ago–"

"Yeah, and you were half-drunk on some blackberry wine we’d got hold of, too," Buck reminded him. "But I trusted ya then, pard, and I’d be willin’ ta bet Vin’d trust ya now."

At those words, Chris’s gaze slid to the unconscious tracker, his lover, and the words they’d spoken out on the trail earlier came back to him.

He swallowed hard, and stared at the three men facing him, searching their eyes intently and seeing only confidence in them. "That’s his shootin’ arm," he said weakly.

"And I would wager," Ezra said gently, his face absolutely devoid of any pretense, "that Vin would trust that arm, and his very life, to your hands without hesitation. He trusts you completely, Chris, and he’s not a man who trusts anyone completely. He’d give his life for you. And," he added softly, calm jade eyes meeting haunted emerald ones, "I have no doubt that he would give his life to you."

"I’d be right here, Chris," Nathan assured him quietly. "Right with ya ever’ minute, tellin’ ya what ta do, helpin’ ever’ way I can. Wouldn’t be like you’s completely on ya’ own."

Chris stared at his friends, then stared down at Vin, and again felt the hard wall at his back. In more ways than one.

"I n... I need... ta think about it," he murmured unsteadily. "I need..." His words trailed off, his mind simply too stunned to function.

"Buck," Ezra said quietly, "take him to get something to eat. Then perhaps a hot bath might be in order. Nathan and I will see to Vin."

Wilmington nodded, grateful for Standish’s perception. He doubted Chris had eaten all day, and knew the man needed some time to get his thoughts in order, to regain his composure. Needed to be away from Vin so he could think with his head, and not with his heart.

"C’mon, stud," he called softly. "Let’s go get you taken care of. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now that Ezra and Nathan can’t do. They’ll take good care of Vin, don’t worry."

Chris nodded absently, knowing that. Somewhere along the way, he’d come to trust these men – all of them – as he trusted himself. And, sometimes, even more.

He took one last look at Vin, felt the tracker’s pain as if it were his own, and only barely resisted the urge to go to him and take him in his arms. But resist it he did, though it required almost more strength than he possessed.

"I’ll be back," he said softly, his gaze tracing his lover’s pale, pain-lined face. "And you’d best be here waitin’ on me, if ya know what’s good for yer scrawny Texas ass."

=======

Buck watched as Chris stabbed absently at the ham steak on his plate or pushed dabs of mashed potatoes through rivulets of gravy with his fork. "Y’know," he said at last, "it ain’t considered eatin’ unless ya actually put the food in yer mouth." Chris stabbed the ham steak again, an Buck winced. "B’lieve it’s already dead, pard."

Chris sighed heavily and let his fork fall from his hand. "What am I gonna do, Buck?" he asked softly, his tone as haunted as his eyes.

"What ya always do. What needs ta be done. It’s always been yer way."

"But this?" He suddenly held up his hands and stared over them at Wilmington. "These aren’t a healer’s hands, Buck," he said in a low, harsh voice, his eyes burning. "These are a killer’s hands! They put bullets in people, they don’t take ’em out!"

"Yeah, I reckon they do that, all right," Buck agreed easily. "But," he frowned thoughtfully, "I seen ’em do a lot more, too. I seen ’em take wild stallions with fire in their veins and turn ’em inta prime breedin’ stock. I seen ’em take a ‘chunk of wood,’ as you call it, an’ turn it inta the goddamnedest things I ever seen." His eyes and voice grew soft. "I seen ’em holdin’ a pretty little gal’s hands like they was the most precious treasure on earth, an’ I seen ’em hold a little boy the same way. I seen ’em bandage that boy’s hurts an’ wipe away his tears, an’ I seen ’em throw that boy up into the air and catch him ever’ time. Hell, Chris," he said, raising his eyes to Larabee’s, "I seen them hands’a yers do ever’thing but one. I ain’t ever seen ’em fail."

"Then you’ve missed seein’ a thing or two," Chris breathed, dropping his hands to the table. "And I don’t want Vin ta be one of those things."

"He needs ya, Chris–"

"He needs a doctor–"

"Yeah, but we ain’t got one handy, now do we?" Buck shot back. "And I reckon ol’ Vin’s about the best man I know at takin’ what he can get. He needs ya, Chris," he said firmly, staring at his friend. "You gonna be there for him, or are you gonna be just one more in a long line of folks who’ve let that boy down when he needed ’em?"

Chris shot to his feet at that, his hand snaking to his gun. "I oughtta kill you for that!" he snarled, sending other diners in the restaurant skittering away in expectation of bloodshed.

"Yeah, but you won’t," Buck said evenly, remaining relaxed in his own chair and easily meeting that murderous glare. "’Cause you know I’m right. Vin needs you. More’n he’s ever needed anybody in his life, he needs you, and he’d rather die than know you weren’t there when he needed ya most." He eyed Chris shrewdly. "He can take disappointment and betrayal from a lotta folks. Hell, prob’ly has taken it from a lot. But he could never take it from you, Chris. That’d kill him surer’n any bullet ever could."

Chris dropped back into his chair, his anger gone. In its wake was only fear. "I just don’t know that I can take havin’ his life in my hands," he whispered.

"Too late," Buck said tersely. "It’s already there. It’s been there since the day you two hooked up. He gave it to ya when y’all went marchin’ off ta save Nathan, and he surely gave it to ya when he told ya about the bounty on his head. And he gave it to ya because he trusted you ta keep it safe. Well, now, pard," he said firmly, "now it’s time for you ta do just that."

"By stickin’ a knife into him," Chris sneered.

"No, by takin’ a bullet out of him. Or," he added, reaching for his coffee, "are you just gonna sit by and let Morgan kill him?"

Chris’s gaze shot to Buck again and a tight scowl twisted at his mouth. "You’re treadin’ on mighty dangerous ground–"

"The truth can be that way," Buck said coolly, eyeing his friend over the rim of his cup. He’d known Chris Larabee longer than any man alive, knew he took prodding and poking about as well as a rattlesnake with a toothache. But he also knew the man could be blinded by his own stubbornness, and sometimes had to be prodded past that.

And Buck figured Vin Tanner’s life might just be worth a snakebite or two.

But the rattler pulled in his fangs. Chris exhaled slowly, deeply, and bowed his head, his broad shoulders slumping. "I don’t have a choice, do I?" he whispered.

"Not when it’s Vin’s life we’re talkin’ about," Buck said softly. "He needs you, Chris. And you need him. Like I’ve only known you ta need one other person." Larabee’s head came up at that, and the green eyes were instantly guarded. In the split-second before, though, Buck saw the truth, and felt everything in his own mind fall into place. "I thought so," he breathed.

"Buck–"

"Don’t," he interrupted. "This ain’t the time or place. And, ta be honest, I ain’t sure I wanta know. Ain’t sure how I feel about knowin’. But that ain’t important now. What’s important is Vin’s life. You’re all he’s got, Chris. And, like I said before, Vin’s a man who knows how ta take what he can get. And if it’s you, I figure he still reckons he’s come out ahead on the deal."

Chris knew he had no choice; hell, he’d known it all along. "I wanta ask him, though."

Buck nodded. "Sounds fair. But what if he says no?" Not that he believed for a moment Vin would.

Chris gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Then I’ll just have Nathan knock him out with laudanum and do it anyway. And hope like hell he survives ta beat the shit outta me."

Buck smiled broadly as relief swept through him. "Well, eat up, and then we’ll get you a bath. Hate ta tell ya, ol’ son," he winked, "but yer aroma’s startin’ ta put folks off their feed."

=======

They returned to the clinic less than an hour later, and Chris stepped in with a feeling of deep foreboding. He knew Nathan would have sent for him had Vin taken a turn for the worse, but he couldn’t help the fear that gnawed at his belly.

Not when it was one half of his soul lying in that bed.

Buck stayed close at Chris’s back and kept a big, comforting hand on one tight shoulder. For all his seeming ease, though, he was as worried as Chris, knowing as he did that two lives hung in the balance here.

Nathan stood up, and Chris’s gaze went immediately to Vin. He had been bathed, his hair washed, and a clean pad lay over the hole in his shoulder. He was naked to the waist, with only a blanket covering him from there down, and Larabee noted yet again his lover’s remarkably slight build. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on the man, not a bit of fat, and, as Chris knew from blessed hours spent memorizing the feel of him, the hard ridge and knob of bone lay just beneath long, sinewy strips of muscle and a thin covering of skin. The strength that Chris knew resided in that body seemed to disappear in repose, giving Vin an unnervingly vulnerable and fragile appearance.

"Chris?" Nathan called softly, easily able to see the fear shadowing the gunfighter’s eyes.

Larabee swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting to get his churning emotions under control. "I gotta ask him first," he said harshly, his gaze never leaving Vin. "He needs ta know what’s goin’ on."

Nathan sighed. "’Tween his fever an’ the laudanum, I don’ know just how aware he’s gon’ be. Don’ know how much he’ll understand–"

"He’ll understand," Chris said. "I’ll make sure."

"Why don’t we adjourn to the veranda," Ezra suggested quietly. "There’s no need to add to Vin’s confusion by distractin’ him with our presence." Chris shot him a grateful glance, and he smiled and tipped an imaginary hat.

When they had gone, Chris made his way to the bed and eased himself carefully onto it, not wanting to jar Vin too violently. Jar him. Shit, he was about to stick a goddamn knife into him!

He took Vin’s good hand in his and held tightly to it, wincing at the heat in it. "Hey, cowboy," he called softly, leaning close. "C’mon, Vin," he summoned, gently running his other hand through Tanner’s long, damp hair. "Wake up for me, pard. There’s somethin’ we gotta talk about."

Vin’s eyelids flickered and his head moved against the pillow, his face drawing into a mask of pain. A low moan escaped him.

"C’mon, Tanner," Chris cajoled, gently tapping Vin’s cheek, "wake up. Lemme see them blue eyes."

"No," Vin groaned faintly, trying to move away from that hand. "Don’t... Hurts."

"Yeah, I know," Chris breathed, lightly stroking the tracker’s hot cheek. "But I’m hopin’ we can make it better. Come on, Vin, come back to me."

Between that voice and the hands that held him, stroked him, Vin had no choice but to comply. He wanted to remain in the dark shadows, dreaded returning to the pain that he knew awaited him, but simply couldn’t resist the pull Larabee had on him. So he allowed that pull to drag him to the surface, immediately tensing and uttering a thick, wordless cry as wakefulness brought the full weight of the pain crashing through him.

"Oh!"

"Ssh, easy, pard," Chris soothed, cupping a hand to Tanner’s neck and tenderly stroking his throat with a thumb. "I’m right here, Vin, I’m right here with ya."

"Chr...ris?" he whispered weakly. Another wave of pain seared through him and he stiffened, drawing a sharp, hissing breath and clutching frantically at the hand that held his. "Shit!"

"Yeah, I know." He continued to stroke Vin’s throat, trying to get him to relax. "Can ya hear me, pard? I need ta talk to ya."

"Hurts," Vin groaned, trying to fix his swimming gaze on Larabee and failing. "Chris?"

"Yeah, I’m right here." He leaned forward and tenderly kissed Vin’s forehead. "’S all right, cowboy," he whispered against the too-hot skin. "I’m right here, and I’m gonna take care of ya." He straightened and gazed into the cloudy, unfocused eyes. "That’s what I need ta talk to ya about."

"Talk?" Vin croaked, trying to make sense of words that slid in and out of the fog shrouding his mind. "What?"

"You got a bullet in your shoulder, you remember that?"

Vin blinked, frowned in thought, and then nodded. "Morgan," he rasped. "Shot me."

"Yeah," Chris sighed. "That bullet’s gotta come out, but we got a little problem." He swallowed hard, steeled himself, then plunged on in. "Nathan’s hurt, Vin," he said slowly, clearly, needing to make certain Tanner understood. "And he can’t do it. But the closest doctor is in Eagle Bend, and I’m not sure you can wait that long. It’s gotta come out. You understand?"

Vin stared up at Chris and clung to him, trying to concentrate on his words. "Nathan’s... hurt," he breathed. "Ain’t... ain’t nobody else... ta take it out."

Chris drew a long, slow breath and released it carefully, then said, "There’s me."

Vin went absolutely still at that, his eyes widening. "You?"

Chris grimaced and bowed his head, gazing at their joined hands. "Got no choice," he said, "unless you wanta spend another night with that bullet inside ya. But it’s already been in since yesterday. You’ve got a bad fever, and you’ve lost a lotta blood... I don’t know that you got it in ya ta wait, cowboy. I don’t wanta do this, but we’re runnin’ outta choices."

Vin closed his eyes and swallowed weakly. He hurt – God, he hurt! –felt almost like he could die from the hurt alone. It went down his arm, up his neck, through his back and into his chest, like fire eating away at him from the inside. He wrenched his hand from Chris’s and clutched at the man’s chest, digging his fingers into the fabric of his shirt and holding on for dear life as the pain cut ever more deeply into him.

"Do it!" he gasped at last.

Without a thought, Chris gathered Vin into his arms and lifted him to his chest, cradling his wounded lover close against him. "You sure?" he whispered tightly. "I ain’t Nathan–"

"Cain’t take... no more," Vin groaned. "Need... need ya... t’ help me."

He tightened his arms about Vin and gazed down into his ashen face. "That’s yer shootin’ arm, pard."

Vin managed a pained smile. "Then best ya... be careful... cowboy."

Chris frowned at the trust in the weak voice. "You’re puttin’ yer life in my hands, Vin."

The smile widened even as the blue eyes closed. "Ain’t puttin’ it nowhere... it don’t belong," he breathed. "’N I reckon... yer hands... is about... safest place fer it."

"You sure?"

"’S I ever been ’bout anything," he whispered, his words slurring together.

Chris nodded, the knot in his throat forbidding speech, and tenderly kissed Vin’s forehead. Then, feeling the hot, slight body relax in his arms, he kissed Vin again and laid him back gently against the bed.

"You rest now, pard," he whispered hoarsely, brushing the wet hair back from the too-pale face. "Just rest, and let me take care of ya." He watched Vin a moment longer, then rose to his feet and crossed the clinic to the door.

Three men rose to their feet as the door opened, and all looked expectantly at Larabee. The gunman looked tired, pale, grim. And determined. Buck exhaled in relief, and Ezra visibly relaxed.

"All right," Chris said with a quiet intensity, his gaze snaring Nathan’s. "Let’s do this."

Continued.......