He tried to tell himself it was just the wind. Every blast of air that swept through the dusty streets had an edge to it, bringing with it sand and dirt that cut at his skin and reddened his eyes. He raised his gaze to the west—not for the first time that day, probably not the last—and squinted toward the darkening sky, the sun's dying rays blotted out by the thunder clouds that blurred the horizon.
If the rest of the town was experiencing the same tension that Larabee felt, it showed no ill effects. The sounds coming from the saloon were as raucous as ever, shouts of drunken laughter punctuated by the caterwauling sounds pouring forth from the forever out-of-tune piano. Even beneath all that ruckus, Larabee could pick out Buck's booming voice as he called out a greeting to an acquaintance. It was early evening, usually a peaceful time of day, but Chris Larabee felt anything but calm as he strolled the boardwalk, eyes on the western sky, headed toward nowhere in particular.
He could've joined his friends in the saloon, but he knew he had no patience for Buck's tomfoolery or Ezra's sly wit. He was on edge, restless, the town suddenly too small and getting smaller, pressing in on his shoulders, weighing him down. Lowering his head against the wind, he stepped into the street and deliberately headed east, no destination in mind, driven on by the need to clear his head before Vin returned to town.
That's what it came down to now. Not the wind, not the town, just the fact that he and Vin had gone wrong, and until they either worked it out or parted ways for good, Larabee would feel the edge of that cutting wind, moving him onward, away from the life he'd carved out of this godforsaken town. It was a life he'd been starting to accept, but now it seemed empty and pointless, void as it was of the one friendship he'd come to value above all others.
And if mending that friendship had been all that Larabee needed, he would've made the effort long before Vin had been hired to lead a group of government surveyors up into the hills. The suggestion of a shared a bottle, an offer of silent companionship during an early morning patrol—Larabee knew that the trouble between them could've been ended that easily.
But the trouble between them ran too deep for either man to bend. Looking back, Larabee could see it'd been a long time coming and yet it had taken only one unguarded moment to shatter the unspoken agreement between them, and so a standoff of sorts had been established. Larabee figured it may have pushed Vin into accepting the job, just to get away from the tension that hung so thick in the air between them that the others had starting avoiding them both. The situation was approaching intolerable, and yet Larabee, who wasn't afraid of much of anything, was terrified what would happen if he faced Vin down.
His wandering brought him level with the Clarion office, long since closed down for the day, windows dark. He paused and turned on his heel, gaze once again going to the dark clouds in the west, his mind automatically figuring the odds on flash floods running through the washes that crisscrossed the hills. He knew worrying was a waste of time—Vin knew better than anyone how quickly bad weather could kill an unwary man—but the wind that sliced at his skin and threw grit in his teeth was wearing him down. With a final sigh and one last look at the clouds crowding the western sky, he turned toward the saloon.
He dozed for a while on his bed, eyes at half-mast as he watched the breeze catch the thin curtains at the window and toss them in restless waves. The sounds of the saloon had finally faded away, the town drifting into a sullen silence as the night deepened. The air was thick and heavy, a prelude to the storm still gathering strength in the west. Stretched out on the bed still fully dressed, Larabee's thoughts once again turned toward the problem of Vin Tanner and his place in Chris' life.
A couple of hours spent alone with a bottle of rye had brought Larabee no answers. To be honest with Vin was courting disaster, but Larabee couldn't see another way out of his current predicament. His respect for Vin ran deep, and if nothing else, Tanner at least deserved the truth from the man who, without actually saying the words, had professed to being his best friend.
He'd just managed to slip into a fretful sleep when he heard heavy footsteps pause outside his door. In one fluid motion, he sat up in bed and pulled his gun from the holster hooked over the headboard. He waited, barely breathing, his eyes straining in the dark to see any threatening movement.
He wasn't prepared for the soft, hesitant knock.
"Chris? Hey, Chris, you in there?"
It was Buck's voice, hissing softly through the door. Larabee rose to his feet and crossed the room, opening the door to see Buck standing in the hall, his face pale and shiny in the dim gaslight of the hallway.
"What is it?" Larabee asked, his body tensing in reaction to Buck's obvious distress.
Buck looked down at the tips of his boots. "We got trouble," he muttered.
The hairs on the back of Larabee's neck rose as a feeling of dread crawled into the pit of his stomach. "What kinda trouble?"
Buck sighed and straightened up to look Larabee in the eye. "Man rode in 'bout an hour ago. Says he killed himself a wanted man, and he—he, uh—"
"Say it, Buck."
"He wants his five hundred dollars for bringing in the body of Vin Tanner. And, Chris," Buck removed his hat and clutched the brim between his hands, "he's got a body."
Larabee glared at him. "That ain't possible. Vin's up in the hills scouting for that government survey team. He's got the wrong man." He took a step forward. "You hear me? There's been a mistake."
"That may be," Buck agreed hastily, backing up, "but that don't change the fact that there's a body over at the undertaker's and a man who's expecting to get paid for his trouble."
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Larabee struggled to think through the haze of black panic rising behind his eyes. Aware of Buck's eyes on him, he nodded once.
"Let me get my gear."
How he made it down the stairs of the boarding house and out the door, he'd never remember. The world had narrowed to the dirt street beneath his boots and the heavy thud of a heart that was about to be torn asunder once and for all. At some point, he became aware of Ezra sliding out of the shadows to trail behind him and Buck as they made their way through the pre-dawn darkness to the undertaker's back door. That was as unsurprising as seeing Josiah and Nathan standing guard on either side of the door that led to the small, dark room where bodies were delivered and laid out on the undertaker's thick wooden table.
Wordlessly, Josiah turned the handle and pushed the door open, standing aside to allow Larabee to go in first. Someone had lit a lamp that gave off enough light to divide the small room in sharply edged shadows and pools of light, its faint golden glow falling gently on the oilcloth-wrapped bundle on the table. Wound tightly with rope, the stained and creased fabric gave no hint of the body inside it, save for a lock of curly brown hair that had escaped from beneath a ragged edge.
Larabee stood beside the body, unable to believe that it was Vin Tanner who lay so still and silent on the table. He felt the other men gathering around him, Josiah and Ezra to his left, Nathan on his right, and Buck at his back, but they were more like shadows as he struggled against the storm of grief that was threatening to break free. He reached out, intent on testing the ropes that bound the dead man, but his fingers were shaking so violently that he clenched them into a fist and dropped his hand to his side.
"Chris," Buck murmured, "you don't have to do this. Let me—"
"Out."
"What?"
"Get them outta here, Buck. Now."
He could feel the uncertainty coming from Buck as he hesitated to follow Chris' request. Both hands now clenched, he closed his eyes and listened as one by one, each man followed Buck's silent orders until only Buck remained. Opening his eyes, Larabee once again stared down at the body.
"You, too."
"Chris—"
"I said out."
Chris lifted his head and met Buck's worried gaze. Buck opened his mouth, then shut it with a nod. He turned to go, pausing only to give Chris' shoulder a squeeze before walking out and gently shutting the door behind him.
Left alone, Larabee removed his hat and tossed it onto a side table, then bent down and pulled out the knife he kept in a sheath inside his boot. A thick, cold numbness crept into his heart as he slipped the blade beneath the rope that crisscrossed the body. The rope was thin and dry, snapping easily and falling away from the oilcloth with a soft hiss. The stiff fabric slipped and settled, keeping its contents concealed as Larabee put the knife aside.
He knew what he had to do next but his hands refused to part the fabric and bring home the nightmare. To see Vin's face, slack and unmoving in death, was suddenly too hard to bear, and he had a brief regret that he had dismissed Buck so quickly. But to walk away now felt like one more betrayal, one more time that he'd failed.
For he had failed Vin, failed him by not being honest, by driving him away with his silence, for sending him into harm's way without a second thought. How he'd come into the path of a bounty hunter when he should have been safe on a job was immaterial—it was Larabee's fault, and it was his punishment to see those once-bright blue eyes faded and milky in death.
Deliberately blanking his mind and setting his jaw, Larabee stepped to the table and peeled away a fold of the oilcloth. More curly brown hair spilled onto the table, the lamplight gilding some of the tangled strands pale gold. Larabee took one last deep breath and pushed aside the cloth that obscured the face beneath it, bracing himself for the onslaught of pain that he knew would never abate.
Larabee was so prepared to see a dead Vin Tanner, it took a few precious seconds for him to realize that the man whose body lay on the undertaker's table was a total stranger to him. He blinked a few times, staring down at the unknown man as his mind frantically compared the twisted and blood-smeared features to Vin. There was a superficial resemblance, mostly the abundance of brown hair and a certain similarity of bone structure, but beyond that, the comparisons between the two men ended. The dead man's face was thinner than Vin's, marked with an old scar from temple to chin, and he was at least a decade older. The gleam from the lamp had picked up the gray strands twisted in the brown curls and turned them golden, giving the illusion of youth.
It wasn't Vin.
Larabee's knees turned to water and he lurched forward, grabbing for the edge of the table to stay upright. The relief that flooded him made him lightheaded and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard against the nausea that choked him at the back of his throat. He struggled to regain his composure, breathing hard through his nose until the pace of his heart began to slow and the terror that his worst nightmare had come true started to recede.
It wasn't Vin.
Straightening up, Larabee wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then picked up the edge of the oilcloth and draped across the face of the dead man. He pivoted away from the body and strode to the door, flinging it open to step into the alley beyond.
Four solemn expressions turned his way, faces pale in the first streaks of a red-streaked dawn. Larabee turned to Buck, who jumped off the barrel he'd been perched upon.
"Chris, are you—"
"It ain't him."
Buck's eyes flickered to the room behind Larabee. "You sure?"
Larabee didn't reply as he stepped aside, allowing Buck slip into the room and see for himself, Nathan right behind him.
"Any idea who the unfortunate man is, Mr. Larabee?"
Larabee turned to Ezra. "No idea, never seen him before. Who brought him in?"
"Man by the name of Frank Church," Josiah spoke up. "He rode in as I was engaging in early morning prayer."
"He tell you he was a bounty hunter?"
Josiah shook his head. "Couldn't tell me much of anything. Man was drunk as a skunk, I had to wake up J.D. to help me lock him up after he dropped the body off here. Man said he wanted his five hundred dollars, a bottle of whiskey, and a big-assed woman, not necessarily in that order. Oh, and he had this."
Josiah handed over a wrinkled, stained piece of paper that had been folded in two. Larabee already knew what it was and gave Vin's wanted poster barely a glance before giving it back. "Bastard's got piss poor eyesight."
"That's for sure." Nathan joined them, wiping his hands on a cloth. "The resemblance ain't much, but that ain't the worst of it." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "That man was shot in the back."
Josiah shook his head with a mournful sigh as Larabee stared at Nathan. "You sure?"
"Hell, yeah, I'm sure. He's got rope marks on his wrists, too. He may have been captured and then tried to make a break for it."
"Shit. Okay, tell J.D. to keep Church locked up until we can sort this out. In the meantime—"
He paused as J.D. ran into the alley and skidded to a stop in front of Larabee. "Is it true?" he panted. "Is it Vin?"
"The hell it ain't," Buck bellowed from inside. "Come see for yourself."
J.D.'s face broke into a broad grin as he dove between Nathan and Larabee. Suddenly drained, Larabee took a few steps away from the other men, turning his gaze toward a western sky that had yet to be touched by the light of dawn. He was fast coming to realize that last few minutes had irrevocably changed the course of his life, making clear a path that had so recently been fraught with uncertainty. One way or the other, despite the consequences, he knew he had to set things right with Vin.
"I know who he is!"
J.D.'s exclamation brought Larabee's attention back to the current situation.
"Get out here, J.D.," he said, "and tell us what you know."
Buck and J.D. joined the other men in the alley, J.D.'s cheeks flushing with excitement as they gathered around him.
"I been going through the old wanted posters in the sheriff's office, in case maybe some day I'd see one of them show up here. That fella's name in there is Willy Perdue, wanted for killing a man in St. Joe. Leastways I think it's him."
"You get back to the jail," Larabee told him, "and make sure no one talks to Church until I do. And find that poster."
J.D. nodded and trotted away as Larabee turned to Josiah. "Best wake up Bryant and let him know he's got a body to tend to."
Josiah shook his head. "He's gone to visit family, won't be back until day after tomorrow at the earliest. His daughter's about to have a baby and he wanted to be there for the blessed event."
"Might I suggest," Ezra stepped forward, "that our esteemed undertaker's absence may be an opportunity we can use to our benefit?"
"What's that?" Buck scowled. "Speak plain, Ezra, it's too damn early for puzzles and I ain't even been to bed yet. Well," he amended with a frown, "not my own, anyways."
Ezra ignored him, his contemplative gaze resting on Larabee's face. "Right now, the only people who know that the recently deceased isn't our Mr. Tanner are the six of us. If we were to perpetuate that small misconception and allow the authorities to proclaim that Mr. Tanner was well and truly dead, and that the bounty had been paid, perhaps that would vouchsafe our young friend a modicum of peace he may otherwise never have."
"You saying we should lie?" Nathan looked around the circle of men. "Ain't too sure I like the sound of that."
"Not lie, exactly," Ezra continued. "We would merely be allowing the understandable mistake to go uncorrected, thereby assuring Mr. Tanner a clean start as a man no longer wanted by the law."
"That would mean," Buck said slowly, "that Vin can't ever return to Four Corners. He'd be done here."
"That it would," Ezra murmured, eyes still on Larabee. "It would also mean that Mr. Tanner could no longer be Mr. Tanner. A change of name would also be in order so that the error isn't easily rectified."
Larabee stared at him, his heart sinking. Ezra was right—if they went on pretending that the dead man was Vin Tanner, then Vin would have to hightail it out of the area, beyond the confines of a territory that was growing more crowded every day. He didn't think that Vin would mind—the encroachment of civilization may have already begun to gnaw at Tanner, making him restless and more inclined than usual to find a reason to venture beyond his duties as peace keeper for the town.
But it also meant that Vin would have to leave behind the life he'd made for himself here, and that was the thought that had Larabee's gut churning. For all that he wanted Vin safe from every half-cocked drunkard that fancied himself a bounty hunter, the idea of Vin moving on—alone—scared Larabee more than anything.
Silence had fallen amongst the men as they waited for Larabee to weigh in on Ezra's suggestion. Larabee looked at each man, seeing a group of friends he'd come to cherish yet knew he didn't deserve, all of them looking back with concern as they contemplated the fate of their missing comrade. Their unspoken belief that Larabee was in a place to make such a profound decision on Tanner's behalf was humbling and unexpected, as if they too realized that the bond between Larabee and Vin went far deeper than two men sharing a friendship forged in the crucible of a hardscrabble town and the challenges it presented on an almost daily basis.
"Ain't my call," Larabee said with a sigh. He rubbed at his jaw, thinking fast. "But he should know what happened. Buck, make sure Church is kept from talking to the rest of the town. Keep him drunk, find him that big-assed woman, whatever it takes till I get back."
"Where're you goin'?" Buck asked.
"Vin said he'd leave after the survey team made camp and be back by tonight, so I'll ride out and meet him on the trail, let him decide what he wants to do."
"May not be a good idea, Chris." Josiah jerked his head toward the west, where the sunrise was beginning to reveal an angry gray sky. "Those storm clouds been building for days. Weather like that, Vin may have decided to wait a day or two before chancing a wet ride back into town."
"Figure it's a risk I'll have to take. We need to get this straightened out before the undertaker returns." Decision made, Larabee settled his shoulders and nodded once. "I'll need some supplies. It's too early for the general store—"
"You may leave that to me," Ezra said with a wink. "I'd be honored to see to your provisions."
Larabee squinted at him before his face relaxed into a reluctant smile. "I'd appreciate that, Ez."
Ezra touched two fingers to the brim of his hat in a brief salute. "Glad to oblige, Mr. Larabee."
An hour later, Larabee was ready to ride out, the promised results of Ezra's early morning foraging already secured in his saddle bags. As Larabee led his horse out of his stall and adjusted the cinch, Buck spoke up from where he stood with his crossed arms resting on the low wall that divided the stalls.
"What're you gonna do if he agrees?" The question was asked quietly, a distinct change from Buck's normal bass drawl.
Larabee shrugged. "Guess that depends on what he agrees to."
"Yeah," Buck muttered, "that's what I figured."
Larabee stuck his boot in the stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle. "Speak your mind, Buck."
Buck folded his arms over his chest. "I'm just wonderin' if this ain't the last time I'm gonna see you."
Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Larabee nodded. "Could be. Ain't no point in denying it. Vin agrees to this, I'm gonna offer to throw in with him. You can tell the boys—"
"Forget it," Buck said with a wry grin. "I won't have to tell them anything if the two of you don't come back."
"Fair enough." Larabee stuck out his hand. "Stay out of trouble, Buck."
Buck took Larabee's hand between both of his own. "You, too, Chris. Tell Vin we'll abide by whatever he decides."
"If we don't return in two days, bury that man and carve Vin's name on the headstone. We won't be back."
It went against his instincts, but Larabee kept to the open as much as possible as he made his way into the hills west of Four Corners. Despite the warm sun on his back, Larabee was aware of the chill edge to the breeze that was sweeping down from the north, an occasional hint of moisture brushing his cheek. He knew if the weather turned on him, he'd have to find shelter, and that would make finding Vin—or Vin finding him, more like—nearly impossible.
In spite of his terse words of farewell to Buck, Larabee regretted leaving town so abruptly, without saying a proper goodbye. He knew the men that he'd come to call friends would understand, but that didn't alleviate the unexpected sense of bereavement he felt as he let his horse pick its way up a rocky ravine. The time he'd spent in Four Corners had turned out to be unexpectedly healing, as he'd found purpose to go along with the relationships he'd managed to build. He'd even miss Mary Travis, if he did in fact partner up with Vin and leave the territory. She'd become another good friend, once they'd figured out that there was no chance of a future together. Larabee knew he'd miss the routine that had kept him mostly sober and the day-to-day challenges of a frontier town, but he was willing to throw it all aside if Vin was willing to take him on.
That was where Larabee's thoughts scattered in confusion. He knew what he was planning on offering to Vin, but he had no idea how Vin would respond. He was skittish enough to tell Larabee he was eager to move on alone, but Larabee was betting that the recent discomfort between them had hidden deeper, more complicated emotions that both men were reluctant to explore. Larabee had realized that he had to be honest with Vin and could only hope that Vin's innate sense of honor would convince him to do the same with Chris.
A splash of water on his cheek brought Larabee's head up to glare at the lowering clouds. He'd reached the top of the ravine and had a good view of the land ahead, a grassy field that sloped down to a deep arroyo. He nudged his horse into a canter and headed toward a small stand of trees, hoping for enough cover to keep him dry if the skies turned uncooperative.
He'd just come even with the trees when a movement to his left had him reaching for his gun. Before the weapon had cleared leather, he was relaxing back in his saddle, a grin on his face as he watched Vin Tanner nudge his horse out from behind a tree.
"Took you long enough," he groused. "How far back did you see me?"
Vin shrugged. "Couple a miles, I reckon."
"Any reason you waited until now to show yourself?"
His eyes sliding away from Larabee's, Vin shrugged again. "Looked like you was thinking deep thoughts. I didn't wanna interfere, it being such a rare occasion and all."
Larabee let the lazy insult pass with a half-hearted glare, though inside he was glad that Vin was comfortable enough to tease him, at least for the moment. Another large drop of rain hit his gloved hand and he urged his horse further into the trees, coming up next to Vin.
"We need to talk."
Vin raised his gaze to Larabee's. "I was gonna be in town by sundown. Any reason why this couldn't wait?"
"Bounty hunter rode in this morning with a body, claiming it was you."
Crossing his wrists on the pommel of his saddle, Vin dropped his head until the brim of his hat obscured his eyes. Larabee waited, ignoring the growing patter of rain on the leaves above him, wondering what was going through Vin's mind, hoping that he wasn't about to turn and ride out of Larabee's life forever.
A few more seconds passed before Vin raised his head, his blue eyes turned to gray as they reflected the storm clouds gathering above them. His mouth quirking in a half smile, he leaned forward in his saddle.
"Well, I'm here to tell ya," he confided in a low drawl, "it ain't me."
Larabee fought back an answering grin. "I appreciate you clearing that up for me."
"Glad I could help," Vin replied, "but I'm guessing you coulda figured that out for yourself, so there must be another reason you're here."
An ominous rumble of thunder had both men looking up at the sky. "Yeah, there's a reason," Larabee said, "but maybe that better wait till we find us some shelter first. Any ideas?"
Vin squinted at the horizon. "Yeah, we're maybe an hour's ride from the old Benton place."
"The Benton place? Thought it burned down last month."
"It did. Bunkhouse and stables are still there." He glanced at Larabee. "We ain't gonna beat this storm, though."
"Don't matter. Lead the way."
By the time they reached the abandoned property, the rain was coming down at an ever-increasing pace. Larabee stared at the remains of the house as he rode past, now nothing but a pile of muddy ash and half-burned timbers, memories of another time and place coming back to him in a bitter tide. The acrid odor of charred wood lingered in the air despite the rain, and Larabee had to swallow hard as he followed Vin into the small stable. Both the stable and the bunkhouse built next to it had been unharmed by the fire, but losing their home had been enough for Jim Benton and his family and they'd packed up and moved back to Philadelphia as soon as the flames had been put out.
Both men dismounted and Vin reached over to take Larabee's reins. "Move your gear into the bunkhouse while I see to the horses."
"Right." Larabee untied his saddle bags and bedroll and threw them over his shoulder. "Had Ezra put together some supplies for us, so God only knows what we've got for food."
"No problem," Vin replied. He lifted his saddle from his horse and set it on the wall between the stalls, then untied a brace of rabbits from the pommel and tossed it to Chris. "That should do for supper."
Leaving Vin in the stable, Larabee crossed the slick patch of mud that led to the bunkhouse, cautiously scanning the area for any sign that he and Vin weren't the only ones seeking shelter from the storm. A gentle knock on the door got no response, so he pushed the door open and stepped into the building, pausing as his eyes adjusted to the dim light to get a feel for the place.
It was a simple, sturdy room, a set of bunk beds straddling a wide space that contained a square wooden table and three mismatched chairs. Larabee dropped the saddlebags and his bedroll to the floor and tossed the rabbits onto the table, pleased to see a flat-topped cast iron stove on the far wall, a full box of wood beside it giving evidence to how quickly the ranch had been abandoned. Within minutes he had a fire burning in the stove's round belly and was sitting at the table breaking down the rabbit carcasses he'd skinned and gutted outside, aided by the light of an oil lamp he'd found hanging from a peg on the wall.
This had never been what he'd intended, a verbal confrontation with Vin over subjects they'd never even hinted at. Outside circumstances had thrown them together, but for Larabee, it felt as though fate had done everything it could to isolate the two men until some kind of understanding existed between them.
It wasn't as if Larabee knew he was all alone in his notion that he and Tanner shared more than a strong sense of camaraderie. Both of them had recently turned their backs on the one true thing they had, each man searching for something they didn't dare claim from the other. It was the months before everything went to hell, before Charlotte and Ella, that had convinced Chris that he and Vin would one day turn their faces to the same horizon and move on together, sharing everything, holding nothing back. The wordless conversations, the silent glances that spoke volumes, the surreptitious nudges and touches that sent tremors through Larabee's body long after the contact had ended—it all spoke to something deep inside Larabee and he had no doubt that its echo could be found in Vin's eyes, if he had the courage to look for it.
That knowledge wouldn't have been enough for Larabee to risk what he and Vin already shared, but one long night had changed everything, though neither man would admit to it later. Maybe if they had, if they'd talked about what had transpired, then all the heartache that had come after would never have come to pass.
It hadn't been much, Larabee recalled, eyes on his task, but it had definitely happened. What had begun as nothing more than a typical bar fight had culminated in an act of violence and, in the blink of an eye, an innocent man had been gunned down. His murderer had fled Four Corners on a stolen horse, and it'd been up to Larabee and Buck to hunt the man down and bring him back to face trial. The killer had other ideas and had died with a knife in his hand and a bullet from Larabee's gun buried between his eyes.
Buck and Larabee arrived back in town in the middle of the night, even the normally garrulous Buck exhausted to the point of silence, his arm bearing a bloodstained bandage. Much like the body that'd been mistaken for Vin Tanner, the dead man had been dropped off at the undertaker's, laid beside the young farmer he'd killed less than twelve hours earlier. Buck and Chris parted ways and Larabee had made his way in to the livery, his hands clumsy with fatigue as he slid out of the saddle with a tired grunt.
He'd just finished currying his horse when he heard the stable door open. In the dim light of a lantern he watched as Vin sauntered in, somehow unsurprised that Vin would show up regardless of the hour.
Vin stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned his hips against the wall. "You find him?"
"Yep." Larabee tossed the comb away and removed his hat to rub at his tired eyes with the palm of his hand. "He's dead."
"Buck okay?"
"Yeah, he got cut some but nothing Nathan can't fix up."
Vin nodded as if he'd expected nothing less. "Hungry?"
Larabee glanced at him, a small smile twisting his mouth. "'Less you got a rare steak and bowl of mashed potatoes under your hat, I can wait till breakfast."
Vin grinned at him, showing Larabee a hint of the small dimple that made an occasional appearance. "This should tide you over." Reaching into the pocket of his buckskin coat, he pulled out an apple and tossed it Larabee's way.
Larabee had been unprepared and the apple bounced off his wrist and on to the dirt-packed floor. Vin snickered and pushed away from the wall. "I'll get it, old timer."
Scowling, Larabee bent down and reached for the apple at the same time Vin went down on one knee beside him. Their shoulders collided and Larabee rocked back on his heels, arms pinwheeling for balance. Vin grabbed his arm and pulled him close, sliding his other arm around Larabee's waist to steady him, both men easing forward to their knees. Larabee had turned to Vin with a soft laugh, prepared to give or receive a teasing remark, but instead was silenced by Vin's wide-eyed look of shock.
His arm still around Larabee's waist, Vin looked as though he'd seen a ghost. Larabee found himself equally mesmerized as he watched Vin swallow, his eyes locked on Larabee's before falling to gaze at Larabee's mouth. There was a thunderous roar in Larabee's ears and he licked his lower lip, unsure of what was happening and yet breathless with the kind of sweet anticipation he'd never thought he'd feel again.
Vin's lashes lowered and he removed his arm from Larabee's waist to lean forward and pick up the errant apple.
"Here you go," he murmured, eyes still downcast.
Larabee took the apple but when Vin turned away to get up, he put his other hand on Vin's shoulder to prevent him.
"Vin," he murmured. "Wait."
Vin shrugged off Larabee's hand and got to his feet. By the time Larabee was also standing, Vin had moved back a few feet and had seemingly regained his composure.
"I'm gonna head out," he said with a crooked smile. Before Larabee could reply, he slipped out the stable door and into the night. Larabee didn't see him again until the next day.
For weeks afterward, Larabee played the scene over and over in his mind. No matter how many ways he'd tried to explain it, it always came back to the one truth that Larabee couldn't deny. While he had no idea what had gone through Vin's mind that night, there was no doubt that if he'd inclined his head just so—if, instead of turning away, Vin had turned toward Larabee—things would've been so different. And the hurt that had taken up residence in Larabee's chest would never have driven him to make choices that had forever changed the course of his life.
Now it was Vin who had a choice to make, and as Larabee tossed the rabbit meat into a skillet, he wondered if the next few hours would put him on a path that he'd only dreamed of in the darkest hours of the night—or send him into a new darkness altogether.
It occurred to him that Vin was taking his own damn time settling the horses. He'd seen hay in the stable and the water trough had been full, so aside from making them comfortable and giving them a quick rubdown, there wasn't a lot for Vin to do. Even a quick search of the perimeter of the property shouldn't have taken this long, but just as Larabee's curiosity was turning to uneasiness, the door blew open in a flurry of raindrops as Vin stepped inside.
"Wind's picked up something fierce," he muttered. Larabee watched as Vin set aside his rain-soaked hat and shrugged out of his buckskin jacket before running a hand through his hair, looking around the bunkhouse and avoiding Larabee's eyes. "This is mighty cozy," he added with a brief smile.
He's nervous, Chris belatedly realized. That's what took him so long outside and why he's looking like a cornered mountain lion now.
"It'll do if we have to stay the night," he said, his tone more calm than he'd expected. "But we'll have to head into town at first light."
Nodding absently, Vin took a turn around the room, poking at the mattress on one of the bunk beds, glancing out the small window, kicking at an empty box. Larabee let him be, knowing from experience that Vin would let him know when he was ready to talk. He occupied himself with pulling items out of his saddlebags, amused at what Ezra had been able to find on such short notice. Small packets of flour, salt, and sugar, a can of coffee, a pair of slightly bruised peaches, two slender carrots and one small onion, a can of beans—there was enough to keep two men fed for several days. There was also a worn deck of playing cards and a bottle of whiskey, the brand the saloon keeper usually kept behind the bar for special occasions or wealthy greenhorns just off the stagecoach.
Setting everything else aside, Larabee uncorked the whiskey and poured out generous amounts into two tin cups he'd found on a shelf with the skillet and other utensils. Vin sat down across from him and Larabee pushed one of the cups in his direction before corking the bottle, then leaned back in his chair, his own cup cradled between his hands.
"Ezra had an idea," he said.
"That always tends to make things interesting," Vin replied. "What about?"
"'Bout that dead man brought in this morning. The man that shot him thinks he's you."
"And we know he ain't, so what's the idea?"
"What if," Larabee said slowly, eyes on his cup, "it was you?"
Vin took a sip from his cup. "I ain't following."
"What if we let everyone think it's you and let that man collect the bounty? We notify the authorities in Tascosa, they pay the five hundred dollars, and you're free to move on."
"Move on to where?" Vin stared at Larabee, his brow furrowed. "Where I'm gonna go without my name?"
"Name's just a name, Vin. Don't mean much if you're dead."
Vin slammed his hand on the table, then pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "That ain't true, Chris. Hell, the only thing I got that's worth a damn is my name. You take that away, I ain't got nothing."
"Vin, listen." Larabee stood up and stepped around the table. "You have more than that. You have people who care about you, folks that are worried about you even now. They're willing to lie to keep you safe. That's gotta be worth something, right?"
"It is," Vin shot back. "It's worth a hell of a lot, but where're they gonna be when I ride into the next town? I move on, I gotta move on with a new name and no past to speak of. And I gotta move on alone."
"No, you don't." Larabee squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm going with you."
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Vin was shaking his head. "No, that ain't gonna happen. I'd never ask that of you."
"You don't have to ask," Larabee replied firmly. "I'm offering."
"Chris," Vin began, then stopped. He took a step away from Larabee, hands on his hips and head bowed, long hair obscuring his face from view. "That ain't a good idea, for a lot of reasons. I appreciate the offer, but—"
"Tell me." Larabee reached toward Vin, then dropped his hand, knowing it was too soon. "Tell me those reasons."
"There's a life for you in Four Corners, if you want it." The words were said so quietly, Larabee had to strain to hear them. "Ain't no call for you to leave it behind."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Honestly confused, Larabee shook his head. "There's nothing for me in that two bit town, not if you're not there. I figured you knew that."
Vin swung around, eyes wide. "Knew how? You and me ain't been on the same path for quite a while, and I don't see that changing any time soon."
"You're wrong," Chris said, "and I intend to prove it to you. But we can sort that out later. I meant what I said—if you think Ezra's idea is a good one, then I'm in."
Vin opened his mouth to reply, then turned to walk to the small window that overlooked the burned-out ranch house. The rain was coming down in sheets, lashing against the side of the bunkhouse and hissing down the stove's chimney pipe. Larabee didn't move, content for the moment to let Vin work it out in his own mind.
"I can't." Vin raised his hand to the pebbled window glass and trailed his fingers down its surface. "Whoever that dead man is back in town, he deserves to be buried with his own name. No matter what he done, he may have family somewhere and they should know what happened to him."
Larabee let a out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Then let's talk about—"
"Maybe it's time I moved on anyways. Always wanted to see California."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Larabee reminded himself to keep a rein on his temper. Vin was doing his stubborn best to keep Larabee at arm's length and Larabee was growing impatient. He needed to make Vin realize what he'd come to understand only recently himself—that the two of them were better together than apart, and that giving in to the truth between them didn't have to mean giving up on the friendship they'd come to cherish.
"Maybe it is time," Larabee said calmly, "but only if you do it for the right reason."
"Maybe I got one." Vin walked away from the window, putting space between them. "It's just that sometimes," he stopped, shook his head, and continued, "sometimes it's best for a man to accept that things can't be the way he wants 'em to be."
"Well," Larabee countered, "while don't you tell me how you want things to be, then we can decide what to do next."
Vin laughed softly, but the sound had a ragged edge. "Jesus, Larabee, you turn deaf while I was gone? There ain't no 'we' about it. My trouble's my own."
"That's not what you said when I was ready to go with you to Tascosa."
There was a moment of silence and Larabee let it play out. He knew that he was herding Vin into a corner but he didn't care. They were going to come to an understanding here in this abandoned bunkhouse or they were going to part forever, and Larabee wasn't about to let Vin's pride get in the way of what he knew was right for both of them.
Vin picked up his jacket and picked at a piece of loose stitching. "That was different."
"How so?"
"That was before you and me—never mind. Just was, I guess."
"Before you and me what?"
Vin tossed the jacket aside. "Leave it alone, Chris."
Larabee shook his head and edged closer to Vin. "Not till I get a straight answer from you. There was a time you were glad of my company. Now you can hardly stand to be in the same room with me and I finally figured out that it's my fault."
That got Vin's attention. He pivoted and looked at Larabee straight on. "It ain't. I don't want you believing that."
Larabee decided it was time to lay all his cards on the table. He and Vin would dance around the subject forever, letting the uncomfortable silences between them erode what remained of their friendship, if he didn't take that final step.
"It is," he replied. Slowly, giving Vin time to prepare for what was coming, he raised his hand and rested the back of his curved fingers against a wide-eyed Vin's lightly bearded cheek. "It is because up until now, I've been too much of a coward to tell you that the reason I'd follow you anywhere—Tascosa, California, even hell itself—is that I can't bear to be parted from you. Ever."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Larabee used his thumb to caress Vin's cheek before pulling away, his heart pounding as he waited for Vin's reaction.
"Chris," Vin licked his lips, "you don't know what you're saying. A man only uses words like that when he's courtin'."
"Well, hallelujah," Larabee murmured, "seems you're finally using the good sense God gave a mule."
Vin's eyes narrowed. "Now listen, Larabee, there ain't no call—"
"Oh, hell, Vin, shut up." Larabee grabbed two fistfuls of Vin's shirt and yanked him close. Praying that the bond between them hadn't broken down so badly that Vin's unspoken trust in him was gone, Larabee paused long enough to see the look of shock in Vin's eyes before pressing their mouths together.
Then he waited.
Vin had gone rigid under his hands but hadn't moved away—or reached for his gun—so Larabee took that as a good sign. The touch of his mouth to Vin's was as easy and non-threatening as he could manage, but he also didn't want Vin to mistake his meaning. When he heard a soft sound come from Vin's throat, followed by the first contact of seeking fingers at his waist, Larabee pulled back slightly, tightened his grip on Vin's shirt, then kissed him again, this time with all the feeling he'd been holding back since first realizing that his sun rose and set in the man now gasping his pleasure into Larabee's mouth.
He'd never let his imagination go so far as to wonder what this would feel like, Vin's mouth beneath his own. There was the elusive tang of whiskey that lingered on surprisingly pliant lips, a hint of sweetness on the tongue that tentatively reached out to his own, probably from the hard candy Vin would never admit to being so fond of. But beyond that, Larabee tasted passion, for now held in check, and a newborn tenderness that told him that those thoughts and feelings that had driven a wedge between them were now going to unite them as they were meant to be.
They kissed for long, lazy minutes, hands anchored in each other's clothing, mouths searching, clinging, and breaking away to start the exploration all over again. Larabee felt his body tightening with need and welcomed it, knowing that it was reciprocated by the quickening of Vin's breath and the nimble fingers that were tugging at the buttons of his own shirt.
Larabee finally pulled back, smiling into blue eyes that were bright with emotion. He slid his fingers into the long hair that gathered behind Vin's ears and guided their foreheads together, allowing them both a moment to catch their breath. Passion would come sooner than later, of that Chris was sure, but he also knew there was powerful pleasure in simply holding and being held.
"Less than a day ago," he whispered, eyes closed against remembered pain, "I was told you were dead." His voice broke and he swallowed hard before continuing. "Christ, Vin, I never thought a man could live through such pain twice in one lifetime."
Vin didn't reply, instead folding him into a sheltering embrace that told Larabee more than words that Vin understood. It was an uncertain and violent world they lived in, a world all too ready to destroy whatever happiness a man managed to carve out for himself. Larabee knew full well that Vin had his own weight of sorrows to bear, and learning to believe that there was still joy to be found in this unforgiving land would be hard on them both.
But Larabee was willing to die trying.
Vin loosened his hold on Larabee, resting his hands on Larabee's shoulders. Larabee's heart plummeted when he saw the shadows that had crept into Vin's eyes, afraid that every good thing that had just been handed to him was about to be snatched away.
"Are you sure, Chris?" Vin asked, voice low and rough. "You been a family man before, ain't no reason to think that kinda thing won't come your way again some day."
Larabee let out a silent sigh of relief. "I can see why you'd think that way, but you're forgettin' one thing."
Vin's eyes searched his, hope and fear warring in his expression, and Larabee had to bite his lip against a smile. "Yeah? What's that?"
Larabee lost the fight and smiled, but it was a sorry version of his usual toothy grin. "You're forgettin' that I know what it's like to have feelings like this, feelings so strong you think you're gonna bust apart if you can't share them. I know what it's like to look at someone and know they're the better part of yourself, the part that makes breathing worthwhile. The damn thing is, I can't figure out why I'm so goddamned lucky to have it happen to me twice."
Vin lowered his head and Larabee settled in to wait, his palms rubbing gentle circles above Vin's belt. After letting the silence stretch out a bit, Larabee leaned forward and placed his mouth against Vin's ear.
"You still talking to me, Tanner? Or are you trying to figure out the fastest way out of this territory?"
He was rewarded with a soft grunt of laughter before Vin's eyes met his once more. "I'm just trying to figure out," Vin rasped, "how to tell you that I feel the same, have done for a while now. And that some days I ache for you so much that I know I can't run far enough or long enough to get you outta my blood."
Larabee had to swallow back a lump in his throat before speaking. "And now? You still think running's the answer?"
To Larabee's pleasant shock, Vin slid his hand around Chris' neck and pulled him close for a kiss more intense than any they'd shared so far. By the time it broke, they were both breathing hard, the heat from their closely aligned bodies giving undeniable evidence to each other that the ultimate expression of their feelings wasn't going to be put off much longer.
"No more runnin'," Vin bit down gently on Larabee's lower lip, then gave it a gentle suck. "For either of us."
A quick press of soft lips against his was all the warning Larabee got that Vin was rising from their makeshift bed. He groaned in mock protest but smiled when he felt the woolen blanket tucked up high around his neck. Rolling into the warm space that Vin had left behind. Larabee slitted his eyes open in time to see Vin pull his pants on over an enticingly bare ass.
"Where're you going?" Larabee whispered.
Vin turned toward him, the light from the oil lamp smoothing out the red and blue marks that dappled his neck and abdomen as he grabbed for the nearest shirt, which happened to be Larabee's.
"Stopped raining," Vin said. He pulled on the shirt, looking down in confusion before shrugging and reaching for his gun belt. "Gonna check on the horses."
"Right." Larabee sat up and scrubbed a hand over his eyes and through his hair. "You hungry?"
"Yep." Vin looked up from fastening the leather thong around his thigh, and even in the low light, Larabee could see the hint of mischief in his eyes. "Worked me up an appetite."
Larabee grinned at him, watching with undisguised admiration as Vin bent over to pull on his boots. "Reckon we both did. I'll get something started."
"Sounds good." Shirt still unbuttoned, Vin eased his way out the door, leaving Larabee to stare at the blanket that had pooled around his waist, fully aware that his grin hadn't faded, only settled into something that felt a lot like happiness.
It hadn't taken them long to figure out that they'd never be comfortable on one of the narrow bunk beds. Larabee had come up with the idea of taking two of the bunk bed mattresses and throwing them on the floor, shoving the table against one wall to make room. By the time they'd accomplished the necessary housekeeping, a measure of bashfulness had risen in them both, and it had taken a soft laugh and a stolen, awkward kiss to set them back on the right path.
Everything after that had been damn near perfect.
Larabee struggled to his feet, his stomach growling and his body complaining over every skillfully applied love mark and pleasantly aching muscle. He looked around for his pants and spotted them dangling from the top of one of the bunk beds but after glaring at them for a second or two, he shrugged and wrapped the blanket low on his hips. He figured it was probably early evening and too late to head into town, and that meant that he and Vin would be able to steal a few more hours together before leaving for Four Corners at dawn.
Just the thought of being able to lay down with Vin again was enough to make Larabee pause in the middle of poking through the dried out pieces of rabbit that still sat in the skillet, a pleasant shudder running through his body. He hadn't lain with someone he loved since Sarah, and the difference between that and using a convenient body to scratch the occasional itch was immeasurable. For that matter, so was the difference between Sarah and Vin, but only in the best of ways. Sarah had been a loving and passionate partner, soft and yielding but not afraid to take her own pleasure. Larabee had always felt as though something precious had been granted to him when he made love with her, and he'd missed that level of closeness.
With Vin he'd discovered that same intimacy, something Larabee had once thought wasn't possible to achieve with anyone ever again, and yet it had been there before they'd even shared a bed. Larabee's eyes drifted shut as he recalled Vin's mouth and fingers playing over his skin, drawing sighs and moans, muttered threats and formless words of love from Larabee as he experienced what it felt like to be the center of Vin's concentrated devotion. Vin had touched him more deeply and more intimately than anyone had ever done, even Sarah, and later, as Vin had dozed within the circle of his arms, Larabee had admitted to himself that nothing in his life's journey had prepared him for Vin Tanner—and he'd do everything within his power to protect the life the two of them would forge together.
Lifting the skillet to his nose, Larabee gave the rabbit meat a sniff. There was no discernible odor, so he set about making a quick rabbit stew, using water from his canteen and the flour, salt, and whiskey that Ezra had so thoughtfully provided along with the vegetables that he chopped into a fine dice for faster cooking. As the stew began to bubble on the stove, he cut up one of the peaches, stealing a slice as the door opened and Vin slipped inside.
"Everything okay?" Chris asked around a mouthful of fruit.
Vin nodded. "Shame about this place. Aside from the main house, everything's in pretty good shape. Make a nice home for someone if they're willing to rebuild. Heard what's left of their cattle is still up in the high country." Spying the peach slices sitting on a tin plate, he snatched one and popped it into his mouth.
It was on the tip of Larabee's tongue to chastise Vin for eating their dessert when he became mesmerized by the sight of Vin licking peach juice off his fingers. Momentarily forgetting about supper, he reached out a long arm and reeled Vin in, setting his mouth against Vin's in a kiss that was equal parts loving welcome and rekindling lust.
"Mmm," Vin sighed as they parted, "a man could get used to that kinda greeting."
Larabee hid a grin as he turned back to the rabbit, his mouth watering more from the taste of peach-flavored Vin than the aroma of cooked rabbit.
"Well," he spooned the rabbit on to two plates, "guess I'll have to keep it up till you get right bored with me kissing you every time you walk through a door."
Vin snickered as he pulled a chair up to the table. "That might get a bit embarrassin' for the town folk." His expression sobered as he watched Larabee take a seat across from him. "Chris, I know we ain't talked about it, but—"
"Hey." Larabee reached over and took Vin's hand in his. "Don't borrow trouble we ain't earned yet. It'll work out, I promise."
Vin squeezed his hand, his gaze still troubled. "I ain't doubtin' you, but a man's gotta be practical. I said I was ready to move on, but that don't mean I want to."
Larabee released Vin's hand and picked up a fork. "I admit I don't like the idea of leaving Four Corners just yet myself. But just 'cause folks are used to seeing us together don't mean they won't get curious if we can't figure out a way to make it seem as though nothing's changed." He looked up and pinned Vin with a glare, poking his fork in Vin's direction. "But no matter what, there ain't nothing they can do to part us. That clear?"
To Larabee's annoyance, Vin's eyes crinkled with amusement at his well-intended but obviously misguided threat. "You don't have to convince me, cowboy. I'm on your side, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." Larabee dug into his stew, then paused to shake his head. "Sometimes you're so damn contrary, I forget."
"Just part of my charm," Vin teased, then took a bite of stew. Eyes widening in surprise, he chewed and swallowed. "Hell, Chris, this is tasty. I'd no idea you could cook this good."
Larabee shrugged, inordinately pleased at Vin's approval. "Ain't much to it."
"I vote you do all the cookin' from now on. Best I can do is heat a can of beans and sometimes I even screw that up."
"Fine. I'll cook, you clean. Happy?"
"Yeah, 'cept," Vin lowered his eyes, "we ain't got no place like this to call—to call—oh, shit." He looked up at Larabee, lips tightening to hold back the laughter that Chris could see in his eyes. Larabee stared back at him, wondering what it was that had Vin about two seconds from busting a gut, when it hit him.
"Oh, Christ," Larabee growled, tossing his fork onto his empty plate. "Jesus, Tanner, I don't know which one of us is more stupid for not thinking of it first."
"My vote's still on you," Vin crowed, rocking back in his chair.
"I told you I ain't no cowboy," Larabee growled, but as usual it was lost on a now openly laughing Vin.
"You don't have to be," Vin assured him with a wink. "I'd say we got us a mighty fine bunkhouse for trail hands, wouldn't you?"
They walked into the saloon shoulder to shoulder, pausing just inside the batwing doors to survey the territory. Although it was only mid-morning, there were customers scattered throughout the room, including Buck, a half-empty bottle of rye at his elbow.
"Hello, boys!" he bellowed. He waved them over, a broad smile showing off white teeth beneath his luxuriant mustache. His evident pleasure in seeing the two men brought answering grins to their faces as they pulled up chairs at Buck's table.
"Who's your guest?" Larabee asked, pointing at the man slumped face forward in the chair next to Buck.
"This fella?" Buck reached behind the man and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him upright until Vin and Larabee could see the pock-marked, greasy features. As they watched, the man emitted a loud snore, then subsided back into silence as Buck eased him down on to the table's surface. "This is our might bounty hunter, Mr. Frank Church. Says he killed himself a wanted man, but we ain't too sure he's tellin' the truth." Buck's gaze swung between the two men. "Is he?"
Larabee and Vin shared a glance as two cups of coffee were dropped off in front of them.
"Don't rightly know," Vin drawled, reaching for his cup. "Dead man got a name?"
"Heard it was Willie Perdue," Larabee replied loudly enough for any eavesdroppers to hear.
Buck grinned at him. "Well, hell, Chris, that is exactly right! You must be some kinda clairvoyant, like one of them fortune tellers in the traveling circus."
Vin snorted into his coffee, then pretended to cough when Larabee threw a glare his way.
"Probably the best thing to do," Larabee turned his attention back to Buck, "is let Mr. Church here sober up and then the two of you can accompany the body to the marshal in Durango. We'll let him sort it out."
Buck's face lit up. "Durango?" He stroked his mustache, a dreamy look coming over his features. "I got me some, uh, friends near there, might be nice to stop by and pay my respects." He blinked a few times and then beamed impartially at the two men. "Sounds like a fine plan to me! Hey, mornin', Ezra."
"Good morning, gentlemen." Both Vin and Larabee shifted around to see Ezra standing behind them. "Mind if I join you?"
Vin hooked an empty chair with the heel of his boot and shoved it Ezra's way. "Have a seat, Ez."
"Thank you, Mr. Tanner, I will." Ezra sat down, tugging his waistcoat into place. "Might I say it is truly a pleasure to see the both of you this fine morning?"
"Thanks, Ezra," Larabee glanced at Ezra over the rim of his coffee cup. "For everything."
There was a brief gleam of gold in Ezra's smile as he nodded in acknowledgement of what Larabee had left unsaid. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Larabee. I'd like to add how glad I am that you found it unnecessary to perpetrate the most drastic of measures to resolve this recent unpleasantness."
Vin waved at the barkeeper to bring Ezra a cup of coffee. "Didn't seem right," he muttered, shooting a brief smile Ezra's way. "But I surely do appreciate the thought."
Ezra leaned back in his chair, hands folded across his midsection. "Enough said, Mr. Tanner, enough said. All's well that end's well, as the Bard would say."
"The who?" Buck squinted at him. He turned to Larabee with confused eyes. "The what?"
"Ezra will explain, Buck." Larabee drained his cup and rose to his feet, waiting somewhat impatiently as Vin quickly swallowed the remains of his own coffee and did the same.
Buck seemed disappointed that they were leaving so soon. "Where're you boys off to now?"
Vin and Larabee looked at each other, then turned and answered in unison.
"Gonna see a man about a ranch."
We must away;
Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:
All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.