Author: Mac
Pairing: Buck/Ezra
Rating: Slash - nothing too blatant (sorry)
WARNING: Same sex lovin' -some violence-and strong language abounds
Disclaimer: I don't own them, or the show they rode in on. Wrote this for fun, no profit is made from it.
Archive? Yes, just tell me.
Comments welcomed: email addy - gentlerainfall@yahoo.com
Author's note: Here's my take on how things might have gone behind the scenes of Working Girls and beyond them-

Completed 28 October 2001

Lavender
by Mac

"Come on, Buck, let's ride," JD said as they turned away from Wickes' body, twice shot by Lydia and now, with casual deadliness, by Buck Wilmington. Ezra, standing in the shadows of the tented entry to the bar area, had watched the final gun fight with a six-shooter in hand, one he'd lifted off an unconscious man by his feet. He'd already raised his borrowed gun to cover their retreating backs when Buck had swung around and picked off the half-dead old man as he lifted his own weapon to try once more to kill at least one of Larabee's men. With barely an acknowledgement of the final gunshot, the rest of the seven were already heading toward their horses.

Chris Larabee was anxious to get Mary Travis home, get her out of this place. He could see how shaken she was, her and Lydia both. The working girl, no, woman, was looking devastated at what she'd done. Back shot Wickes twice, nearly killing the bastard, while freeing herself and all the rest of the women from his cruel yoke. And saving Chris and Mary in the process. Larabee leaned over toward Vin, speaking across Mary's head. "Get the carriage, the one Ezra came in on."

Vin nodded once and split off from the group. JD, coming up behind them, asked, "But what about Ezra?"

Larabee, arms full trying to comfort the pale newswoman, glared up at the youngest of the group. Before he could reply, Nathan, sticking his gun in his belt, answered for him. "Ezra can ride out, there's plenty of horses, hell, he can take Wickes' horse, that man don't need it no more."

"But - but - he's a la-uh, that is, he's got on a dr-"

Nathan interrupted impatiently, "He kin ride."

Larabee, though, was beginning to wonder where their seventh was. He thought he'd seen a bit of purple in the entry to the bar tent, just after Buck shot Wickes a final time. "Buck. You wanna go find Ezra, make sure he's still standin' - two of you ride out together?"

Wilmington, still standing back with his weight on one heel, hips tilted forward, his face blank from the heart shot he'd just made, swung his head to look at Chris. After a moment, he seemed to reach inside and bring the old Buck back out, the deadly shootist retreating until needed again. "Sure, pard, me and ole'Ez'll cover each other's backs." Holstering his pistol, he started back towards the tents.

Chris called after him, still supporting Mary in his arms, "Buck, you two be careful. You don't show up in an hour, we'll be riding back out here for you and I ain't much in the mood for that."

Buck flashed an impudent grin over his shoulder, "Aw, pard, and here I thought me and Ez could jest hep a couple them nice young ladies here for a spell."

"Not today, Buck, might still be some of Wickes men around who'd want to make trouble." Chris' sharp tone ended the conversation. Vin was drawing the small covered buckboard up beside the man in black and trying to keep the horse from dancing away. Larabee reached out a hand to help Vin gentle the carriage horse and prevent it from knocking into Lydia and Mary, both standing there looking lost. Turning his attention to the two women, the gunslinger said, "Mary, you and Lydia get in the buggy."

Silently, head bowed, the blonde woman gave a stiff nod and began to climb into the single bench seat of the small vehicle. Larabee turnedto help Lydia follow her up on to the bench as Vin, sliding out the other side, held on to one of Mary's arms to steady her, then handed up the reins to her. They all respected the gutsy newswoman, she'd be able to drive the small carriage back to town. Beside her, Lydia, the dark-haired prostitute, looked considerably less tough at the moment than the wide-eyed widow. "You can handle this?" Chris asked quietly, making eye contact with Mary.

She looked over at Lydia at her side, then back at the gunslinger. "Yes."

He tipped his black hat at her, then moved away, tossing back, "We'll ride with you."

At that moment, Josiah rode up with Larabee's horse in tow. He reached out for the bridle, turned his black gelding so he could mount. Chris, having swung himself up onto his horse, now turned its head and faced his old friend. He called after Wilmington, already nearly at the biggest tent, "You and Standish be ok?"

Buck dipped his head to look back, nodded and touched his hat.

"Chris, Buck and Ezra'll get home fine." Nathan settled into his saddle and straightened. Josiah hesitated beside him, gazing back toward the half collapsed tent town, where a confusion of working girls and cowmen were milling about, a few half-hearted fistfights still going on. But Nathan was right, Buck could handle it and Ezra probably was embarrassed enough without them making a fuss over him while he was still in women's clothing. The boy always seemed to land on his feet, Josiah knew he wouldn't appreciate them drawing undue attention to him just now. He reined his horse over to follow Nathan who'd already kicked his own animal into motion.

A quick track of his narrowed eyes checking on his people, and Larabee, too, said, "Let's ride."

Chris and Vin flanked the carriage as Mary slapped the ends of the reins on the harnessed horse's back. JD took a running jump on to his own horse and dashed out ahead of them.

Buck strode toward the last place he knew that Ezra had been, the bar tent. A moving flash of purple in the deeper shadows, within the tented opening, caught his eye.

Ezra had listened to only the first part of the short discussion as his fellow riders organized themselves to ride out. When he heard Nathan's sharp comment, he decided he was on his own and turned away. He noted JD's question and read the boy's thoughts as if spoken aloud. It's all right, Mr. Dunne, I'll make do, he thought, I always do. Turning away, he lifted his skirts and looked around the chaotic room behind him. The few bits of furniture were mostly broken firewood now, the barkeep rapidly crating the few unbroken bottles. Likely so as to abscond with the goods now, Ezra decided without concern. He began to pick his way across the ground littered with the unconscious and semi-conscious bodies of men.

His delicate high-button shoes looked tiny as he stepped over some broken glass and a crushed hat, someone's jacket-clad arm lying there amongst the rubble, extended from a pile of three men, hard to tell who belonged to it in the canopied shade. The rustle of his silk dress seemed loud to him as he released one hand to touch his wig. The feathered hat had come loose in the brawl, and he wasn't prepared to lose the rest of his disguise while still so attired. It seemed to be still securely anchored where Mrs. Potter had so tightly pinned it to his scalp. He winced at the memory of the painful scraping of those pins as she'd dug down through the fake hair to fasten it to his own shorter hair. Time to leave, indeed.

A figure a few feet in front of him began to push up off the sawdust tarp covered flooring. One of the men who'd been leering and jibbing at his performance as a chanteuse. Biting on his still heavily rouged lower lip, Ezra focused on avoiding the rising man, and continuing his progress out of the tented bar. With a crease of concentration between his now plucked and shaped eyebrows, he walked carefully because balance on the heeled shoes was precarious at best no matter how graceful he might be. He didn't notice the man stagger erect and start toward him.

Buck Wilmington walked on, but he was torn. He wanted to ride out with his friends, see to it that Mary and Lydia were safe. He figured most of the other women left here would be all right, they could leave now, there were still several wagons near the corralled horses. But Chris was right, need to find Ez and make sure he wasn't in any trouble. Hell, the gambler wasn't exactly dressed for any confrontations with the remnants of Wickes' Town. Someone had to cover his back and Buck didn't mind. He neared the open bar, where he thought he'd seen Ezra in the shadows. Make sure he was all right and then the two o'them could be heading out after the others. After all, the man had done something none of the rest of them woulda done, dressin' up like a woman, to cause the needed distraction without raising alarms. The tall, lanky ladies man continued, his back to his departing friends, the clatter of their horses and the carriage wheels already fading as he entered the scene of the recent bar fight.

Ezra's eyes went wide as a rough hand caught at his shoulder, dragging him about to face the angry, lewd gaze of one of the bar patrons. This was one of the ones who had tried to manhandle him earlier. He'd pushed the fellow away, shoved him really, but he seemed determined for more. The man's free hand knocked the borrowed gun from the gambler's fist before he had a chance to bring it all the way up to use. So Ezra pulled back his other arm for a punch but was caught at the waist and jerked half-off his feet as the larger man pulled him up against him with one arm, the other catching his beginning roundhouse and deflecting it down, then Erza's wrist was trapped in his fist, hauling the arm up behind the smaller man's back.

Hanging over his prize, the man grinned foolishly and half-fell backwards before catching his balance again. "The singer!" He put his face right into Ezra's, breathing foul air at the repulsed con man. "Let's you and me go make some music together, little songbird-"

Ezra leaned back away from the oppressive man, face pursed in disgust, then cried out as the other tightened his hold and jerked up on the imprisoned arm. The pain was more of a surprise than anything, but Ezra, legs restricted by his gown, arms bare of his derringer and his other guns uselessly stored back in his room in town, was feeling trapped. At that moment, he knew what it was to be a woman, he thought with rising fear. So much smaller than his opponent and without any ready defense, Ezra had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"Hang on, there, pard," Buck's pseudo-jovial voice behind him was heard with intense relief. Ezra closed his eyes and waited.

The still drunken town man clutched Ezra closer still and swung around to face the new threat, whirling Ezra off his feet in the process. Buck's eyes narrowed still further at the rough treatment his friend was receiving, looking almost like a rag doll in the other man's arms. "That - is no way to treat a lady."

"Buck-" Ezra's comment was cut short by his captor's sudden squeeze, nearly blacking him out when his already tightly corseted body was subjected to the increased pressure, losing all air from his lungs.

At Ezra's gasp, Buck grabbed hold of the drunk's closest arm and shook. The man dropped Ezra and tried to grapple with this tall interfering cowboy. The gowned gambler tumbled to the ground, one of his small shoes caught up in the flouncing of his petticoats. Buck took hold tighter and shook vigorously, pulling his long-barreled gun and shoving the muzzle up under the other's jaw. "Is today the day you die, pard?"

Faced with the loaded weapon and the big stranger, who was looking very dangerous just now, the drunk shook his head and squeaked. "Just havin' fun, mister! That's what they pay these whores for -"

"Whores?" Buck's hiss was furious and he shoved his face forward. "Mister, I wuz you, I'd be glad to still be breathing and I'd go find somewhere's else to do it-by - your - self."

"Yesss, yess - sir!" Almost slurring his words, the other's head bobbed in agreement. Buck sneered and let go, watching without expression as the man collapsed in a heap at his feet. He leaned over and pulled the man's gun free and tossed it across the room before turning to see how Ezra was doing.

Ezra was not doing all that well. He was still trying to take in a breath but the damn corset wouldn't let him fully expand his lungs and a tunneling blackness was starting to pall his vision at the edges. He had himself braced half-up with one straight, shaking arm, his other hand pressed against his upper chest, yanking at the confining lace bodice as he gasped. He wasn't too sure that he was going to be getting out of this one in one piece anymore. His normal self-reliance did not extend well to these circumstances. He felt utterly helpless.

Then a warm voice near his ear spoke calmly, "Take smaller breaths, pard, little itty-bitty ones." Two large arms came around him from behind, but were gentle and enfolding not clutching. They supported him and easily raised him to his wobbly feet. He leaned back onto the comfort of Buck's chest, he'll hold me up. Ezra closed his eyes and swallowed, following Wilmington's advice he began to take smaller inhalations, no longer trying to drag large quantities of air into his restricted lung cage. The blackness receded.

Buck was supporting most of Ezra's weight as the gambler struggled to breathe. He knew what was wrong, been around ladies all his life, knew the dangers to their corseted frames. The most remarkable feeling washed over him as he stood in that wrecked bar, surrounded by unconscious or groaning men, his arms full of a soft, sweet body clothed in lace and satin, a lavender scent wafting in the air. Automatically, he went with his feelings and nuzzled down beside the slender neck, resting his roughly shaven face against the smooth cheek of his -friend-? He pulled back and started to release the gambler but the smaller man nearly fell. Catching Ezra back to him, he sighed. He knew it was Ezra but it felt like a woman in his arms. They definitely needed to get out of here and Ezra didn't seem to be able to even keep to his feet just now.

Buck threw one long arm against and under the skirted man's thighs, lifting up into the air. "Let's get you outta here, Ez." When he got no protest, he looked down to see two wide green eyes looking back at him with fear and amazement. "Easy does it, pard, just gonna get us free of this place. Then we kin see to giving you a bit more breathing room." He hoisted the smaller man up higher against his chest and smiled. Damn, Ez felt like Molly in his arms, near the same size and weight and all. Damn near prettier than her, too.

He took large steps over slow-moving bodies, and was out of the tent and in the wide area between it and several more, the sun baking down on them. Ezra was squinting up at him now, having snaked one lace-covered arm around his neck to help center his weight in Buck's arms. The fact that he wasn't protesting or fighting this was a strangeness that Buck decided to think about later. Right now, there were only the two of them left out of the seven. They were still in this nomadic 'town' and surrounded by patrons who might not be too happy with them once order was restored. They needed to get out now.

He could see his saddled gray between two tents and whistled to his mount. The old man perked up and trotted to him. Might not be the trained performer that Ez' had for a ride, but his Gray was a good'un. "Can you ride, pard?" He looked down at his friend. Ezra coughed and tried to speak, chest still heaving with the effort.

"Never mind, Ez. It can wait 'til we get away." Buck didn't like not being able to go for his gun just now, but with Ezra in his arms, there was no way to reach it without dropping his friend. And Ezra was quite obviously unarmed. He grunted as he tossed the con man up on to his saddle. With that dress, there was no way for the man to straddle the horse, short of pulling the skirts up to his hips and it never occurred to Buck to suggest that. He put one foot in a stirrup and straightened up into the saddle behind Ezra who sat sideways, almost sliding back off in his efforts to sit up. Buck grabbed hold and pulled the man half into his lap as he settled fully into his saddle, lean thighs moving under the other man's rump. Gathering Ezra to him with one arm, Buck grabbed the reins and snapped them, causing the gray to give a small jump and then move quickly into a fast canter, the smooth gate rocking the gambler back up against his chest. Ezra's hands snared Buck's loose brown shirt, holding tightly, as the two men rode double out of Wickes Town.

Buck could barely make out the dust of their friends ahead of them on the trail. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw no pursuit from the tumble down tent city he was leaving behind. He looked down. Ezra was drawn up against him, looking very much a delicate young lady at the moment. With a sense of unreality, Buck realized that his own body was responding to appearances and felt himself start to harden and grow. Those wide green eyes that had locked with his earlier turned up now to meet his dark gaze and they were even wider if possible, nearly showing whites all around, uncertainty in their depths. "Buck?" It came out as a question and a warning all at once.

"Easy, darlin,'" Buck broke off, reddening at his use of the endearment with the con man. The men looking askance at each other. "Uh, sorry, Ez. It's just the clothes and all-"

By this time, Ezra was breathing almost normally, though it was still not done easily. He was taking small inhalations and exhalations, finding he could get more oxygen this way and not be choked by the strangulating pressure against his ribs and waist from the corset. Now that he had time to think about it, he couldn't believe he'd let Vin and Chris talk him into this foolhardy venture. Dress up as a woman, a loose woman at that. And now, he was being held in the arms of one of his fellow lawmen, a ladies man who was showing definite signs of wanting to treat him like a... lady. Oh, god, it was really too much. Unconsciously, Ezra closed his eyes and rested his head against the strong shoulder right there conveniently available.

Buck took a deep breath in surprise when Ezra's eyes closed and he relaxed against Buck's shoulder. The ladies man looked ahead at the dusty road and almost without thought, planted a light kiss in the soft hair below his chin. Course, it's not his real hair. Wonder how that feels? Buck closed his eyes at his wayward thoughts then blinked them open wide and kicked the gray's sides with determination. The canter moved into a ground-eating lope.

By the time they'd made town, Ezra was sitting up in Buck's lap, trying without much luck, to look regal. Buck had him bracketed with two long muscular arms, his thighs bracing the smaller man in his temporary seat. Ezra and Buck were both studiously ignoring Buck's body's betrayal, straining at his groin. Both were straight faced and silent.

Nothing I can say to all this. It is not my fault, Ezra thought morosely, wondering if he'd ever live this down, or be able to look into the eyes of Buck Wilmington again.

Damn fine woman you could be, Ez, Buck thought silently. Weren't no point going there, but it was an interestingly novel thought, nonetheless. Ever respectful of his ladies, Buck had no difficulty with this version of Ezra. He knew how to treat a woman properly, and that didn't mean grappling with her or pawin' at her. He cast a tender eye downward. Even knowing that what he saw was an illusion didn't seem to stop his sudden desire to strip Ezra down and bed him. Now where the hell had that come from? Buck frowned heavily and squeezed at the horse between his legs.

By the time Buck drew rein in front of the saloon, the others were already out of their saddles and Chris and Vin were helping Mary and Lydia out of the carriage. Nathan was standing by, ready to help if either woman needed it. Josiah was gathering the reins of several of the horses, as was JD, both seemed content with letting the other men deal with the shaken women.

JD noticed the late arrivals first. "Hey, Buck! Hey, Ezra!"

"JD." Buck nodded as he kneed his horse closer.

Josiah, seeing his predicament, stepped up. "Here, let me help you, brothers." He held up his arms and eased Ezra free of Buck's lap, drawing him to the ground and setting the smaller man on his feet. Buck kicked a leg up over the front of the saddle and slipped to the ground behind them, just in time to catch Ezra as he stumbled backwards, knees watery from the unusual position he'd ridden in for the last half-hour.

"Easy, Ez," Buck breathed into the nearest ear, supporting and straightening the slender figure he held carefully by the waist. A very fashionably narrow waist. "Just catch your breath and your balance, pard."

Ezra didn't answer but did nod and stand still within the circle of big hands at his waist. It was the strangest sensation. He felt safe, even though he was not in control - of himself or the situation, a most astonishing feeling. He decided not to examine it at this time. Right now, what he needed most was to disrobe and find his own attire, return to his own persona. And away from these very strange, disturbing feelings.

Josiah was standing in front of the two men, hands on his hips, a grin cracking his face. "You make a lovely couple."

JD laughed in the background and turned away, pulling at his horse, Vin's and Chris', leading them toward the livery. Josiah pulled at his lips and said, "Brother Buck, I'll take care of your horse. I think Ezra's going to need a little assistance-"

Nathan, leading his own horse and Josiah's, behind him, snorted as he walked by. He didn't bother making any comment, all this silliness with the gambler would be over soon enough. Looking toward the livery he tried not to think what might have happened if Standish hadn't agreed to don the women's clothing and go into the lion's den. Woulda been a shoot out, a blood bath, he knew it and knew he'd a been elbow deep in other men's gore, trying to save lives, if it had come to that. With an honesty that he'd learned was a responsible part of his freedom, Nathan stopped and turned back to look at where Buck was carefully guiding Ezra's smaller form up the steps to the boardwalk in front of the saloon. "Ezra?" He called sharply. Both men turned his way, Standish looking a bit reluctant. "You done good." That said, the healer gave a respectful tip of his head, and looked away, pulling the two horses he led after him.

Josiah stood amazed, his heart warming at the truth so bluntly put by the healer. Men never cease to amaze me, Lord. He had to agree, too, the young gambler had done well, had gambled his life, his body, to save Mrs. Travis. Josiah was proud of him. He turned back to tell the young man this but didn't speak when he saw Ezra sway on the boardwalk and then swoon into Buck's arms. Instead of a quiet word of commendation to Ezra, Josiah was bellowing, "NATHAN!" and striding toward the two men sinking to the boards of the saloon's porch.

Buck looked up helplessly at Josiah as he eased Ezra down. He knew what had happened but didn't think anyone would believe him. Nathan's words had caused the con man to draw in a deep surprised breath. The choking of the corset, on top of the poor breathing he'd been able to do, cramped up in Buck's lap atop of the gray, it had all been too much. The man had blacked out.

Seeing Josiah rushing toward them, Buck suddenly felt protective of the gambler. He knew that Ezra didn't like the way folks hovered over him when he was hurt. The con man wasn't ready for more of that now and Buck figured he wasn't in any real difficulty, just needed the damn corset off. Right now, defenseless, he was about to be subjected to Josiah's and Nathan's sometimes smothering care. Buck thought, not today. I got ya, pard, I got ya. He flexed his knees and forced himself back up to his feet, lifting Ezra's unconscious body with him. By now Josiah was right there, reaching out, but Buck forestalled him by holding the lax form tightly in his arms. "I got him, Josiah."

Nathan had dropped the reins to the horses and run back. He stepped up beside them. Tried to reach out to Ezra's face, intent on lifting an eyelid to check for any sign of a concussion that might be causing this. Buck shifted away from the healer's hand, too, swinging Ezra's body away. "Leave him be, Nate. He'll be fine soon's I get tha' damn corset offa him."

Jackson's eyes went round in dawning comprehension. "Yeah, that'd be right, Buck. Get it off of him and stretch him out. If he don't come to soon after that, call for me."

Buck nodded gratefully. "Will do."

Josiah stood beside Nathan, the two big men watched as Buck shouldered through the swinging doors of the saloon, heading back for the stairs to Ezra's room. "Guess they don't need us, Brother Nathan," Josiah spoke quietly, his thoughts his own. If he noticed Buck's protective attitude or almost possessive handling of the gambler, he gave no outward sign. Might not mean anything anyway. He clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder and steered him away and down toward the abandoned horses.

Chris and Vin had watched the small scene play out over the back of the carriage horse, each with a woman being tendered and supported with careful hands. Lydia smiled up at Vin. "I'm fine now."

Vin smiled down at her. "Always were." He looked over towards the boarding house. "Mind if I walk you to your place?"

"I'd like that." She closed her eyes for a moment in pained recollection of what had just happened. A gentle fist pushed her chin up.

"No regrets, Lydia, you did good." Vin's blue eyes smiled at her and she smiled back.

Mary Travis wanted to stand up, stand tall, move away from Chris Larabee's support, but she was just too tired, exhausted from tension and fear. And Chris would never hurt her. She knew this. His arm around her shoulder asked nothing, he tipped his head down to hers now. "Mary, let's get you home. Mrs. Potter has Billy for now, you need to get settled."

"Yes, yes, Chris. Thank you." Her expressive pale eyes met the gunslinger's matching light green ones and she smiled lopsidedly.

*******

Buck swept through the mid-day deserted saloon heading for the stairs at the back of the open room. Over his shoulder he called to the bartender, "Keith, bring up a bottle of redeye to Ezra's room."

The bartender waved and ducked behind the bar to retrieve one of Mr. Standish's own brand. He wasn't sure what Buck Wilmington and his lady friend were going to do upstairs in Mr. Standish's room, but he knew the southerner would be upset if anything other than what he considered acceptable liquor were to enter his 'chambers.' Dusting the bottle and wiping his hands, the man quickly followed the tall cowboy who was already at the top of the stairs and starting down the hallway.

By the time Buck reached Ezra's room, the bartender was there and opening the door. If Buck was surprised that it was unlocked, he gave no sign, simply nodded to the bureau against one wall where Keith placed the bottle and two glasses that he'd brought up and then backed out, closing the door behind him. Buck stood over Ezra's big feather bed and lowered his burden to the mattress. He squinted at his friend's pale face, feeling oddly protective still. Swiftly he pushed the southerner over to the side and began undoing the long row of buttons at the rear of the dress with deft, practiced fingers. Separating the two segments of the dress back, he slid his hands up under the fine satin and lace fabric to move it off Erza's shoulders. The only way to get that corset unlaced and off was to get the damn dress off first.

Buck licked his lips in concentration as he carefully pulled the long sleeves of lace free of first one, then the other, smoothly muscled arm. Skin as soft as a baby's. Smelled so fine, too. Lavender water. That was Ez's signature scent, they all knew about his special pale lavender herbed body soap. Buck knew his colognes and perfumes, been around the horse barn a few times, he had. He knew from experience that the same scent smelled different on whoever was wearin' it, had something to do with their own natural smells mixing with it, he figured. He'd smelled Lavender before on the ladies - even on some gents, but on Ezra it had an intoxicatingly spicy undertone, an edge that spoke of muskiness. Funny he'd not noticed that before.

A groan and half-strangled cough from the gambler brought him back to the task at hand. Buck tugged the bodice free now that Ezra's arms were not in the lacy sleeves, then eased it down over the frilly corset and petticoats beneath. There were at least four petticoats of fine sheer muslin tied to the con man's constricted waist. Buck made short work of unknotting them, a smile growing as he thought that Ezra'd have had to ask for help or cut them off, seein' as how bad he was with knots. "Easy, pard, almost got it." He patted one bare shoulder, knowing that the con man was conscious but groggy from lack of enough oxygen and the discomfort of trying to breath within the confinement of the corset.

When he looked back down at the corset straps lacing Ezra's back, he nearly let loose with a curse then decided to bite his tongue. Too late to do anything about it now. What had Mrs. Potter been thinkin'? She'd got the damn thing laced, then reinforced the lacings with thin wire. No give at all. And, how the hell wuz he supposed to get it off the man? He swallowed hard. Well, ta be convincin' they'd had to force an hourglass shape on a man's body. A shape that was natural if unexaggerated in a woman, but not for a man. Someone'd also forced some muslin bags of what looked like buckwheat tightly under the side edges of the corset, producing a suggestion of more feminine hips on the little frame. Dang, the man is small, smaller than old JD, Buck thought, fingers having no luck with the tautly twisted fine wire. Felt like a fine weight of baling wire. Knife might cut that, might not. Shit, just cut off the cloth itself. Not like they needed to be savin' that corset for other occasions.

Decision made, Buck pulled his boot knife and went to work. Slow, careful work so that the blade didn't mar that milky white skin. About halfway up, the cloth started to tear away. Short jabs with the knife, where the layers met, helped it along. He ran it up between two of the pieces of solid whalebone that bowed in tightly at Ezra's waist. Another minute and the thing came free, curling and slapping at the con man's skin. Beneath it, Ezra had modestly been covered in a pair of cutaway silk undergarments, the shirt's sleeves and collar cut out to render it nearly invisible beneath the corset. The pants left as full drawers that ended mid-thigh, just about meeting two rather plain garters. Guess no one wuz supposed ta see this far in, he thought with a faint smile.

The minute the corset came free, Ezra was rolling and coughing, nearly choking as his lungs expanded and rib cage flexed. Buck sat heavily beside the cramping man and pulled him up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "Not too fast, pard, catch your breath and hold it for a minute or two, then let it out slow-like. Ya need to ease back inta your normal breathin' after that, Ez."

Gradually the shaking shoulders under his arm slowed and Ezra sat up more completely, back straightening. With a strange regret, Buck released Ezra's shoulders. He stood up and crossed to the chest where he picked up the bottle he'd ordered and two glasses. Filling them both, he left the bottle and returned to the gambler's side, handing him one, then Buck settled himself on the floor beside the bed where he could look up into the gambler's down-turned face. Both sipped their drinks.

"Feelin' better yet?"

Ezra took a cautiously deeper breath and released it with evident pleasure. With a dimpling smile, he met Buck's dark eyes. "Yes, Mr. Wilmington, much better." He stretched and cast a glance of irritation at the awkward pile of corseting now heaped on the floor nearby. "Thank you for your assistance with that infernal contraption."

"'s awright, Ez." Buck set his empty glass down on the floor at his side and leaned forward, careful not to startle his friend. He picked up one daintily shod foot and lifted it on to his leg.

Alarmed, Ezra looked down to see his fellow lawman casually taking his foot - his foot - and putting it on the man's leg. Wild panic flared. "Buck! What - "

"Calm down, Ez, jest gonna get these booties offa ya. Figure it's gonna be awhile before you can bend over this far." Not looking up, Buck skillfully unbuttoned the ladies' high top shoe pulling it free of a no longer surprisingly delicate foot. Ez is just small all over. How come I never noticed that before? He smoothed the silk stocking covering the ankle and rising up the slender leg to a garter. Um, um. Very nice. Shit! Buck blinked and hastily set aside the first foot, nearly unbalancing Ezra above him when he dropped it to the floor. The second bootie came free just as easily and then Buck looked up consideringly at the long stocking-clad legs and their twin garters just above his head. "There, now, you want help gettin' off these here stockings?" His hand lingered on the shapely ankle, fingers lightly smoothing out the silk. For some reason he felt hopeful.

"No!"

The foot in question jerked back free from his hands and he looked up into Ezra's face. Alright, we need ta get back ta normal here. And, man deserves some thanks for what he done. Speaking quietly, he said, "You done right good, like Nathan said."

A quiet, hushed, "Thank you," was the only response. The southerner's complexion was already flushing bright pink in the close room. Buck noted with unexpected pleasure that Ezra did full body blushes, least ways, far as he could see, which at the moment was quite a bit. A twitch in his own basement had him realizing it was time to be gone from here and back to his more natural ladies. As opposed to what? He found himself whispering in his head. No, pard, don't go there.

With a quick shake of that head, the tall man sprang to his feet, dancing to balanced stance, then giving Ezra a sweeping bow, hat in hand. "Been my pleasure, Ez," Buck grinned and he backed to the door. "You need anythin' else?"

Ezra, sitting on the side of the bed nearly in the buff, shook his head in bemusement and waved a hand in dismissal. "Go, go, mah friend. I am in your debt and I shan't forget."

Buck flashed a toothy smile as he edged out the door, "Hold you to that at tonight's poker game, pard!" And he was gone, door shutting quietly and firmly behind him.

Ezra stared silently at the closed door. Turned his head and stared down at the heaps of petticoats, the destroyed corset, the purple satin and lace confection, the forlorn looking ladies' high button shoes and shook his head. With a sudden curse, he reached up and felt the wig, still firmly in place. Oh, lord. What must Buck have been thinkin'! Quick fingers plucked out hairpins and yanked the now unwanted hairpiece from his head. He dropped the pelt-like thing to the floor to join the rest of the discarded disguise. Then he leaned over and released first one garter, then the other. Never thought I'd be doing this on mahself. He rolled the silk stockings down below his knees, then used his feet to shove them off the rest of the way. A bath, he desperately needed a bath to wash away the memories of this less than stellar day. But before Ah go out in the public view, Ah shall have to do something about this rouge, he thought, touching his lips. And wondered why he was suddenly wishing for Buck's touch again.

*******

A few days later the ladies gathered their parcels and began to clamber into their makeshift wagon home. Buck Wilmington and Vin Tanner, both on horseback, waited patiently to escort the ladies down the trail. The entire group wanted to move on to San Francisco in hopes of a fresh start. Mary Travis and Lydia had made their peace and she stood there to wave them off, wishing them well. Ezra arrived, startled to find them ready to depart. He had finally recruited three potential husbands and felt confident he could aid three of the ladies into mutually profitable matrimonials as the result.

His hopes dashed with their laughing response, he turned to try to make amends to his customers only to have a passing pedestrian suddenly peer up into his face with puzzlement and seem to recognize his female alter ego. The all too perceptive question about whether or not he sang was enough to have him raising eyebrows and closing his mouth. But it was Buck's joking laugh and demand for Ezra to give them a song that had everyone else grinning - and Ezra pursing his lips in dismay. That's all it meant to you, isn't it Mr. Wilmington? he thought with a sad internal sigh. Then the wagon pulled out with Buck and Vin following and everyone else turning away. Except for Ezra and his three marks.

"You ain't-? Naw, ain't possible, is it?" The incredulous tone of the departing passerby to his right had Ezra gritting his teeth.

"I do not know what you mean, good sir," he muttered and turning his back dismissively, he addressed his clients, "now if you three gentlemen would care to further discuss the potential of mail-order brides -"

"As fur as I kin see, our 'brides' jest left." One of the others pointed out.

A second chimed in again with a repeated demand for their money back. At this moment, with Josiah crossing behind him, humming Red River Valley softly, Ezra had had enough. Fine, all right, enough. "Here you are, gentlemen." His calm, even tones hiding the surge of anger within. He fished a roll of bills from his inside jacket pocket and quickly counted out each man's money without further protest. Let this be an end to the whole sorry episode, he thought.

"Better this way," Nathan's voice at his shoulder had Ezra stiffen and close his eyes momentarily. I will not respond, he thought to himself beginning to think his remarkable restraint, with regards to the healer's sometimes moralistic comments, was wearing thin. Finishing his business with the three unwed bridegrooms, he ignored the healer and started across the street for the saloon. His haven. Nathan's voice followed him, "No one should barter with another person's destiny."

When the con man didn't respond or even turn to look at him, Jackson shrugged and continued on to the clinic. He had two range riders waiting for him, both had had unhappy encounters with some cactus. Maybe some day Ezra would finally figure out he didn't always need to be after the main chance.

JD Dunne stood by, the reins to his ride in his fist. He watched the one-sided exchanges and shook his head. The guys had a tendency to rag the gambler. Nathan's blunt honesty sometimes had a kill or cure quality to it, that Nathan didn't seem to realize. But, he thought, Josiah's little musical 'comment' was perhaps even more sharply felt. JD couldn't understand. Seemed like a nice thing to do - get those ladies some husbands. He wasn't sure where the harm was in that but he knew he wasn't going to ask Nate or Josiah about it 'cause they'd be sure to tell him in much too much detail. He waved at Chris Larabee who was settling in a chair in front of the jail, then mounted his horse and headed out down the other end of town on patrol.

Chris Larabee leaned back in his chair and contemplated this latest little squall among his men. Buck's comment had surprised him, amused him in a way, but still, surprised him. Buck usually was more sensitive to the rest. That had been an unkind remark. Mebbe he'd check on the gambler later, especially since Josiah and Nate had both tossed a bit more shit on the man's head. 'Course, Chris knew that Josiah was just seeing the funny side of things and throwing out a tease. And Nathan? Well, he was a straight shooter, but could be a bit pompous when he had some strong feelings. Chris lit a thin cigar he'd tugged from his shirt pocket and looked out across the street at the now still doors of the saloon. He could picture Ezra inside, sittin' down at his regular table, starting a game of solitaire. He'd be fine. And if he wasn't, hell, they'd probably never know. Chris sighed and pulled in lungful of harsh smoke. Damn con man. He made for a slickery friend. Yep, he'd check on him in a bit.

*******

"Little rough on him there, weren't you, Bucklin?" Vin's dry tone brought Buck out of his dark thoughts. Just what he'd been thinking. Damn fool mouth of his had a tendency to blab out just any ole thing without his brain engaging.

"Yeah, figure you're right, Vin." He sighed and slouched in the saddle, riding comfortably along side the tracker. "Guess I'll be apologizing to Ez when we get back."

Vin nodded. Buck did joke around some but he had a kind heart. He'd fix it when they got back, no fear.

*******

Once through the swinging doors of the saloon, Ezra headed directly for the bar, nodding to Keith, he leaned over and pulled up his regular bottle. Accepting a glass from the barkeeper, he poured and downed a shot of the whiskey before refilling the glass and sipping more slowly from the second one. He handed his bottle back to Keith and walked quietly over to his regular table, his deck of cards emerging in his hand with his normal smoothness. Solitaire seemed like the perfect recreation at the moment. Suited his mood. Solitary.

*******

Things returned to normal in Four Corners, or, as normal as things ever got in the rough frontier edge town. Rowdy cowpokes periodically tried to ride inside the saloon on their mounts, rustlers kept the ranchers complaining, a stagecoach robbery two towns away had the telegraph lines humming, and drifters kept the seven peacekeepers alert to possible trouble. Aside from drunk and disorderly charges, though, the jail had no customers. Which suited everyone just fine. Chris finally rode out to his shack, saying he'd be gone a few days. Soon after, Vin got a telegram from the soldiers up at Fort Laramie, they wanted his help with tracking a herd of mustangs for remounts. He left in the company of Nathan and Josiah who decided on a visit to the Seminole village and would ride part way with Vin. That left JD, Ezra and Buck to watch the town but all agreed that that should be plenty, and Chris' shack and the Indian village were less than a day's ride away if help was needed.

Buck and Ezra acted quite normally around each other, at least on the face of it. JD, though, had caught them each giving the other some really weird stares when they thought themselves unobserved. Thing was, when JD didn't want to be noticed, all he had to do was shut up and no one seemed to realize he was anywhere around. Lately, it was almost like a game, watching his two friends watch each other. Both seemed mighty nervous about something. If one of the others were still in town, he might have asked them about it, but he wasn't too sure it would be a good idea to ask the gambler or the rogue. Either one of them, who usually treated him well, might just do something really strange, least that's what those looks made JD think. He figured as long as it was only looks and not lead that they were throwing at each other, he'd leave'em to it.

Buck hadn't seen anyone out behind the dry goods store when he slipped back there with Ms. Annabelle Jenkins. She was sure a giggling armful of petticoats and fluff. And, she really wanted it, too. To dally with the Seven's ladies' man. Not that anything serious would come of it, but Buck did love the feel of soft, smooth skin, the scent of fresh linen and a faint trace of some floral fragrance. Now she smelled of roses, not lavender, but that was still fine. He refused to think where that thought had come from. The delicate lines of her throat and her eager hands more than made up for the fact that they'd never do more than pet and kiss.

Neither of them could have been more surprised when, in mid-playful-wrestle, someone, and not one of them, cleared his throat nosily. Ms. Annabelle didn't wait to find out who, her father was in town with the wagon and if he knew she was actin' loose and all-well it just wouldn't do. Buck slowly slid down the shingled wall, broad shoulders back to brace himself as he let his feet push through the dirt, until he was sitting there, legs straight out and hat squashed back on his head, looking up at the intruder, sounds of Ms. Annabelle's sudden flight echoing in his mind. With a deep, resigned sigh, he asked, "Why? Why here and why now?"

"Mr. Wilmington, I might ask the same of you-" Ezra purposefully kept the tone light, even drunk, he knew better than to let down his shields.

Grabbing his hat off in frustration, Buck slapped the ground beside him and stared down at his booted feet, tips pointing to the narrow bit of sky between the store and the saloon. "Ezra-oh, don't matter." His voice, that had started off angry ended in a tone of resignation. It was gettin' harder and harder to ignore his uncomfortable new feelings for the gambler. Tryin' to work up an interest in some gal was just not gonna solve his problem, especially if his real interest kept showin' up unexpectedly like this.

"No doubt the virtue of the lovely young Ms. Jenkins was quite safe with you, but-" Ezra doggedly disregarded his heart's ache.

Before the gambler could continue from his perch on one of several empty wooden crates behind the saloon, the ladies man interrupted him. "Of course, her virtue was safe with me! I would never, never have-" at this point, words failed him and he leaned back, eyes closed and mouth drooping. He shrugged and relaxed. "So, tell me, Ez, what brings you to the back of this here alley?"

"Um, just takin' a moment of private m- m- meditation, my friend."

There was something, Buck didn't know, maybe nervous, about the tone of Standish's voice. Well, 'course, he had interrupted them. Maybe he was simply repentant. Ezra? Repentant? No, those two thoughts didn't seem to keep company well.

Buck blinked open his eyes and stared at the man seated across and above him. The gambler was in his shirtsleeves, his derringer harness still strapped to his right arm. No sign of his jacket however, or his hat for that matter. His hands were full. One held a nearly empty bottle of what had to be the saloon's worst rotgut, the other a shot glass, which was nearly full though tipped so far to one side that it was in serious danger of losing some of its contents.

Buck sat up a bit straighter. "What's wrong, Ez?" The answer to that question was much more important to Buck than Ms. Annabelle's feelings.

"Nothing, mah dear sir, nothing at all. Just a moment of-" Here Standish stopped to refresh himself with a sip from the glass. His hand was trembling ever so slightly. He swallowed, making a face and giving his head a slight jerk and toss in reaction to the harsh liquor. "Just a moment of-refect-reflesh-thought." He nodded seriously, which was a mistake because the forward tipping of his head lost him his precarious balance on the stack of crates and he toppled artlessly forward.

Buck shot to his feet, arms out. He dove forward and caught the tumbling gambler just as he was about to land face first in the dirt. "Whooeee, Ez, you're full of 'thoughts - or somethin,' for sure.'" Buck staggered to his feet, kicking aside the bottle that was leaking into the alley beside them. He looked down at the semi-conscious man in his arms and shook his head. "Pard, I got a gut feelin' that there's somethin' serious wrong. This ain't like you, a-tall." Buck frowned. "And," he continued softly, "Ah got a real good idea what it might be." Something had happened between the two of them. Neither was admitting it, but Buck watched the gambler now, almost possessively, and Ezra had been watching him, slick as he was, Buck knew it, instinctively. The tall lawman grimaced. He was just as confused as Ez evidently. Each of them trying to lose the feeling in his own way, he with the ladies, Ez with drink.

With his usual loose-limbed grace, Buck Wilmington picked his way through the littered backstreet to its far end. There, at the back of the building, outside stairs led to the upper story of the saloon. Carefully holding the smaller man to one side, he made his way up the stairs watching where he put his booted feet. Wouldn't do to drop the conman, since he'd just saved him from a bruise or three. 'This getting' ta be a habit, Ez?' he asked silently, holding the small man close against his chest. Sure did feel right, him there in Buck's arms.

Upstairs, he had no trouble getting Ezra's room door open, it already stood ajar. Once inside, he spotted the abandoned red jacket and black hat on the rocker by the window. There was an empty bottle of the same hard liquor on the floor there. He sighed and dropped his friend onto the big bed. Ezra bounced bonelessly, arms flung out, one leg ending up half off the bed.

"All right, pard, let's get you ta' bed, you're gonna need to sleep this off for a bit." Buck worked at the derringer rig, plucking the buckles loose and unstrapping it from the gambler's arm. He looked around and settled for putting the rig and gun on top of the big bureau. From there he picked up Ezra's Remington and placed it within easy reach of the con man on his bedside table. You never left a man unarmed out here, wasn't done.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Buck studied the unconscious man in the bed. Tousled chestnut hair hung over his forehead and deep shadows circled his eyes. There was a certain concavity to the skin under the cheekbones, made him think Ezra might have been losing some weight again. Man seemed to shrink on them periodically, like his depressions that would dim his light every once in a while. Two went hand in hand. That meant Ezra had been in a depression for a spell to be showing weight loss. Is this my fault, pard? Funny, Buck hadn't noticed mood or weight loss and he'd been keepin' an eye on the southerner, ever since Wickes' Town. Not sure why, just knew he needed to. 'Course ole Ez, he could hide things better'n a dog with a bone, but still. Buck dismissed his wandering thoughts, trying to decide what to do.

Not a good idea to leave the man in this condition. Not like this. With another deep sigh of resignation, Buck sat down on the bed beside his friend, lifting the errant leg up to lay it by it's companion. For a moment, he simply rested his hand on the man's stomach. Felt the warmth of the man beneath it. Buck felt some urges that he repressed along with a soundless growl. Useless feelings! This is a man here, dammit. Ez'd have his head on a platter, iffn he knew what Buck was wantin'. Buck twisted slightly so he could fully face Ezra and began undoing the still neatly done up vest.

By the time Buck had the vest and shirt open and was working on the belt buckle, Ezra started to come around. With a soft snort and grunt, the gambler tried to sit up, one hand on his head. "Jest lie back down there, pard." Buck pressed firmly on the bared chest, trying not to think about the smooth warm skin beneath his hand.

Ezra subsided onto the bedding and looked warily up at the tall lawman. "Buck?" He licked his lips nervously. "You still here?"

"Ain't been here all that long, pard, just tryin' to make you a bit more comfortable afore I leave. 'Pears you been drinkin' some."

"Some."

Buck waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he looked down and started again to work at the belt. He'd already removed the gun belt and was trying to loosen Ezra's trousers. He concentrated on the action of his fingers, not letting himself think about what he was doing. Or what lay beneath.

"Mah good man, this is unnecessary. Truly. Ah can manage." Erza gulped and blushed, though Buck was staring down at his waistband and didn't notice, which Ezra was grateful for. He wanted to break free from this touch, couldn't move. Oh, god, this was simply too much on top of his body's unwell signals. Ezra lost his fresh color as a wave of nausea swept over him.

Buck stole a look upwards to see Ezra's face going very pale and his wonderful green eyes close. He leaned forward over the gambler to look more closely at the nearly white face. "Ez? You want to tell me what's wrong?"

Buck's warm moist breath on his face was nearly Ezra's undoing. He swallowed and frowned. There was nothing he could say. How did you tell your associate that you had been having unnatural dreams about him? Ever since Wickes' Town, Ezra had been plagued by the most unusual dreams. Dreams of Buck Wilmington, in his bed, in his bedroll, riding on Chaucer's back holding him close, their pelvises in perfect sync as they rocked on the gelding's saddle. Dreams of-at this point, Ezra wisely decided to stop thinking about those strange dreams. He swallowed again.

He could still feel Buck's breath whispering across his cheek. How damn close was the man anyway? He opened his eyes to find two deep dark blue ones only inches from his. The warm speaking eyes burned with something that Ezra simply refused to identify. He watched the corners of the eyes crinkle up. Buck must be smiling. But he was so close, Ezra could only see his eyes. Kind, caring, concerned eyes. If there was something else there, anything deviant from a friend's normal attention, Ezra couldn't read it. He closed his own eyes again. Better not to look.

Buck waited. Ezra was in there but not answerin' the door. Maybe? Buck knew what he wanted to do and might be that now was the time and place. He smiled tentatively and lowered himself down slowly on top of the collapsed form. As his body weight increased pressure on the smaller man, Ezra's eyes popped back open and stared into his, looking panicked now. "Mr. Wilmington, what are you doin,' sir?"

The big brunette didn't answer right away, he was studying the con man's lips. Never noticed how sweet the curve o'them wuz before this,he thought. Wonder how they'd taste? With the smoothness that had made life a rich sensual stew for the former Texas Ranger, Buck licked his own lips and then place them, wet and warm, over Ezra's. Ezra drew in a quick breath in surprise, pulling Buck's breath in with it. Buck just naturally let his tongue follow the draft on in to Ezra's mouth where he rubbed the back of Ezra's teeth with it. He'd been crawling up Ezra's body now all during the prolonged kiss, finally planting his elbows beside the gambler's ears. Cradling Ezra's head in his curled over arms, Buck deepened the kiss still more, lost in the tactile sensations, the wafting aroma of hard liquor mingling with the light scent of lavender and only adding to his enjoyment.

Ezra lay trapped beneath Wilmington's big body, unable to move. His head was spinning from all the redeye he'd chosen to imbibe. A choice for deliverance from the recurring fantasies that were no longer staying in his nighttime dreams but now invading his daytime musings, distressingly so. Buck was invading his mouth, covering his head with those long, limber arms and wonderfully big hands. The mustache scratched but only added to the sensations of complete surrender. Wavering between total panic and alcoholic oblivion, Ezra was finding breathing impossible due to Buck's current activity. If this wasn't enough, in the process of rubbing his body up the gambler's, Buck's gun belt, complete with a row of hard, bumpy cartridges, had reached the level of Ezra's lower abdomen and as Buck's kiss grew more aggressive, his hips began to grind as well, forcing the metal casings uncomfortably deep into Ezra's stomach.

Buck felt Ezra moan under him, only, it wasn't like the moans his women made, this one seemed almost painful. He hesitated and pulled back enough to look down into a face of pure misery. Ezra looked thoroughly upset, unhappy enough to be grimacing, his eyes watering, and his face-well, no two ways about it, his face was definitely turning green. Hurt that his advances were producing such a poor affect, Buck placed a hand on one side of Ezra's face and tried to make eye contact. "Ez, what? That weren't that bad, wuz it? Ez?"

At this point, even though he'd finally gotten some air, the pressure on his stomach full of redeye was too much. Ezra gave a kind of mumbling bubbly groan and with near desperation strength, heaved Buck up away from him enough to twist his head to one side and hang it over the edge of the bed. Where he proceeded to empty his stomach, repeatedly and wretchedly.

Recovering from the shock of Ezra's sudden sickness, Buck sprang into action. 'Course none of his ladies had ever, ever reacted this way ta one of his kisses, but Ezra wuzn't one of his ladies. And he had drunk nearly two whole bottles of hooch. He rolled free of his friend and then helped drag his head and shoulders further out over the floor, supporting him with his arms. When Ezra finally came to a choking, coughing halt, Buck shook his head woefully over the mess and settled the con man on to his back, using his neckerchief to wipe the man's mouth and chin clear.

"Jest stay put, Ez, I'll git you cleaned up in no time." He patted one pale cheek and headed for the washbasin and pitcher on their own stand by the bureau. He found some handkerchiefs in the top drawer of the bureau that he brought, together with the basin, back to the bed. By the time he got there, Ezra was sound asleep. "Aw, Ez." Buck shook his head again. Fondly, he wiped his friend's face clean, even forcing the lips back to clear the mouth a bit, then dripped a small amount of fresh water in. He watched Ezra's throat convulse then swallow the moisture, easing the burn he knew was there, even if his friend wasn't awake to know.

Peering over the side of the bed, the lawman decided he'd best clean the floor too. Regretfully tucking the gambler into his feather bed, Buck headed for the door. Need something bigger than a handkerchief to clean that lot up with.

Trudging up and down the stairs, dealing with the mess, thinking about the kiss, Buck came to a not really surprising conclusion about his recently acquired secret desire. Yeah, he wanted Ezra Standish alright, the same way he usually wanted some woman, some lady. And more. He wanted the conman with a fierceness that belied his usual yearnings for a new conquest. His dalliance with the rancher's daughter had been in the nature of a final defense of his way of life, but now he knew what he wanted. He wanted Ezra. Had wanted him for a while now, admitting the truth to himself. Like a damn bursting, he felt himself awash in hot need. He wanted to see Ezra naked, he wanted to touch him all over, snuggle down in bed with him, he wanted to undress the fastidious man and bath him, wash his hair and even shave him. He wanted to feed him, delivering the morsels of food to that lush mouth, one bite at a time, maybe even using his own lips as the delivery system. By this time, Buck had a painful hard-on and no hope of rousing the deeply sleeping gambler. Since he'd never had these feelings for another man before, it gave Buck pause. And not just any man, one of his fellow lawmen, one of his friends. And Ezra? Wonder what he wants? And, could he ever want me?

He stood in Ezra's open doorway, wiping his hands on a final damp towel from the pile he'd gotten from Keith. He tipped his head to the side to better observe the sleeping man in the deep four-poster bed. The loose chestnut curls that were normally brushed back, now tangled and drooped over the smooth, young face. Ezra really isn't very old, Buck decided, he jest acts that way. Figure he's already packed a lot of living into his short life. Wiping his face now, two-handed with the cloth, Buck slouched, resting his butt on the doorframe, bracing one straight arm across the doorway.

"Buck!"

With a yelp of surprise, Wilmington let go of the door and fell to the floor with a thump. JD's unexpected shout in his ear nearly cost him his own life, his heart pounding at double speed as adrenaline kicked in.

"Oh, gee, Buck, are you alright? What's wrong with Ezra? Did you do something to him? I looked all over town for you two! There's some new men just rode in, I don't like their looks. Can you come? Should we -"

Buck closed his eyes and sat there, stunned, for a moment. Thank god the boy didn't show up a while back, when I was busy going mouth ta mouth with ol'Ez. Jerking his head back and grabbing hold of JD's belt buckle, Buck yanked hard. That had JD down on the floor with him. He changed his grasp to JD's collar and jerked the kid close to his own face. "Shut up. Jest shut up." When the boy snapped his mouth shut, Buck continued, "Ezra got drunk and then got pukin' sick. I put him ta bed and been cleaning up the mess. He jest needs ta sleep it off. Now, what's this 'bout some men?"

That started JD all over again, which was fine with Buck who used the boy as a ladder to climb up to his feet. He then pulled the kid up beside him and with a final intense look at the sleeping gambler, closed the door quietly, taking JD with him.

*******

Ezra woke in the morning feeling ghastly. His heat throbbed unmercifully, his throat was dry and scratchy and his teeth felt like they were wearing furry little suits. A hangover. Oh, lord. Vague recollections of another fantasy, so real that it was terrifying, stirred in his waking mind. Buck kissing him, damn near swallowing his tongue. Buck lying atop him, rubbing against him, stroking his head, his face, mustache scratching and bristling against the skin below his nose. Ezra bolted up right in the bed and with shaking hands touched his face. Nothing. He groaned and collapsed back on to his pillows, the room spinning merrily around him and sliding sideways as well. So much for plan A. Drinking was not going to stop the fantasies. It appeared that, if anything, it only enhanced them. He was going to need a plan B. And something to drink. To take the edge off this god-awful aftermath to his evening's indulgence. He reached for the extra flask he kept in the drawer of the bedside stand and stared bleakly at the drawn curtains of his front window. Another miserable day.

*******

Buck smiled at Ms. Sally, one of the saloon's working girls who doubled as waitress in the morning hours, as she delivered his pot of coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon. "JD, a man's stomach is the measure of his health. Now, take mine, I could down twice this much and just feel a mite peckish agin by lunchtime."

"Aw, Buck, you're talking through your hat!" The young sheriff shrugged him off, digging into his own similar plate. Through a mouthful of egg, he mumbled, "You think those boys from last night gonna cause any more trouble?"

"JD," Buck leaned over the table, drawing out the name with a tone of exasperation, "We whupped the tar outta them fellers, they were headed for the hills with no thought to anything but makin' tracks."

Dunne shrugged reluctantly, "Suppose so, only they sure were angry-"

"Don't matter none, iffn they want their butts whupped again, we can sure accommodate them." Buck sat back, loose-limbed and comfortable in his chair, taking a long swallow of the hot coffee.

"Well, you want first or second watch at the jail? I figure Ezra's gonna be sleepin' in and sleepin' it off," JD smiled secretively at this, ducking down over his breakfast plate to watch from beneath his brows for Buck's reaction. He wasn't disappointed.

Wilmington's careless pose ended abruptly as he craned his neck to look back up the stairs toward the second floor of the saloon, as if he expected to see Standish appear just then. A frown settled on his good-natured face and Buck took another long drink from his mug. "Yeah, he's gonna need to sleep for a spell. Tell you what," Buck sat up, face clearing a bit, "I'll take first watch." Gonna want ta be around when Ez finally gets ready to show hiz face down here.

Ezra cautiously walked down the short hall to the balcony and head of the stairs down to the large saloon below. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of JD and Buck sitting at one table eating breakfast. JD must have heard something for at that moment he looked up and met Ezra's eyes, and grinned. "Hey, Ez! How you doin'?"

Ezra ducked his head and then looked back up with a small smile on his face. "Quite well, young Mr. Dunne, for such an ungodly hour in the morning."

With a sly smile at his seated, silent friend, JD continued, "Ya want some breakfast? Before Buck goes on watch over at the jail?"

Ezra, now half-way down the stairs, shuddered politely. "Thank you, no, coffee with a little enhancement from the bar will be all that I care to partake of at this time."

Buck watched in fascination as the con man walked so easily, gracefully, down the stairs. He hadn't ever really paid attention before to how the man moved. Like to move with him, even dance with him, something slow, so we could be real close. Lost in thoughts of such pleasure, Buck still hadn't said a word. He thought of last night's kiss and burned anew for the slow moving man. The conversation between JD and Ezra, such as it was, played out in the background of this consciousness. A sudden flick of awareness, he sat up straight, nearly dropping his coffee mug. Shit. I jest told JD I'd take first watch!

JD waited. He'd seen the look on Buck's face when Ezra appeared and then the dreamy look that blanked his eyes, like some moonstruck schoolgirl. Now, he could see that Buck had finally started paying attention to what he and Ez were sayin'. He knew that Buck was payin' attention from the way the man sat up with a look of clear dismay on his mobile face. Buck just realized he had to leave. JD smirked, making sure to hide his smile behind his raised coffee mug.

Ezra walked over to the bar. Even as hung over as he was, he could detect the strange atmosphere in the bar, the other two men seemed to be bursting with unspoken words. JD seemed to be playing a game with an artlessly dropped hint, so unlike him that Ezra's antenna went up to alert, even as his foggy brain tried to fight free of the painful lassitude of the hangover. Coffee. Once he'd drunk some, with a little touch of medicinal whiskey to strengthen his wits, he would deal with young Dunne. And Wilmington? Ezra winced, glad he was now facing the bar and that the two men were seated at the wrong angle to see his face in the bar's mirror. That kiss last night in his alcohol induced fantasy, that kiss had been so real. He licked his lower lip in remembrance and then bit it lightly. Snap out of it, Standish! You can't afford to indulge in such fantasies and still stay a member of this group. The men would throw him out without further thought if they knew. Buck would probably kill him. Ezra took the mug he'd half-filled with coffee and reached over the bar to his bottle of morning whiskey, which worked in perfect harmony with coffee. Then, with a cup full to the brim, he squared his shoulders and cleared his face, turning with a pleasant, non-committal look, to rejoin the other two at their table.

Buck flung a look of pure irritation at JD. The kid knew what was going on he realized with chagrin. Damn kid has more savvy than any of them gave him credit for. And now he was playin' ole Buck, making' him squirm. He tossed a look of appeal to his younger friend and then a quick speaking look toward the gambler's still turned back. JD flashed a grin of pure impudence but must have relented because when he spoke again, Buck felt relief pour through his veins.

"'s'okay, Buck, I feel like stretching and getting some sun anyway, I'll go ahead and take the first watch." Standing just as Ezra was carefully making his way to the table, coffee cup balanced so as not to slosh, JD grabbed his plate and headed for the bar, past the arriving con man. "See ya, Ez. Buck, don't forget to relieve me 'bout noon?"

"Sure, kid." Neither JD nor Buck missed the gratitude in the rangy lawman's response. Ezra just looked between them in faint confusion as he sat down across from Wilmington.

The other two men watched Dunne hasten out of the saloon, already adjusting his gun belt with its twin gun holsters with one hand, the other on his bowler. The boy never seemed to just walk anywhere when getting there a bit faster was possible. Buck took a large swallow of his coffee, eyeing Ezra over the edge of the mug.

Ezra slowly dragged a chair back from the table, his small signs of discomfort nearly hidden. But Buck had been watching the man like a hawk for nearly two weeks now. He could tell from the way Ezra moved with a tiny bit slower, more precise action, that he was in pain. Probably got a king-sized hangover, Buck thought with sympathy. That was one hell of a bout he had last night. "Hey, Ez, you need some of Nate's willow bark tea?" He spoke softly, concern and affection coloring his tone.

Ezra, who by now was carefully easing himself down into the chair, abruptly dropped the rest of the way in surprise at Buck's question. Surprised at both what was asked and the tone of voice that was doing the asking. What is happening here? He flicked a nervous glance at Wilmington. Man is looking at me with those great big midnight blue eyes of his. One could get lost in those night sky eyes. In fact, Ezra realized he nearly had- he had not answered the other man's query, and Buck was starting to look even more concerned. This would not do at all.

"I shall be fine, Mr. Wilmington, once I have finished imbibing this restorative." He sipped at his laced coffee, careful not to look back up into those mesmerizing eyes.

Buck relaxed. He was all right. Just hungover and getting a bit of the dog that bit him. The tall brunette leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs beneath the table and rolling his shoulders. Letting his boots come to rest against Ezra's on the floor, he smiled happily and hunched forward his upper body. With elbows now resting on the table, he held the coffee mug in front of his lips and licked the rim with delicately sensual intent, never letting his eyes leave the other man's face.

Ezra, who'd been stunned into immobility by the touch of Buck's boots to his own, glanced up with trepidation. What he found nearly had him jumping out of his seat and running. Buck was using his tongue on the edge of his mug. Ezra gulped some hot coffee, unable to peel his eyes away from Buck's tongue. He was no longer certain he was really awake, or, if awake, if he was really seeing what was happening in front of him. This fit more into his fantasies than into life in Four Corners. "Um, Buck?" Gone was all pretense at "mister."

Buck pulled the mug back slightly, then like some rakish tomcat, licked his lips and the ends of his mustache where it dropped down over the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, Ez?"

"Last night-" No, no, he couldn't ask about that. It was definitely part of his dreaming.

"Hoped you'd remember that."

Remember? Oh, my god, it really had happened then? Or, was Buck referring to something else? "I'm not sure I recall exactly what-" here Ezra hesitated, uncertain what to say.

Buck leaned forward and spoke with intense fervor. "I never, Ez, never done kissed a man before. But with you, it sure felt right."

Oh. Oh my. Oh my god. So it had happened. He hadn't dreamt it. Ezra shut his eyes and his body began to shake in reaction. Fear burnt through him. Chris will kill me. He'll kick me out of town, drive me away, and then he'll kill me. Then he'll kill Buck. At that last thought, Ezra went into a fast decline into pure panic. Shooting to his feet, mug splashily abandoned on the tabletop, he faced down the man across from him. "I do not know what you are talking about. And, if I did, well then, I would be working very hard to forget I ever knew it. And, Mr. Wilmington, I strongly suggest that you do the same!" With that said, all in a clear and passionless voice, Ezra raised his chin in defiance and lifted hat to head. "Good day to you, sir." And he left.

Buck sat watching Ezra go, his mouth hung open in stunned disappointment. Dang. That didn't go over too well. He closed his mouth and ran a hand over his face, sheer frustrated affection for the man warred with a hunger that was growing more profound with each passing moment. He didn't just want a dalliance with the petite gambler, he realized, he wanted much more. He wanted to see those green eyes glow for only him. He wanted the man to want him back. Didn't look like that was gonna happen this morning. Buck's shoulders sagged as he sat back, cradling the coffee mug. He thought back to the War. Need me a strategy to win my friend Ez over. He wants it, I could see that in his eyes when he first sat down. Now all I gotta do is convince him that it's all right to want it and we kin go from there. Baffled how he'd create this strategy to win someone so very different from his female companions of the past - and it was the past now, he realized with fatalistic certainty - he decided he needed help. He needed a strategist. Trouble was, the best one he knew was named Ezra Standish. Well, he thought, considering that from different angles, maybe he should go to his expert for advice. With a grin, he picked up the coffee mug and took a long sip with satisfaction. Oh, yeah.

*******

While Buck and Ezra had been talking in the saloon, JD was striding over toward the jail, his steps leaving puffs of dust in the dry street. He mulled over the way Buck was taking a shine to Ezra. And, he could swear that Ez was lookin' at Buck different too. JD wasn't jealous. He loved Buck as a big brother, friend, even confidant, but he did not feel for him what he suspected Ezra now felt for him. Funny. They hadn't used to be that way around each other. Only since-since Wickes' Town. A sudden feeling of enlightenment clarified his puzzled thoughts. When Ezra Standish put on a dress. And Buck had rescued him, brought him back riding double in the saddle. With a new understanding, JD nearly choked on his recollection of Josiah's comment. No doubt he'd meant it humorously when he'd said they made a 'lovely couple.' With a shrug, the young man lengthened his stride and dropped that line of thought. Wuz their business, not his.

Busy with his thoughts, JD didn't notice the two men leading their horses down the main street toward him. Both men were scowling. Rusty Hayes and Ben Stinson were coming back into town, with strict instructions from their boss, to stay out of trouble and to spend time studying the town bank. Their boss, Frank Fontaine, had a large gang of rough riding men, whom he had led in a series of daring and successful raids across Texas and now into the Territories. Fontaine's secret contacts had let him know that the Four Corners' bank, the First Federal, would be housing money destined for a mining town on down the trail. The money was due to arrive within the next few days by armed guard from Fort Laramie. Soldiers were lending their protection as far as Four Corners.

Hayes and Stinson had actually arrived the night before, but had a run in with a kid and some damn interfering cowpoke. There'd been a brawl and Hayes and Stinson had ended up riding back out of town, sporting more bruises than their opponents, and vowing vengeance. Now, thoroughly berated by Fontaine who threatened to kill them if they returned empty-handed again, they were stolidly plodding down the main street. Both stopped in surprise at the sight of the kid from the night before. There was no sign of the big cowboy, though. The kid didn't look too fierce all alone and in the daylight.

Before either could stop the other, without any thought to Fontaine's instructions, the two men drew their weapons and aimed at the still unaware kid. "Hey, you! Kid!" Hayes yelled, not having it in him to gun a man down without warning.

Stinson grinned at the young kid, soon to be a dead kid. He cocked his gun and deliberately aimed at the kid's chest.

JD looked up and into death. Aiming at him out of the mouths of two large pistols. Even as he went for his gun, he heard Ezra's shout. "JD, get down!"

Stinson swiveled to face this new threat, shooting as his gun came to bear. Hayes let off a round at the kid. The sounds of their shots blended with the answering fire from the kid and the fancy-dressed gambler, who'd just stepped out of the saloon.

*******

Chris Larabee rode back into Four Corners after spending a few nights at his cabin. He could have stayed longer but found himself missing the other men's company. Now that was something he'd never thought he'd be feeling. Watching the trail ahead, he saw the two men, strangers, slowly walking down the center of the main street, leading their horses. He could make out JD walking diagonally across the street, looked like he was heading for the jail, probably just finished breakfast in the saloon. He saw a flash of red, that was Ezra pushing open the doors of the saloon. Wonder what has him up so early in the morning?

He witnessed the two men stop abruptly and draw their guns. For no discernable reason, both were drawing down on JD. Too far to hear anything that might have been said up 'til then, he did hear Ezra's shouted warning. Drawing his own gun, Larabee kicked his black gelding into a gallop. Four shots went off almost simultaneously. Shit! Yelling, "No!" angrily, Chris shot as he rode and winged the stranger still standing, the other had fallen to either JD or Standish, no way to know yet. Chris' target spun and fell into the dust, holding his arm with one hand, his wounded arm tight over his gut. Someone else must have plugged him too.

With both men down, Chris dragged his reins, pulling his horse to a sliding halt. He threw himself off and half-ran, half-stumbled to the downed strangers. One was dead, bullet between the eyes. That had to have been the gambler's shot. The other looked back at him with scared eyes. Behind him, he could hear Buck swearing loudly, calling for Mrs. Potter. Chris kicked away the man's guns and his dead partner's, then stood and looked over at where Buck knelt on one knee, hunched over Standish. He swung his glance aside to see JD walking towards him, clutching at his shoulder. "JD, you okay?"

The kid nodded even though his bloody hand was mute testimony to a bullet's passage through his shoulder. He swayed slightly, then found his footing with a frown. Chris let him stand as long as he was able, got to give a man his pride. "What happened?"

JD looked down at their opponents. He nudged the dead one with one foot. "They musta come back looking for Buck and me. We run them outta town last night. They'd been acting up in the saloon, then tried to take us on when we told them to leave."

Chris nodded. Not a new story. Heard it before, lived it before. He turned toward the saloon porch. "Buck? How's Ezra?" He and JD both walked over.

Buck looked up, his gaze going apologetically to JD. He was pressing fiercely at a seeping wound in Standish's side. Ignoring Chris' question, he asked, "You all right, JD?"

Dunne could hear the guilt in his friend's voice. "I'm fine, Buck, just winged me. It was them two men from last night." He stood peering down at the gambler. "How about Ezra?"

"Got a graze on his side. Bleeding, but don't look too bad." Buck's terror at the sound of Ezra's shout followed so quickly by gunfire was still numbing. He saw that the con man should be fine, just as he could see that JD's wound was minor as well. He could have lost them both. A perfectly ordinary morning. And he could have lost them both. He had been strides too late to interfere, to stop it, to protect either of his friends. He pressed down even more firmly.

Part 2