Vin rested on his blankets, reclining against his saddle, and gazed into the fire, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands and a slight, contented smile teasing his lips. He could hear Chris tending the horses for the evening and chuckled when the gunman cussed Peso for whatever the damn fool animal was doing this time. He was half tempted to get up and go settle the troublesome gelding himself, but remembered his promise to Larabee that he’d stay where he was. The man was nurse-maidin’ him again …

And he liked it.

Chris hadn’t let him do much more than wash up and dress after their lovemaking, had settled him back on his blankets with a long, slow kiss and threatened to shoot his ass if he got up again. The man had then done everything else – killed and prepared a brace of fat rabbits for supper, fixed a pan of biscuits, even pulled a jar of honey out of his saddlebags to Vin’s delight, and cleaned up afterward – and was now taking care of all the evening duties.

Was taking care of him.

His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and he lifted the cup to his lips, sipping from the strong, hot brew. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of him like this, couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone get close enough to do it. He’d learned too many hard and painful lessons in the dangers of letting anyone see him so vulnerable. It had always carried a price. Sometimes the price had been his body; more usually it had been his soul. Too many men had seemed to think they had some natural right to that, had tried to reach right into him and tear their little piece out of it or stamp their mark upon it, claim it for their own to bend or break as they saw fit.

Like Alvin …

He shuddered as the man’s unwelcome memory intruded and brought a chill with it. Hell, maybe he could remember the last time he’d let anyone get this close. Alvin had been the “last” of a lot of things; he’d certainly been the last man ever to betray Vin Tanner’s trust and live to tell about it. He’d been one of those who’d always wanted more from him, who’d felt entitled to more, who’d been more than willing to use force to get it. And, in the end, had tried to kill him when he’d refused. One betrayal heaped on top of another by a man who’d claimed to be a friend, who’d claimed to love him …

And ol’ Alvin had been the last one to use that word around him and not end up with a knife at his throat. The sorry sonuvabitch had ruined that word for Vin, had twisted it into something dark and vile. After Alvin, he’d sworn that he never wanted to hear it from anyone else, would kill the first bastard stupid enough to say it to him. Then he’d met Chris Larabee …

And had spent damn near every night since hoping as he'd never thought to hope again that he’d hear it from him.

Strange how much difference one man could make.

He sighed softly and shook his head slowly. But, hell, Chris had been making a difference with him ever since they’d met, and without ever once knowing he was doing it. The man had given him a reason to trust again, had shown him understanding without limits and friendship without bounds. He’d never made a single demand of that friendship, had never placed a single condition upon it. He’d simply given it, freely and without ever once asking for anything in return.

Consequently, Vin had given him everything. Going against every lesson in suffering and sorrow he’d learned, he’d placed his whole life, his heart and his soul, into Chris’s hands, giving the man more power to hurt him, to destroy him, than he’d ever willingly given anyone before. And Chris had never once betrayed him. Almost for that alone he would’ve gone to his grave loving Chris, even had that love never been returned.

But it had been. It was. The secret hope he’d so foolishly allowed himself to foster had somehow, against all that his life had taught him he could expect, become a reality. Chris loved him. In ways no one else ever had, in ways he hadn’t even known existed …

And far from accompanying him to his grave, that love had kept him from it.

Pain.

God, there was no place he could go that it didn’t hound him, no way he could move that it didn’t torture him. Awake or asleep it was there, following him into and filling his dreams, a living, hideous thing whose flaming claws stabbed deeper into his gut with every breath he took. In all his life, in all the times and ways that he’d been hurt before, he’d never hurt like this.

He thought he could die from the pain alone.

Except that the pain wasn’t alone, was never alone. Always, always it was coupled with the horrible nausea, the wretched, wrenching sickness that never left him and that erupted from him without warning and without mercy. Between the combined assaults, he felt as if he were being torn apart from the inside. Throwing up only made the pain worse; the pain just made him sicker. Either one alone would have been torment enough; together they were unbearable.

Sometimes he thought he screamed.

Other times he was sure he cried.

Now, though, too weak and worn out to do either, he simply huddled in Chris’s arms and tried to find the will just to draw one more breath. It would be so easy not to, so easy just to stop fighting and let go, let himself sink beneath the black and brutal waves pounding against him. He was tired – Lord God, he was so tired! – and wanted just to rest. But he couldn’t, he knew that; not yet.

He’d promised Chris he wouldn’t die.

He drew a breath, moaned at the pain it caused him, and drew another. The pain speared through him again, hard and hot and sharp, and he tried to move away from it, needed desperately to escape it, but Chris’s arms held him in place and the man’s low, soft voice urged him to lie still. Callused hands stroked gently over his hurting body and firm lips pressed tender kisses to his burning temples. He turned his face into that mouth and let it sweep away his tears.

Chris.

He concentrated on the feel of the hands caressing him, the sound of the voice murmuring softly to him, and found in them a reason and the will to breathe. To live. He held on to Chris when he could, just let the man hold him when he couldn’t. And sometimes, Lord, sometimes he just floated, when the morphine kept the pain at a bearable distance and Chris cradled him close, his body a weary, battered vessel anchored in the safe harbor of Larabee’s arms.

Chris loved him.

He clung to that knowledge like a lifeline, clutched at it with all the desperate strength he could muster. Chris loved him. Larabee whispered the words to him almost constantly, used them as both promise and plea, and the soul he’d once thought bent and broken beyond repair rose up sharply in response every time, healed and whole again. He couldn’t die now, wouldn’t die now, not when he finally had everything he’d never thought he would.

He wouldn’t let Alvin take this from him, too.

He tried not to think about his former partner, but couldn’t help it. Alvin had seen to that when he’d shot him, when he’d inflicted this hell upon him. Every time he was sick, every time the pain made a fresh assault upon him, he saw Alvin’s face and cold, flat black eyes, watched the gun rise and heard again the words that had condemned him, felt again the explosion of pain in his gut.

Cain’t let nobody else have ya.

He flinched and gave a sobbing moan as the pain pierced him anew. But Chris’s arms tightened about him, that low voice murmured words of comfort into his ear, and Alvin Harper sank back into the darkness. Somebody else did have him, Chris had him, and for now it was enough. He turned his head and pressed his face into Chris’s chest, into the beating of the man’s heart, and let the feel of that strong and steady throb against him, the feel of the strong and steady arms around him, lull him into sleep.

He wasn’t through fighting, would fight for as long as he could and with everything he had. For now, though, for a few blessed moments anyway, he’d just rest here, in the safe shelter of the man who held him.

Of the man who loved him.

He couldn’t take any more.

The water was blessedly cool and he knew he needed it, but … he just couldn’t take any more. The few spoonfuls he’d managed to swallow already lay too heavily in his belly, and he knew that just one more would be one too many. The nausea had him again, or maybe still, was curling and coiling inside him like a serpent ready to strike. He didn’t want to be sick again, didn’t have the strength for it or the pain that would come with it …

He just couldn’t take any more.

With a low groan born of the nausea, he clamped his mouth shut against the invading spoon and turned his head weakly to one side. Even so, his stomach clenched threateningly and another groan escaped him. He tried to roll over onto his side, wanted just to curl into himself, but the movement only drove the hot spikes of pain deeper into his gut.

Oh, God, he couldn’t take it!

“Ssh, easy, Vin.” Chris’s low, soft voice brushed soothingly against him even as the man’s strong arms wound tenderly about him. “I’m here. I’ve got ya.” The quiet litany filled his mind, weaving a barrier of sound between him and the pain. “Just relax, try ta rest. There was some laudanum in the water. It should help.”

He moaned breathlessly and shuddered, then sank into that embrace. Once again, somehow, Chris had slipped into his bed, slid behind him, and now cradled him close, offering his body, his arms, as the haven Vin so desperately needed. He knew Chris shouldn’t do this, knew they shouldn’t be seen this way, knew it made too much too plain.

But, God help him, he didn’t care.

“Don’t let go!” he begged on a ragged gasp as pain and sickness warred within him. “I cain’t … do this … alone!”

“You don’t have to,” Chris assured him, tightening his hold upon him. “You’ll never have to do anything alone again, I promise.”

“Need … need ya … so,” he breathed, closing his eyes and resting his head against Chris’s chest. Speaking was an effort – God, everything was an effort – but he had to get out the words, had to make sure this man understood exactly what he meant to him. He didn’t want to die, didn’t intend to die, but he’d learned early on that what he wanted or intended didn’t always count for much. And while there’d be many regrets he’d take to his grave, he wouldn’t let this be one of them. “Lord, Chris,” he groaned, “I’ve loved you fer so long!”

“Vin–”

“No, please,” he whispered, “I n … I need … t’ do this.” He lay still a moment, gathering what little strength he had, then pushed himself off Chris’s body and fell back against the bed, uttering a thick, sobbing groan as the movement renewed the agony in his gut. “Oh, God!”

But immediately Chris was there, leaning over him, pressing tender kisses to his forehead, eyes and mouth; stroking his hair, face and throat; pleading with him in a choked voice to rest. And when a tear dropped from Chris’s face onto his own, Vin felt something fundamental in his whole world shift.

“Ain’t nobody … ever cried … fer me b’fore,” he whispered, forcing open his eyes to stare in wonder up at the man only inches from him. He dragged a leaden hand to Larabee’s and curled his fingers weakly around the gunman’s. His shattered strength was failing, his body craving release from the torment of wakefulness, but he clung desperately to consciousness, refusing as yet to be taken from this man. “Y’ do … beat all … I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, smiling faintly even thrugh his pain and exhaustion. “Knew from the first … you’s somethin’ special. ’S why I told ya … ’bout the bounty … up on that cliff. I loved ya … even then.” His eyes drifted closed and he let them, unable to hold them open. “’N I’ll love ya … ’til … I die.”

“Vin?” Chris rasped strickenly. He slid a shaking hand to the tracker’s throat and pressed his fingers against the pulse there. “God, Vin, please–”

“’S all right,” he slurred, trying to squeeze Chris’s fingers but failing. “Told ya … ain’t gonna die. Cain’t,” he sighed, sinking helplessly into the darkness. “Ain’t near done … lovin’ you … yet.”

He had no clear notion of time, seldom – if ever – knew whether it was night or day, much less which day or what hour it might be. He had very few clear notions at all, and the few he did have centered almost entirely around unrelenting pain and sickness and the searing heat of fever.

And Chris.

But the others were there, too, making themselves known and their presence felt even through the torment that assailed him. He heard their voices, felt their hands gripping his, saw their smiles of encouragement as each one of them at some time sat with him and spooned into him the precious fluids that kept him alive. All of them, all of them were there, taking their turns with him, taking their places with him, letting him know that his place was with them.

He had too much holding him here, all of it to be found somehow in these men, and he clung to it with the whole force of his stubborn will. For the first time in much too long he had something to lose, and he’d be damned if he was going to lose it.

One more fight in a life already filled with them, marked by them. Only … maybe this was the most important fight of all.

By the time he could stay conscious long enough to mark the difference between day and night, a whole week had passed. It sounded like a long time to him; a week, seven days, plenty of time for his body to be well on the way to healing. Except that it wasn’t.

His fever no longer raged like a fire threatening to devour him from within but it stubbornly refused to break, burning just enough to sap his strength and worry Nathan. The nausea, too, seemed utterly indifferent to the passage of time, remained as terrible as ever. Even when he lay perfectly still it tormented him, a cold, oily weight that lay heavily in his belly at its best, a heaving sea of misery at its worst. And while the bouts of retching lessened in frequency, they lost absolutely nothing in their intensity, seizing upon him when he was at his weakest and leaving him exhausted and near sobbing in their wake.

He thought surely the others would tire of tending him through the bouts, would find better, or at least more pleasant, things to do with their time. Hell, it wasn’t like they’d signed on for this. But none of them seemed to mind doing it, never seemed to think any the less of him after seeing him humiliated by his own body. They just … stayed. And helped him bear what at times seemed almost unbearable.

And always, always there was Chris.

Larabee still spent every night in the clinic, though he now seemed as convinced as anyone else that Vin wasn’t going to die. He claimed he did it to give Nathan a much-needed chance to rest, even gave Jackson the use of his room at the boardinghouse; said after spending all day in the clinic, the man needed some time away. Vin knew they couldn’t keep up the deception much longer before the others got suspicious, but he’d take what time he could passing the night in Chris’s arms.

During the days they had to be more circumspect, but still he was there. Chris held his hand through the worst of the pain, bathed his fevered flesh, got him to drink, cleaned him up when he threw it all back up. And when he was resting relatively well, under the influence of either morphine or the laudanum he was increasingly able to tolerate, Chris just sat by his bedside, talking quietly or most often saying nothing at all, allowing their familiar, easy silence to fall between them.

And sometimes, Lord, sometimes Chris read to him, drawing him into the worlds that filled the pages of the book, whetting his appetite for the time when he might seek those worlds on his own.

One afternoon – he thought it was afternoon by the sounds drifting through the open window – unable to help himself, not knowing what prompted it, he stretched out an arm – Lord, when had he grown so thin? – and brushed a shaking finger lightly, almost fearfully, down the cover of the book that rested so easily in Larabee’s long-fingered hands.

Chris must have seen something in his face, the longing maybe, for in the next moment he leaned forward and pressed the book into his hands. “Go ahead,” he said softly, green eyes deep and dark. Vin looked sharply up at him, tried to pull away, but Chris only pressed the harder and withdrew his own hands, leaving the book in Vin’s. “It won’t break.”

He swallowed hard and opened it to the place Chris had marked, dropping his gaze to the page. A few of the words there he recognized; most by far he didn’t. He closed the book carefully and held it back out to Chris. And before he could stop them, the words were out. “I c … I cain’t … read.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected from Chris. Surprise, certainly; scorn, maybe. Hell, even Nathan, a former slave, could read. Seemed to come so naturally to everyone else around him, even to kids like Billy Travis. He was almost certain that a man as smart as Chris would see his inability to do what everyone else, anyone else, could as a mark against him.

He didn’t get at all what he expected.

“I know,” Chris said evenly, easily, as if they were talking about no more than the weather. “I’ve always known. But I also know you’re learning.” He took back the book, but not before pressing Vin’s hands against it. “And someday you’ll be able to read this to me.”

He stared up at him, stunned. “Y’ know?” he managed to whisper. “How?”

Chris shrugged and set the book aside on the table. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never once seen you pick up a copy of the paper, even when it was right in front of you. You pass on telegrams, but never look at them. The few times you’ve been in a restaurant, you look around to see what’s available and decide from that. On wanted posters, you look at the faces, not the names. And,” he sat back in his chair and shrugged again, “you can remember a thousand and one details, but I’ve never once seen you write anything down.”

He dropped his gaze to the bed and plucked feebly at the sheet, ashamed. “Jist never … had the chance t’ learn,” he breathed. “Grandpa couldn’t read neither … weren’t no school–” Chris’s hand descended on his own, stilling its fidgeting, and he looked up into the man’s eyes, half afraid of what he might see there.

But Chris smiled and squeezed his fingers lightly. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter. Not knowin’ how to read doesn’t make you any less than any other man. But,” he arched a brow, “you’re learnin’. And I figure that makes you more.” He nodded once, squeezed Vin’s fingers again and then released them. “And I’d like ta help.”

He gazed up at him, then smiled tiredly and relaxed against the bed. “I’d like that,” he breathed, letting sleep overtake him.

And as it did, he dreamed of reading to Chris.

Little by little, his progress so gradual that at times it was almost imperceptible, he got better. His fever went into a slow decline until, by the middle of the second week, it broke completely, relieving his body of that particular battle. The pain, too, continued to lose force, easing from a sharp, stabbing agony to a much more bearable deep body ache. That improvement alone allowed him to rest better, a definite boon to his healing. But even more importantly, at least to him, it allowed Nathan to put away the morphine and give him only laudanum for relief.

If he never again had to have that God-awful needle jabbed into his body, he’d live and die a happy man.

The nausea continued to plague him, severely dampening his appetite. But Nathan proved every bit as relentless, prodding him to drink even when his stomach rebelled, then just cleaning him up and starting over when that rebellion turned nasty. And sometimes, Lord, sometimes, when he was curled tight and trembling on his side and clinging desperately to the bed as his stomach threatened to tear itself apart and him with it, he thought he’d actually rather see that God-awful needle again than the cup in the healer’s hand.

He hoped to God that Alvin Harper was rotting in hell.

None of the boys had told him outright that Alvin was dead, but they didn’t really have to. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened to him. Bastard had been stupid enough to shoot him down in front of men who weren’t exactly shy about pulling their guns. Chances were that by the time ol’ Alvin hit the floor, he had more holes in him than the roof of Josiah’s church. Part of him took a grim pleasure in that, in knowing that he meant enough to these men that they’d kill for him. Another part, though, smaller, granted, but still there, just wished Alvin had never showed up at all to set all this in motion.

But, hell, the man never really had been good at takin’ “no” for an answer …

He thought about that a lot while he was laid up in the clinic. Hell, seemed like all he had time and strength for was thinking. Some of his thoughts were pleasant, even more than pleasant; like all the ones he had about Chris. He’d harbored a secret fear that if he did live, Larabee would regret his revelation, would have second thoughts about loving a man and start to pull away. He’d even told himself he was ready for that, though he knew he was lying through his teeth. Had told himself he’d find a way to live with that as he had with so much else …

But for once was finding that he didn’t have to. The only effect his getting better seemed to have on Chris was to relieve him and make him happy. Even now that he no longer had a plausible excuse to spend the night in the clinic, he still managed to find ways and times to sneak in sweet kisses and tender caresses, to whisper the words that for so long had been all that kept Vin hanging on.

I love you. I’ve got ya, Vin, and I ain’t ever gonna let ya go.

Strange how those words from Chris carried such healing, while from Alvin …

Lord, Alvin.

The man was like a dark shadow on his soul that wouldn’t go away. Even dead, the stubborn, stupid sonuvabitch wouldn’t take no for an answer! Hour after hour, day after day, as he lay in the clinic and struggled to get better, fought to reclaim what Harper had so nearly taken from him, the man haunted him like some ghost who refused to stay in his grave. Cold, accusing black eyes stared at him from every corner of the room, and that hard, harsh voice poured its menace even, especially, into his sweet dreams of Chris.

Cain’t let nobody else have ya.

Except that somebody else did have him …

Cain’t let nobody else have ya.

No matter how many times he tried to bury him in his mind, the bastard just kept popping back out of his grave, throwing his shadow across Vin’s soul. And try as he might to find another, he could think of only one way to rid himself of it.

He was gonna have to tell Chris about Alvin. About all the Alvin Harpers in his life.

And all at once, neither the God-awful morphine needle nor the ever-present cup in Nathan’s hand seemed quite so bad anymore.

He spent a little more than two weeks in the clinic, resting, healing and, finally, eating and keeping down small amounts of solid food. Yet where once such extended confinement would have had him fairly climbing the walls – and likely climbing out a window – now he accepted it with something approaching a resigned patience. He might be stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid, and, much as he disliked being under such constant scrutiny, he also knew that he was in absolutely no shape to go sneaking off on his own.

Besides, it was awful damn hard to sneak when he couldn’t even cross the clinic without help.

Finally, though, Nathan consented to release him, though only to his rarely-used room at the boardinghouse and even then somewhat grudgingly.

“Hell, look at ya’self, Vin!” the healer protested, seemingly on the verge of refusing yet again. He paced around the clinic with long, agitated strides, clearly torn between his fears and his patient’s hopes. “That sheet on the bed’s got mo’ color’n you, an’ right now it wouldn’t take more’n a strong wind ta blow you away. Weak as ya are, it wouldn’t take longer’n the blink of an eye fo’ you ta get sick or, unsteady as ya are, hurt. One wrong fall could have ya damagin’ your liver all over again, even rupturin’ it. It’s a damn miracle you’re here now, Vin,” he said quietly, urgently. “An’ I jes’ don’t think you got a second miracle in ya. Not now.”

Sitting up in bed, dressed in a shirt that hung on his thin frame like one of Buck’s would’ve even though it was his own, he stared down at himself and had to admit that Nathan was right. Whatever muscle and sinew he’d had seemed to have melted completely away, leaving only the hard, sharp jut or prominent knob of bone beneath a paper-thin layer of flesh. He’d seen his face only that morning in a small mirror after Chris had helped him shave and had barely recognized the gaunt, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed reflection as his own. The least little exertion left him gasping for breath and exhausted, and any sharp movement caused a painful pulling at his middle.

Wasn’t much to him, he knew that. He wasn’t near ready for a ride on Peso or even a stroll through town. But he was ready to get out of here.

“I won’t get hurt,” he insisted softly, still staring down at the white, bony fingers laced loosely together in his lap.

Nathan blew out a sharp breath and wheeled to face him, worry plain in the sound and movement. “How do ya know that?” he demanded. “Ya cain’t even walk across this room yet without fallin’. Hell, ya cain’t take more’n three or four steps without needin’ a rest! How ya gon’ get up an’ down them stairs at the boardin’house? Hell, how ya gon’ get to the boardin’house in the first place?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He’d thought about it long and hard and had come up with a way. He hated it with everything that was in him, but hated the thought of staying here even more. Swallowing hard, he raised his head slowly and opened his eyes, meeting Nathan’s waiting look with a weary but unyielding determination. “Figgered mebbe …” His voice faltered; he really did hate this. But he’d done worse things in his life, and for far less. “Figgered mebbe one a’ y’all could … could push me … in that wheeled chair.”

Nathan stared at him in outright amazement, as if unable to believe he’d heard those words coming from Vin Tanner’s mouth. “You … you gon’ let us … put you in that chair an’ … an’ push you down the street to the boardin’house? With folks watchin’?”

Vin flinched at that and bowed his head again, closing his eyes once more against a sudden rush of humiliation. Lord, he really wished Nathan hadn’t added that last part! He hated being stared at, hated having anyone see him helpless, vulnerable. And parading down the main street of town in a wheelchair was just about the surest way he knew to have folks do both. But it was either that … or let somebody carry him.

Jesus, when he was strong enough, he might just find Alvin’s grave and pump a few bullets into the sonuvabitch himself.

“Vin?” Nathan moved to the bed and sat down slowly on its edge, then reached out and set a strong hand on one thin, bowed shoulder. “You that desperate t’ get outta here?” he asked softly.

He nodded once, then drew a deep breath and raised his head, opening his eyes and lifting his gaze to Nathan’s. The healer’s dark eyes were as gentle as the hand on his shoulder and soft with worry. That worry drove a sharp pang of guilt through him as he suddenly realized how ungrateful he must seem. Nathan had done more for him than any “real” doctor ever had, had fought and won a damn near impossible battle for his life, had tended to his every bodily need without ever once insulting his dignity.

And Vin didn’t think he’d ever even thanked him.

“Please don’t take it wrong, Nate,” he breathed, suddenly wishing he had Ezra’s gift for flowery speech. “It ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with you. Hell, I know I wouldn’t be here now but fer you an’ all ya done. It ain’t that I don’t appreciate ya, I do. I ain’t even got the words ta thank ya, an’ I fer damn sure ain’t ever gonna be able t’ repay ya–”

“Don’t recall ever askin’ ya fo’ either,” Nathan interrupted quietly. “You’re alive. That’s all the payment I need. You wanta thank somebody, thank God. He’s the one done the real work.”

“Yeah, but I reckon He had a real good pair of hands helpin’ him,” he said softly, seriously, remembering everything those hands had done for him. “My wantin’ t’ leave here ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with you,” he said again. “And I ain’t lookin’ t’ do nothin’ stupid, I promise. I jist–” He shrugged helplessly and looked pleadingly at Nathan, praying the man would know what he meant.

“Ya jes’ need t’ be on y’ own again,” Nathan supplied easily. “Or at least as close to it as you can get.” He squeezed Vin’s shoulder again, then withdrew his hand. “But you do know,” he lifted two dark brows, “that even if I do letcha leave here, that don’t mean I ain’t gon’ be checkin’ on ya.”

He gave a soft, wry chuckle at that and shook his head. “Hell, I’d have ta send somebody ta check on you if ya didn’t,” he teased. “I ain’t fool enough t’ think that jist changin’ rooms is gonna get me shut of all y’all.” He grinned and winked. “But at least bein’ in my room’ll gimme the right ta throw y’all out when I get tired of lookin’ at ya.”

Nathan snorted derisively and swept a withering gaze over the tracker. “Y’ ain’t in no shape ta be throwin’ nobody nowhere, Vin Tanner!” he chided gruffly. “Hell, right now ya couldn’t throw a feather down wind!” He sighed heavily and studied Vin a moment more, then rose from the bed and walked slowly to the window. For long moments he simply stood there, staring down into the street below.

Vin watched him in silence, unable to see his face but knowing from the man’s posture that he was considering. Hope rose within him, but he warned himself not to expect too much. He knew exactly what kind of shape he was in, felt it more intimately than anyone else could, and understood Nathan’s caution.

Hell, the last thing he wanted was to end up right back here, sick or hurt again.

“You still feelin’ sick at all?” Nathan finally asked.

He thought about it, knowing he owed it to Jackson to be completely honest. “A little, ’specially after I eat,” he admitted. “But I ain’t thrown up in a couple’a days now.”

Nathan continued to stare out the window, saying nothing. Finally, after long moments, he turned away from the window and moved slowly back to the bed. Stopping at its foot, he gazed steadily down at Vin, then nodded once. “I wanta see how ya do with supper,” he said quietly, “make sure ya rest good tonight.” He smiled then and compassion shone in his eyes. “An’ mebbe t’morrow we can get ya over there early enough that won’t nobody but us see ya.”

Chris showed up just as he was finishing what these days passed for his breakfast, nodding to Nathan as he stepped into the clinic, then turning to smile at him. And Vin could have sworn he saw the same pleasure and excitement mirrored in the clear green eyes that he felt in himself.

One eye closed in the quickest of winks, then the gunman turned back to the healer. “You really turnin’ his scrawny ass out?”

Nathan snorted and fixed a dour look upon Vin. “Figger it’s better’n scrapin’ it up off the street when the damn fool tries goin’ out the window an’ falls t’ his death. An’ I figger Miz Collins can watch him as good as we can.”

Vin groaned loudly at that and let his fork fall into his plate. Lord, they were gonna sic her on him! The woman had a motherly streak a mile wide, seemed to think she was running a home for orphans instead of a boardinghouse. She clucked over him and JD like they were her chicks; hell, she even fussed and fretted over Larabee!

Just as soon as he could walk six feet without fallin’, he was headin’ for his wagon.

Then, damn his ornery soul, Chris slanted a sly grin at him, canted his golden head ever so slightly and said, “I had Josiah and Tiny move your wagon into that old abandoned storehouse behind the grain exchange.” His eyelid dipped again in a wink. “Keep anybody from nosin’ around in it while you’re laid up.”

Vin scowled blackly at him, knowing exactly who the smug sonuvabitch meant to keep from “nosin’ around.” Hell, at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be able to walk that far for weeks!

He fell back against his stacked pillows with a huff and crossed his arms against his chest. “Nice t’ know I got folks watchin’ out fer me,” he sulked.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Chris said with that maddening grin.

Nathan chuckled softly and scooted his chair back from the table where he’d been eating. “Well,” he said with a broad, bright smile as he rose to his feet, “I’m gon’ take a few things over, make sure his room’s ready.” He turned to Chris. “If you can he’p him get dressed, an’,” he lifted two dark brows, “if y’all don’ kill each other while I’m gone, then we can see about gettin’ him moved ’fore the whole town wakes up.”

“Oh, he’ll be ready,” Chris assured him. Then, again gazing at Vin and again canting his head ever so slightly, he added with a small smile, “And I’ll make sure he behaves.”

That soft, silken tone awakened a fluttering in Vin’s belly that had nothing to do with nausea. He knew he should make some smart-assed reply, but couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything except stare helplessly up at Chris and pray as he’d almost forgotten how to do that he wasn’t just imagining the promise in the man’s voice and eyes.

If Nathan noticed anything unusual, anything new, in the by-play between the two, he gave no sign of it, merely nodded once at Chris and turned to look at Vin. “You jes’ be careful,” he urged seriously. “I know you’re in a hurry t’ get outta here, but you ain’t got no mo’ strength now than ya did las’ night. So you jes’ take it slow, y’ hear?”

He swallowed and nodded slowly. “I will,” he murmured, switching his gaze with some difficulty from Larabee to Jackson. “I ain’t gonna mess this up, I promise.”

Nathan smiled gently at him. “I’m mo’ worried about you messin’ you up. Like I said las’ night, I jes’ don’ think you got another miracle in ya right now.”

He smiled, touched by the genuine concern in the healer’s quiet voice. He’d long since gotten used – or thought he had – to the notion that these men cared about him. But not until Alvin had so nearly killed him had he truly understood just how deep that caring ran.

Chris’s love wasn’t the only revelation granted him during these past two dark and painful weeks.

“I’ll be real careful,” he breathed solemnly. “I promise.”

Nathan studied him a moment longer, then turned away and walked out of the clinic, closing the door behind him and leaving him alone with Chris. And the fluttering in his stomach grew noticeably stronger.

Chris cocked an ear toward the door, listening intently. When Nathan’s footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, he turned back to Vin, green eyes sweeping slowly, appraisingly over him. The teasing of a few moments ago was gone from them, replaced by concern. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly.

Vin met that gaze easily and nodded firmly. He looked awful, he knew that, looked like a dry, brittle twig that the smallest breeze would snap. He also knew that before him stood the one man who could breathe life and strength back into him.

“Been ready fer this since I met ya, cowboy,” he rasped as all the love and longing he felt for the man welled up through him in a warm and powerful wave. “Been dreamin’ about it a long time now. Too long.” He sat up slowly, his eyes never leaving the gunman’s chiseled face. “I’m tired of dreamin’, Chris. Reckon it’s time we both had somethin’ real.”

Larabee moved to him in three long strides and sat down on the edge of the bed. He lifted the tray holding Tanner’s forgotten breakfast from the tracker’s lap and set it down on the floor, then turned back to Vin. Gazing intently into the eyes fixed upon him, he lifted a hand and cradled it gently to Vin’s face, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Tanner’s in a slow and tender kiss.

Vin moaned and reached for Chris with one hand, latching weakly onto the man’s arm, his whole soul trembling at the utter, aching sweetness of that kiss. He’d never known its like, had never in all his life been kissed like this. It went through him like a shaft of light, piercing his heart and stealing his breath, stripping from him all he’d ever imagined that being truly kissed by this man might be.

Lord, even his sweetest, most fanciful dreams had been nothing compared to this!

He moaned again and shuddered hard, slumping against Chris as his frail strength deserted him in a rush. Larabee’s mouth left his but the man’s arms only tightened about him, holding him tightly, protectively, as he dropped his head onto one wide, strong shoulder and gasped for breath.

“You all right?” Chris asked softly, worriedly, rubbing slow circles into his back. “You’re shakin’.”

“I’m all right,” he whispered unsteadily, huddling contentedly in Larabee’s embrace despite the weakness clawing at him. “Jist ain’t … ever had nothin’ like this before. Nothin’ like you before.” He smiled slightly and nestled his face into the warmth of Chris’s throat. “Reckon I jist need t’ get used t’ this.”

“Well, we’re gonna take our time doin’ that,” Chris said quietly. He loosened his hold on Vin and pushed him away slightly, but lifted a hand to cup his face once more. “Thought I was gonna lose you once before,” he breathed, the pain of that still vivid in his voice and eyes. “Scared me ta death!” He smiled slightly and stroked his thumb slowly over Vin’s mouth. “I don’t wanta do anything to hurt you,” he said. “Don’t wanta do anything to risk losin’ you again. So we’re gonna take this slow and careful, make sure you’re strong enough for whatever comes.”

“Feel strong when ya hold me like this,” he sighed, losing himself in the soft green depths of Larabee’s eyes and praying no one ever found him.

“Yeah,” Chris chuffed. “That’s why you’re shakin’ like a leaf in a storm.” He swept his fingertips lightly over Vin’s face and brushed the long hair out of his eyes. “I don’t ever wanta hurt you, Vin,” he murmured. “You’ve had too much of that already. All I ever wanta do is take care of you, protect you. Make sure I have you in my life for a long, long time.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, cowboy,” he assured him, easily able to hear and feel the pain and fear that still lurked in the man’s battered heart. “Ain’t got no plans ta leave ya anytime soon. Likely one day I’ll die in yer arms.” He sighed and smiled and laid his head back down against that inviting shoulder. “But not until I’ve lived a good long time in ’em first.”

Chris rested his head against Vin’s, then lifted a hand and combed his fingers gently through Tanner’s hair. “I’m lookin’ forward to that,” he murmured. “Lookin’ forward to findin’ out what a life with you’ll be like. But first,” he turned his head and kissed Vin again, “we gotta get you well. And,” he sighed, “we better get you dressed before Nathan gets back. Don’t wanta give him any excuse ta change his mind about lettin’ you go.”

Vin sat up and pulled away reluctantly, but reached for Chris’s hand and held to it. “Gonna be a lot easier fer us once I’m there,” he said quietly, gazing intently at the gunman. “But we’re still gonna have t’ be real careful. Y’ know that, don’t ya? Most folks ain’t like Buck. They don’t take kindly ta two men lovin’ each other.”

“I know that,” Chris said. “But I also know what I feel for you. We’ll be careful, I promise. But I won’t be kept away from you outta fear or because of what others think.” His wide mouth curved into a grin. “In case you ain’t noticed, I don’t much give a damn about that.”

Vin snorted and shook his head. “Hell, yer a cocky sonuvabitch, Larabee,” he rasped. “Cain’t imagine why I love ya like I do.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Chris breathed in a low, sultry voice, leaning forward to brush his lips against Vin’s jaw, “while you’re gettin’ well, I’ll see if I can’t give you a few good reasons.”

“Damn, cowboy,” he breathed shakily, shivering again. “Y’ make it awful hard t’ think about gettin’ dressed!”

“Yeah,” Chris pulled back and arched a brow, his mouth curving again into that sly grin, “but just think about how much fun it’ll be gettin’ undressed when you’re better.”

Vin swallowed hard, feeling more than a little light-headed. “Gonna hold ya to that,” he said breathlessly. He shook his head slightly to clear it, then forced a crooked smile. “Now, shut up an’ help me get dressed. If I pass out in yer arms, I ain’t explainin’ it t’ Nathan.” He saw the worry clouding Larabee’s eyes and squeezed his hand. “I’m all right, I promise,” he rasped. “Jist ain’t got near enough blood in me yet fer you t’ go gettin’ it all stirred up.”

Chris studied him a few moments longer, then nodded slightly. He squeezed Vin’s hand once before releasing it and rose to his feet, going to the rocker where Nathan had the tracker’s clothes laid out. “You let me do all the work,” he said as he bent to retrieve them, “you hear?”

Vin absently licked his lips as he watched the man bend over. “Yeah, I hear,” he murmured distractedly, drinking in the wholly appealing sight of the gunman’s tight ass. “’N yer doin’ a fine job so far.”

Chris straightened and turned around, scowling at Vin as if he knew where his attention had wandered. “You’re gonna be a real handful, I can tell already,” he growled.

Vin smirked up at him. “’At’s my hope.”

Chris heaved a long, slow sigh and shook his head, then stalked back toward the bed and stared sternly down at Tanner. “Take off the nightshirt and put this on,” he ordered, holding out a faded undershirt.

Vin scowled in disappointment. “Thought you’s gonna do all the work,” he groused.

“Hell,” Chris groaned, sinking once more to the bed. “You better be worth all this trouble!” He set down the clothes, then reached out and began pulling up the heavy cotton flannel nightshirt. “Where the hell did you get this, anyway?” he asked as he tugged it off over Vin’s head and arms. “It’s twice your size.” He started to toss it aside, but Vin reached out and grabbed it from him.

“Nettie brought it fer me,” he said defensively, holding it close and treasuring the feel of its softness against him. “Nathan told her I stayed cold from the blood loss, an’ she brought this t’ keep me warm. Said it used t’ belong to her husband. She kep’ it ’cause it was one of his favorites, but she said she reckoned I needed it more’n she did. So she give it to me.”

“Oh.” Chris’s eyes softened and he smiled, reaching out to brush his fingers over the heavy garment. “Well then, I guess we’ll have ta take good care of it.”

Vin absently stroked the fabric with long, thin fingers. “I know ya think it’s stupid–”

“No, I don’t,” Chris assured him quietly. “I know what Nettie means to ya. I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

Vin stared at him and knew he spoke the truth. And loved him even more for it. He laid down the nightshirt and reached for his undershirt. “Y’ ain’t careful, cowboy,” he breathed, “yer gonna make me have feelin’s fer ya.”

Chris grinned and winked. “’At’s my hope.”

He could feel the hot blush burning in his cheeks and pulled the worn shirt on over his head to hide it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the hard rush of powerful feelings Larabee unleashed in him, but he figured there were definitely worse ways to spend his life than trying.

Chris frowned as he rifled through Vin’s clothes. “Got your pants, a shirt, but no underpants–”

“Got them on already,” Vin said. “Kep’ ’em on under the nightshirt.”

Chris only shook his head, went back to rifling, then turned back with an upraised brow. “No socks either. You wearin’ them, too?”

Vin narrowed his eyes and scowled. “My feet git cold. You got a problem with that?”

Chris grinned and wagged his brows. “Not yet. But maybe late at night.”

“Damn, yer worse’n Buck,” Vin sighed. He held out a hand. “Jist gimme my damn pants–”

“Nope.” Chris leveled a serious look on him. “This is where I do the work. You fall and Nathan’ll have a fit. Or, worse, keep you here for another month. So we do this my way.”

Vin stared at him for long moments, noting the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. “I ain’t got a choice, do I?”

“Not this side of hell.”

The iron in Larabee’s voice refused all argument, and he sighed. “All right.”

Chris nodded and slid off the bed to kneel on the floor, Vin’s pants in his hands. “All right, turn around and put your feet on the floor.”

Vin rolled his eyes, but did as ordered. And he had no doubt that it was an order. Goddamn uppity cowboy …

Chris tapped Vin’s left foot. “Lift.” When Vin did, he slipped the trousers on over it, bunching up the fabric around Tanner’s ankle. He did the same with the right leg. “Now, lean on me and stand up.” Vin did so, setting his hands on Larabee’s broad shoulders and levering himself slowly, carefully to his feet. Chris lifted his head, his face only inches from Tanner’s crotch, and groaned.

“Shut up, Larabee,” Vin whispered tightly, again feeling the hot burn of a blush in his cheeks as his cock stirred weakly. “Jist do what ya gotta ’fore Nathan comes back. ’Cause I sure as hell ain’t explainin’ this!”

Chris nodded and hurriedly pulled up Vin’s pants. Then, abruptly, he grabbed Vin’s waist and stood upright. “I’ll hold you up while you button ’em,” he rasped.

Vin smirked and shook his head. “Pitiful, Larabee,” he scolded playfully. “Pi-ti-ful!”

“Big talk from a man who can’t even stand on his own,” the gunman croaked, sliding around to stand behind Tanner, his hands cupping the tracker’s narrow waist.

Vin absently leaned back into the solid support of Chris’s body while he worked at the buttons of his fly. And when Chris’s arms slipped more securely around him, he marveled yet again at the absolute safety he felt at being held by such a dangerous man, when lesser men – like Alvin – had inspired only fear and hatred in him.

“I’m done,” he breathed, the words taking on more than one meaning as he sagged against Chris. The floor was beginning to shift beneath his feet, his vision to gray at the edges. “Think I need t’ sit down–” Chris caught him before he could fall, held him securely and lowered him gently back down onto the bed. He bowed his head and raised a shaking hand to it, pressing the other to the bed to steady himself as dizziness assailed him. “Damn,” he whispered.

“It’s all right,” Chris soothed, laying one hand over Vin’s and rubbing the other over the tracker’s thigh. “Just gotta give yourself time.”

He nodded faintly, feeling cold and hot at the same time, his strength gone, his body wrung out. A headache was building behind his eyes and nausea beginning its familiar slow crawl through his belly. And all he’d done was stand up …

Chris held him steady with one hand and reached past him with the other, then pulled back. “Here,” he said, gently prizing Vin’s hand from the bed, “put this on.”

Hardly knowing what he did, simply entrusting himself into Chris’s care, he let Larabee slip the shirt over first one arm and then the other. While he sat there, eyes closed and head bowed, Chris buttoned the shirt with long, nimble fingers, murmuring quietly to him all the while. Vin wasn’t exactly sure what he said, but he didn’t care. Just knew that that soft, silken voice wrapped around him, comforted him. Made him feel safe.

Loved.

“Damn, cowboy,” he sighed, having strength for no more than that.

Chris rose and eased once more onto the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around Vin’s waist and pulling him into the shelter of his own body. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Tanner’s temple. “You just rest here a minute,” he urged softly. “We’ll get your boots on when you’re a little steadier.”

He gave a breathless laugh. “Could be a couple’a days then.”

“If that’s what it takes. We’re not in any rush here. We got all the time in the world.”

“Only got ’til Nathan comes back–”

“I didn’t mean that,” Chris countered softly. “I meant for us. I don’t want you thinkin’ you have to do somethin’ right now or this … I … will go away.” He tightened his arm about Vin, took the tracker’s hand in his free one and held firmly to it. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, partner,” he murmured. “Not without you.”

Vin smiled slightly, contentedly, deeply reassured by the absolute conviction in Larabee’s voice. “Well,” he breathed, “I done waited fer ya this long. Reckon a little longer won’t hurt none.” He pulled away slightly and lifted a pale hand to Chris’s face, tracing the proud and beautiful features with trembling fingers. “An’ y’ are worth waitin’ on, cowboy,” he whispered. “Hell, yer worth ever’thing I ever been through t’ get where I am now.”

Chris captured that hand in his and carried it to his mouth, kissing Vin’s fingers tenderly. “No, I’m not,” he rasped thickly. “But maybe with your help I can be.” Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs outside and he kissed Vin’s fingers again, then carefully released him. “Now, let’s get your boots on, get you over to your room.” He winked and grinned. “Maybe start gettin’ in some practice on the undressin’ part of all this.”

Before Vin could say anything, Chris was off the bed and moving to retrieve his boots and Nathan was stepping into the clinic. Just as well, he thought, since after Chris’s last statement his brain couldn’t quite remember how to form words anyway.

His befuddlement must have showed. Nathan gave him a hard, measuring look, snorted softly and shook his head, muttering something about “damn hard-headed fools” under his breath. Then Chris was kneeling once more in front of him, one boot in his hand, and, his back to Nathan, looked up at him and wagged his blond brows suggestively.

Vin shot him the fiercest glare he could manage.

Nathan shook his head again. “All right,” he said on a long, slow, aggrieved sigh, “while y’all are finishin’ up here, I’m gon’ take the wheelchair down, have it ready.” He leveled a thick forefinger and a menacing scowl at Vin. “You be careful comin’ down them stairs, you hear? Go slow, hold onta the rail. An’ let Chris help ya.”

He looked down at Larabee, imagined that long, strong body bracing his, and sighed softly. “Reckon I could manage that.”

Nathan stared at him a few moments more, as if not trusting or believing such easy compliance, then turned and went back out the door. When Larabee chuckled, Vin glared down at him. “You’d best behave out there,” he growled. “You piss him off an’ there ain’t no tellin’ what the hell he’ll pour down my throat outta spite!”

“I’ll behave, I promise,” Chris assured him, thought that wicked grin still hovered about his mouth. “Now, let’s get your boots on. Folks are gonna start stirrin’ soon, and I know you’d just as soon be settled by then.”

“Yeah.”

He set his hands on Chris’s shoulders and pushed his foot into his boot while Chris pulled it up. They repeated the action with the other boot, then Chris rose to his feet and helped Vin to his. He was half tempted to tell Larabee he could make it outside without any help, but knew the man would never believe him. Hell, he didn’t believe it himself. So he gave no argument when Chris’s hand closed firmly around his arm to guide and steady him.

“Just take it slow, partner,” Chris urged. “And don’t worry, I won’t letcha fall.”

He trusted Larabee as he never had anyone else, but even so he wasn’t entirely certain the man could keep that promise when he felt as shaky on his legs as a newborn foal. It had only been in the past few days that Nathan had started letting him up out of bed, and for no more than a few moments at a time. Hadn’t even been allowed to the privy yet because of the stairs. He’d chafed at that restriction, but now understood it and was strangely grateful for it. Without it, he’d surely have tried to go down and would most like have fallen and broken his fool neck.

Could be that Nathan knew him better than he liked to think …

With Chris at his side and holding his arm, he shuffled to the door like an old man, absently holding his left arm over his middle as he felt the familiar painful pulling there that warned him he was over doing. But he wouldn’t stop now, wasn’t about to turn around and climb back into that bed. He was leaving here, going to his own room, no matter how long it took or how much it hurt.

His body was still weak; wasn’t a thing in the world wrong with his determination.

Even so, as they made it outside to the landing and stopped at the top of the stairs, his stomach turned over in a queasy roll as he stared down to the wheelchair waiting below. He’d forgotten just how many stairs there were, had forgotten how steeply down they ran, had forgotten how narrow they were. For long, long moments he just stared, trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to do this when he could barely stand.

Then Chris moved closer to him still and circled a strong and steadying arm about his waist. “You hold on to the railin’,” the gunman instructed quietly. “I’ll hold on to you.”

Vin swallowed hard, licked suddenly dry lips and nodded nervously. Slipping his arm around Chris, he wrapped his fingers desperately around the man’s gunbelt and hung on for dear life, then took his first step down. He could feel cold sweat breaking out across his face in beads, felt his heart racing rabbit-fast in his chest. He knew exactly how weak he was, knew exactly what could happen if he missed just one step. Yet still he forced himself to take another step, and another, clinging tightly to the railing with one hand and to Chris with the other, and leaning more and more heavily against the man as his strength began to wane.

And they still had more than halfway to go …

“Easy, Vin, it’s all right,” Chris soothed in a low, soft voice, words pouring from him in a constant litany of reassurance and encouragement. “Just one step at a time. You won’t fall, I promise. I gotcha, partner. I gotcha and I ain’t ever gonna letcha go.”

Lord, someday he was gonna have to tell Larabee just how much those words meant to him!

“Just a few more now,” Chris went on. “Five, maybe six, then we’re down. And Nathan’s got that chair ready and waitin’ for ya. So you can sit down, rest, let us do the work. That sound pretty good?”

“Reckon,” he rasped breathlessly. The stairs – and everything else – were beginning to slide in and out of focus before him, adding to the headache pounding behind his eyes and between his temples. And he was starting to feel more than a little sick again …

“We’re almost done,” Chris said softly, holding more tightly to him than ever. “Four … three … c’mon, Vin, stay with me … two … one … Nathan, help me!” he called sharply.

Vin’s knees buckled as he stepped down to the ground, and only Chris’s hold on him, then Nathan’s, kept him from falling. He moaned and slumped bonelessly against the gunman, then was eased carefully into the chair by two strong but gentle pairs of hands. Immediately Nathan’s hand found its way to his forehead, checking for a fever, but Chris’s hands wrapped warmly around his own as the man knelt before him.

“It’s all right, partner, we made it,” he said quietly. “You just rest up. Nathan and I’ll take it from here.”

Chris squeezed his hands, then rose to his feet. For a fleeting moment, he thought, hoped, the man would kiss him again, but dazedly realized he could not.

And already he missed the feel of those lips against his own more than he could say.

The slow climb up the stairs of the boardinghouse was every bit as tortuous as the one down those at the clinic had been, and by the time they reached the second floor Chris was supporting his whole weight. Nathan had hurried ahead to unlock and open the door to his room; when he returned, he simply scooped Vin into his arms and carried him the rest of the way. Vin knew he should protest, but was too grateful to the healer to manage it.

Lord, he hated this …

Drifting in a haze of dizziness, pain and nausea, he felt himself being lowered carefully onto his bed and moaned in relief as his body came to rest against the firm support of the mattress. Hands tugged at his boots and quickly removed them, and he vaguely heard a soft “thump” as they were thrown aside. Crisp, clean sheets and one of Mrs. Collins’s quilts were pulled up over him and tucked about him, then a weight settled itself onto the bed at his side. A strong hand gripped his firmly, long fingers curled warmly about his, and he turned instinctively into the shelter of the man whose touch and presence went clear through him to his soul.

Chris.

“Yeah, partner, I’m here,” a low voice assured him as more long fingers found their way into his hair and stroked tenderly. “How you doin’?”

He groaned in answer and drew his knees up toward his body, trying to lessen the pain throbbing deep inside him. “Hurts,” he whispered, then felt again the pain’s companion. “Sick.”

“I’s afraid of that,” Nathan said quietly at his other side. The healer was silent for long moments, then a big hand slid beneath his head. “Need ya ta turn on ya back, Vin. Got some tea here ta settle ya stomach. Then I’ll give ya some laudanum fo’ the pain.”

He tried to comply but was too tired. And, truth be told, he didn’t really want to move away from Chris. But these men were persistent and, at the moment, stronger than he, and they simply did for him what he couldn’t do for himself, as they’d been doing since he’d been shot. Chris eased him onto his back, then Nathan lifted his head and set a cup at his lips, tipping a small portion of its contents into his mouth.

He swallowed reflexively, expecting it all just to make a quick reappearance. But, though his stomach protested its intrusion, the tea stayed down. Nathan fed it to him slowly, patiently, pausing every few sips to let it settle. And Vin had to admit that its wetness felt good as it seeped into his body.

Finally the tea was finished and his head was lowered back against the pillow. He felt a faint breeze whispering against his face, caught the light scent of flowers upon it, and turned his head a fraction. Cracking open his eyes, he smiled weakly at the sight of the fresh wildflowers in a vase on the small bedside table.

“Miz Collins brought those fo’ ya,” Nathan told him with a smile. “Said she knows how much ya like ’em, thought it’d make ya feel better. Said t’ tell ya she’ll keep bringin’ ’em up fo’ ya ’til you can get out an’ bring some ta her.”

He sighed at that and let his eyes close, still smiling. She’d told him once about a field she’d played in as a little girl, said sometimes she could still smell the flowers that grew there in a wild abundance. So when he could, he brought her wildflowers as repayment for the many small kindnesses she did for him.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad being one of her “orphans” …

He drifted away again to the light scent of flowers and the feel of Chris’s fingers combing through his hair. Then Nathan called him back, lifted his head once more and set another cup against his lips.

“Water,” the healer told him. “Got some laudanum in it. It’ll help ya rest.”

He sipped obediently, having neither the will nor the strength to argue. He couldn’t imagine why he was so tired when all he seemed to do these days was sleep.

He finished the water and his head was returned to the pillow. He felt strong fingers at his wrist, felt another hand at his forehead, then against his cheek, and was amazed at how much concern and compassion could be conveyed in something so simple as a touch.

Lord, the things these men were teaching him …

“Gon’ sit with ya a while, jes’ ’til ya go ta sleep,” Nathan said quietly, tucking his arm gently under the covers. “That all right with you?”

He forced open leaden eyes and smiled tiredly up at the healer. “’S fine,” he slurred. “Done got kinda used to it.”

“Y’ think ya gon’ be sick?”

He thought a moment, then shook his head weakly. “Don’t think so. Don’t feel near’s sick as I did.”

“Good,” the healer said, gently brushing the hair back from his face. “Guess that tea’s workin’. Now, jes’ rest an’ let the laudanum do the same.”

His eyes slid closed, but he wrenched them open once more and fixed them stubbornly on Jackson’s face, refusing to go to sleep just yet. “Need t’ thank ya,” he rasped thickly. “I know … y’ didn’t wanta lemme go jist yet …” He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to dredge the words up from his sluggish mind. “Thanks fer lettin’ me anyway. Fer understandin’ why I needed t’ leave.”

Nathan smiled and set a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I do understand, Vin. May not always like it, but I do understand. I jes’ cain’t help worryin’ about ya is all.”

“I know,” he breathed, his eyes closing again. “’N I ’preciate that more’n you’ll ever know.” He wanted to say more but couldn’t. Exhaustion was overcoming him and dragging him down, and whatever resistance he might have put up was countered by the slow, rhythmic movements of Chris’s hand in his hair. Those fingers soothed him, relaxed him, eased him into a sleep he couldn’t fight.

So he just let himself go, knowing as he’d never known anything else in his life that Chris would catch him before he fell too far.

He woke to the smell of food. And was most pleased to discover that the smell was appealing rather than sickening. He opened his eyes and turned his head, and smiled at the sight of Chris sitting at the small table by the window, golden head bowed and gleaming in the sun as he ate the meal before him.

Lord, but the man was a fine sight!

“Hey, cowboy,” he rasped, his tongue feeling thick and his mouth dry from sleep and the after-effects of laudanum. “Join ya?”

Chris looked up sharply and a broad, bright smile split his face. “It’s about time you woke up!” he greeted, relief and pleasure mingling in his voice. He dropped his fork and rose to his feet, quickly crossing the small room to sit down on the bed at Vin’s side. “I was startin’ ta think you were gonna sleep the whole day away.”

He grimaced and started to sit up, and was immediately helped by Chris. Larabee held him in one arm and snaked the other behind him to set his pillow against the headboard, then lowered him back against it. “Thanks,” he breathed, hating this persistent weakness. “Reckon gettin’ here took more outta me than I thought it would.”

“Took everything outta ya, Tanner,” Chris scolded gently, the worry he had felt clear in his voice and eyes. “Thought maybe we’d moved you too soon.”

He smiled and reached for Chris’s hand, curling thin, cool fingers around the gunman’s stronger, warmer ones and squeezing lightly. “I’m all right,” he said softly, touched by the man’s concern even as he regretted causing it. “Don’t feel near as bad as I did. Jist needed t’ rest up is all.”

Chris searched his face intently for long moments, as if reluctant to believe him. But finally he relaxed, the worry in his eyes easing, a small, relieved smile touching his lips. “You do look better,” he allowed. He reached with his free hand for the cup on the bedside table and offered it to Vin, helping him hold it while he drank. “Though that ain’t exactly sayin’ much, considerin’ what you looked like before.”

When he had finished the water, he pushed the cup away and shot a scowl up at the gunman. “Real sweet-talker, ain’tcha?” he growled, pulling his other hand away from Chris’s and crossing his arms against his chest. “Hell, yer like t’ turn my head with all them flowery words.”

Chris heaved a sigh and shook his head as he set the cup back on the table, green eyes flashing with humor. “Well, I see there’s nothin’ wrong with that mouth of yours.” He arched a golden brow. “Lemme guess, that smart-ass instinct is the first thing that revives in you Texans?”

He tipped his head to one side and winked, a grin tugging at his mouth. “That an’ our natural charm.”

Chris snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Charm.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He unfolded his arms and stretched one out, setting his hand against Larabee’s chest and sliding it slowly downward. “I been told,” he drawled softly, gazing at Chris through lowered lashes, “that I can be real charmin’,” his hand reached Larabee’s waistband and he hooked his fingers into it, “when I try.”

Chris exhaled audibly and stiffened, his eyes widening. “And I’ve always said,” he breathed unsteadily, setting his hand over Vin’s, “that you certainly can be tryin’.”

He lifted his head and tilted it slightly to one side, then ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip. “Yeah?” He heard a hitch in Chris’s breathing and smiled slightly, then sat up slowly, using his hold on Larabee’s waistband to pull himself forward. “An’ I’ve always said,” he murmured, dropping his other hand to Chris’s thigh and stroking slowly as he leaned closer into the man, “that a fella don’t get nothin’ unless he tries.” He pulled his hand out of Chris’s waistband and lifted it to his hair, brushing his fingers through the silken gold strands. “Well,” he whispered, sliding his hand around to the back of Chris’s head and urging it toward him, “reckon it’s time t’ see what I get when I try.” And he pressed his mouth to Chris’s in a long, slow, deep kiss, staking a hungry claim upon the full, firm lips.

Chris groaned and wound his arms about Vin, cradling the tracker to him gingerly and opening his mouth. Vin readily accepted the invitation and buried his mouth in Larabee’s, thrusting his tongue into the wet cavern and eagerly plumbing its depths. Chris’s tongue rose and swept against his and he shivered as that sweet contact sent frissons of heat racing through him.

Lord, it was almost worth a bullet for this alone!

But this wasn’t all he wanted from Chris, not by a long shot. He wanted to taste and to know every inch of the man, wanted to breathe his scent so deeply into himself that he’d never again be without it. Wanted to take the man so deeply into himself and bury himself so deeply in Chris that they’d never be separate again.

Wanted nothing more and nothing less than to spend the rest of his natural life loving and being loved by this man.

At last, breathless and light-headed, he broke the kiss and sagged into Chris, dropping his head against the man’s shoulder and trembling uncontrollably. “Lord, cowboy!” he breathed unsteadily, his breath coming hard and fast as want raced through him and heated what little blood he had in him. “Wish I could tell ya … all the things y’ make me feel!”

Chris laid his head against Vin’s and gently combed a shaking hand through his long hair. “Don’t need ta tell me, partner,” he whispered hoarsely. “I feel ’em, too. And I thought I never would again.” He turned his head and tenderly kissed Vin’s cheek. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

He lifted his head and struggled to sit up, grateful for the strong arms supporting him. He smiled crookedly and lifted an unsteady hand to Larabee’s face, brushing his fingertips lightly over the strong features that were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. “Y’ ain’t so bad yourself,” he rasped. His smile faded then, but he continued stroking Chris’s face, loving the man with his fingers and eyes. “Ain’t ever known anybody like you, cowboy,” he said softly. “Hell, I didn’t even know men like you existed! Seems like all the ones I ever knew jist wanted somethin’ from me, an’ they wasn’t always real partic’lar ’bout how they got it.”

Chris frowned at that, blond brows knitting over smoky green eyes. “Like Harper?” he asked in a low voice.

He heaved a long, tired sigh and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Among others. Kep’ tellin’ m’self there had ta be some better ones out there, but,” he winced and bowed his head, “I fer damn sure never found ’em.” He gave a wry laugh at that and lifted his gaze back to Larabee’s. “Some tracker I am, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Chris smiled and pulled Vin gently to him once more, guiding his head back to his shoulder. “You found me when I wasn’t lookin’ to be found.” He tightened his arms around Vin, cradling the tracker’s body tenderly against his own. “Found the heart I thought I’d left dead and buried. I’d say you’re a helluva tracker.”

Vin smiled and wound his arms about Larabee’s waist, resting contentedly against the man. Chris’s warmth engulfed him, held at bay the chill that had become a permanent part of him since the shooting. Held at bay the darkness that had become a permanent part of him long before that. “Mebbe y’ wanted ta be found more’n ya thought,” he said softly. “Mebbe you was jist waitin’ fer the right person ta find ya. Mebbe we both were.”

“I have to admit though,” Chris said quietly, a trace of hesitation in his voice, “I never expected that ‘right person’ ta be a man. That’s why it took me so long to admit how I feel about you. I just couldn’t accept that I loved and wanted you the same way I’d loved and wanted Sarah. Guess that makes me a coward–”

“Y’ ain’t a coward,” Vin interrupted, raising his head from Chris’s shoulder and gazing steadily into the man’s eyes. “Y’ jist ain’t got that in ya. An’ I know I ain’t at all what y’ ever thought ya’d want. Hell,” he snorted sharply, “I ain’t what I ever thought ya’d want! But I reckon some things,” he shrugged lightly, “they jist cain’t be explained. Sometimes things happen–”

“Just because they were meant ta be,” Chris finished softly, gazing intently at Vin. “I was meant ta be out on that street that day,” he said quietly, “and I was meant ta look across it and see you.” He lifted a hand to the tracker’s face and cupped it lightly in his palm. “I don’t believe in much, partner, but I do believe that. I’m just sorry it took you nearly gettin’ killed ta make me see it.”

He gave a wry smile. “Turns out ol’ Alvin had his uses after all.”

Chris wasn’t amused. “He never should’ve come after you,” he said in a low, cold voice, his eyes turning hard. “Bastard had no right–”

“Alvin never did care much about anybody’s rights or wants but his own,” he breathed, feeling again all the pain the man had inflicted on him in the name of those rights and wants. “Didn’t ever mean ta hurt me, I know, but–”

“Not even when he shot you?” Chris growled, lean body tensing angrily. “How can you defend him, Vin? Hell, he tried ta kill you! Shot you down in cold blood–”

“I ain’t defendin’ him,” he sighed tiredly, his strength ebbing. “Hell, y’ think I don’t know what he done ta me? I’m the one that nearly died, remember? Ever’ time I spew up my guts or need a shot of laud’num, I got him ta thank! An’ in my dreams I still see him pointin’ that goddamn gun at me–” He shuddered and exhaled unsteadily, then lifted a heavy hand and ran it through his hair. “I ain’t defendin’ him,” he said again. “I’m jist bein’ honest. Alvin never did mean ta hurt me. Didn’t mean he didn’t do it, jist means … he never meant to.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes …

And was taken immediately into Chris’s arms again, the man lending him strength just as his own reached its end. Without a word, Larabee eased him gently back against the bed, then stretched out beside him and pulled him close, wrapping his arms protectively about him. He nestled as deeply into that embrace as he could, settling his head upon Chris’s shoulder and molding himself against that warm, hard body. And once again Alvin Harper’s ghost slunk back into the grave, taking with him all the pain his memory brought.

“Hold me, Chris,” he whispered, fairly certain he should be ashamed of his need for this man’s protection against such ghosts, but unable to muster the feeling.

“I’ve got you, Vin,” Chris assured him, tightening his arms about him. “I’ve got you, and I’m never gonna let you go. Never gonna hurt you, either. I figure I’ve done enough of that.”

He smiled slightly and turned his head, pressing a kiss into Larabee’s shoulder. “Y’ ain’t hurt me near as much as ya think, cowboy,” he breathed. “An’ certainly not near as much as all them others have.”

“Doesn’t make it right, though,” the gunman said, tenderly stroking his back.

“Mm, mebbe not,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his body relaxing beneath that loving hand. “But havin’ you with me now … makes it righter’n anything else ever could.”

He hated this.

Nathan warned him that he’d be a long while healing, reminded him regularly not only of the damage done to his liver, but of the amount of blood he’d lost as well. And he understood that. He did. Hell, he could feel it every time what little strength he had just seemed to drain right out through his toes. He knew he had to take it slow, take it easy. He did.

All the same … he hated it.

Hated using the chamber pot because he just couldn’t make it to the privy. Hated needing help just to walk down the stairs, then having to sit down and rest before going any further than that, breathing hard, sweating and shaking like a palsied old man all the while. Hated having a plate of the foods he loved best set before him and leaving a good half of what was there untouched simply because his stomach couldn’t tolerate more. Hated having to look out his window or, on a good day, sit in a damn chair on the porch with a blanket around him and watch everyone else’s comings and goings while he was stuck in town like some damn invalid. Hated watching JD ride Peso out to work off the gelding’s sass when he wanted to do it himself.

He hated all of it, and he came damn near hating Alvin Harper for inflicting it on him.

And sometimes he came damn near just taking off and proving to everybody that he was healed. Even tried it once or twice … and promptly had his body prove to him that he wasn’t. And he hated that, too, particularly because he suspected that Chris and Nathan knew about those little bouts of stupidity.

Yeah, sometimes he came real damn close to hating Alvin.

All that kept him sane during the endless days of his recuperation was the boys. They visited him up in his room when he just didn’t have the strength to come down, and helped him down when he did. When he made his halting, shuffling way out to the porch, one or more of them would soon be at his side, talking, laughing or just sitting in an easy silence. And somehow finding a way to fetch whatever he might need without seeming like they were waiting on him or hovering over him.

And always, always finding some way to let him know that he was still very much a part of their band, whether he was actually useful to them or not.

He hadn’t had that in a long time, that sense of belonging, of being wanted and valued not because of anything he did, but simply because of who he was. JD was developing a good eye for sign and Buck was a pretty fair man with a rifle; they could fill in as tracker and sharpshooter when needed. But the boys all made it clear in a hundred different ways that what they had most missed, and what they were so glad now to be getting back however long it took, was just … Vin Tanner.

Nope, he hadn’t had that in a long damn time, and it did him a world of good to know that he had it now.

What did him the most good, though, was Chris. Whether the man just sat beside him on the porch and said nothing, brought a meal up and read to him when he couldn't make it down, or came to him at night and slipped into his bed after everyone else had gone to sleep, Larabee made him feel better, whole, in ways that had nothing to do with the healing of his bodily hurts. Filled him in places he’d never even known were empty.

He’d always known he was passionately in love with the man, had spent more hours aching and burning for him than he cared to count. What came as a true revelation to him now, though, was the quiet, peaceful side of that love, the side that made him content just to be in Chris’s presence, to share a laugh, a joke, a few words or no words at all. That let him close his eyes and sleep and trust that he’d be safe simply because Chris was there.

Sometimes he didn’t hate Alvin at all.

But the peace didn’t lessen the passion; if anything, it only added to it. Except that he wanted Chris now not just to ease a carnal ache but to complete what existed between them. He had Chris’s heart and Chris had his; always had. Their souls spoke to each other in the long silences that fell between their few words. Now all that remained was for them to give physical expression to their love.

The fullest expression, he knew, would have to wait until he was fully healed and had all his strength. And sometimes he thought that was for the best. Waiting for that day gave them time to get to know each other in ways more intimate than they ever had before, gave them time to explore and learn each other’s bodies as they already knew each other’s minds, hearts and souls.

Gave Chris time to get used to the idea of being with a man.

“Ain’t like bein’ with a woman, y’know,” he said, wrapped in the shelter of the gunman’s arms and running a finger slowly down his naked chest. The hour was late, coming up on midnight, but he’d slept away the evening after doing too much earlier in the day and was wide awake now. Adding further to his disinclination to sleep, Chris had come up after finishing his last rounds of the town, stripped down to his underpants and slipped into his bed.

Sleep was the last thing on his mind.

Chris chuckled low in his throat. “Kinda figured that,” he said, slipping one hand beneath Vin’s undershirt to stroke his chest. “For one thing, you’re missin’ some paddin’ up here.”

Vin scowled fiercely at the man despite the pleasurable feel of fingers brushing lightly against his nipple. “Asshole,” he growled.

Two blond brows arched in surprise. “You mean you don’t like this?” And he tweaked Vin’s nipple between a thumb and forefinger.

He stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath as intense delight shot through him. Then Larabee was rubbing the tip of his thumb over his nipple, wringing a hard shudder from him. “Lord!” he whispered unsteadily.

“So,” Chris breathed slowly, rolling onto his side and pulling his arm out from under Vin to prop his head up in that hand, a sly grin curving about his wide mouth, “I take it you do like it.”

He snorted softly, but couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips as he gazed into vivid green eyes. “Smug sonuvabitch, ain’tcha, cowboy?” he rasped, setting a hand on the gunman’s hip and stroking slowly. “An’ too goddamn purty fer yer own good.”

Interest flared in the green eyes, and Larabee’s smile widened. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He dragged his hand slowly up the lean body, callused fingers skimming over smooth, warm flesh. He lovingly traced the outlines of Chris’s well-defined pectorals, let his fingers dance over each of the dark brown ovals surrounding the man’s nipples, then trailed his hand up to the long column of his throat, stroking slowly. “Could lead ya inta all kinds’a trouble.”

“T–” Chris’s voice seemed to catch, and he had to clear his throat and start over. “Trouble?”

Vin felt the tensing of the long, lean body beneath his hands, saw the heat rise in the man’s face and slowly licked his lips, noting how Larabee’s gaze tracked the movement of his tongue. “There’s fellers out there,” he breathed, raising up slowly and leaning toward Chris, sliding his hand around to the back of the man’s neck, “dangerous men.” He leaned further forward still and brushed his lips slowly over Larabee’s, lapping delicately at them with his tongue. “No tellin’ what’d happen,” he caught the luscious lower lip between his teeth and pulled away, scraping them against the firm flesh, “if one of ’em ever got his hands on ya.”

Chris’s eyes glittered in his flushed face, his body trembling and his breath coming fast. “Not sure … it’s your hands … I should be worried about!” he whispered tightly.

Vin chuckled softly, his breath fanning over Chris’s skin and drawing a sharp gasp from him. “’At’s the thing about us dangerous men,” he breathed, licking at one corner of Chris’s mouth while raking his fingernails down the man’s back. “Jist ain’t no tellin’ what we’ll do. Got all kinds’a … weapons … we could use.” He tilted his head and latched onto Larabee’s throat with his mouth, sucking hungrily, then dug his fingernails into the small of the man’s back and thrust one leg between Chris’s, driving his crotch into the gunman’s.

Chris gasped harshly and shuddered violently, grabbing Vin’s hip with a hard hand and arching into him. Sweat glistened over his flesh in a light sheen and a low, wordless growl broke from him.

Still feeding on Chris’s throat, Vin laughed at that sound, delighted by the discovery of his power over the fearsome gunman. Pressing himself closer still, he bore Chris back against the bed and slithered atop him, bowing his head to tongue the hard notch in the man’s clavicle while sliding his hands over the breadth of his shoulders and rubbing his cock against Chris’s. Lightning jolted through him and sparks ignited in his blood at that contact, as Larabee’s hardness surged hungrily against his own.

“See?” he whispered against Chris’s throat. “Yer jist in a world’a trouble now.”

Gasping for breath through an open mouth, Chris closed his eyes tightly and drove his head into the pillow, clutching at Vin’s ass and thrusting his erection against the tracker’s. The iron control he wore like armor was nowhere in evidence now, his command of himself and his body shattered.

But Vin wasn’t nearly done. Ever since meeting Chris he’d been caught helplessly in the onslaught of the man’s raw, seductive power, had been teased and tormented by the want and need the man aroused in him without ever trying. At times it had been all he could do not to grab the maddening sonuvabitch, fling him into the nearest, darkest alley and fuck him senseless. That Chris had certainly never meant to taunt him so hadn’t changed the fact that he did, hadn’t done anything to ease Vin’s suffering when he’d lain in his wagon unable to sleep, hard and hurting for the man.

And Vin Tanner believed in revenge.

He lifted his head from Chris’s throat and gazed down into the man’s darkly-flushed face, feeling a thrill of predatory pleasure at the naked need written there. “Y’ said y’ ain’t ever been with a man b’fore,” he rasped, his voice thick and breathless. “Reckon mebbe it’s time y’ had a little … tutorin’ … of yer own.”

“T … tutorin’?” Chris managed to gasp, wrenching open his eyes. The black of his dilating pupils was rapidly overtaking the green of his irises. “Vin … you … you still ain’t–”

“Ssh.” He bowed his head and pressed his mouth to Chris’s to silence him, licking and nibbling lightly at the man’s full, firm lips. “Lemme worry about what I still ain’t up ta,” he whispered. “Y’ been takin’ care’a me long enough, cowboy. ’S my turn t’ take care’a you.”

“God!” came the breathless groan.

“Nope,” he whispered, trailing his mouth down Larabee’s chin and lapping cat-like at the cleft there. “God’s Josiah’s worry. Right now, ’s jist me an’ you.”

Chris moaned again and Vin let the sound wash over him, thrilling to it. For so long he’d dreamed of this, dreamed of being able to show Chris how he felt, dreamed of inspiring those same feelings in him. Now the dream was coming true, and it was sweeter than he’d ever imagined.

He lifted his head and smiled tenderly down at Chris, then swept a trembling hand gently down his face. “Don’t wantcha ta worry about anything,” he breathed. “Gonna show ya how good it c’n be.” He lowered his head again and nuzzled hungrily at Chris’s earlobe, nipping at it with his teeth and then flicking his tongue against the bite. “Gonna show ya how much I love ya.”

He allowed that love to command him in his exploration of the man beneath him. He licked and kissed his way down Larabee’s long throat, seizing upon the strong pulse throbbing there and sucking hungrily at it, feeling its urgent rhythm echoing in the beating of his own heart. He swept his hands over Chris’s broad shoulders, stroking and kneading, then dragged them down the man’s body, thrilling to its tightly-coiled power. His mouth and hands had Chris writhing and thrusting against him, wrung wordless sounds of pleasure and pain from him, and each movement, each gasp and groan, only fueled the fire burning in Tanner’s blood.

Lord, what the man did to him!

Chris’s scent and taste engulfed him, filled him, sent his senses reeling and made him drunk as no whiskey ever could. Tobacco, sweat, salt and an overwhelmingly male musk all rolled through him in waves, imprinting themselves upon his mind and his soul, taking root so deeply in him that he knew he’d never be able to breathe, to live, without them again. He dragged his tongue between and over Larabee’s pectorals, lapped at the velvet brown ovals darkening each, sucked hungrily at the hard buds of his nipples, feasting like a starving man who could never get his fill.

As he doubted he ever would.

He slid slowly down the man’s body, hands and mouth raking and skimming over the hard sweep of ribs and the smooth, taut flesh of his flat belly. Pushing himself lower still, he buried his face in the cotton drawers tenting over the man’s erection, breathing deeply of the pungent scent of the pre-cum seeping into the fabric. Then Chris’s hands were in his hair, pressing his face closer still, and the man was arching his hips frantically, gasping out his need and want.

Vin could deny neither Chris nor himself.

With usually-nimble fingers grown clumsy in their haste, he unfastened the drawstring tie at Larabee’s waist and impatiently tugged the flimsy underpants over Chris’s hips and ass, finally stripping them from the long, muscled legs and tossing them away. Chris’s cock – hard, thick and flushed at its leaking head – sprang free, tearing a hoarse growl of hunger from him. His own flesh throbbed and burned hideously, but he ignored that for now, intent upon the wealth exposed to him. Larabee’s heavy balls beckoned to him and he bowed his head, laving his tongue slowly over each of the sacs and tracing the crease between them, then turned his attention to the man’s inviting shaft. He licked all around its base and slowly up its length, slid his tongue beneath the foreskin and lapped at the salty-sweet fluid collecting there, nearly weeping at his first taste of Chris’s essence. But that small taste was not enough, not nearly enough, and with a wrenching groan he drew Chris’s cock into his mouth, taking the man as deeply as he could and sucking ravenously at him.

Chris cried out harshly and arched nearly off the bed, his hands still knotted in Vin’s hair. Pulling back just enough to keep from choking, Vin grabbed Larabee’s hips and held them still, then took him deep once more, consumed by hunger for him. Freeing one of his hands, he slid it down to Larabee’s balls and grasped them between his fingers, kneading and rolling them as he sucked. Then he released them, dragged a finger to the tight, puckered hole behind them and slowly rimmed that entrance, pressing against the clenched muscle.

Chris loosed a sobbing moan and jerked beneath him, and Vin slipped his finger inside him, his own need building to a demanding force within him. Knowing they were both close, so close, feeling Chris’s desperation even as he felt his own, he sucked harder at Larabee and began to hum, then, inside the man’s body, sought and found the nub of his prostate and brushed his finger against it. Chris pulled his hair, thrust frantically into his mouth and, with a choked cry, shot his stream in a convulsive spasm.

Vin sucked thirstily, greedily, drinking in Chris’s seed and milking him for still more, needing all of the man he could get. But with a breathless, shuddering moan, Chris fell back against the bed and released Vin’s hair, empty, spent and shaking. Vin reluctantly released the softening flesh, licked away the final, precious drops of the gunman’s release, then slid back up his body and claimed Chris’s lips with his in a slow, deep kiss, sharing the man’s own taste with him.

“See?” he rasped unsteadily as he broke off the kiss and lifted his head to gaze into glazed green eyes. “Told ya I’d make it good.”

“God, Vin,” Chris whispered weakly, panting and bathed in sweat, “I don’t think … ‘good’ … quite covers what you just did.” He swallowed and raised a badly shaking hand, pressing it gently to Tanner’s face. “I was right. You are somethin’ else!”

Vin dropped his head against Chris’s shoulder to hide his blush. “Jist wanted t’ show ya … how I feel about ya,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and slid a hand over Larabee’s chest to his heart, drawn irresistibly to the feel of its strong beat. “I know it ain’t what yer used to–”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chris breathed, wrapping his arms around Tanner, “I plan ta get used to it! Especially if it’s like this every time.”

“Can be, I reckon,” Vin said softly. “Can be better, too. There’s more, but I ain’t up t’ that yet.”

“Then we’ll wait. Like I said, there’s no rush. We got the rest of our lives.”

Vin smiled and pressed a kiss to Larabee’s chest. “Like the way y’ say that. Like the way it makes me feel.”

“Yeah?” Chris turned his head and smiled. “Guess I’ll have ta say it more often.” Then he frowned slightly, as if only now realizing something. “But what about you?” he asked. He slid a hand down between their bodies, his fingers brushing lightly against the crotch of Vin’s drawers and bringing his half-erect cock back to aching fullness. “Seems one of us ain’t finished yet.”

He tensed and licked his lips, suddenly uncertain. This was new to Chris, and while Larabee might have enjoyed having a man’s mouth on him, taking that step himself might still be a bit much. And he had no more desire to rush Chris than Chris had to rush him.

But, Lord, the man was still stroking him, and he’d already gone so many nights with this terrible ache unappeased …

Then, as was so often his way, Larabee simply took matters into his own hand. “Turn over,” he urged, pushing Vin off his body carefully and easing the tracker onto his back.

Sudden fear gripped him. God, if he was only doing this out of a sense of obligation… “Chris–”

“Ssh, hush,” Larabee breathed, leaning over him and kissing him tenderly. He pulled back slightly and smiled gently. “Time for me to show you what you mean to me.”

He gasped at the low, sultry tone of that voice, at the feel of long fingers slipping beneath his undershirt and skimming lightly down his belly. “Lar’bee–”

“Told you ta hush,” Chris said, silencing him with another kiss as nimble fingers easily untied his drawers. “Damn contrary Texan,” the gunman murmured, brushing his mouth against Tanner’s jaw. “Can’t get you ta say two words usually, now I can’t shut you up.”

But Vin thought that mouth and those fingers were doing a damn fine job of that. Firm lips nuzzled hungrily at his throat, chest and belly, skilled hands tugged off his underpants, and whatever words he’d thought to say flew right out of his head. Then that demanding mouth seized upon a nipple just as a hand wrapped around his hard and aching cock, and even thought deserted him as Larabee sucked at and stroked him, leaving only the wild rush of pleasure and pain. He gasped harshly and clutched at Chris, his heart slamming into his ribs as the man’s fingers pulled at his shaft. Somewhere in there he forgot to breathe, forgot everything except the desperate, devastating need that this man alone had ever inspired in him.

Oh, God. Lord God …

Then Chris was pulling out of his arms and moving down his body, and a soft, pleading sound broke from him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, knotted his hands into the tangled sheets …

And damn near screamed when a hot, wet mouth engulfed him. Heat and urgent, aching need slammed through him and another cry escaped him. He sucked in a desperate breath, thrust instinctively into that mouth and erupted with a shattering suddenness, pouring out too many long and lonely, desolate nights in a single, powerful tide. The force of it startled him, stunned him, threatened to rip his soul from him. He couldn’t hold on, couldn’t hold out, couldn’t do anything except let the raging winds buffet him violently about before dropping him back against the bed, weak, numb and barely conscious.

“Vin? Vin!”

He vaguely felt himself being taken once more into Chris’s arms and held tightly against the man’s body, heard as if from a distance the voice calling to him. He was shaking violently, he knew that, but couldn’t stop it, and black spots danced before his eyes. He was cold, and hot, and couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to.

But he was in Chris’s arms, and wouldn’t have moved if he could.

“Vin?” Chris called again, his voice closer and tinged now with real fear. “Jesus, Tanner, don’t do this ta me!”

“’S all right, cowboy,” he forced himself to whisper, his words badly slurred. “Ain’t got no plans t’ leave ya, ’member?”

“Hell, you’re gonna be the death of me yet!” Chris snapped, tightening his hold on Vin and flinging covers over them both.

Vin sighed and smiled, curling against the man even as darkness rose about him. “Could be,” he breathed, sinking into the darkness and against Chris. “But it’s a helluva way t’ go.”

He didn’t want to wake up, was more than a little afraid that, somehow, if he did wake up, then last night would be gone. Might never really have happened at all. And he’d already had enough of his dreams of Chris disappearing into frustrating nothingness without his reality doing it, too.

But, try as he did to resist it, wakefulness wouldn’t be denied. The sunlight pouring into his room and pricking his eyes was too bright, and the mounting pressure in his bladder too insistent. He groaned and huddled more deeply under the covers, pulling them up over his face, and while that took care of the sunlight, it did nothing for his growing need to take a piss.

Hell.

He pushed down the covers, rolled onto his back and peeled open leaden eyes, staring groggily up at the ceiling and trying to gauge his strength. Goddamn it, he wanted to use the privy! Except to do that, he’d have to get up, get dressed, get out of this room, down the hall, down the back stairs and across the alley …

Hell, he might as well be thinkin’ about ridin’ out to take a piss in the mountains!

He loosed a long, dejected sigh and closed his eyes, thumping a fist against the mattress in frustration. He’d come to hate that chamber pot, hated the helplessness and loss of privacy, loss of dignity, it symbolized. Oh, there might not be anybody in here now to see him use it, but sooner or later it would have to be emptied, and whether he managed it or someone else did it for him … Well, hell, there just wasn’t any way of disguising the thing or what it was for or what it meant.

But he didn’t have a choice. Wasn’t any way in hell he could make it to the privy. Even if he could muster up the strength to walk that far, he’d never make it in time. And that would be a disgrace beyond bearing. He’d have to use the pot; didn’t have a choice.

And he hated that most of all.

He swore softly, hit the mattress again, then opened his eyes and, bracing himself against the bed, began the slow and careful struggle just to sit up. The wound pulled painfully, weakness hampered him and dizziness hit him in waves, and, between the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder and the nausea curling through his belly, he began to fear that he was going to need a change of bedding real soon.

But he had to do this, had to start getting used to doing for himself again. He couldn’t expect the others to keep waiting on him like they’d been doing; they were bound to get tired of it. Hell, he was tired of it, and he was the one that needed it!

Only it was time not to need it anymore. He never had before. Which was a good thing, because he’d never had it, but having it now didn’t make needing it right. Got a man into bad habits, like thinking it was always gonna be there for him when he knew for damn sure that wasn’t true. He’d learned that the hard way, and he’d be five kinds of a fool to unlearn it now.

Even though the boys were doing their damnedest to get him to try.

And it would be awful nice if one of ’em showed up to get him to try now …

He finally managed to lever himself upright and just sat there for long moments, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, deeply, waiting for his stomach’s churning and the room’s spinning to subside. His head throbbed, too, from his change of position, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down onto the bed and into his misery.

Except that he’d have to do this all again …

He vaguely heard a quiet knocking against a door, thought it might even have been against his door. Half hoped it was, knew he could use some help; half hoped it wasn’t, reminded himself that help was a dangerous thing to need. But, Christ, how much worse was this, being caught somewhere between needing to piss and needing to throw up and not really in the best place to do either?

Shit …

“Vin?”

His door, then, thank God, and Chris on the other side of it. Which only brought up another problem. If the door was locked – and it damn well better be locked, because while that lock wouldn’t keep out any bounty hunters, it might at least slow them down enough to give him time to go for his gun – he needed to get up and open it. He damn near laughed at that. He had to get up and open the door. Only if he did get up, he’d likely spew his guts all over the bed. But if he didn’t get up, well, the bed would need changing anyway.

Oh, yeah, he really hated this.

He heard a metallic rattle at the door and Chris’s voice again calling him through it. Everything in him wanted to answer. Only everything in him was also threatening to come out …

“Jesus, Vin!”

The door opened, was shut again with a solid thud, and he cracked open his eyes and lifted his head just enough to see Chris moving quickly toward him, carrying a tray with one hand and shoving a key into a pocket with the other. But the thought of whatever might be on that tray sent his stomach into another lurch and he buried his face in his hands with a sick groan, fighting desperately just to hold inside him everything that was in danger of coming out.

He was gonna lose this battle …

Or not.

He heard the soft clink and slide of the tray being set down, felt a warm, strong hand drop against and firmly squeeze his shoulder, then the mattress gave and he was gathered into Chris’s arms, cradled as carefully in them as a brittle bit of glass a hair away from breaking. Except that, with Chris holding him like this, he wasn’t quite so near breaking as he’d been just a few moments ago.

“It’s all right,” Chris’s low, warm voice murmured against his ear as a strong but infinitely gentle hand rubbed slow circles against his shaking back. “It’s all right, I’m here. I gotcha. Just lean on me and let me help ya.”

He exhaled unsteadily and dropped his head against Chris’s shoulder, closing his eyes and finally letting his hand fall away from his mouth as the threatening sickness receded a welcome notch. Maybe this need wasn’t so dangerous after all.

“Chamber pot?” Chris asked simply, one hand still rubbing his back, the other slowly stroking his hair.

As if righted by that hold, those hands, the room gradually ceased spinning and his stomach settled back into something resembling steadiness. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Chris kissed him, released him, then slid off the bed, knelt beside it and retrieved the pot from beneath it. And without another word, but with movements that somehow managed to be both blessedly quick and blessedly gentle, he helped Vin with his bodily needs, all the while making it seem as if it were all the most natural thing in the world for a man of his reputation to be doing.

When that was done, he stacked the pillows and eased Vin back against them, then settled himself on the bed close at his side. As Vin lay there, taking a rather ridiculous delight in the feeling of an empty bladder and the knowledge that his sheets wouldn’t have to be changed just yet after all, Chris’s green gaze swept slowly over his face, seeming to search it intently, a faint frown pulling at the man’s brows and mouth.

“Looks like I came up just in time,” he finally said, an edge of worry in his quiet voice.

Vin winced and turned his face away from that knowing gaze as humiliation burned in his cheeks. “Any later an’ you’d be helpin’ me change the sheets,” he breathed in shame. “An’ I reckon you’ve already done enough’a that.”

But Chris reached out, cupped his chin gently between a thumb and forefinger and turned his face back, steady green eyes snagging and holding his. “I’m not keepin’ a tally,” he said softly, seriously, his thumb lightly stroking Tanner’s chin. “I told you I’m gonna take care of you, remember? Whatever it takes.” He shrugged lightly. “And right now, if this is what it takes, then so be it.” He arched a golden brow. “Okay?”

He swallowed and licked his lips, his eyes searching Larabee’s for any sign of resentment or disgust and finding none. He tried to imagine any of the other men he’d ever known tending him this way – helping him take a piss, for Chrissakes! – and simply couldn’t. But Chris did it, and so many other things besides, with such ease, without ever once making him feel he was somehow less of a man for needing that help …

And without ever once making a single demand upon him for something in return. As if he really did deserve this kind of treatment.

Now, wasn’t that a new one?

He finally nodded, and a faint smile ghosted around his mouth. “Reckon I c’n live with that,” he allowed softly, and knew instinctively that he’d never again be able to live without it.

Chris nodded once, his eyes still traveling over Vin’s face. Worry shone plainly in the clear green depths and Vin felt a twinge of guilt, realizing how bad he must’ve looked when Chris came in, how bad he must look still. “I’m f–”

“Don’t,” Chris interrupted in a low growl, face setting into grim lines. “Don’t say it. Don’t say that. It’s not true and we both know it.”

He sighed tiredly and raised a slightly unsteady hand to run it through his hair, fingers catching in the tangles. He pulled it loose and let it fall to the bed, then, catching sight of his thin fingers and too-prominent bones at his wrist, slipped it self-consciously beneath the covers.

But Chris, still grim as stone and unrelenting as the sea, immediately went after that hand, flipping back the covers and sliding his hand beneath it, cradling it easily in his palm and lifting it to where they both could see it. “You got any idea how easy it would be for me ta snap this right now?” he asked in a low voice, closing his fingers over Vin’s. “How easy it would’ve been for me ta snap it last night?”

He smiled slightly and waved his other hand dismissively. “I ain’t worried–”

“I know,” Chris breathed. “But you should be. I am.” He exhaled slowly and shook his head, his worry creasing his face. “You passed out last night, Vin,” he said quietly. “That was bad enough, but it coulda been so much worse!” Still holding Vin’s fingers lightly in one hand, he cradled his other to Tanner’s cheek, his touch achingly tender. “I could’ve hurt you,” he whispered hoarsely, his fingertips trembling against Vin’s cheek, his green eyes darkening with fear. “You’re still so weak, so frail … It wouldn’t take much. Nathan’s always worried about you fallin’, says you could rupture your liver. And if that happens,” pain flared in his eyes and he clenched his jaw tightly, “you’ll die!”

“But I ain’t gonna fall!” Vin assured him, taking the man’s hands in his and holding tightly to them. “You won’t let me–”

“It doesn’t have ta be a fall, Vin!” Chris said harshly. “Last night I couldn’t control myself. I wasn’t thinkin’ about bein’ careful … Hell, I wasn’t thinkin’ at all!” He leaned closer, his face only inches from Vin’s. “I could have hurt you!” he ground out. “How in the hell do you think I could live with that?”

Confusion swirled through him and he shook his head slowly, trying to sort through Chris’s words and fears. “But you didn’t,” he insisted. “Chris, I know what I can an’ cain’t do–”

“Do you?” he asked, sitting upright. “You passed out, Vin. Drove yourself past your limits, and for what? A little pleasure?” He exhaled unsteadily and pulled one of his hands free to rake it through his hair. “It’s not worth it–”

“A little pleasure?” Anger and hurt raced through him at the casual words and he sat up sharply, ignoring the painful pulling at his side. “Is that all it was ta you?” he demanded hoarsely, staring at Chris in disbelief. “Jist another good time, mebbe? Like ya might have with one a’ yer whores in Purgatorio?”

“Vin–”

“No!” he interrupted sharply, thrusting away the hand that Chris stretched toward him. “Jesus, Lar’bee,” he spat as fury and hurt roiled in him, “fer such a smart man you can be a stupid bastard! I weren’t out jist t’ show ya a good time, cowboy! I love ya, you sonuvabitch, an’ I wanted ta show ya jist how much! In case you ain’t noticed, Chris, I ain’t got much!” he snarled. “I ain’t got anything in the world I c’n give ya except me, an’ that’s what I did! Gave the only thing I got t’ give ’cause I thought it’d mean somethin’ to ya! But if weren’t no more’n jist ‘a little pleasure’ to ya, then, shit, mebbe I’m the stupid one here fer even offerin’ it in the first place!”

“Whoa!” Reaching past the hands trying to knock his away, Chris grabbed Vin’s upper arms and gripped them firmly, gazing steadily into Tanner’s eyes. “Just settle down,” he urged quietly. “I’m sorry, Vin, I’m sorry. That came out wrong, and it sure as hell ain’t what I meant. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

Startled as much by that “please” as by the apology, he ceased his struggles and went still, staring warily at Larabee. But the contrition in the man’s eyes was too real for him to ignore and he finally allowed himself to relax, nodding faintly. “Reckon I owe ya that much,” he rasped.

Chris sighed sharply and scowled in vexation. “Damn it, Vin, you don’t owe me anything!” he snapped. “That’s what I’m tryin’ ta tell ya, what I keep tryin’ ta tell ya! You don’t ‘owe’ me anything, you don’t have to ‘prove’ anything, there’s no price attached to anything I do, I ain’t keepin’ score and I for damn sure ain’t gonna come back later and demand payment in full from you! That is not how I work, and that is not what I want! And goddamn it, goddamn it, why can’t you get that through your head?”

He lifted his chin defiantly, gritted his teeth and fixed upon the man the full force of his scarred soul. “’Cause I ain’t ever had its like before!” he spat harshly, knowing how that must make him sound but unable to help it. The truth was the truth, and if Chris was so goddamned set on getting things understood between them, then he needed to understand this above all. “I got news fer ya, cowboy,” he rasped, wrapping his arms tightly around himself in an instinctively protective gesture, “Alvin Harper ain’t the only man ever ta gouge his spurs inta my soul or leave his mark on my body! When I say I ain’t worried about you hurtin’ me, trust me, I know what I’m talkin’ about, ’cause I’ve known too many who have hurt me ever ta mistake you fer one a’ them! When I say I ain’t ever in my life known a man as fine as you, Lar’bee,” he said in a thick, unsteady voice, “them ain’t jist sweet words of love. That’s the God’s-honest truth!” His voice shattered then and hot tears stung his eyes. He turned his head and tried to blink them away …

And again was gathered into Chris’s arms and cradled close against the man’s warm, strong body. A shudder rippled through him, the dam inside him gave way, and he sagged into that embrace with a hitching breath, clinging tightly, desperately to Larabee and burying his face in his chest.

“Jesus!” Chris whispered, bowing his head atop Vin’s. He tightened his arms about Tanner and rocked him slowly, offering a world of love in those simple actions. “I’m sorry, Vin,” he murmured. “I never meant ta hurt you. And I never meant ta make light of what we did last night. Believe me,” his hand stroked slowly up and down Vin’s back, “I know what it was, what it meant. To both of us. But I just … God!” he groaned. “You passed out in my arms last night, and then when I saw you this morning,” he gently pushed Vin just far enough back to look into his eyes, “it scared the hell outta me!” he whispered strickenly, that fear written plainly on his face. “We’ve all been so caught up in the fact that you’re gettin’ better, but it … it suddenly dawned on me that I could still lose you, that it would be so easy …” He lifted a shaking hand and pressed it gently to Vin’s face. “And I just don’t think I could take that!”

He stared into those anguished green eyes, feeling Chris’s fear and pain as if they were his own. Which he supposed they now were, just as everything else in the man was his. “Ain’t either of us gonna live forever, cowboy,” he breathed, never one to hide from even so unpleasant a truth as that.

“I know that, Vin. I do. But,” he gave a weak smile, “I would like us to have some time together. I figure we deserve that, right?

“Reckon so,” he answered non-committally, having no illusions that what a man deserved and what he got were necessarily the same things.

“Then just, for my sake, humor me,” Chris pleaded, lightly stroking Vin’s throat. “Give yourself time ta heal. I’ll wait for ya, I swear ta God. Hell, I’ll be waitin’ right here with ya! And we’ll do as much as we can while we’re waitin’, but only if you promise me, you promise me, that you’ll be careful and not do one single thing more than you know you’re up ta doin’. Can you do that for me?”

“Hell, Chris,” he whispered, feeling the man’s unique and irresistible pull upon his soul, “I’d do anything fer you! I’d die fer you, y’ know that–”

“I don’t wantcha ta die for me, partner,” Chris breathed. “What I want, what I need, is for you ta live for me!”

He smiled and reached up, slipping his hands around to the back of Chris’s head and pulling the man slowly toward him. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed, “I c’n do that. Ain’t nothin’ I’d rather do.”

“Promise me,” Chris whispered, his lips brushing against Vin’s.

“I promise, cowboy,” he breathed. “I’ll live as long as I can fer you.”

He lay back against the bed, pulling Chris down with him, and sealed that promise with a slow, sweet kiss.

“Sure will be glad when I can get back t’ bathin’ in a tub,” he sighed, pulling on a clean undershirt as Chris emptied the water from the wash basin into a bucket.

Larabee looked up at him and smirked. “Tired of me bathin’ you already?”

Vin scowled and snatched the wet wash cloth off the bed, throwing it at the gunman and missing him by a good two inches. “Hell, even my aim’s off!” he griped. “An’ y’ know I ain’t ever gonna get tired a’ you bathin’ me. I jist … miss soakin’ in a tub, is all.” A sudden thought hit him, and he grinned and winked at Chris. “An’ jist think of the good time we could have in there!”

Chris straightened and turned to him, setting his hands on trim hips and arching two blond brows in surprise. “Now, I thought it wasn’t supposed ta be about us havin’ a good time,” he quipped.

He exhaled sharply and glared at the man. “I’m really beginnin’ ta wonder what’s wrong with me that I ever wanted t’ take up with you in the first place,” he growled. “Gotta be somethin’ wrong with my head.”

“Now that’s a whole other discussion in itself,” Larabee dead-panned.

“Yeah?” He folded his arms against his chest and lifted his chin defiantly. “Then what the hell does it say about you that ya wanta take up with me?”

Chris heaved a long, martyred sigh and slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure I even wanta know.”

“Well, while yer tryin’ ta figger it out,” he suggested, “why don’tcha gimme my pants an’ shirt so’s I c’n go downstairs an’ watch folks do ever’thing I ain’t allowed to.”

Chris winced. “Vin–”

“No, wait.” He suddenly realized how bitter, how ungrateful, he’d sounded and grimaced deeply, ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, Chris, I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Larabee smiled slightly and moved to the bed, sitting down upon it at his side and setting a gentle hand on his thigh. “Yeah, ya did,” he breathed, understanding in his voice. “And it’s all right. Hell, I’ve been laid up a few times and I know how hard it is. You’ve got all these things you wanta do, but your body just wont let you do ’em. And,” he gave a soft chuff of laughter, “I guess it doesn’t help to have us constantly remind you of all the things you’re not supposed ta do. Especially when you’re so used to takin’ care of yourself.”

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the hand resting on his thigh. “Reckon that’s the hardest thing t’ get used to,” he admitted softly. “Ain’t ever had so many folks worryin’ over me. When I’s huntin’ buffalo, if I got hurt the others in the comp’ny jist wanted me t’ hurry up an’ get better so’s I could get back ta shootin’. When I’s bounty-huntin’, well, hell,” he lifted his gaze back to Chris’s and grimaced wryly, “I reckon you can guess what kinda concern Alvin had fer me. Weren’t much use to him if I’s laid up.”

Chris exhaled sharply and shook his head, then shot a puzzled look at Vin. “How’d you ever hook up with him in the first place?” Confusion warred in his voice with the anger that any discussion of Harper inevitably roused in him. “Couldn’t you see what he was like?”

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he could answer a question he’d asked himself countless times. “I don’t know,” he murmured, shaking his head slowly and staring into his past, trying to see now the signs he’d missed then. “Hell, mebbe it was ’cause I’s so young when I met him. I couldn’ta been any older’n JD is now. Met him when I started buffalo-huntin’. He worked fer the comp’ny I signed on with, an’ we jist partnered up. Then, when the herds started gettin’ so thin an’ we started talkin’ about movin’ on, he asked me t’ ride with him. He’d hunted bounties b’fore, said there was money in it. Said with my trackin’ skills it’d be easy.” He shrugged and looked at Chris. “All I’ve ever known is huntin’ an’ trackin’,” he said. “Ain’t ever learned how ta do much else. An’ bounty-huntin’ sounded as good as any other job. I’d scouted fer th’ Army some, but I couldn’t stomach doin’ that no more. Couldn’t see m’self helpin’ herd the tribes onta reservations when I knew what that’d do to ’em.” He winced and hung his head, staring down at his own clasped hands and seeing again the terrible carnage those hands had wrought. “Jist wish I’d given that much thought t’ what killin’ all them buffs’d do to ’em, though. Mebbe if I had–”

“The herds would still be gone and the tribes would still be on the reservations,” Chris said quietly, shifting his hand to Vin’s shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. “I’ve seen those companies, Vin, I’ve seen how many hunters they had, and I’ve seen the hide wagons when they come in. You not huntin’ wouldn’t have changed a damn thing, partner.”

“’Cept I wouldn’ta been responsible fer any of it,” he said softly, sadly, the regret at what he’d done almost choking him. “Lord, I c’n still see the herds the way they used t’ be, stretchin’ out across the plains inta forever! I c’n still remember the feelin’ I’d get lookin’ out over ’em … Jist never dawned on me that we could wipe out somethin’ that big an’ that … old … so fast. They was part a’ the earth. How could men like us wipe out somethin’ that was part a’ the earth?” He absently rubbed his chest as the familiar ache of loss and remorse filled it. “But we did, an’ it didn’t take us no time at all ta do it.” He looked at Larabee, sorrow pouring from him in waves. “The buffalo had powerful medicine, Chris, they was ancient, wise. They was here long ’fore we was, knew secrets we’ll never know.” He flinched and bowed his head again as shame lanced through him. “Only now the buffalo an’ their secrets is gone. An’ it hurts more’n I can say knowin’ I helped destroy somethin’ like that.”

“But you were just one man and you didn’t kill ’em all,” Chris insisted gently, long fingers tenderly rubbing Vin’s shoulder. “And we all do what we have to t’ survive.”

He sighed again and lifted his head, then let it fall back on his neck and closed his eyes. “Lord, don’t I know that?” he groaned. “Seems like I done spent near all my life jist scratchin’ an’ clawin’ t’ keep body an’ soul together, an’ I still ain’t got a damn thing ta show fer it all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chris mused, pulling him against his body and cradling Vin’s head to his shoulder. “At least you still got a soul. I’ve seen a lotta men go through less than you have and lose that, lose themselves. And,” he combed gentle fingers through Vin’s hair, “at least you’re not scratchin’ and clawin’ alone anymore. You do know that, right?”

He rested contentedly in Larabee’s arms, letting the man’s love ease the pain so many wrong choices had inflicted upon him. “Be kinda hard not to,” he sighed. “Y’ keep remindin’ me of it ever’ chance y’ get.” He turned his head and studied Chris’s profile, then lifted a hand to brush fingertips lightly against his face. “Cain’t help wishin’ it’d been you I met all them years ago instead of Alvin,” he murmured. “So many things woulda been diff’rent …” He sighed and dropped his hand, turning his face away. “Don’t reckon it matters none now,” he said with weary resignation. “What’s done is done an’ cain’t be changed. It was Alvin I took up with, fer better or worse–” He grimaced in bitterness. “Lookin’ back now, I’d have t’ say it was mostly worse. The better never did seem t’ last fer long.”

“Then why’d you stay?”

He shrugged and pulled out of Chris’s arms, then dragged a hand through his hair as he considered yet another wrong choice. “I reckon it seemed like a fair enough trade-off at the time.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “I know y’ ain’t gonna b’lieve this, but there’s times even I git tired of bein’ on my own, not havin’ anybody ta be with, ta lean on. Sometimes y’ jist need ta be able ta look across the fire an’ see somebody else there, hear another voice besides yer own … Alvin gave me that. I ain’t sayin’ it’s the best choice I ever made. It sure as hell ain’t the smartest, an’ it cost me a helluva lot more’n I ever thought it would, but that don’t change the fact that I made it. I jist … didn’t wanta be alone no more.”

Chris reached for him again and pulled him back into the shelter of his body. “I never thought of it that way,” he said softly, new understanding shading his voice. “I’ve had people around me all my life, even when I didn’t really want ’em there. Hell, after Sarah and Adam died, all I wanted was to be alone, and I thought I was gonna have ta kill Buck ta make that happen.” He tightened his arms about Vin. “I just forget sometimes that you haven’t had that. And it’s gotta be a hard way ta live.”

“Can be,” he breathed, allowing himself to relax into Chris’s warmth and strength. “C’n wear on ya after a while. I mean, yeah, y’ don’t answer ta nobody, don’t have ta watch out fer nobody … but ain’t nobody watchin’ out fer you, either. I done spent a lotta time takin’ care of m’self, an’ I got t’ be real good at it. But there’s times it’s nice ta have somebody else doin’ it fer a change. I jist let the wrong man do it, is all. I made a mistake … an’ I paid the price fer it,” he added flatly.

Chris rested a cheek against his head and rubbed a hand comfortingly up and down his arm. “I guess I just have trouble imaginin’ you needin’ anybody.”

He lifted his head from Larabee’s shoulder and stared steadily at him. “Ain’t so strange, cowboy,” he said. “I need you. Been needin’ ya since I met ya. Done got ta where I need all a’ y’all. Ain’t always been happy about that, an’ I’ve sure as hell fought against it, but ain’t no use fightin’ it now. It’s jist the way things are. Same as they were with Alvin.”

“So he took care of you?”

He laughed shortly, bitterness twisting at his soul. “Reckon that’s one way of puttin’ it,” he said acidly. “Took care of me in so many ways I ain’t sure I’ll ever be right again! But it didn’t start out that way. An’ mebbe that’s why I missed seein’ it happen.” He frowned thoughtfully, still trying to sort it all out in his mind. “’S kinda like freezin’ t’ death, I reckon,” he said softly, slowly. “Comes on ya so gradual-like ya don’t even know it’s happenin’ ’til it’s too late. Mind gits so clouded that ya think yer feelin’ good when yer really dyin’ … Yeah,” he breathed, nodding slightly, “that’s jist how it was with him. He was so easy ta be with at first, got me t’ feelin’ so comfortable with him, that I never knew what was happenin’. Never thought about it. Never let myself think about it. Alvin could be a real good friend–”

“Right,” Chris retorted in a hard voice, anger kindling anew in his eyes. “A real good friend who’d shoot ya for refusin’ to go with him–”

“He wasn’t always like that,” he said wearily, knowing he had to make Chris understand but not at all certain he could. He exhaled heavily and pulled away from Chris, leaning forward to set his elbows on his thighs and cradling his head in his hands. “I know ya think I’m defendin’ him again,” he said quietly, “but I ain’t. I jist …” He fell silent a moment, then sat upright and turned on the bed to face Chris more fully. As unpleasant, as painful, as all this was, he had to see Larabee’s face, had to know what he thought. “Y’ asked me why I stayed, an’ I’m tryin’ t’ explain it. He wasn’t always like ya saw him that day in the saloon, all dried up inside an’ worn down outside. Hell, in them early days he was a lot like Buck. Had that same kinda charm when he wanted, could be anybody’s pard in five minutes, make ya feel like he’d known ya all yer life.” He shrugged slightly. “Mebbe that’s what drew me to him. Like I said, I’s jist a kid when I signed on with the comp’ny, an’ I wasn’t jist real used t’ bein’ with folks. Them other hunters was older’n me, an’ they was a real rough bunch. There’s some of ’em that jist plumb scared the hell outta me. But Alvin,” he shook his head slowly, staring at Chris and willing him to understand, “he wasn’t like that. He was good t’ me, kinda took me under his wing an’ helped me get settled in, looked after me an’ kep’ them others off me ’til I could get my bearin’s. So I was grateful to him fer that. He took care of me, y’ know? An’ after a while,” he winced, knowing how this would sound but unable to help it, “seemed only right fer me t’ take care of him, too.”

Chris stiffened and his green eyes widened, then narrowed, his mouth tightening. “What’s that mean?” he asked tersely.

Vin sighed and stiffly pushed himself up from the bed, crossing on less than steady legs to the window and turning away from Chris to stare blindly down into the street below. He’d known this would be hard; he just hadn’t understood how hard. “I’s always a better shot an’ a better tracker than Alvin,” he said quietly. The words weren’t a boast, just the simple truth. “Whether we was huntin’ buffs or bounties, he always did better with me than without me. After a while, I … I got ta feelin’ kinda responsible fer him. I knew I’d do all right on my own – hell, I always had before – but I wasn’t so sure about him. He’d got t’ where he depended on me, y’ know? ’Specially once he started drinkin’. Lord,” he groaned, feeling again the cold, heavy weight of those days settling upon him, “he always found trouble real quick when he was drinkin’. Reckon he was like Josiah in that. Never knew when ta quit, jist let himself git lost in that bottle … An’ I’s the only one around ta pull him out. So I told myself I had ta stay. Couldn’t bear thinkin’ on what’d happen to him if I left.”

“Sounds like he used you, used your concern.” Chris’s voice was quiet, steady, but an unmistakable note of anger sounded just beneath its calm surface. “Used it ta bind you to him so he could get what he wanted from you.”

“Yeah,” he said tiredly, wondering why it was so easy to see now what had escaped him back then. “An ol’ Alvin always wanted somethin’ from me. Always found some way t’ get it … take it …” He shuddered heavily as a sudden chill gripped him. “Said I b’longed to him. Said it was only right–” He shivered again and wrapped his arms tightly about himself. “Hell, by the time I finally rode away, I was so twisted up inside I didn’t know what was right!” he whispered harshly. “Jist knew I had t’ get away ’fore he took what little of me I had left. An’ I swore I’d never let nobody take anything from me again.” He turned then and stared at Chris, figuring the man deserved to know this, too. “There’s been a few since Alvin who’s tried,” he said in a low, hard voice. “An’ I c’n tell ya, there ain’t much left a’ them, either.”

If Chris felt any revulsion at that, at any of what he’d heard, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he simply uncoiled slowly from his seat on the bed and moved toward Vin, his gaze never leaving the tracker’s. “They had it comin’,” he said evenly. “Just like Harper had what he got comin’. He was wrong to use you that way, Vin, wrong to make you think you owed him anything, wrong to think he had any claim on you at all. And he was wrong about one other thing, too.” He stopped just before Vin and reached out for him, resting one hand on the tracker’s shoulder and cradling the other to his face. “You never belonged to him,” he said firmly, staring intently into Vin’s eyes. “You don’t belong to anybody, you got that?”

He tensed in Chris’s grasp as the man’s words sent a ripple of uncertainty through him. “But … you–”

“No, let me finish,” Chris interrupted quietly, his gaze deep and dark, his hands unfailingly gentle. “You belong with me, and I’ll want you with me ’til I die, but you don’t belong to me and you never will. I love you, but I can’t possess you and I’ll never try. I don’t wanta try.” He shrugged lightly. “That’s the difference between me and Alvin Harper.”

Vin returned that stare for long moments, searching those deep, compelling green eyes and seeing only truth backed by love in them. A soft breath escaped him, a small smile pulled at his lips and he sank once more against that warm, hard body, into arms that opened for him and closed about him, that held him without ever seeking to imprison him.

“Oh, hell no, cowboy,” he breathed, closing his eyes and resting against the man who’d become the surest home he’d ever known. “That ain’t the only diff’rence ’tween you an’ him by a long shot!”

To The Next Part