Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' and other characters from the series are the property of MGM, Trilogy and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while and then very regretfully gave them back! The original characters within this story are mine and should not be used without permission. No infringement of copyright is intended to whoever holds any legal right to the works of Robert Burns. Sadly, no money will be made from this work of fan fiction — I just wrote it purely for my own pleasure and entertainment!
Genre: Old West - H/C/angst/action. This story contains graphic, ADULT material.
Main characters: Vin, Chris and Ezra.
Rating: NC17 — Mainly for language, violence, elements of torture/physical abuse and a descriptive sexual scene. If you are not comfortable reading about Ezra being involved intimately with a woman, then this story is definitely not for you. There are several references to my story Under the Aegis of Seven and, although it isn't necessary to read that to understand this storyline, it was a stand alone piece that I specifically wrote in order to lay certain foundations and set-up characters for Sins of the Father. Also, I'm a Brit and, as my storyline involves a Scottish family, I have used phrases and words relative to their background and the Victorian era.
I want to take this opportunity to assure everyone that the convoluted plot, OMCs/OFCs, the conceptual ideas and writing for Sins of the Father are, in their entirety, all of my own work. Apart from hundreds of grammatical corrections by my super-beta, Jean B, no one else has had any input into my story.
Heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike, for being such a supportive fella, during the highs and the way too many lows of writing this epic. I think he was joking when he threatened divorce, naming the 'Seven' as the reason for our marriage break-up! Huge, huge thank you to Jean B for doing such a great job in beta'ing this for me — Jean, you deserve a medal for so ably dealing with my comma fixation! You're one of the Best! Aside from Jean's many corrections, any other grammatical boo-boo's or plot flaws are mine and mine alone! An extra special thank you is due to Elizabeth, one of the tireless helpers on Lady Angel's website, for all of the hard work that she put in making my story look so good on the website. Elizabeth, you are a true professional — thank you for being so understanding, and graciously making all those pernickety amendments that I kept sending through to you.
If you enjoy this story, please let me know at susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — I just love feedback!
Home | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Top
Chris slowed down as he left the kitchen, unsure what to do now he was alone. With a resigned shake of his head, he pushed MacIntyre's office door open and went into the well lit, but empty room. The curtains had been closed and the welcoming fire glowed brightly, its occasional crackle and hisses the only sounds to be heard. The sun had set some hours ago, and the silence within the virtually empty house corresponded with the equally peaceful hush from the deserted yard outside.
Spotting the small tray holding glasses and a whisky decanter, Chris went and poured himself a generous shot of liquor, swallowing half of the glassful in one gulp. Crossing to the high backed easy chair in the corner, the gunslinger sat down stretching his long legs out as he patiently waited for Nathan to call him back in. Resting his head back, he rolled the cold glass over his forehead, only now aware of the pounding tension headache behind his eyes and, for a short while at least, he tried to relax.
Thirty minutes or so ticked by at an inexorably slow pace but Chris had been told that the operation would probably take at least an hour, so the gunslinger took comfort from the fact that he heard no sign of alarm from the kitchen. Staring up at the wall clock above the fireplace, the peacekeeper sighed heavily, although he felt secure in the knowledge that if there were a problem with the tracker then Nathan would come and get him immediately.
The sound of a burning log spitting and shifting in the grate made Chris jump and, watching in fascination as the sparkling splinters of burning wood were sucked up the chimney flue, his mind turned over the disturbing events of the day.
Restlessly getting to his feet, the black dressed man left the now empty whisky glass on the tray and went to look out of the window. Pulling the curtain aside, Chris noticed that the bottom sash was open halfway and, feeling the chilly breeze rush past him, he was about to close the pane when a familiar sound drifted along on the wind.
Someone outside was playing a harmonica and, although an instrument could have been played by any of the few men that were at the Cummings' ranch, the image that sprang into his mind was of Vin Tanner, sitting around a campfire and blowing a series of haphazard notes. Chris' gaze couldn't help but be drawn to the tracker's pile of discarded clothing on a chair, and seeing the rumpled buckskin jacket atop the mound he walked over and picked the coat up. With a frown, Chris patted the pockets, fully expecting to find Vin's battered but treasured mouth organ, as he knew the younger man always carried it wherever he went.
The gunslinger's eyes narrowed in suspicion when he failed to locate the little instrument and, hastily dropping the coat back on the chair, he sped out of the room and along the corridor to the front door.
Will Tanner leaned back at a precarious angle on a chair at the far end of the porch, completely lost in his own contemplations as he played his favourite tune on his father's old harmonica. The distracted Texan failed to notice the rapid approach of the peacekeeper and, as Chris viciously kicked away the back leg of the balanced chair, the older man gave a surprised yelp as he sprawled to the floor.
"What the fucking hell was that fer, Larabee?" Tanner spat out indignantly, as he glared up at the furious gunslinger.
Hurriedly retrieving the fallen mouth organ from the edge of the porch, Chris brandished the instrument in front of the other's face. "This is Vin's! You ain't touching his stuff, you thieving bastard!" he replied heatedly before safely stowing the harmonica in his shirt pocket.
The security boss sat up and righted the overturned chair, but the icy look he shot at the gunslinger would have made a lesser man immediately scurry for cover. "That belonged to m'pa! Vin wouldn't object t'me playing it, so I'd like it back. Now!"
"Tough shit, Henry! I don't believe you and, until Vin says otherwise, I ain't letting you near him or his personal things." Chris' voice was menacingly quiet and there was no mistaking the determination in his face.
Will Tanner slowly climbed to his feet and, gazing scornfully at the younger man, he suddenly began to laugh.
"Yer priceless, Larabee! Who's given ya the right t'be judge, jury an' executioner when it comes to my family's property?" the security boss eventually managed to ask.
Of all the reactions Chris may have expected from the blond Texan, he was totally unprepared for the mocking laughter. Letting out an angry snarl the gunslinger threw himself bodily at the older man and the pair of protagonists hit the side porch rail, sailing over the top to land in the hard dirt.
Recovering quickly, Chris scrambled to his feet and, hastily pivoting around, he lashed out with his tightly clenched fist, catching Tanner full in the mouth with his hard knuckles. The other man had been attempting to get to his feet but, as the gunslinger's punch connected with his jaw, Tanner's head snapped backwards and he sprawled down once again in the dust. Rolling over several times, the security boss managed to turn his body slightly and, spotting the peacekeeper advancing on him, he kicked out savagely, knocking the gunslinger sideways.
Climbing to his feet, the blond Texan crossed to where the winded peacekeeper lay and, reaching down he grabbed a handful of black shirt, hauling the other upright. Chris Larabee had no chance to defend himself as Tanner landed several blows on his unprotected face and his head rocked back as he took the assault, unable to break away from the older man's powerful grip.
With a painful grunt, the gunslinger rapidly brought his arms up and, bunching his hands tightly, he brutally boxed the older man in both his ears, continuing the ferocious pummelling until he felt the other finally release his firm hold. Tanner fell to his knees, holding his ringing head, and could only look on helplessly as Chris immediately followed up with yet another punch. The badly timed blow merely glanced off the top of the older man's head and, dragging himself to his feet, he spun around and delivered a precise kick into the gunslinger's midriff. Chris gave a painful woof as all the air was driven from his lungs and, clutching his middle, he doubled over as the contents of his stomach threatened to spill.
Dragging a sleeve over his bleeding mouth, the Texan panted heavily from his exertions, realising that he was at a disadvantage from the more rested Chris Larabee. The older man was exhausted after his virtually sleepless night at the campsite and he had ridden long and hard to get his son the help he desperately needed; although he recognised that he and the gunslinger were both emotionally strung out by the tracker's plight. Staggering over to the full trough, Tanner cupped his hand and splashed water over his bloodied face, while keeping a wary eye on the spluttering peacekeeper.
Chris Larabee spat out a mixture of blood and bile and, holding his hands up in a gesture of resignation, the black dressed man sidled over to join his adversary at the trough.
"Ya had enough, Larabee?" Tanner growled, as he watched the younger man cup his hands in the water before rinsing out the bitter taste from his mouth.
Chris glared at the Texan, his eyes shooting out fiery sparks, but the peacekeeper remained silent as he bent over to wash his face and neck.
"We could go at this all night, Henry, but it wouldn't resolve anything. You're a cheap, lying sonofabitch and I just know you're up to no good! What lies have you bin filling Vin's head with, huh?" Chris grated out, as he swiped his shirtsleeve over his dripping chin.
"I don't need t'lie to m'own son. M'names Will Tanner an' Vin knows I'm his pa. The boy trusts me an' wants to get t'know me, so ya'll had better get used to that idea, 'cos I ain't leaving now that I've found him."
The gunslinger tensed and his hazel eyes glittered dangerously, but he somehow held his temper in check. "Vin's hardly in a position to be thinking straight, but that tallies with what I think you're like. Only a lowlife piece of shit like you would confuse a sick man and, if that boy had been halfway fit, then he would have seen through you like glass," Chris retorted contemptuously.
Tanner's eyes narrowed and his right hand twitched spasmodically as he resisted the urge to go for his gun. A piece of knowledge he'd gained from one of the more gossipy men in Four Corners suddenly popped into his mind and, with a smug grin, he decided to play his trump card.
"Yer pathetic! What's the problem, Larabee? Can't ya bear to see a family together? Ya lost yours, so ya don't think anyone else should be happy. Is that it?" he taunted scathingly.
Chris straightened up, his face suffused with anger and, swiftly drawing back his right arm, he drove his fist hard into the Texan's nose. With a satisfied grunt, he watched as Tanner went flying backwards and, quickly shaking out his stinging right hand, he immediately took up a gunfighter's stance.
The older man lay face down for several minutes and, after carefully feeling his bloodied nose, he vaguely wondered whether it was broken. Twisting his head around, Tanner noticed the younger man's defensive position and, slowly getting to his feet, he prepared to face Chris Larabee in a shootout.
Totally oblivious to the angry drama that was unfolding outside, Andrew MacIntyre was in the middle of a developing medical problem that had alarming implications for his patient's survival. Having sliced through the muscle and tissue of the tracker's abdomen, the doctor had isolated and clamped the twisted neck of the inflamed and distended appendix, and had then proceeded to cleanly cut off the tube-like organ.
With a small grunt, the doctor hastily swabbed at the open wound with a carbolic soaked square of surgical lint, but his right hand kept a firm grip on the protruding metal clamp.
"What's wrong?" Nathan had seen the beads of sweat trickle down his colleague's face and, although he continued to check Vin's life signs, the healer was looking worriedly at the Scotsman.
Bending down to get a closer look, MacIntyre peered at his handiwork. "This is more complicated then I thought it would be. It looks as though that appendix was close to rupturing, because it's caused additional pressure on the intestine, and there's a fairly major bleed in here that won't stop. I need to stitch it, but it's difficult to see the exact location of the tear. How's he doing?"
Nathan pursed his lips as he swiftly thought about his next reply. "I thought we'd be done b'now. His heart rates picked up some and if ya ain't finished soon, then he may start fighting the drug. Will it be too risky t'give him more chloroform?"
"Possibly, but we'll have to take a chance. Nathan, give him five more pumps, and then I need you to hold this clamp tight while I have a better look in here." As the healer complied with the other man's orders, the doctor picked up a flat-headed probe from the tray.
After another check on the tracker's condition, Nathan took hold of the bloodied clamp, trying to keep his own hand from interfering with the other man's investigative touch as he attempted to find the root of the problem. Looking at Vin's peaceful features, the healer was relieved to see no indication of distress and, putting his free hand to a slack wrist, Nathan was further heartened to feel a slow, rhythmic beat under his fingertips.
MacIntyre had now started to suture the affected area with tiny neat stitches and, after carefully cutting the surgical thread, he then sluiced a mixture of boiled water and carbolic into the wound. Glancing up at Nathan as he mopped away the excess fluid, the doctor straightened slightly. "Let's see if I got it. Ease the clamp off a little but be ready if you see any sign of leakage."
Both men breathed a sigh of relief when several minutes had passed without seeing any fresh blood appear.
"Thank you, Lord! Right, I'm going to close now, so it shouldn't be much longer." MacIntyre bent closer, as he began the laborious job of stitching the long incision.
Nathan watched as the skilful doctor finished the procedure and, on seeing the man gently place a large square dressing over the raw-looking wound, the healer carefully pulled the sheet back up to the tracker's waist level.
"Well done, Andrew! I jes' knew y'could do it!" The two shook hands warmly over the torso of their patient, not caring about the blood that covered them both.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Nathan. You have the makings of a fine physician and it would be a privilege and an honour to teach you as much as I can. Let's get cleaned up and organised before we call the other's back in. Then I think we deserve a drink!"
The two medical men busied themselves for ten minutes and then, leaving MacIntyre to check the tracker's general condition, Nathan hurriedly washed up before leaving to find Chris.
Bruce Soames placed the bundle of bed linens, blankets and towels on the padded easy chair and gazed critically around the well-furnished bedroom. The steward was preparing one of the front guest rooms in readiness for the tracker and, realising the young Texan would probably be staying at the Cummings' ranch for some weeks, he had decided to use the largest suite available. A log fire burned cosily in the grate and he knew that it wouldn't take long to warm the chilly room now that the heavy drapes were drawn across the doors that led onto the small balcony.
Seeing that the fire needed more logs, Soames lifted the cover from the wood box on the hearth and gave an annoyed harrumph on finding the store virtually empty.
"Bloody lazy girl!" he muttered of the young maid who worked in the house when the family were in residence. Resolving to speak to the girl about her slapdash work, he began to make up the large bed and then finished readying the accommodation before going outside to replenish the wood supply.
On reaching the entrance hallway, the steward paused and glanced along the corridor to the kitchen. The door was firmly closed, so he guessed that the two physicians were still operating, and hearing no sound from MacIntyre's office he went to the front entrance.
As he got out onto the well-lit porch Bruce Soames gave a startled yell and his grey eyes widened in horror as he spotted the aggressive pose of both Will Tanner and Chris Larabee.
"Will! Chris!"
The steward sprinted over to the pair of adversaries at the same time he barked out his warning and, spreading out his arms, he deliberately stood in front of the Texan.
"What the bloody hell's going on?" he demanded angrily of the two men.
Chris felt the tension oozing out of him as he relaxed a little, but his cold gaze remained fixed on the blond security boss and he totally ignored the Scotsman's irate question.
Tanner slowly rolled his head backwards and sideways to ease the tightness in his neck and finally replied to his work colleague. "Jes' a difference of opinion, Bruce."
"Enough of a difference that makes ye both want to blow one another's heads off!" Soames bellowed furiously as he took in the generally battered state of both men.
The Cummings' steward didn't need to know the specifics of what had occurred; the hostile atmosphere between the two Americans had been growing steadily all evening, although Soames had to admit that the main antagonism had come from the black dressed peacekeeper. Now seeing the bruised and bloody face of Chris Larabee, it appeared as if Will Tanner was not entirely innocent, as neither man had managed to hold their tempers in check and they had obviously been fighting for some time.
Making a rude noise with his mouth, the Scotsman shook his head in disbelief. "I've seen bairns act better than ye two! That puir laddie is in there fighting for his life and all ye can do is snipe at each other, or behave like barbarians! Are ye going to carry on like this all night? Because if ye are, then ye'd best leave now before I really lose my patience and do summat I'll regret!"
"Sorry, Bruce. I let m'temper get the better of me," Tanner said with a rueful smile at his colleague's caustic remarks. Swiping at the blood running freely down his chin, he then ambled over to the trough once again, ducking his head fully in the cold water for a few seconds.
All three men looked around as they heard the house door open but no one spoke as they watched Nathan Jackson sink down wearily on the bench by the well-lit front entrance.
Chris was the first to move and he quickly strode up the porch steps to hear what the man had to say. Although, seeing the healer's strained features, he was unsure whether his fellow peacekeeper was about to give him the good news he so desperately needed to hear.
The healer looked up and he could see the tortured expression on his friend's face as the gunslinger stopped in front of him.
"He's alive, an' seems to have come through the operation alright. It's too early to say much more than that, but I can tell ya'll that Andrew's real pleased with the way the appendectomy went. All we can do now is wait and see, 'cos the rest is up to Vin — and God!" Nathan informed the three concerned men now gathered on the covered porch.
The gunslinger felt light headed at the healer's statement and, leaning against the rough wall of the house, he briefly closed his eyes in sheer relief. He'd listened intently to everything Nathan had said, but those first two words from his friend beat a repetitive tempo in Chris' mind — 'he's alive, he's alive, he's alive!' In recent years, he'd had little faith in the power of God, but the gunslinger suddenly felt a strong need to make some kind of grateful offering and he now did something he had not done for some considerable time; he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty and also invoked the Lord to continue his benign guardianship over the tracker. Almost visibly pulling himself together, the man in black straightened up and stared stonily at the similarly relieved-looking security boss before addressing his exhausted colleague.
"I want to see him, Nathan," Chris stated firmly.
Nathan glanced at the wet and bloodied face of Will Tanner, and then his expert eye studied the bruises on the gunslinger, although he didn't comment on the dishevelled appearance of either man. There was no prize for guessing what had happened between the two quick-tempered men and the healer didn't even bother enquiring.
"First ya need to wash up, Chris. Will, that goes fer ya too. An' I reckon that lip might need a coupla o' stitches. Andrew'll be out shortly, so I'll ask him t'see to it fer ya. It's vital t'keep things clean around Vin and I know ya both want what's best fer the boy," Nathan stated shrewdly, his dark eyes locking momentarily with Bruce Soames as he sought the support of the level headed steward.
"Will, let's get ye a clean shirt, man. Then some whiskey, once Doctor MacIntyre has looked at that lip. Nathan, we'll be in later. Shall we go to yer room first, Will?" Soames placed his hand under the blond American's elbow and, giving the man no chance to object, he hustled Tanner into the house.
Satisfied that the situation was under control, Nathan got to his feet, stretching his lean frame upright to ease the kinks from his back. "I'll see you in there," the healer said softly to Chris. Without waiting for a reply, he shook his head in mute resignation and hastened back inside.
Having dusted and washed himself off, Chris hurried into the house, still not wholly convinced that Nathan had been totally honest when he'd come out to find the waiting men. Knowing that Soames would keep Tanner away for a short while, the gunslinger quickly made his way into the kitchen and, with a grateful nod to Andrew MacIntyre as the man left the room, Chris went over to the sleeping tracker.
Sinking down onto a chair next to Nathan, the black dressed peacekeeper stared at Vin, shocked by the paleness of the unconscious man.
"Jesus Christ, Nathan! He looks like a corpse!"
The healer squeezed the gunslinger's shoulder in sympathy and gave the older man a small smile of encouragement. "He looks worse than he is, Chris. Y'gotta realise he's lost a fair 'mount of blood, plus o' course the chloroform's still in him. We'll know more about how he is once he comes round, but that may be some time yet."
Nodding wordlessly, Chris picked up a limp hand, absently rubbing Vin's long, slim fingers. "I know it's early days Nathan, but when can we get him home? I think he'd prefer to be with folks he knew, and he can recover at your place just as easily."
Nathan had known this would be Chris' first question and, having spoken at length to Andrew MacIntyre, the healer had been in complete agreement with the doctor's schedule for Vin's recovery and long convalescence. However, it wasn't going to be easily accepted by his friend, particularly when Nathan thought about what had occurred between Chris and Will Tanner during the tracker's operation.
"Chris, the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical for Vin. Jes' 'cos the appendix is gone, it don't mean t'say he's out of danger yet. When he wakes he's still gonna be in a lotta pain and Andrew plans to give him morphine fer a few days t'help him rest. He won't even be moved from here until we're sure there're no complications, so being jostled around in a wagon jes' ain't an option." There was more, but the healer wasn't sure how he could make Chris understand.
"Mebbe not tomorrow, but surely in a coupla days he can go back if we're real careful. Is that what you're saying, Nathan?" Chris knew that the healer could be over fussy when any of them were injured, but this seemed to be taking medical caution to the extreme.
"Nope. Let me show ya summat, an' then ya might appreciate what I mean," the healer said patiently, as he began to fold the sheet back.
Gently lifting off the dressing he exposed the six-inch long incision scar. The dark row of stitches contrasted with the angrily red, puckered flesh surrounding them, and the healer knew that over the next few hours the swelling would increase as the internal and external bruises began to manifest around the whole area. Seeing the dismayed expression on the older man's face, Nathan hastily recovered the wound, adjusting the sheet over Vin once again.
"Think 'bout what's bin done tonight, Chris. Andrew's cut real deep into Vin's body, and poked around in his guts with his hands and some metal instruments, before cutting out a large piece of his insides. Then he's stitched him up internally, cleaned it all out, and then finally he's sewn Vin back together again. Now, I know that sounds a bit like Humpty Dumpty, but that's what it is in essence." Nathan understood only too well Chris' reasons for wanting to get Vin away from the Cummings' ranch, but in this instance the gunslinger's wishes would have to take second place to the consideration of the tracker's health.
"So how long has he got to stay here then?" There was a brittle edge to the older man's voice, and as he asked the question Chris knew that he wasn't going to like the answer.
Nathan sighed heavily. The healer could see that his friend was beginning to see the reasoning behind the travel restriction, but the older man was none too happy with the situation.
"Waal, barring any other problems he'll need complete an', I do mean total, bed rest fer two weeks. On top o' that, he won't be up to riding fer at least another two weeks," Nathan said firmly. "An' Chris, that's only a rough guess based on what Andrew's seen of Vin's condition tonight. It could be longer," the healer warned his friend.
"Four weeks! Hell Nathan, we're talking here about Vin 'I'm fine' Tanner! Y'can cut that estimation in half, and still be a long way short of the true mark! It ain't gonna happen. We all know what he's like, and he'll go crazy stuck out here!"
The healer shook his head at his older friend's predictive comments. "That mebbe, but he ain't gonna have any choice this time. I know how stubborn and bull-headed Vin can be but, personally, I believe this'll be the best place fer him. He'll get real good care an' all the medical treatment he needs from Andrew. Not only that, there are plenty o' other folk around here to make sure he stays put, 'specially..." Nathan's dark eyes briefly met the gunslinger's and he bit back the remark he was about to make regarding Will Tanner's potential role in the tracker's return to full fitness. "Chris, he'll pay attention to Andrew, whereas, if he were at m'clinic he'd completely ignore my instructions, an' soon try t'escape."
The gunslinger gave a mirthless laugh. "Hell, Nathan, you're making him sound like a prisoner or summat! The last time Vin was injured, he was back on his feet in no time. What's so different about this?"
"Chris, he's jes' had a tricky an' dangerous operation, an' it's not the same as getting shot, stabbed, or breaking a bone. Any surgery is a big shock to the body, and a complete recovery will take time. He'll need a lotta rest, quiet surroundings and careful nursing for a while." Nathan paused, but he sensed that the gunslinger was starting to understand the need for such intensive care.
Taking a deep breath the healer continued. "Realistically though, I doubt that he'll have his full strength back until after Easter, and if ya thought I was strict when you were sick, waal... Vin'll be in the same position following all this. He must listen to what Andrew and me tell him, and we'll need yer help with that, 'cos if he don't take notice of what his body tells him, then all that's bin accomplished tonight will have been for nuthin'."
Chris silently considered the healer's emphatic statement. He could tell that Nathan was being totally candid about the Texan's physical condition, and highlighting the necessity of a stress free recuperation. Deep down he knew that his friend was right, and Vin would have a difficult enough recovery without the gunslinger putting additional obstacles in the way. They must present a united front to give the tracker the support he would need in the coming weeks, even if that meant leaving the younger man with virtual strangers.
Not that Chris mistrusted any of the Cummings' family, nor did he believe that Andrew MacIntyre wasn't a suitable doctor to care for his friend. However, to the gunslinger it seemed that there was a shadow hanging over the household, and it went by the name of Will Henry — or Will Tanner. There was nothing Chris could do about the situation, so like it or not, he'd no alternative but to accept the two physicians' assessment.
"Don't worry, Nathan, Vin's health is my main concern, and I'll do what I can to make sure he listens to both yours and Andrew's medical advice." Chris gazed at the sleeping man, but Nathan heard the bitter resignation in the gunslinger's voice.
"Yeah, well that'll be later, 'cos in the first few days, he'll probably just sleep most o' the time. I'm sure Robert'll have no objections to us visiting, and the way Ezra's all moony eyed over Fiona, then Vin won't lack fer company, 'cos that gambler seems to be spendin' most o' his time out here." Nathan chuckled, as he thought of the blossoming romance in their midst.
"So what happens now?" Chris leaned closer, and gently felt Vin's sweaty forehead.
"We'll get him back into the office soon, an' then Andrew an' me'll take turns sitting wit' him tonight. When he's recovered from the chloroform then he can be moved to a bedroom. His temperatures still a little high, although that's not unusual, but we need to keep an eye out for infection. The others should be told what's going on as well, an' tomorrow someone oughta head back to tell 'em what's happened, before we end up with all o' us camped out here. I'm gonna stay for a day or two, but then I need to get back, 'cos I promised Betsy Armstrong I'd be there fer her, as her babe's due any time now." Nathan picked up a damp cloth as he spoke, and carefully wiped the tracker's clammy face and neck.
Chris pursed his lips as he watched the healer work. The town would have need of the remaining six peacekeepers, and with the ongoing threats against the Cummings' family, they would all be working extra shifts to counter any fights or problems that could occur in town. Of course, it was possible that an assault could be made on the ranch itself, although the hands that Fielding had hired all looked to be handy men with guns if it came to a fight. Chris didn't think that Vin would be at risk if there were an attack on the house, because as much as he hated to admit it, the older Texan was an experienced gunman and security boss, with excellent organisational skills.
Another factor was the man's alleged relationship with the tracker. Will Tanner had already displayed not an inconsiderable amount of concern for the man whom he maintained was his son, so it was unlikely that he would allow any harm to come to Vin whilst he recovered at the ranch. Nathan clearly believed that the blond Texan was the tracker's father, and deep down Chris knew this to be true, but he needed to hear it confirmed by his younger friend.
Looking up as the kitchen door opened to admit MacIntyre, Tanner and Soames, Chris gave Vin's hand a final squeeze, before abruptly getting to his feet.
"I need a drink, Nathan," the gunslinger muttered, his hazel eyes glittering angrily as he watched the older Texan approach the sleeping man.
Ignoring the other men completely, Chris strode hurriedly out of the room. He knew if he stayed then he would soon be picking a fight with Tanner yet again and, knowing that the tracker mustn't be disturbed, his only course of action was to withdraw from the object of his revulsion. The gunslinger had already decided that he was also going to stay with Vin throughout the night, and he would somehow make sure that the older man didn't get in his way. It was going to be a very long night, one way or the other.
Chris' head jerked up with a start and, not altogether sure what had roused him from his doze, his eyes immediately focussed on the bed occupied by the sleeping Vin Tanner.
It had been close to ten in the evening when Nathan and Andrew MacIntyre had supervised the transfer of the tracker from the kitchen table back into the doctor's office, although the young Texan had remained unconscious throughout the move. The two medical men had assured their friends that Vin's condition was stable but, due to the additional dose of chloroform that had been administered, it was unlikely that he would wake until the early hours of the morning.
A lamp on the small table threw out a meagre amount of light and, creeping across to the bed, Chris peered intently at the tracker. A faint sheen of sweat covered Vin's face, but he appeared to be resting comfortably in drug induced slumber and his breathing was slow and even. With a frown, the gunslinger's keen gaze swept around the room, noting Nathan in another chair, legs stretched out and soft snores escaping from his slightly parted lips. Something outside of the room must have woken him up. On hearing the sound of horses whinnying, Chris darted across to the healer, his hand already reaching for his gun.
"Nathan! We've got company!"
Chris' hissed warning startled the dark-skinned peacekeeper from his sleep and, surging to his feet he went straightaway to his patient's bedside.
"Huh? Vin?" Alarmed now, Nathan bent over the tracker.
"No, he's still asleep. There's summat going on outside, 'cos I heard hosses. I'll get the others, but whatever happens, you stay with Vin. Here, take his gun as well and keep watch." Chris pulled the tracker's sawn-off Winchester from the gun belt on the chair and placed it on the bed close to the healer.
As the black dressed man quietly spoke, Vin stirred, his head moving a little almost as if he were responding to Chris' call to arms.
On seeing the Texan's movement, a fleeting look of indecision crossed the older man's features and, sensing his friend's hesitancy, Nathan waved Chris away.
"We'll be alright. Chris, jes' go." Nathan was sponging Vin's face and neck, and now he spoke in a soothing tone to the younger man. "Shh. Easy, Vin. Everything's fine, so ya jes' sleep some more, huh?"
With a soft sigh, the tracker settled once again and the healer started to check his patient's condition, not looking up as the door closed behind the rapidly departing gunslinger.
On reaching the darkened main entrance hall, Chris saw Will Tanner already peering out of a window and Soames jogging down the stairs, followed closely by MacIntyre. Without stopping to hear details of what was occurring, the doctor purposely headed for his office.
"Did you see anything?" Chris asked, as he took the loaded rifle that Tanner offered.
"Yeah. There're more than a dozen of 'em. Looks like they're after th' hosses," the Texan declared succinctly.
Bruce Soames held his own shotgun in the crook of his arm, as he came up beside the two Americans and, reaching up to the iron door bolt, he quietly released the sturdy catch.
"I hope Davey and Howard are aware of what's occurring. How do ye want to play this, Will?" the steward asked.
Tanner's steady blue gaze met Chris'. An unspoken message of co-operation passed between them as both men saw themselves as the last line of defence for the unconscious and, therefore, vulnerable tracker.
"Bruce, ya'll stay here while we go through the back way. Wait 'til ya hear our rifles, an' then keep low, when ya come out. Larabee, is Nathan armed?" The security boss was business-like and all animosity between the two Americans had been pushed to one side as they prepared to do battle.
The gunslinger nodded as he checked his revolver's bullet chamber. "Ready, loaded and armed to the hilt! They'll be fine."
"Let's go hunt some b'ar then!" Tanner stated grimly. He gestured with his head to the kitchen and he and Chris loped along the corridor, leaving the apprehensive steward in the main hallway.
Slipping quietly out of the kitchen door, the two Americans hugged the wall of the house and hastily got to the front of the property. Ducking down behind a small wood store attached to the side of the bunkhouse, the pair watched as three of the attackers jumped off their mounts, and scuttled over to the stable block.
"Reckon they think the place is deserted," whispered Tanner.
"Looks that way. I see Davey and Howard!" Chris nudged the older man, as he saw a stealthy movement in the small fenced-in garden of Jim Fielding's house.
Swinging up his rifle, the Texan sighted along the barrel and started to fire at the riders milling around the yard. The pair of Scottish ghillies had separated and the heavy report of their weapons now boomed out, followed by the loud blast of Bruce Soames shotgun. Chris Larabee raised his rifle and fired a shot at one of the attackers who was on foot, giving a pleased grunt as one of the three sprawled to the ground.
Confusion and panic broke out among the men. The band of Mexicans hadn't expected any resistance to their assault and the large open yard offered them no form of cover. However, it didn't take long for them to recover from the initial onslaught and, as the leader of the band screamed out orders in Spanish, they were soon returning fire at the ranch defenders.
Nathan raised his revolver in readiness as Andrew MacIntyre entered the office, but swiftly lowered the weapon with a rueful smile when he saw the shocked expression on the doctor's face.
"Good grief, Nathan!" MacIntyre exclaimed, but he quickly recovered his composure when he saw a slight movement from the man in the bed.
Hurrying across to the chair beside the tall healer, the doctor put a hand to the tracker's wrist, giving a satisfied smile when he felt the steady, even beat at his fingertips. Releasing Vin's hand, he then turned worriedly to Nathan. "I heard Will say there was a dozen or so men outside. Even with Mason and Fraser, that's not very good odds."
"Don't y'worry, Andrew. Chris has faced worse before, an' he's certainly got the motivation tonight. Ain't ya'll ever seen a mammy bear protectin' her cub?" Nathan grinned and raised his eyebrows meaningfully, as he reached across and gently wiped the tracker's face with a damp cloth.
MacIntyre gazed thoughtfully at the sleeping man, as he contemplated all that had happened that evening. "Hmm, yes. Chris does seem rather... erm... over-protective of Vin. Have they been friends for long?"
Puffing out his cheeks as he considered his reply, Nathan eventually gave a slow nod. "Oh... 'bout a hundred years I reckon! Waal... that's what ya'd think!"
"Ah...I see. A friendship like that is rare, so I believe I understand now why Chris has been reacting so aggressively towards Will. Perhaps things will calm down once Vin is on the mend," the Scotsman stated optimistically, as he picked up his stethoscope and put the listening plate to his patient's chest.
"Lord, I hope so!" the healer breathed fervently, watching the physician as the man examined the slumbering tracker.
The sudden loud crack of rifle fire close to the office window made MacIntyre jump, and hastily pulling off his stethoscope, he stared fearfully at the heavy curtains.
"Andrew. Here, take this, an' use it if ya have to." Nathan passed his own revolver to the scared-looking doctor and then picked up the tracker's sawn-off Winchester. Reaching across he then doused the lamplight, before feeling his way over to the door.
The thick walls of the ranch house effectively muffled the gunfire and yells coming from the front yard, but the experienced peacekeeper knew that a heated confrontation raged outside. Cautiously peering around the doorframe, Nathan checked to make sure that no intruder had managed to get into the house, breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief at the silent, darkened interior.
A scrabbling sound coming from the direction of the office window made the healer whirl around, and making out the shadowy form of Andrew MacIntyre as the doctor rose from his seat to investigate, Nathan cried out a warning.
"Keep down, Andrew!"
Chris crouched along the ground, and headed towards the stables, drawing his revolver as he spotted a Mexican about to shoot away the door lock to the stalls housing the four thoroughbred mares. The gunslinger heard the whistle of a bullet as it whizzed past his ear, but it didn't spoil his aim and, squeezing off a hasty shot, he caught the intruder square in the chest. The man slumped to the ground and, keeping his weapon trained on the lifeless body, Chris hurriedly kicked away the fallen revolver.
The sound of a shot being fired at close range brought the gunslinger's attention to the smaller stable, although the bandit who was about to break into the enclosure didn't know that the stallion's stall was empty. Creeping up to the door, Chris hurriedly poked his head around the frame and fired two shots into the gloom. A sharp cry of pain rang out and the peacekeeper gave a mirthless grin as he looked in again and just made out the blood-covered form sprawled in the hay.
Hurrying back to the main yard area, the black dressed man fired at a rider who raced across in front of him, but a sudden darting movement at the side of the house caught the peacekeeper's eye, and he spotted a dark shape crouched under the window. Andrew MacIntyre's office was on that side of the house and anger coupled with fear coursed through the gunslinger, when he saw flames suddenly flicker in the darkness. With a furious hiss he started to sprint towards the house, ignoring the bandits circling the dark yard as he attempted to stop this new threat.
Chris flung himself down in a rolling dive, as a determined rider charged at him and, loosing off a shot from his revolver, he gave a wolfish grin as the Mexican crashed to the ground. The gunslinger quickly scanned the area, and was relieved to see the Cummings' men still returning fire, although the half dozen marauders that were mounted were not simple targets to hit. Sprinting towards the house the peacekeeper saw the man by the window had smashed the glass, and fear gripped Chris as he saw the bandit throw a torch into the room.
"Hold it!"
The gunslinger's furious command rang out as the bandit turned and fired at him and, slowing his pace a little, Chris sighted along the barrel of his gun trying to get a bead on the Mexican. Holding his revolver steady as he made his shot, the black dressed man uttered a soft curse as his bullet went wide, but his next attempt was greeted by a dull click as the gun's hammer fell on the empty chamber.
Will Tanner had also seen the danger to the occupants of the doctor's office and from his position he could see the man's intent, as the assailant smashed his gun butt through the glass pane. Firing the last round from his rifle into a fast moving rider to his left, the Texan got to his feet and swiftly pulled out his revolver.
"Davey! Try an' hold 'em! That bastard's gotta torch!" the blond security boss bellowed to the ghillie.
As Tanner yelled out his warning, the Mexican hugged tighter into the wall of the house, and the Texan cursed bitterly as the bandit contemptuously tossed the flaming torch through the broken window. Loping towards the house the blond security boss fired at the attacker, giving a smug grin as the Mexican dropped lifelessly to the ground. Closer now and unwilling to risk his son's life any further, the Texan put a second bullet into the man's body. Looking around the yard, Tanner could just make out the form of Chris Larabee squatting down to reload, and completely unaware of the rider charging up behind him.
"Larabee!"
As the office window shattered, Nathan flung himself headlong to the floor, bringing the Winchester up although, with the curtains still pulled across, the peacekeeper was essentially blind and was reluctant to return fire for fear of hitting one of his colleagues outside.
At the sound of the glass breaking, MacIntyre threw himself across Vin's torso and head to protect the unconscious man and, tightening his grip on the revolver, he craned his neck around to try and locate the healer. "Nathan? Are you all right?" he whispered nervously.
"Yeah. Jes' stay put, Andrew."
Nathan crawled along the floor as he spoke and, reaching the window, he quickly positioned himself to the side of the frame, desperate to find out what was happening. The peacekeeper had no chance to do anything as a burning torch was suddenly thrown onto the curtains, and as the wood fell inwards and down, it quickly ignited the material.
Flames licked upwards as the fire immediately took hold and, without a thought for his own safety, the healer grasped a corner of the curtain that wasn't alight, jerking the material with all his might. The sound of several shots being fired very close to the window didn't deter Nathan and, giving the curtain a final yank, he breathed a sigh of relief when the pole plummeted to the floor. Kicking the bundle of burning material into a rough ball, the healer stamped on the flames until the fire was extinguished.
"Lord! That was damn close!" Nathan swiped at his teary eyes, coughing a little as ash drifted around the room.
Andrew MacIntyre cleared his throat several times and, trying not to inhale too deeply of the smoky air billowing around the room, he carefully moved his body off the tracker. Groping out blindly for a damp cloth on the table, he gently turned Vin's head to one side and then completely draped the thin material over the younger man's head.
More shots rang out and the healer dove for cover close to the bed, as the doctor flung himself over the tracker once again. Sitting with his back to the bed, but facing the window aperture, Nathan hefted up the heavy Winchester, watchful and more than ready for any intruder.
"Larabee!"
Will Tanner yelled out a warning to the peacekeeper, and then fired at the fast moving assailant behind the gunslinger.
Chris forced the final bullet into his gun chamber as he spotted the danger and, throwing himself sideways, he rolled over and over in an attempt to avoid the pounding hooves. Hearing a gun roar from the direction of the house, he twisted around and saw his attacker slump over his horse's neck, although the bandit was still conscious and holding his weapon. The gunslinger took careful aim at the wounded leader, but he was a split second too late and, as Chris' bullet drove through the man's skull, the Mexican fired in reflex at the blond Texan. The assailant slid lifelessly off his horse and, seeing their leader fall, the few remaining attackers that were still mounted reined their horses around and quickly galloped off.
Tanner staggered a little as the bullet caught him in the thigh, but he continued to make his way to the doctor's office window, concerned by the amount of smoke drifting out of the room.
"Nathan! Don't shoot! Are y'alright in there?" the blond security man shouted through the shattered window, grimacing as he put weight on his injured leg.
Nathan surged to his feet, the tracker's Winchester comfortingly cradled in his arms, although he could hear that the fierce gunfight was over.
"We're fine, Will. What 'bout ya'll?" the healer called back.
The Texan scanned the now silent front yard, seeing the two ghillies and the steward checking bodies and gathering discarded weapons. Chris Larabee suddenly appeared beside him, and Tanner gave a lopsided grin to the younger man, as he finally answered the healer. "Yeah, I reckon we're all jes' dandy. Got us a tolerable pile o' dead Mexicans though! Bastards won't be causing any fuss again!"
"How's Vin, Nathan?" The gunslinger stuck his head through the damaged window, as he caught sight of the healer in the dark room.
Nathan chuckled as he glanced over at the shadowy form of the doctor. "Andrew's jes' checking him again, but I don't think he took any harm. Don't rightly know how, but he slept through it all! Prob'ly a good thing though, else he'd've bin arguin' wit' us to let 'im go out an' help!"
Tanner smiled in greeting as Bruce Soames walked over to the office window and, taking several steps towards the steward, the Texan suddenly pulled up, gasping in pain as his injured leg screamed in protest.
"Will!" Soames hurried to the security boss' side, putting a supportive arm around the other man's back as he helped his wounded colleague.
Nathan had seen the blond Texan's pained expression and, hastily stowing the tracker's gun, he then clambered out of the window to check the wounded man.
Tanner winced as the healer inspected the messy wound and with a wry smile he pointed to the broken office window. "Now if ya'll think I'm gonna climb through there like ya did Nathan, then yer mistaken! These old bones ain't gonna take much more abuse tonight, so I'll jes' go by the door, if ya don't mind."
"Ya'll get no argument from me on that, Will! Bruce, the office is a real mess. Andrew wants t'get Vin away from the smoke, an' it'll be easier t'move him while he's still under the anaesthetic," Nathan stated, peering through the gloom as Mason and Fraser inspected the bodies of the fallen attackers.
Chris followed the healer's gaze and, realising that the security boss needed medical treatment, he decided to offer the other men as much help as he could. "I'll see to things out here, Hen...Tan..." he stopped momentarily, still unable to openly acknowledge the man as Vin Tanner's father. Taking a deep breath, Chris continued. "Mebbe I might recognise some of these stinking bandits. This warn't a random attack either. Whoever hired this bunch must'a known the ranch would be almost deserted, although it didn't quite work out how they thought. I reckon some questions need to be asked, and I have a fair idea who to ask."
The Texan nodded, wincing again as he shifted his weight against the brawny steward. "Yeah. I'll speak t'Robert when he gets back, but he'll probably come inter town t'talk to ya anyway, Larabee," he paused as he put out his right hand to the gunslinger. "Thanks fer yer help tonight."
The gunslinger nodded briefly, ignoring the offered hand as he went to join the two ghillies. There was a lot to be done before any of the men got back to their beds and Chris sighed tiredly as he knelt down to check the first Mexican he reached. It had been a long stressful day for all the men at the ranch and the peacekeeper fervently hoped that nothing else happened although, judging by the number of bodies lying in the yard, it seemed unlikely that the surviving bandits would return.
Glancing around as Nathan and Bruce Soames helped the injured Texan into the house, Chris shook his head in frustration. He believed what the healer had told him but, feeling unsettled by what had occurred, would have preferred to check for himself that the tracker was safe. The gunslinger knew he was over-reacting, but his mind kept flashing back to the sight of the Mexican throwing the burning torch into the room where Vin lay unconscious. An irrational fear gripped Chris as he thought of the near disaster that had been prevented that night—things could so easily have gone the other way.
Resolutely pushing away his sombre musings, Chris went over to speak to Davey Mason about the disposal of the corpses.
Nathan Jackson had managed to get the older Texan upstairs and then, with MacIntyre fussily supervising, Bruce Soames had carefully carried Vin up to the warm bedroom he'd prepared earlier. The doctor quickly retrieved the medical equipment he required from his damaged office and, as the healer got the tracker settled in bed, the Scottish physician tended to the security boss's leg. The bullet had gouged a long furrow in the side of Tanner's thigh, but MacIntyre had decided not to stitch the painful gash, as the wound had already stopped bleeding.
"There. It's not too bad, Will, but I suggest you try and stay off that leg for a day or two," Andrew MacIntyre instructed, as he tied off the bandage around the Texan's thigh.
"Thanks, doc. Looks like us Tanners are doing our damnedest to keep y'busy tonight," the older man stated wryly, glancing over at the sleeping tracker as he re-fastened his pants.
MacIntyre nodded as he disposed of the soiled cloths and washed his hands again. "Aye. It has been a rather traumatic evening! It will be some time before any of us get our rest. And I certainly don't envy the others' in their current chore!" The Scot shuddered as he thought of the dead men at the front of the house.
After ensuring that the doctor had everything he needed, Nathan and Soames had gone back outside to help Chris, Mason and Fraser clear the body littered front yard. The frantic kicking and whinnying from the stable block, meant that the horses would need to be calmed down and, taking no chances of any further assault, the men had decided to do a rough sweep of the area to make sure no attacker, wounded or otherwise, remained in the immediate vicinity.
A sighing exhalation from the young Texan in the bed caught MacIntyre's attention and, picking up a small shallow basin plus a cloth from the washstand, he hurried over to the man who was beginning to stir.
Vin ran his tongue over his dry lips although there was no moisture to be had from that action, and he swallowed a few times as returning awareness brought back the sensation of pain around his middle and his back. He didn't think that his eyes would open just yet and it seemed to be too much effort to prise them apart, as he concentrated on trying to keep his rebellious stomach calm.
Leaning closer to Vin, MacIntyre gently peeled back first the right and then the left eyelid, noting his patient's sluggish response to the lamplight. Straightening up, he glanced at the concerned face of the older American who had hobbled over to perch on the side of the bed.
"How's he doin', doc?" Tanner asked softly.
"His life signs are very good, considering everything that's occurred this evening. I don't think he took in much smoke but I'll keep a close eye on his breathing. I'm just amazed he remained asleep! When the bullets and glass were flying around, all I kept thinking about was how hard he fought during the operation, only to come under fire — literally!—afterwards. Your son has a strong survival instinct, and that gives me hope for his full recovery."
The blond Texan lightly patted the tracker's blanket covered leg, and nodded reflectively. "Must take after his Grandpa! I'm mighty obliged t'ya Andrew — fer everything ya'll've done fer Vin tonight. If Nathan an' ya hadn't bin wit' the boy when that Mexican bastard threw that torch, waal... Lord knows what would've happened!"
The doctor smiled and there was no disguising the pleasure in his voice. "I didn't do anything really, Will. Nathan was the one who took all the risks, although we were both determined that no harm would befall this young man. Of course, the circumstances have been rather bizarre but Vin has become the ...well... I imagine you would call him the catalyst in my medical career, so his well-being is very important to me. I owe you, Nathan and Chris for pushing me forward professionally, and you all gave me the courage to carry out the appendectomy, which has restored my faith in my abilities. I think we all have much to be grateful for today."
The room was quiet for a time as the Scotsman continued with his observations of his patient. Frowning as Vin mumbled several unintelligible words, MacIntyre briefly felt the tracker's face and neck before crossing to get a fresh bowl of water.
Tanner rubbed absently at his injured thigh, as he watched the younger man organise his equipment on the bedside table. "D'ya think he's wakin' up?" he eventually asked.
"Yes, he's starting to come out of it, but it will be some time before he's fully lucid. I must say, I'm very pleased that he's had such a positive reaction to the anaesthetic and the surgery. He still has a few hurdles to overcome, but I'm convinced that with the appropriate care, rest and good nutritional food, your son will return to full health by Eastertide." The doctor straightened a little, and wringing out the cloth, he methodically sponged Vin's sweaty face and neck.
At the touch of the cool cloth the tracker's eyelids fluttered rapidly, and his breathing quickened as he fought the increasing feeling of nausea.
"Everything's fine, Vin. Don't move, just let me.... Ah, that's it's, bring it up. Good man." MacIntyre had seen his patient's eyes suddenly widen in panic, and as a heaving spasm shook the tracker, he carefully eased the younger man's head to the side. Placing the shallow basin at Vin's mouth the doctor supported behind his patient's neck, as the tracker vomited. There wasn't much left in his stomach for Vin to bring up, and swallowing a couple of times his head sagged back onto the pillow, totally exhausted from that small effort. With a quiet sigh his glazed eyes closed as sleep claimed him once again.
Tanner watched as his son drifted off, frowning when he saw the Scotsman pull the covers back to inspect the site of the incision.
"Is there a problem?"
Satisfied that the slight movement hadn't caused any tear to the wound, the doctor readjusted the bedding over his patient. Without looking up he shook his head in answer to the worried-sounding Tanner and, placing his hand to the tracker's wrist, he silently counted the younger man's pulse rate.
"No, he's doing as well as can be expected following such a major trauma. He'll be in and out like this for a while, but I don't think he'll be sick again. In a few hours he can have some boiled water, which will help settle his stomach. It's nearly one o'clock and you look exhausted, Will. Why don't you try and get some sleep?" the doctor suggested softly, as he released Vin's hand.
The older man shook his head obstinately. "I want t'stay with m'boy, doc. The others won't be back jes' yet, an' I reckon Vin would feel happier waking up to someone he knew."
MacIntyre got to his feet, and crossing to the padded easy chair on the other side of the room, he picked it up and placed it near the bed. "Well, have a more comfortable seat and if you do take a short nap then at least you can rest that leg better."
The two men settled back down again and, on seeing the older Texan immediately doze off, MacIntyre pulled a blanket from the chest at the base of the bed, carefully draping it over the man's still form. Reaching across for his notepad, the doctor began recording details of his patient's condition, clicking his tongue in annoyance when the pencil's lead point snapped on the paper. Glancing at the motionless tracker, he crossed to the small bureau in the corner to get another pencil and, after a hasty rummage failed to locate one, he left the room to find a sharpener.
Hearing the door creak a little, Tanner jerked awake, quickly scanning the room as he tried to decide what had roused him.
A low moan slipped from Vin's lips and, blinking rapidly to clear his fuzzy vision, his brow furrowed in confusion as he attempted to orient himself. He swallowed several times at the queasiness in his stomach, the bitter taste in his dry mouth reminding him of the last time he'd been injured and Nathan had given him a sleeping draught. The tracker tried to focus on his darkened surroundings, but his drug-muddled brain didn't seem to be functioning properly as he desperately tried to work out where he was and what had happened to him. Was he at Nathan's clinic? No! If he had been, then the diligent healer would be hovering close by and Vin couldn't hear the recognisable sounds of the town as people went about their everyday business. So he was somewhere else and he must have received medical treatment of some kind, because the grinding, burning pain had abated, leaving a lesser ache within his abdomen and back.
A stealthy movement from an unidentifiable figure close to him made Vin turn his head, and his eyes blurrily tracked the activity as the vaguely familiar person took a seat beside him. It must be Chris! He was sure he'd heard his friend's voice before but the drugs and agonising pain that had held him in complete thrall had made everything around him seem hazy and indistinct.
"Chris!" The croaky call held no strength and it took all of his remaining energy to slide his hand across the quilt, as he sought out the reassuring touch of his friend.
Biting back an angry retort at the younger man's mistake, Will Tanner glanced across to the open door before dipping the corner of a cloth in a basin. "No, son, it's Will — yer pa. Try not t'talk much. The operation's over an' all ya gotta do now is concentrate on getting well."
Leaning over the bewildered tracker, Tanner allowed a few droplets of water to dribble into the somnolent man's mouth, smiling and nodding in approval as an ecstatic sigh slipped from Vin's lips. "I figure that must taste like a li'l bit of Heaven, eh?" the older man crooned, but his expression changed as the peacekeeper snagged the wet material in his teeth and started to suck on the cloth. "Landsakes, boy! Give ya an inch an' ya take a mile! Let me have that!"
With a quiet chuckle, the blond Texan hastily rescued the washcloth. Rinsing it out once again, he then carefully wiped Vin's face and neck, as the semi-conscious man gave an audible swallow. "Sorry son, I cain't let ya have any more, 'cos ya stomach's bin a mite rocky. Ya jes' stay quiet an' still fer a bit. Doc MacIntyre don't want all his hard work ruined if ya start frettin' an' tossin' around! That's it, jes' relax an' let yer pa take real good care o' ya."
"Will....? Umm... M'pa," the tracker mumbled drowsily, a ghost of a smile curving his pale lips. Vin's eyes were watery-looking and the pupils enlarged from the effects of the chloroform, but he managed to make out the other man's concerned features.
"Yeah, son, that's right. Yer pa's here, an' I ain't gonna leave ya again, alright? We're together at last, an' we don't need anyone else interferin' in our family's business. Now yer gonna be fine, so y'can jes' have a nice sleep, an' we'll talk some more when yer feeling better, huh?" Tanner's voice was hushed and soothing, and he smiled broadly as the younger man's eyelids began to droop. Letting out a quiet, contented sigh, Vin quickly relaxed back into sleep.
Chris made his way along the upper hallway and, having finished his own reconnaissance at the rear of the property, he was now desperate to see for himself that the tracker had not come to any harm. The soft murmur of a voice coming from the far bedroom caused the peacekeeper to slow down, and reaching the open doorway, he stood frozen in shock, as he listened to the virtually one-sided conversation from within. The gunslinger's stomach lurched when he heard Vin quietly acknowledge the Cummings' security boss as his father and, suddenly feeling superfluous to the situation, Chris slowly backed out into the hallway.
The peacekeeper's subtle movement caught the attention of Will Tanner and, twisting his head around, his eyes met Chris' briefly. A smile of triumph lit up the older Texan's features and, in an almost possessive gesture, he picked up Vin's slack hand, cradling it between his own as he smirked at the grim-faced gunslinger.
Angrily turning on his heel, Chris stalked down the stairs and an indignant rage cascaded through him as he fought the overwhelming desire to return to the room and put a bullet into Will Tanner. He must get out of this house now, as he knew that if anyone else crossed him this night, then he wouldn't be able to control his temper, and the timing couldn't be more inappropriate.
Having made the decision to leave, Chris went to the dark, empty stable where the thoroughbred stallion was normally quartered, and pushing two bales of hay together, he settled down to wait for first light.
The gunslinger could only hope that Vin would understand why he felt unable to stay at the ranch and would see what had driven him to take such drastic action. Chris felt he had no other option at present, but he took comfort from knowing that the tracker would have Nathan with him to provide any support or explanation.
"Mr Wilmington! Whilst I am fully cognizant of the enormous stress that engulfs your not insubstantial frame, I find the tedious pacing that you are conducting to be totally counter-productive to the current situation. So would you be so kind as to cease and desist forthwith!" Ezra Standish lounged on a chair outside the jailhouse and didn't even glance up, as he spoke to the agitated ladies' man.
Stopping mid stride, Buck Wilmington twisted his head around, shooting a puzzled look at the immaculately dressed gambler.
"Huh? What the hell're you gabbling on about, Ezra?"
Josiah Sanchez occupied the chair next to Ezra and, lowering his book, the ex-preacher smiled at the baffled ladies' man. "The rough translation is, 'I know you're worried, Buck, but you're not doing anyone any good by wearing a hole in the boardwalk! Please stop now!' Or something along those lines."
"I believe that is what I said, Mr Sanchez! I was always taught that patience is a virtue. However, that word is totally absent from Mr Wilmington's somewhat limited vocabulary." The handsome gambler glanced dismissively at Buck and then turned his attention back to the deck of cards that he was amusing himself with.
"I'm patient! Ain't I patient, JD? Y'can ask any one, and they'll all give you the same answer!" the tall peacekeeper bristled defensively.
The youngest peacekeeper glanced up from the piece of wood he was studiously whittling and, after giving his older friend a scornful look, JD shook his head in disbelief, as he continued his elaborate carving in silence.
"Actually, that was not the word I was referring to." Ezra grinned at his moustached colleague, and his gold tooth flashed in the morning sunlight.
"Why you..." Buck suddenly clamped his mouth shut, touching his hat politely, as a young woman picked her way past the peacekeepers. "Mornin', ma'am. Excuse my indolent friend here." The ladies' man kicked at the gambler's outstretched legs as he said the last word of his sentence. "He has the manners of an ox an' the charms of a skunk but, apart from that, he's quite harmless!" Buck smiled sweetly at the annoyed-looking Ezra Standish, as the tall peacekeeper gallantly escorted the pretty woman to the end of the block.
It wasn't that unusual to see the town's peacekeepers sitting outside, but it was the earliness of the hour that was surprising, particularly with the presence of the handsome gambler as the inveterate late riser rarely made an appearance on the street until at least midday.
However, this morning was very different and the four took no notice of the curious looks thrown their way by the few townspeople who were going about their business. The men had gathered at the jail at sun-up to discuss whether one of them should go to the Cummings' ranch to get news on the tracker and, although their concern was mounting for their sick friend, they had all recognised the need for maintaining a visible presence in town. Buck and Ezra had wanted to make the long ride out to the Scotsman's property at first light but, after a heated debate, they had agreed that if their absent friends had not returned by lunchtime then the four would make the journey together. All they could do now was wait.
A lone rider coming along the main street brought all four peacekeepers to their feet and, immediately recognising Chris Larabee, three of the men exchanged alarmed looks.
There was something about his black dressed friend's bearing that alerted the moustached peacekeeper; he had seen that tired, defeated look in Chris before and Buck had no wish to go through the same ordeal he had endured when Sarah and Adam had died. Was history about to repeat itself?
"Oh no! Please Lord, not again. Josiah..." Buck murmured, glancing anxiously at the ex-preacher.
"What? Where's Nate? And why ain't they brought Vin back here? What's wrong, Buck?" JD questioned, glancing in turn at each of the apprehensive-looking men.
"Son, I believe it would be advisable if you harnessed your inquisitive tongue for a short time, whilst we more mature individuals ascertain Mr Larabee's current disposition," Ezra said quietly to the bewildered JD.
The gunslinger had reached the jailhouse and Buck stepped off the boardwalk, grabbing the black gelding's bridle as the man dismounted.
"Chris," the ladies' man said carefully, as he studied the other's bruised face.
Chris didn't speak as he tied his horse to the hitching post, and hastily scanning his four friends' worried-looking features he gestured with his head to the office.
The men crowded into the jailhouse but no one spoke as they patiently waited for the gunslinger to tell them what had happened.
"Doc MacIntyre operated last night, and took out Vin's appendix. Nathan's still with him, but they think he's gonna be alright. Vin's gotta stay at the Cummings' place for some time, 'cos it's too risky to move him." Chris' voice held no trace of emotion as he relayed this information and, as he turned to the stove to get a cup of coffee, Josiah and Buck gazed at each other thoughtfully. There had been a collective sigh of relief at the gunslinger's words but the four were not totally reassured as it was obvious that there was much that the man hadn't said.
Buck knew his oldest friend very well and he could tell that the ex-preacher also sensed there was some other problem, but bitter experience of Chris' unpredictable temper made the ladies' man act with caution.
Ezra was a master at interpreting another's body language and, clearing his throat noisily, the gambler decided to take the bull by the horns; he just hoped and prayed that he wasn't about to do that in the literal sense!
"Umm... er...Mr Larabee? Is there something else that you wish to impart to us?" The younger man visibly flinched at the cold glare Chris threw his way, but he was more concerned about the tracker's welfare to worry too much about the gunslinger's hostile reaction.
Buck perched on the edge of the desk, glancing at JD's scared features before addressing his friend. "There a problem, Chris?" he asked quietly.
The black dressed man finished his coffee and, rolling the empty cup in his hands, he considered his next move. Coming to a decision, Chris nodded at his friend. "Yeah. We need to ride. The Cummings' place was hit by a bunch of Mexicans last night, although we managed to kill most of 'em and the rest bolted. I think Mr Kehoe has some explaining t'do."
"Well then, gentlemen, I believe an overt show of solidarity is required. JD, if you would help me get our horses ready, we can then be in a position to leave in fifteen minutes." Ezra glanced meaningfully at Buck and Josiah as he guided the youngest peacekeeper to the door.
All four men were aware that something else was bothering Chris Larabee, but the man in black was not the type of person to open up willingly and discuss what was on his mind. It appeared as if he'd already decided to keep all the facts from his colleagues.
Buck hooked his hands into his gun belt and quietly ambled over to where Chris stood. "So, is that how your face got all marked up? From those Mexicans?" the ladies' man asked.
"Nope." Chris' eyes narrowed dangerously and Buck could see the tension in the other's features as the gunslinger replied.
The tall peacekeeper cocked his head to one side, and shot Chris a confused look. "Well, who the hell's had a go...?" Buck's question was cut off by the stony-faced gunslinger.
"Leave it, Buck!" Chris growled menacingly.
Holding up his hands in resignation, the ladies' man hurriedly backed away from the other, seeing that Chris was in no mood to give an explanation. "Alright, Chris! Have it your way. You usually do, anyhow!" Buck muttered the final comment under his breath, glancing at the thoughtfully silent Josiah Sanchez.
"Did Nathan say when he would return, Chris? 'Cos Betsy Armstrong was a mite jittery this mornin', and she's convinced that this second babe is real keen t'come into the world," the ex-preacher eventually asked.
"He's aiming to be back tomorrow, Josiah." The gunslinger peered through the window as he spoke and, seeing JD and Ezra arrive with the horses, he hurried outside.
Buck strode after Chris but Josiah paused briefly to strap his gun belt on. The ex-preacher was concerned by his friend's reticence but knew if they continued to push Chris Larabee for the full details, then the man would become even more distant. It was apparent that they would have to wait for Nathan Jackson to return before they could hear the complete story so with a frustrated sigh, Josiah went to join his waiting colleagues. The five men were soon mounted and cantering out of town in the direction of Bryce Kehoe's property.
Luke Patterson, the foreman of the Lazy K spread, came out of the barn as he heard the rapid approach of several riders. Squinting against the morning sunlight, he frowned when he recognised the five peacekeepers approaching the front of Bryce Kehoe's house and, hitching up his gun belt, the tall ranch hand hastened across to where the men had come to a halt.
"What can I do fer ya?" Patterson asked coldly, glaring at Buck Wilmington.
The ladies' man smiled, although the humour never reached his eyes as he closely regarded the thickset ranch hand. He and Patterson had traded blows on more than one occasion, the most recent time being in the previous summer when Four Corners had celebrated its founding day with a carnival. The Lazy K foreman had never forgiven the tall peacekeeper for the rough treatment he had received at the end of those celebrations during a riotous brawl at Ezra's saloon.
"I want t'speak to your boss." Chris Larabee's icy gaze scanned the deserted yard as he spoke, and then his hazel eyes raked dismissively over the openly belligerent man.
Patterson shot a quick look at the house and, hooking his thumbs into his gun belt he placed himself strategically across the front porch. "He ain't here. I'm in charge, an' I reckon ya'd best be on yer way."
Chris shifted in his saddle, pursing his lips as he stared at the ranch house door. "That a fact? Waal, we ain't going 'til we see Kehoe, an' we don't deal with the hired help neither."
"I'll see he gets a message, Larabee," Patterson muttered, eyeing the five men carefully. The ranch hand had seen all of the peacekeepers in action at various times and was only too aware of how fast and deadly accurate they were with a gun, especially Larabee, Standish and Dunne. While the Lazy K foreman was no coward, he wasn't a fool either and knew he would stand no chance if it came to a shootout.
"Son, what we have to say is for Mr Kehoe's ears only, so why don't you just run on into the house and ask him real nice to come out and talk to us," Josiah said pleasantly, although his steely grey eyes seemed to pierce through Patterson with a chilling intensity, almost as if the ex-preacher was reading the ranch hand's most private and innermost thoughts.
The house door slowly opening caught the attention of all six men and, as Bryce Kehoe got to where Patterson stood, he put a firm hand on the foreman's shoulder. "It's alright, Luke. Let 'em have their say, an' then they ain't got no excuse to stay on m'property. Why don't ya go help Fellows shoe the rest o' them hosses?"
The foreman released the breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, nodding absently at his boss' suggestion. It was clear that Kehoe didn't want his men interfering with whatever business he was involved in; Patterson was aware of the regular meetings the rancher had had with Stuart James and Guy Royal, and he'd also seen the stranger who'd arrived early this morning. Looking beyond the rancher at the firmly closed door, it was evident that the middle-aged man was still within the house, and Kehoe was keen to conceal the Texan's presence from the peacekeepers. Without another word the foreman strode off in the direction of the stable block, although he cast the occasional look back at the six men as he walked away.
Chris was an expert at reading people and as he glanced across at the silent Ezra Standish he could tell that the gambler also suspected that the rancher was hiding something, or more precisely—someone.
"We won't keep you long, Mr Kehoe, and then you can get back to your meeting with your friend in there." Chris gestured to the house as he spoke.
"I got family visiting, Larabee. Not that it's any of yer damn business! So, what do y'want?" Kehoe asked angrily.
"Who set up last night's hit on the Cummings' ranch?" Chris had decided to get straight to the point, hoping the rancher would be put off balance by a direct approach.
"Them Mexicans warn't anythin' t'do with me!" Kehoe denied quickly, and then realised his mistake as the gunslinger stared icily at him.
"So you knew all about it. Well then, Kehoe, you must know who hired those men."
Chris Larabee's quietly menacing voice sent a shiver of fear through the rancher, and the older man mentally kicked himself for his slip-up. There was no question that the five men before him were dangerous to cross, but Kehoe would have more to contend with if James or Royal suspected he had told the peacekeepers' who was responsible for organising the attack on the Scotsman's property.
"I don't know details, Larabee. All I heard was rumours, but I give ya my word that it wasn't my doin'. I'm a law-abiding man an' I draw the line at hoss stealin' an' murder," Kehoe stated simply.
The gunslinger studied the older man for several minutes and, although Chris was convinced that the rancher was involved up to his neck in the Cummings' troubles, unless he had proof there was little the peacekeepers could do in an official capacity. However, one of their friends was now potentially at risk and the men had every right to issue a warning to protect the incapacitated Vin Tanner.
"Now why do we not believe those asinine observations, Mr Kehoe? You were responsible for directing the majority of the threatening and slanderous comments at Mr Cummings, and even made authoritarian remarks to the gentleman in front of Mr Larabee, Mr Wilmington and myself. It will take more than your ineffectual assurances to convince us otherwise." Ezra had brought his horse closer to the porch as he spoke, and although the gambler appeared calm his green eyes held the look of undiluted disgust.
"Well that's jes' too bad, Standish! I've given ya m'word, but I can name witnesses that'll confirm I never left m'property at all yesterday. I don't deny that I've got grievances against them foreigners, 'cos we don't need more outsiders coming in and taking away our livelihood. That land grabbing freeloader was given that prime estate fer next t'nuthin', while my bid was turned down flat. But it ain't my style to hire a bunch of stinkin' Mexicans t'try an' get even. Ya'll have to make yer own enquiries, 'cos it wasn't anythin' t'do with me. All I'll say is that I ain't the only one in these parts that's got an axe to grind with Cummings. So p'haps ya need to cast yer sights t'other parts."
It was evident that they would get no more information from the rancher, and as Chris looked in turn at his four friends he could see that the men believed Bryce Kehoe's story — up to a point. Shifting in his saddle, Chris deliberately raised his voice as he gave his cautionary message to the older man. "Don't worry, we'll be keeping a real close eye on all those we suspect. I have a fair idea of what's going on and if I hear of any more incidents at Cummings ranch, then those responsible for causing trouble will answer to me. Personally. I'd be grateful if you spread the word among your fellow ranchers, too."
"Waal, it looks like that fancy speakin' lord's hired his own bunch of gunmen! Ain't it enough that ya got the town buttoned down tight under yer control? Course, if I'd o' realised ya were after earning some extra dollars, I'd've paid t'take ya onto m'own payroll! Or did that Scotch fella make ya a better offer, Larabee?" Kehoe sneered derisively.
JD's face coloured up in indignant outrage at the rancher's contemptuous remarks. The young Bostonian held Chris Larabee in high regard and he was sure the experienced fighting man would never sell his gun skills to the likes of Bryce Kehoe; more so since throwing in his lot with the other six peacekeepers.
"We ain't for sale, mister! But I'd be willing to face any man with a gun if my friends were being threatened by scum like you!" the dark-haired peacekeeper exclaimed heatedly, and his right hand casually slid down to touch his gun butt.
Kehoe rubbed his chin and chuckled quietly to himself. "Call off yer boy, Larabee! The kid's mouth runnin' away like that'll get him in serious trouble one day. I was jes' speculating, but it looks like I hit pay dirt! What's yer interest in all this?"
"JD's right—we don't sell our guns. We're involved 'cos one of our friends is out at Cummings place and we don't want him coming to any harm. Does that make it clearer for you, Kehoe?" Chris' voice had got louder, and it was obvious that the man in black was also laying everything out for the unknown presence within the house.
The rancher nodded, folding his arms as he studied the five peacekeepers. Tanner and the black healer Jackson were missing from the line-up, but Kehoe was aware of the close friendship between the tracker and the gunslinger and, if the young Texan had somehow been injured in last night's attack, that would explain Chris Larabee's hostility.
"Crystal clear. We all know exactly where we stand now 'cos once again you've demonstrated how ya side wit' outsiders and nesters, an' jes' run ramrod through us local businessmen. There ain't nuthin' more to discuss, so I'd like ya to leave m'property now, Larabee."
"I'll let you get back to your 'family', Kehoe. Just remember what I said though. If I feel that you're involved in any future problems, then next time I won't be inclined to talk. I'll leave all those verbal pleasantries to Mr Colt. Understand?" Chris had nudged his black gelding closer to the porch, and his voice was quiet and hard as he gave his private warning to the rancher.
"I hear. Now get off my land!" Kehoe bellowed angrily.
The five riders slowly circled their horses around and without a backward glance they cantered away from the ranch house.
Several minutes passed while Kehoe gathered his thoughts and, as the ranch house door opened, he turned to face his visitor.
Samuel Joseph was short and stocky, and his pockmarked skin was swarthy indicating a mixed parentage, possibly Mexican or Indian, although his accent clearly proclaimed his roots to be Texan. He wore a fast draw gun belt with a butt forward revolver on the left side and a heavy double-edged knife hung from an intricately carved scabbard at the right.
However, what was surprising for a man in his fifties was the length of his dark, grey-flecked hair. While many younger westerners or, even a few old-timers, often wore their hair long, the middle-aged and family men preferred the practicality of a shorter cropped hairstyle. Evidently Bryce Kehoe's companion bucked the trend in this instance, as his thinning straggly locks reached almost to his shoulder blades, which in turn gave him the appearance of being younger than his fifty-one years.
Whatever his current occupation, he looked to be a skilled gunman and knife fighter but there was an evil slyness about him that singled him out as a man not to be wholly trusted. Joseph was not averse to back shooting an enemy, and he had committed many murders over the years, although his innate cunning plus an element of luck had somehow kept him from the clutches of the law. In recent years he'd worked alone or, if he had needed extra manpower, he would hire trigger-happy youngsters, usually solitary drifters, to help him with his shady jobs. These accomplices never saw a share of any bounty as the Texan was meticulous in his efforts to cover his tracks and, to date, three mutilated bodies had been dumped in obscure places in the open countryside. No, Samuel Joseph was not a man to deliberately turn your back on.
"So that's the infamous Chris Larabee! I can understand yer concerns now, Mr Kehoe. I take it he's allus backed up by his pards, huh?"
The rancher nodded vaguely to the other's question. "Yeah. Two were missing though. I'm not sure that I want ya to do this job after all, Joseph. Larabee's gonna be gunning fer me if he even catches a hint that I'm involved in anythin' against Cummings. Trust me when I say he's not someone to get on the wrong side of, an' he's ably backed up by his six friends. Guess I've jes' wasted yer time."
"Nope. I live by the rule of 'know yer enemy'! This' bin a useful meeting, but I can still get in an' cause a whole heap o' trouble fer that Scot. Now, when I spoke t'yer son Danny in Eagle Bend, I got the impression that ya wuz real keen t'drive Cummings out, but it looks like yer backin' down after all that bluster earlier!" Joseph said scornfully.
"We ain't reached an agreement yet! Ya ain't the one who's gotta live in these parts, and I want reassurances that nuthin' ya do can be traced back t'me. Larabee's smart, mean — and real deadly. Only a fool would ignore his warning, an' I ain't no fool, Joseph!" the rancher shot back heatedly.
"Mebbe, but if ya want this job done, ya'll've gotta take some risks. I'll let ya think on it some, Kehoe. I ain't goin' no-place fer awhile, 'cos I got m'own business to attend to here'bouts. By the by, does Larabee allus ride that black?"
The rancher was taken aback at the other's odd question, but he pushed his confusion away as he nodded slowly. "Yep. Him an' Tanner've both got black hosses. Larabee usually dresses in black too — reckon it matches his mood most'a the time!"
Joseph gave a mirthless smile at the rancher's scathing remark. "Reckon. Vin Tanner warn't ridin' wit' him today then? I'd heard they wuz real close, an' where ya found one t'other wouldn't be far away."
"Waal, normally that's true. I don't know what's happened, but it sounded like the tracker might be injured or summat. Didn't ya hear Larabee say one of his friend's was out at Cummings? Which' is even more reason for showing caution. Laid up or not, Tanner can certainly shoot! Bear that in mind if ya decide to go scoutin' 'round the Scotsman's place...not that I want t'know yer plans!" Kehoe added hastily, holding his hands up in a warding off gesture.
"Calm down, Kehoe. I ain't gonna implicate ya, but I might take a looksee at the ranch. Ya know where t'find me when yer ready t'talk ag'in."
The two men shook hands and the Texan strolled off to the stable to get his horse. He had learned quite a lot from the disgruntled rancher and it looked like he could make some easy money in the first instance by helping the local cattle barons with their problem. As Joseph got his mount ready he pondered his next move. The person he really needed to speak with was actually working for Cummings and he gave a quiet chuckle as he wondered what his former partner's reaction would be on seeing him suddenly appear. Surprise probably wouldn't even come close—Tanner senior would shortly get the shock of his life!
Joseph wasn't merely in the area to work for Kehoe, and his presence in Eagle Bend had been no accident, as he'd been tracking his old friend's movements for some considerable time. It was patently obvious what had motivated Tanner to come to Four Corners, and it sounded as though he had already made contact with the Texan peacekeeper, which meant the pair could soon be heading south.
Of course, there was still Chris Larabee to deal with and, if the young tracker and gunslinger were as friendly as Joseph had been told, then he might hold all the trump cards in his hand. Vin Tanner might be more co-operative if he thought his friend's life was on the line; not that the outlaw was going to allow the black dressed peacekeeper to live.
Leading his horse outside, Joseph mounted and kicked the roan into a canter, heading westwards to the abandoned line cabin he was currently using.
"'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord'. But this time vengeance will be mine. Soon, Larabee, soon," the fast riding Texan murmured to himself, and his mouth curved into an evil smile as he thought of his planned retribution against the unsuspecting Chris Larabee.
Home | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Top
Feedback to Author