The Gambler’s Heart

Part One

by Setcheti

Disclaimer: Please see disclaimer on the series index page.

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Seven dust-caked men on seven tired horses slowly rode up the main street of the town of Four Corners just as the sun was breaking over the horizon and dismounted--to put it kindly--in front of the livery stable. The youngest and smallest of them handed his reins to the man next to him and announced tiredly, "Looks like there's someone at the jail. I'm gonna go check it out."

"Want me to go, JD?" The tall, mustached cowboy looked and sounded his concern. "You're plumb beat, kid."

"So're you, Buck," the kid replied, taking off his battered bowler hat and half-heartedly trying to beat some of the trail dust off of it. He shrugged his coat straight on his shoulders and ran a sleeve across the tin star that adorned the lapel. "I'll meet up with you all at the hotel." Not waiting for a response, he replaced the hat over his longish dark hair and headed down the street toward the jailhouse, nodding to the few early-risers he passed on his way.

Buck gazed after him with a mixture of amusement and pride. "That boy's gonna make a damn fine lawman someday."

"He's a damn fine sheriff now," the black-dressed man beside him said thoughtfully, his cool turquoise eyes scanning the quiet street. "Never would have thought it when I first met him."

"Mr. Dunne did appeah rather hopeless at the time, didn't he," chuckled a shorter man whose red coat was nearly brown with dust. "Lucky for this town that appearances are occasionally deceivin'."

That made Chris smile, and the large, grizzled man on his other side rumbled, "You would be the one to say that, Brother Ezra."

Ezra grimaced in mock irritation. "Ah believe that could be construed as an insult, Mr. Sanchez," he drawled, his green eyes sparkling with the laughter five of his friends weren't bothering to hold back; the sixth, a tall, sober-faced black man wearing a brace of wicked-looking knives, merely snorted and looked away. The gambler pulled off his flat-crowned black hat and used it to smack the person closest to him, a younger man in a buckskin jacket. "If you're quite finished with this unseemly display of hilarity, Mr. Tanner, I believe your horse could use some attention."

"So could yours, Ez," Vin said with a wink; as one, both men handed over their reins to the remaining stable hands and then cockily saluted their leader before walking off. "Be seein' ya at breakfast, boys!"

Chris groaned and shook his head. "Shit. It's gonna be one of those days."

* * *

"Cole," JD greeted the man who met him in front of the jail. "What's going on? Didn't have any trouble, I hope."

"Just a little, Sheriff," the cowhand said. "Had some strangers show up in town a few days ago, and two of 'em…well, they didn't give us much choice but to lock 'em up until you got back. And Jesse Matthews went kind o' wild the other night so's we locked him up too.

"He have a reason?"

Cole grinned. "Not to me, but I know why he did it; seems he'd been on another tear and his cookin' was sufferin' more than usual. Waitress got the customers settled down and fixed it all up, but Miz Abbott told Jesse not to come back 'less he was a payin' customer hisself."

JD chuckled. "Can't say I'm sorry to hear it. Who's cooking now?"

"Waitress--though I guess that makes her the cook, now." Cole spat off the side of the porch. "Don't rightly care what they call her, as long as she makes some o' them flapjacks again soon."

The young sheriff filed that observation away for later; he was partial to flapjacks himself. "What about the other two? What'd they do?"

Cole hesitated. "I don't think they're from around here, Sheriff; maybe not even from this country."

JD's brown eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question, Cole; what did they do?"

"They weren't…decent," the cowhand stammered, plainly embarrassed. "I ain't never seen no woman act like that, an' these two aren't much more than girls anyhow from the looks of 'em. Miss Inez threw 'em out of the saloon but they wouldn't go, started quite a ruckus--ain't never heard no woman swear like that neither. But once me an' the boys got their guns…

"They had guns?!"

"Lifted 'em off some other fellas in the saloon." Cole spat again. "Weren't the only things they took. We got it all back an' locked 'em up. They kept spoutin' stuff off; seemed to think they knew an awful lot about everything…you seven in particular. Figgered we'd leave it for you all to deal with."

JD frowned, worried. "You did the right thing, Cole; I'll take over from here." He stepped past the cowhand and went inside the jail, not quite closing the door behind him.

Cole waited. He heard the sheriff walk to his desk and greet Jesse Matthews with a genial, "Feelin' any better, Jesse?" Matthews grumbled something about getting out, to which JD replied that they'd talk about it after breakfast. "And how're you getting along with your two roommates…" The steps went further into the jail, then stopped. Two young female voices, one with a nasty shrill giggle, began clamoring the young man's name and making highly personal and increasingly lewd comments. The steps started up again, quicker this time, heading back toward the door. "All right then, I'll be back later with your breakfast and then we'll see what's what."

The door opened, and JD walked out and then closed it carefully behind him. He slumped against the wall of the jail and whispered, "Oh my sweet lord, that just ain't right--even the women at the brothel don't act like that!"

Cole nodded, eyeing the younger man sympathetically. "That's why I ain't standin' in there."

Buck came up just then and gave JD a worried look. "Problem?"

JD waved his hand at the door and shook his head. "Hell yes."

Buck raised his eyebrows at that and went into the jail without another word. The two younger men heard him walk with firm strides over to the cells and stop; the cessation of his footsteps coincided exactly with the beginning of a stream of even more shockingly explicit observations from the two female prisoners. There was no comment from the ladies' man, however. Booted footsteps moved around the jail for a moment, then a cell door clanked back on its hinges and two sets of steps headed for the door.

Buck walked out of the jail with Jesse Matthews in tow just as Chris joined the two young men on the porch. The ladies' man's face was flushed--with embarrassment or anger, no one could tell. "Problem, Buck?"

"Hell yes." Buck pushed Matthews against one of the porch supports and looked at JD and Cole. "Lessen he murdered somebody, I couldn't see leavin' him in there with…that."

JD took a deep breath and shifted back into sheriff mode. "Jesse, you gonna cause any more trouble? 'Cause if you are…" he let the threat hang and looked pointedly back toward the jail. Matthews gulped and shook his head violently. "Good. Long as we understand each other." Buck released his hold and the four men watched Matthews head off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. "Well, Buck?"

The ladies' man shook his head. "That in there is…" He struggled to find the right words. "Beyond my experience--and I must say my experience has been considerable." He put out a hand as Chris brushed past him to go in, but only to offer advice. "I were you, pard, I'd go in there lookin' as dangerous as possible; maybe you can intimidate 'em."

"He's right, Chris," JD agreed seriously. "They seem to know some about us; depending on what they've heard, they might just be afraid of you."

Larabee smiled appreciatively; sometimes his 'bad element' reputation was a good thing. "Cole, what'd you lock 'em up for?"

"Tried to start a fight in the saloon, stole off'n some fellas, threatened to shoot people. That an' they just gen'rally ain't decent." Chris raised an eyebrow at that one and Cole shrugged. "You'll understand once you see it," the cowhand said. "They just ain't right."

"Amen to that," Buck agreed with a shudder. Chris frowned at him and then walked over to the door and threw it open, leaving it swinging wide as he stalked into the jail and straight over to the cell.

What he saw surprised him. Neither one of the cell's two occupants could have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but the expressions they wore were anything but innocent. Both were wearing obvious makeup and clothes that even a whore would hesitate to wear in public, and both had short hair; one with blonde hair to just below her ears and pulled to one side, the other with unnaturally bluish-black hair cut short as a boy's and sticking up in stiff spikes. The jewelry they were wearing looked vaguely Indian in design but was strangely fragile and cheap-looking. Cole's assessment had been spot-on; the two of them just weren't right.

The girls had been startled by the black-clad gunslinger's abrupt entry and narrow-eyed stare, but they recovered quickly. The black-haired one pushed herself up against the bars in a vaguely obscene manner and leered at him. "Ooh, look 'Rissa, it's the Larabee Glare. We're in trouble now."

"I am sooo scared," the blonde responded from an equally suggestive position on the cot. "Oh wait, no I'm not."

They both giggled nastily, Catie's coming out unpleasantly shrill. Chris was not amused; his scowl deepened. "Where are your parents?" he demanded harshly. The answer he got wasn't related to his question but did succeed in making him furious; he yelled for Buck and drew his gun. "Open the door and pull that one out," he told the unhappy ladies' man, pointing at Catie. "I want them in separate cells."

Buck complied reluctantly, and the fight was on as soon as he unlocked their door; in the end, it took both himself and JD to wrestle the girl into the other cell while Cole assisted Chris with keeping Rissa in hers--it appeared that neither one of them were afraid of being shot. Once the doors were secure again Chris turned without another word and led his men back outside, shutting the door against the tidal wave of profanity that tried to follow them. "Thanks for the help, Cole," he said. "We'll take it from here."

"Music to my ears," the cowhand replied. "Think I'll head back to the ranch; I've had enough of lawin' to last me for a while."

Buck slapped him on the back and shook his head. "Son, we get any more like that in there…I may go back to bein' a cowhand myself."

* * *

Meanwhile, Ezra and Vin had headed off in search of breakfast. Ezra stopped dead directly in front of the hotel, eyes widening as he lifted his head and sniffed the morning air in disbelief. "Dear Lord, it can't be…"

The long-haired tracker managed to stop just short of a collision and regarded him with amusement. "Can't be what, Ez?"

The gambler took another sniff. "Red-eye gravy, Vin. I distinctly detect the aroma of a fine Southern breakfast comin' from this den of culinary unrest."

Vin sniffed too, and grinned. "I smell ham," he said happily, winking at the smaller man. "An' we're the first ones here…"

Ezra matched his grin, gold tooth flashing in the early morning sunlight. "Then by all means, we must take steps to secure a generous portion for ourselves before our insatiable companions arrive."

"I almost understood that," Vin mused, leading the way into the hotel's small dining area and claiming a seat that gave him full view of both exits. "Must be spendin' too much time with you, Ez."

"That's your good fortune," the gambler retorted, settling himself opposite and removing his dusty hat. "I'll have you civilized yet."

The proprietress stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Good morning, boys. Breakfast or just coffee?"

"Good mornin' to you, Mrs. Abbott," Ezra greeted the long-time widow politely. "We will most certainly be wantin' breakfast."

"And plenty of it," Vin added. "It smells wonderful."

"Doesn't it though?" The usually dour woman smiled at them both before disappearing back into the fragrant kitchen. She returned a few moments later with two well-laden plates and then went back for the pot of coffee.

Ezra's raised hand stopped her from leaving after the coffee was poured. "A moment please," he requested. He carefully sampled a bite of everything on his plate. "As I thought," he sighed rapturously. "I shall be requirin' a second serving in the very near future."

"Me too, ma'am," Vin told the startled woman. "Figure we'd better let you know now, before the rest of us come in."

"Not a bad idea," she agreed, pleased. "I'll tell Julie to save some back for you."

"Julie?" Two heads snapped up, the instincts of both lawmen briefly overriding the call of their impatient stomachs. "I don't believe I know the lady," Ezra said. "A relative of yours recently arrived, Mrs. Abbott?"

"No, Mr. Standish. Her name is Juliet Moore, and she showed up in town while you boys were gone. I hired her to be a waitress, but we had a…problem with the cook next mornin' and she ended up taking his job instead."

Vin raised an eyebrow. "She stayin' at the boarding house?"

"No, with the Potters; Gloria took a right liking to her, offered to let her stay in their extra room if she'd help out with the store and the children." The portly woman shook her head thoughtfully. "She's a decent, hardworking girl, Julie is--not like those two little hellions Matthew Cole has locked up in the jail right now. Don't rightly know what to think about them, but I know it wouldn't be anything Christian." She shook her head again and smiled at the two men. "I'm sure you boys can sort them out. I'd best go help Julie."

Ezra sipped thoughtfully on his coffee, watching her vanish through the swinging kitchen door. "It sounds as though quite a bit transpired in our absence, Vin."

"I reckon so," the tracker agreed, frowning for a moment before digging back into his breakfast. "Well, I'm sure it can wait until we're finished eatin'."

* * *

By the time Chris, Buck and JD joined them, Ezra and Vin were halfway through their second helping of breakfast and Nathan and Josiah were polishing off their first. Buck's eyes widened when he saw what they were eating. "Did ya save any for us, boys?"

"Not intentionally," Ezra drawled over the rim of his coffee cup. "Mrs. Abbott informed us there is a problem to be sorted out at the jail?"

JD groaned, and Buck patted his shoulder in sympathy. "You could call 'em that," Chris said darkly. "Damned if I know what else to make of them." He answered the gambler's raised eyebrow with a tight shake of his head. "We'll all go back to the jail after breakfast, figure out what to do with 'em--I don't want anyone goin' in there alone."

That got Vin's attention. "Thought she said they was girls?"

"So was Maddie," Buck grunted. "These two make her look like a right proper lady."

"Good lord, they must be animals indeed," Ezra observed, pushing his empty plate back with a sigh. "What brought them to our fair municipality?"

"Dunno," JD replied. "Cole said they just showed up, started causing trouble at the saloon." He frowned. "He said they thought they knew an awful lot about the seven of us."

"Yeah, some of them comments they made was awful personal," Buck agreed, troubled. "Think they've been watchin' us?"

"Ain't seen no sign," Vin declared, mopping up gravy with a square of cornbread.

"And it's not like we could've overlooked them," Chris said darkly. "No, there's something else going on here, I can feel it. We'd better…" Mrs. Abbott set a full plate in front of him and his voice trailed off as he stared at it. "Um, we'll do it after breakfast--maybe they'll have a little less spit in 'em if they're hungry."

* * *

The seven men went back to the jail together, full but not happy; they could hear the noise the two prisoners were creating even through the jail's thick walls. "Chris, I think I'm gonna head out on patrol…"

Chris snagged the ladies' man's arm before he could take a single step. "Nice try, Buck."

"Only if the rest of us are goin' too," JD added. "I don't want to go in there any more than you do, Buck, but we gotta deal with them eventually."

"Sooner better than later," Chris agreed firmly. "Like I said before, we'll all go in together. We need to find out where they came from and why they're here."

"And where their parents are, who's responsible for 'em," the young sheriff added. "They been here two days an' no one's come to claim them."

No one moved; the men all looked at each other, and finally they all looked at Chris. Larabee snorted and shook his head. "God dammit," he swore, and threw open the jail door with a disgusted expression. "You two knock that the hell off!"

There was a short moment of silence as the seven men filed into the jail, and then the two girls began to laugh uproariously. "Oh Catie," Rissa choked out. "Listen to him, the man in black thinks he's our daddy or somethin'!"

Catie appeared to find this observation hilariously inspiring and the two of them began to sing a raucous song about a man in black. Chris's face turned red, and Vin spoke up before the gunslinger could let loose his famous temper. "Now, you two heard him, shut it down; we're here to ask you some questions."

"How 'bout if I ask you some?" Catie purred. "Tell me, pretty boy, how come you only screw married women?" Vin's mouth dropped open and the girls dissolved into laughter again, slapping each other's hands through the dividing bars of their cells. "Aw, ain't you gonna answer? I really wanted to know!"

"Yeah, we already knew why tall, dark and horny over there does everyone in sight," Rissa chimed in. "He's a whore just like his mama!"

Josiah grabbed hold of Buck before he could do anything rash and shook his head. "Young woman, I'd advise you to watch your mouth unless you want it washed out with some good lye soap. Now why don't you..."

Rissa smiled nastily at him. "How's your crazy sister?" Josiah and Vin both started and the other men looked confused--except Ezra, who scowled. The blonde girl laughed. "Oh, so you didn't tell your friends you pawned off your loony baby sister on a bunch of nuns, huh? Afraid they wouldn't think too much of that, huh, preacher-man?"

Josiah paled but held his ground. "The Sisters take good care of her--better care than I could. She's happy there."

"You just keep tellin' yourself that," Catie smirked, insinuating herself closer to the bars. "While you're doin' your 'penance' at that run down church--whatcha tryin' to make up for anyways, Preacher Man? Leavin' her there an' lettin' those frigid bitches work her like a nigger while you hang around here an' play at bein' some kind of big dumb white version of Mr. 'Snatch the pebble from my hand', or was there somethin' else?"

Buck stepped up quickly and got between Vin and the cell; Ezra did the same for Josiah. "What the hell is the matter with you two, anyway?" the ladies' man demanded. "What kind of rock does somethin' like you crawl out from under?"

"I believe we'd all like the answer to that question," Ezra said, keeping one restraining hand on the center of Josiah's chest and half turning to stare narrowly at the giggling girls. "If only to ascertain its location and blow it straight to hell."

What happened next was so quick that only Ezra and Buck saw it clearly: Catie's beringed hand with it's black-painted nails shot through the bars and slapped against the gambler's right sleeve, releasing his derringer from its spring-loaded rig. Luckily, she had underestimated Ezra's reflexes; he automatically clamped his hand around the small weapon as it shot into his palm and jerked his arm up and out of reach, feeling her fingernails graze the back of his hand as she grabbed for it. Buck had drawn his own gun when he saw her sudden movement, but the girl ignored him and swore volubly, swiping at the out-of-reach gambler.

Ezra smiled thinly, slowly resetting the hidden mechanism. "Ah'm afraid ah'm beginnin' to find your limited vocabulary most monotonous," he said, only the thickening of his accent giving away his startlement at the attack.

"Least I ain't usin' big words to try to impress everybody," she shot back. He raised an eyebrow and she sneered knowingly at him. "Aw, don't try to deny it; if you was as slick an' smart as you're connin' these guys to think, you wouldn't still be in this pissant town--an maybe you would'a got away with all that money instead of gettin' shot tryin' to steal it."

Nathan chortled, but Ezra ignored him; he knew the healer was the only man present who believed the accusation to be accurate. "Ah believe ah could say the same regardin' you, young woman," he drawled blandly. "However, you no longer possess the choice of leavin' town at will no mattah what the reason, while ah myself am free to come and go as ah please--and it pleases me to remain."

"Ain't no one expected ya to--you done run out once," Nathan said, shaking his head. "Oh no wait, that last time makes it twice, don't it?" Smirking at the gambler, he missed seeing Vin pull a fuming JD out of the jail at a nod from Chris; Buck holstered his gun and followed, frowning. The two prisoners once again dissolved into unpleasant laughter.

Ezra saw it all and stiffened; things had been considerably less than friendly between himself and the tall healer since Rosa May Parker had come to town a few months ago, and he was starting to think that it might be best if he just moved on before the one-sided feud tore the rest of the team apart. The thought made him cold inside; Four Corners was the first place in years where he'd felt at home, and the thought of leaving the men he'd come to think of as family sickened him. But his promise had to come first…

Ezra still remembered the day he'd made that promise, more than six years ago. He'd crept into the bedroom that morning, not wanting to wake his wife if she was sleeping--her confinement with their second child was not going as easily as it had with Emily, and Rosa May had ordered her to remain in bed until the sickness had passed. But she'd been awake, waiting for him. They had talked for a time, holding each other, neither one wanting to let go. And before he had managed to tear himself away, his beloved Christina had begged one thing of him…

"…Ezra, promise me you won't harbor the desire for vengeance in your heart?"

He'd frozen, speechless, at the magnitude of what she was asking of him. "Christina, darlin'…"

"Promise me, Ezra!" Her voice had had an edge of desperation in it, and there were tears in her eyes. "Please! Ah couldn't go on to mah rest knowin' that the man ah loved had become a monster because of me. You have to promise me!"

Tears had sprung up in his eyes as well. "All right," he'd said brokenly. He'd carefully unwound her shaking hand from the folds of his coat and brought it to his lips. "You have mah word, cherie; ah won't seek revenge if…the unthinkable happens." He'd then almost crushed her to his chest, as though trying to protect her from the horrors he was fearing. "Dear God, please don't let it come to that. Ah couldn't live without you and Emily and Rosa May; ah love you all too much to lose you."

"And we love you too much to see you lost," she'd whispered. They'd kissed one last time, and then he'd broken away and left without looking back.

Rosa May had met him in the kitchen, and without a word had pulled him into a motherly hug, stroking the brown head that was pressed against her shoulder. "Oh, mah boy," she'd whispered to him. "You be sure to come back now, Mr. Ezra."

"Ah'll do mah very best," he'd promised. "Keep yourselves safe, Rosa May; y'all have to be here when ah come home." His voice had cracked on the word home. "Rosa May, ah…"

She'd pressed a kiss to his forehead and wiped his tear-streaked face like a child's, smoothing his rumpled hair with her fingers. "Get on with you now," she'd ordered, her own voice none too steady and her brown eyes suspiciously bright. "You're gonna be late reportin' an' get yourself an' Michael into trouble before you even gets to the fightin'. An' the quicker you leave, the quicker you'll come home."

"Right." He'd managed a smile for her, albeit a watery one, and saluted the teary-eyed black woman before swinging his bag up onto his shoulder and heading out the kitchen door into the early-morning chill. He had come back, but…the unthinkable had happened in his absence, just like he'd feared, and all that was left of his love was that impossible promise. In the six years that had passed since he'd deposited the last of his tears on the crudely marked graves in what had once been his wife's flower garden, he had never once broken it.

And he wasn't about to break it now. He could feel the tight gold band on his finger, burning it's reminder as he arched a cool eyebrow at Nathan, poker face firmly in place. He smiled with apparent ease, gold tooth glinting. "Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Jackson; ah do try to do what's expected of me if at all possible--isn't that correct, Mr. Sanchez?"

Josiah gave him a long look, thinking of the fiasco with the disputed money and his own part in it, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, Ezra, I guess you do. You want to go fetch these two their breakfast?" The gambler nodded and took off, and the ex-preacher sighed. "Damn."

Nathan snorted. "Tries and fails; man's got a long way to go to live up to anyone's expectations."

Josiah just shook his head. "You mean down to them," he replied cryptically, walking away from the other two men and taking a seat at the desk. There was a note tucked into his worn bible back at the church, a note he'd found wrapped around a stack of money in the poorbox on that awful day eight weeks ago; in firm, cultured handwriting it read, Sorry to disappoint, I do try to do what is expected of me if at all possible--but your suggestion proved not to be. I believe that Carson City might be a better place for a gentleman such as myself. The donation had proved to be a portion of the gambler's savings, the rest of which the man had secreted inside the lining of his favorite coat for safekeeping. Josiah shook his head again and muttered softly, "Thank god for failure."

* * *

Ezra was more than happy to go back to the hotel after their prisoners' breakfast; the quick walk to the hotel and back would go a long way toward helping him maintain his composed facade in spite of the morning's multiple verbal attacks on his person. He knew that Chris counted on him to be the one who kept his head when others couldn't--or wouldn't--and it was a trust he was proud to maintain. Yet another reason not to leave…

The dining room was empty again when he came in and Mrs. Abbott was nowhere in sight, so the gambler crossed the room and rapped on the swinging kitchen door with his knuckles. "Mrs. Abbott? I'm here to take some breakfast to those two undeservin' heathens at the jail."

From the other side a sweet, high voice with just a touch of Southern honey exclaimed, "Oh dear!" Light footsteps approached, the door swung back…and Ezra discovered that he wasn't looking down far enough, not a normal occurrence for him when dealing with other adults. The small woman facing him was obviously not a child--at least, he didn't think so--but her head barely came as high as his shoulder. Large indigo eyes blinked up at him, thickly framed by long black lashes. "Mrs. Abbott had to step out for a moment. What do you want them to have?"

"Pottage made from stable leavin's," he said, making the effort to turn his grimace into a smile. "But failin' that, whatever you have lyin' to hand will do; you certainly should not put yourself to any trouble on their behalf. You are Miss Moore, I take it?"

"Yes sir," she said, dipping her head politely. "Give me a few moments and I shall put together something for them. How do you plan to carry it back? Will I need to come with you?"

There was a slight tremor in her voice, and the thought of the dainty little creature in front of him going anywhere near the two animals in the jail actually made Ezra shudder. "That won't be necessary, my dear," he said quickly. "Mrs. Abbott keeps a basket for our use…if I might presume to enter the kitchen, I'm sure I can find it."

To his surprise she let him in at once and went back to the stove, pulling two plates from a stack as she went. He found the basket almost immediately, and then found himself studying the town's newest addition while she cooked. She had long ebony hair pulled back into a soft braid that fell to well past her waist, and the small wisps that had escaped confinement curled softly around her delicate, heart-shaped face in striking contrast to her pale complexion. The brown dress she wore under her apron was unfashionable and did not fit her as well as it could have, but her movements were quick and graceful and it was all in all a pleasure to watch her work. She had the two plates filled more quickly than he would have expected with eggs, potatoes and leftover cornbread and packed them into the basket with a slight frown. "Do you think that will be enough?"

He looked at the well-filled plates and sighed, shaking his head. "I think it's more than they deserve," he replied. "And I'm certain they won't appreciate the honor." She cocked her head at him questioningly and he smiled. "Why, the honor of havin' you cook for them, my dear." Her mouth opened in a silently surprised 'o' and a faint rosy blush crept over her cheeks; Ezra's smile widened and he sketched a slight bow. "My thanks, Miss Moore. I shall return the basket and plates shortly."

He was still smiling when he returned to the jail, causing the man in black to raise an eyebrow. "That didn't take long."

"Miss Moore is most efficient," Ezra replied. "If a tad more generous to these unworthies than I would have been." He held the basket out so Chris could look into it; the gunslinger whistled and shook his head. "I know; she actually asked me if I thought that would be enough."

"That would be enough to feed Buck and JD," Chris snorted. Then he frowned. "Miss Moore, you said?"

"Miss Juliet Moore," Ezra elaborated. "She's stayin' with the Potters. Mrs. Abbott seems to think a great deal of her." He lowered his voice. "She's a little bit of a thing, Chris, not much bigger than a child. We may want to have a word with Mrs. Potter regardin' the local predators, if you understand my meanin'."

Chris's frown deepened and he nodded. "Probably a good idea; I'll leave it to you."

It was Ezra's turn to snort. "Fittin', considerin' that most of the good townsfolk think I'm one of the local predators."

"Shows how wrong people can be, don't it?" Chris responded, a sly smile displacing his frown. "I don't think you've 'hunted' since you been here, Ez."

Ezra's own smile was wistful. "I wouldn't disgrace my Christina's memory with such behavior," he said softly, sharing a look of complete understanding with the gunslinger. "Just as you wouldn't disgrace Sarah's."

"Nope." Chris settled back in his chair and got comfortable again. "Well, I guess you better get in there and get it over with; Josiah's in there with 'em now, Buck's on patrol, and the rest of the boys are off on their own. Josiah 'suggested' that I come out here and cool off a bit."

"I can just imagine." Ezra squared his shoulders and entered the jail; the verbal torrent that greeted him was stilled by his upraised hand and a wicked smile. "Now, now, ladies, you might want to reconsider this course of action if you want your breakfast. I can always take it back and say you weren't hungry." His answer was dead silence and two sullen expressions. "Good, I see that we understand each other."

He dropped the basket on the desk and pulled out the plates, handing one to Josiah; the ex-preacher shook his head. "Bread and water would have been more fitting."

"You're too generous; slow starvation would have been my choice," the gambler replied. He pushed Catie's plate through the slot in the bars with his left hand, careful to keep his right arm with it's derringer rig well out of her reach. Then he stepped back and watched Josiah repeat the cautious procedure with Rissa and the two men returned to the desk. Ezra sat down on one corner where he could keep an eye on them as well as the door. "I wonder if havin' a full stomach will mellow their dispositions any?"

"Probably not," the ex-preacher grumbled, watching as the two girls greedily ate their late breakfast. "Unless it makes them sleepy. We can only hope."

* * *

Josiah's hopes didn't come to fruition until almost ten o'clock that night--and then only because the light in the jail had been extinguished nearly an hour earlier. Ezra had departed at dusk in pursuit of new pickings at the poker table, and Vin had gone with him. Chris, unnerved by everything they'd missed on their three days out of town although he wasn't actually admitting it, was patrolling the dark streets of Four Corners on foot while Nathan rode out a little ways from town to check the surrounding area. Buck was undoubtedly off somewhere trying to make up for three days with no women, and Josiah had sent JD off to bed when the young sheriff had almost nodded off in the rickety chair in front of the jail. The older man had appropriated the chair for his own use almost immediately afterwards, enjoying the spring night's gentle warmth that would all to soon give way to the unrelenting heat of a desert summer.

Chris returned after an hour of searching revealed no more 'surprises' had crept into town in his absence; he joined Josiah on the jail's faded porch and lit a cheroot, still staring into every shadow. "They finally shut up?"

"Yup." The ex-preacher stretched his long legs out in front of him and sighed. "Give any thought to what we're gonna do with 'em?"

"You mean who we're gonna saddle with 'em," the gunslinger corrected. "If they were boys I'd have done run them out of town at noon…"

"…but they ain't boys," Josiah finished grimly. "And I for one ain't so certain they'd leave."

"Me either." Both men fell silent, thinking. After long contemplation of the shadows, Chris asked, "Any idea where they came from?"

"Nope." Josiah was watching the sky, as though seeking answers in the thin, wispy clouds scudding across the faces of the stars high overhead. "Listened all afternoon and they didn't give nothin' away--nothin' of their own, anyway. But I know it wasn't any place I've ever been, and that don't leave much in this country. And they don't talk like foreigners."

"They talk like outlaws," Chris observed. "Lots of foul words and no respect for anything or anyone. And they know too much--that Catie girl knew exactly how to work Ezra's sleeve rig."

"Yup," Josiah agreed. "They been talkin' to somebody, that's for sure. Wouldn't mind knowin' who." He frowned at the sky. "And whoever it is, they must've been watching us for a long time--and more closely than I want to contemplate."

"I know." Thinking of the things the two girls had said suddenly gave Chris an idea. He looked down at his companion. "Josiah, I think I know what those two need." The older man cocked an eyebrow at him, and Chris grinned wickedly. "I think they could use a hefty dose of religion."

Josiah started, and then the idea sank in; he began to grin as well, pushing thoughts of his sister away for later--he was more than grateful that none of his friends had questioned him about her. "You think that Army troop comin' through here tomorrow might be willing to drop 'em off? I'm sure the Sisters up by Fort Laramie would be mighty glad of two extra pairs of hands."

The black-clad man nodded. "Bet they would," he drawled, pleased with the solution. "If anyone could fix…that, it would be those nuns. How about you wire the Sisters and I'll see to the Army?"

Josiah levered himself up out of the chair and stretched mightily. "I'm on it, Brother," he said with a yawn. "First thing in the morning, I'll fire off a telegram explainin' things. Who's up next for watch?"

"Vin is," was the reply. Chris slid past him and settled into the vacated chair. "I'll watch until he's ready; I want him right where he is for now."

"Good place for him," Josiah approved unnecessarily. "I'm not all that tired; want me to take over for Vin in the saloon later?"

Chris didn't look at him, dragging on his cheroot. "Sure that would be a good idea? Nathan's due back 'bout that time, you know."

The ex-preacher's shoulders slumped slightly. "You don't think I can…"

"I think you don't like to rock the boat, but when you do you capsize the damn thing." The younger man's turquoise gaze was cool--not unfriendly, but not warm either. "I can't be sure what side of the fence you'll come down on when, Josiah, and this thing is gettin' explosive enough without you lightin' a fuse on either side. Bad enough that Vin…well, Vin's a situation all by himself anymore."

Sanchez didn't quite smile. "I thought it was a rather inspired performance, myself."

Chris snorted. "I'm gonna remind you of that the next time he gets shot and we end up taking care of his sorry ass--don't think Nate was quite as 'inspired' as you were, and Vin knows it." Josiah muttered something under his breath and the gunslinger said sharply, "Yeah, Nate did deserve it, Josiah, but that's not the point; point is that you boys don't think about consequences when you do something like that! Forget about Vin, what do you think is gonna happen the next time Ezra gets hurt, huh? You think an 'inspired' rendition of Dixie is gonna be worth what happens to him then?"

Even in the dark, Chris could see the big man blanch; he obviously hadn't thought of it. "You talk to Brother Vin about this?"

"Didn't have to," was the firm reply. "He knows what he did; you're the one I'm worried about." The hard eyes softened a little. "Nathan's your friend, Preacher, but we all know how you feel about Ezra. I think you need to trust your boy to handle this thing his own way--just stand back and watch."

Josiah shuffled his feet. "Hard to do, lately."

"Since Rosa May came, I know," Chris said, knowing that wasn't what the older man was referring to. "But maybe you need to take a lesson from her, Josiah; she had even better reason than you to get into it with Nathan--but she didn't."

"No, she didn't," the ex-preacher agreed heavily. He sighed. "You're right, Chris; I haven't been thinking. Ezra's been acting mighty skittish these past couple of months, and it ain't all because of Nathan."

"Nope, it's not." The gunslinger relaxed in his chair, tipping it back to lean against the wall. "Ez don't want to pull this group apart; I think he'd leave before he'd let that happen."

Josiah froze. "He wouldn't leave; he loves it here."

"First real home he's had in more'n six years," Chris agreed, hearing guilt in the man's denial and approving; he suspected that the ex-preacher had had more than a little to do with the gambler's last attempt to leave Four Corners. "But that promise of his means more to him, and he ain't gonna break it because of Nathan--ain't gonna let you boys break it for him, either."

"I had a talk with JD." Buck's voice came from the shadows, startling Josiah; Chris grinned under the shadow cast by his hat. The ladies' man stepped onto the porch and leaned against the jail wall. "We agreed, him'n me; no one's doin' nothin' 'less Ez does it first--'lessen he ain't able, of course, then we'll step in. Vin agreed to string along with us an' keep his Reb harmonica in his pocket for the time bein'." Buck tipped back his battered hat, clear brown eyes meeting Josiah's faded, troubled blue. "Don't want ol' Ez to light out again 'cause of us. How 'bout you, Preacher?"

"Nope, don't want that." Josiah sighed again. "Don't want that at all. Well, Brothers, I guess I'll be headin' back to the church; got some repairs to start in the morning." And tipping his hat to the two nodding men, he walked off into the night.

They watched until he was out of sight. "JD okay with this?"

"He will be." Buck slid down the rough wall and rested one arm on a drawn-up knee. "You?"

Larabee didn't answer him right away. "Ain't any of our place to interfere," he said finally. Another pause. "Wish it was."

"Know what ya mean, pard," Buck agreed. Then he chuckled. "Never thought I'd find myself wantin' to protect some Reb officer from an escaped slave."

Chris nodded but didn't laugh. "Know what ya mean," he echoed. He was remembering seeing one of his men shot down in the street trying to protect the woman he himself couldn't quite admit he might want to marry…and another of them triumphantly pulling blood-soaked money out of the downed man's jacket instead of trying to stop the bleeding. "Yep, I know what ya mean."

End of Part One / On to Part Two

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