Chris stood, now bracing a swaying JD with one stiff arm, and saw with relief that Mrs. Potter had heard Buck's cry and was hurrying towards them. Must be Nathan is out of town. Gloria Potter stepped over to the kid first, her maternal instincts kicking in. She got JD to show her his wound. She nodded and Chris heard her tell the boy to go up to Nathan's clinic and she'd be there in a moment. Then she turned toward the small tableau on the porch of the saloon.

"Mr. Wilmington? May I take a look?" She gently touched the tall man's shoulder where he knelt over Standish's body.

Buck's white face burned up at her, his eyes like liquid coals. "I don't think it's too bad, ma'am." Buck released his hold and Ezra immediately started struggling to sit up. "Whoa, pard, you jest stay put." Buck's restraining hand forced the con man to subside with a muttered oath, then an apologetic look at Gloria Potter.

She had ignored the by-play between the two men, competently lifting free the handkerchief that Buck had pressed on Ezra's bleeding wound. "It looks as if it just scraped his rib, not too deep in the flesh at all." Her quiet assurance was enough to get Buck up and reaching down to bring Ezra to his feet. Ezra was studying Buck's face with wonderment, ignoring both Chris and Mrs. Potter.

"Buck?" It came out a soft whisper. Ezra felt as if his world had been shaken and he was no longer sure of anything. The caring in Buck's expression was so speaking that Ezra warmed all over. He wanted only to have time to talk with Buck, discover what it was that had changed them because he knew that he, too, was different. What has happened to us? Ezra wondered, why do I feel so lost?

Buck looked up at Chris uncomfortably, then over at Gloria Potter. They seemed to be staring at him, seeing straight through him. He shook off the sense of exposure and forced himself to back off from his feelings. Now was not the time, and not in front of others. He'd need private time with Ezra to talk but that couldn't happen now. He braced Ezra with a firm hand to his arm, and muttered. "Easy does it, pard. Let's get you up with JD, so Mrs. P. can put in a few stitches."

Ezra stared up into the dark blue gaze, his own green eyes now looking totally confused. Now what had happened? Was Buck ashamed of his feelings, afraid to show his concern? When Buck resolutely faced toward the clinic, refusing to maintain eye contact, Ezra's look changed. From confusion to disappointment and finally an anger that he closed away, leaving only a bland face to the world. Why is he turning away from me now? Ezra felt betrayed. With a set expression, he moved as independently as he could within Buck's hold.

Gloria was walking fast, already catching up with JD Dunne and offering her shoulder in support as he approached the stairs to Nathan's clinic. She knew that shock could render him shaky on his feet. Buck Wilmington had Mr. Standish, so she helped Mr. Dunne.

Chris stared after his men. Something really strange going on between Buck and Ezra. He looked thoughtfully at the men as they climbed the stairs to the clinic. Then, deciding to ask Buck later, he walked back to the wounded criminal still laying, only semi-conscious, on the dirt ruts of the main street and helped the man to stand. Looked like both wounds were minor, one bullet, his, had gone through the muscle of an upper arm, the other had nipped at the saddle of muscle and fat just above a hip. He had to get him to the jail. Put some rough bandages on him, then find out what had been happening, where everyone else was. He wasn't sure that Mrs. Potter was up to helping his prisoner, too. Need to find out where the hell Nathan is. Chris impatiently escorted the man to the jail, casting returning glances over at the now silent clinic. This could be trouble for the seven. Need to talk to Buck.

*******

Buck was resolutely not looking at Ezra as he helped the smaller man up the stairs of the clinic. All his wonderful ideas for getting Ezra to notice him, to respond to him, all of a sudden they seemed petty and small. He realized that he'd been acting toward the man like he was another conquest, like one of his lady friends. Sure, he wanted to make it last, maybe even forever, but he hadn't really, really thought about what he was getting into - or what it might do to Ezra or any of his friends, most especially to JD.

When the sound of gunfire had propelled him out of the saloon, his heart in this throat, his first, no, his only thought had been of Ezra. His little brother and special friend, JD, had been a slow after-thought. What kind of a man was he, anyway? Dumping his young friend in favor of a lover? And not really a lover even, for though he'd had the want and one kiss- he hadn't had a chance to make it really happen yet. And now, maybe he shouldn't. Look what it was doing to Ezra, who after all, was his friend first, his soon to be lover second. Buck could feel the stiffness in the man's posture, trying not to lean on him, even though he was hurting, bleeding.

Buck eyed Ezra's wound as he led this friend up the stairs, pressing hard at the seeping wound for a moment to see the bleeding slow again. Probably a bit dizzy, light-headed. He needs takin' care of. And JD? The kid had sensed what was happening between him and Ezra, was even teasing him about it in his own juvenile way. But that didn't mean he deserved to be ignored when he was hurt too. Shit. Buck, troubled and unhappy, helped Ezra up toward the clinic door, worrying about the fine tremor to the smaller man's body. Buck was torn, he loved his 'kid brother' JD and wanted, no needed to be with him. He peered anxiously ahead into the dark interior of the clinic. But Ezra was his friend and he was worried about him too. His friend? Hell, he'd been trying to get the man to see him as a lover only minutes ago. Now this. As they reached the landing, Buck stood tall and the gambler straightened away from him, stiffening. "Ez?"

Standish didn't answer, just trudged ahead. Buck grabbed on tight to Ezra's closest arm with one hand, his other arm insistently over the smaller man's shoulders. He cast a concerned look down at the gambler. Just want you to be alright, pard, he thought. That's all. We'll figure out the rest later. He started to speak, then looked up and realized they were at the open door of the clinic. Buck's glance shifted quickly back and forth from Ezra to where JD must be and back to Ezra. Ez seem'd to be fine, it was just a flesh wound. He pressed hard over the conman's hand, making sure there was a steady pressure.

Coming into the clinic with a silent Ezra in tow, Buck saw that Gloria Potter was cleaning JD's shoulder wound with some water and getting the kid to press the front of the wound while she cleaned the back. JD sat on the edge of the clinic's bed by the far wall. The tall lawman could see she'd need hot water, so he settled the quiet gambler on the neighboring cot, again making sure that Ezra had a hand over his wound and was maintaining pressure. JD or Ezra? Did he have to choose? Oh, god, Buck seemed to shrivel inside, his own painful guilt at ignoring Dunne and half-formed attachment for Standish causing him to reel in confusion. Buck still couldn't let himself meet Ezra's eyes, not ready to deal with all these heady emotions battling in his own system. Damn, I might say something wrong, and with Ez, onct you done that, you were a goner. So he turned to help Mrs. Potter, lighting a fire in the stove, moving the ever-present kettle over the flame. She nodded her appreciation to him, and then began to direct his efforts.

Ezra sat hunched over on the spare cot. He pressed at the wound across the side of his ribcage, his fingers still tingling from the touch of Buck's on top of them, guiding them to the wound site and pressing down. The blood was welling up at an almost alarming rate and his pants and vest-covered shirt were soaked. Yet, he hesitated to speak. Somehow, his life just didn't have that kind of importance to him, and clearly, not to Buck either. Buck had seen the wound, he must have felt the blood flowing thickly, even if it wasn't easy to see, a darker stain on black trousers and dark maroon vest. But Buck had turned away. Had left him. Was acting like Ezra wasn't even in the room. Ezra bent over a bit more, no longer caring about maintaining pressure. It really didn't matter anyway. Nothing did anymore. His momentary confusion, his strange dreams that seemed to be answered in life, none of it mattered anymore.

He wondered, with a dim, removed thought, if Buck had simply been playing some game, some prank. Swallowing with difficulty as his mouth began to dry, he closed his eyes to hide his drift of sadness at that rumination. It would, perhaps, be better if he simply wasn't here anymore. His life had been a long series of painful events and useless wanderings. What he'd thought he had here-what he had hoped he had here apparently wasn't real. He let his hand fall free of the wound. Time to go-let go. It would be best if he left and this would be the easiest way in the end. The easiest way to end it. Just let go. Mentally, he said goodbye to his almost-brothers, to his almost-lover. The seeping blood, warm and slick, ran unstaunched now between his consciously relaxed fingers, continued to thicken in his dark trousers, making them stiff and heavy, the flow now drenching the thin brown blanket and the cot, crawling steadily down his trouser leg and beginning to fill his boot. Cold. Ezra shook with a chill and his chin fell to his chest. Tired. Darkness came softly.

Buck stared at the water-filled kettle, willing it to boil, his mind now frozen and numb, too overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions to cope. He was so focused on the gently rising steam that the room around him seemed to fade to darkness at the edges of his vision. He heard JD's weak cry and that brought him back to the present with a start.

JD bit back a curse as Mrs. Potter pushed a poultice of milk and pine tar, mashed with dried moss, into his wounds, both front and back. She paused to pat him on the other shoulder and murmur some motherly comfort. He was reassured, feeling as safe as when his mother used to take care of small childhood cuts, the caring as important as the medicine. Buck was there now, helping her wrap the shoulder with pads and then strips of long bandage to hold the pads and poultices in place. He looked up into Buck's worried eyes and smiled bravely. "I'm gonna be fine, Buck, ain't that right, ma'am?"

Gloria patted his shoulder yet again, reassuringly. "Oh, yes, Mr. Dunne, this will be right as rain in no time at all. We just need to change the poultice regularly and make sure you keep it clean." Mrs. Potter draped JD's jacket over his shoulders now and smiled at him.

Buck stood back up and cocked his head, smiling down at him as well. "Pard, I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner-"

Something in the way he spoke spooked JD. That doesn't sound right. How come he looks so guilty? And where's Ez? JD blanched and cast a frantic look to the side, to where the silent gambler had been left. "Oh, god, Buck!"

JD knew why Buck had gone to Ezra first, and he hadn't resented it, not at all, but it looked like Buck was feeling guilty. His words, though, caused JD to realize no one had done anything about Ezra since they'd gotten into the clinic. One look was enough to nearly stop his heart. Their con man had evidently been seated on the edge of the other cot and now was toppled over to one side, a hunched bundle with feet still on the floor, one shoulder and head resting on the mattress. His eyes were closed and his blank face was a pasty white.

Buck stood perfectly still, only he turning his head to see what had scared JD so badly. He felt frozen with fear. Mrs. Potter had sucked in a quick breath and was already moving rapidly to the small collapsed man. Shaking her head, she scooped up a handful of folded bandages as she reached Ezra's side. Then Buck was there, lifting the man's legs up onto the cot, realigning his body and bringing away his hand to stare at the thickened blood that adhered to it. He didn't remember moving and now, staring at the blood on his hand, he shuddered. What have I done?

Gloria touched the sodden fabric and realized the man had not been keeping the needed pressure on the wound, a wound simple enough if treated properly, but left to itself, deadly as the life blood drained out through it. Grimly, she packed the gash with the cloths and pushed hard. That was all she could do now. Try to stop the bleeding, prevent any more of the precious blood from leaking out of Mr. Standish's already badly depleted body. How had this happened? She thought he'd be all right while she dealt with Mr. Dunne's wound. Biting at her lip, she pressed still more fiercely, tears beginning to blind her. Then other hands were there, bigger, masculine hands, and she was being gently pulled back.

"It's okay, Mrs. Potter, Chris will do it now." JD led her to Nathan's rocking chair and helped her seat herself. He stayed beside her, even though he was feeling a bit groggy now and wishing the pain that bit into his shoulder would ease off. He didn't look over at Buck, afraid of what he might say. Nothing about any of this was funny anymore. He would have to talk to Chris. Later. Alone.

Buck withdrew into himself as he began to realize just how much blood Ezra had lost while he was trying his damnedest to not think about the gambler, as he had tried to make it up to JD for nearly ignoring him earlier. Bloody hand still half raised in the air, Buck was in shock. He watched as if from a great distance as Chris swept by him and took over from Mrs. Potter. His old friend was silent, just like the gambler. Not even a curse or a growl.

Chris Larabee walked into the clinic, expecting to find his men being patched up and ready to answer a few questions. Like what those two strangers had against JD, why they'd opened fire on him, and on Ezra. Only, when Chris stepped inside Nathan's small infirmary, it was to see JD and Buck staring in horror at Gloria Potter who was valiantly attempting to stay what looked like a river of blood coming from Standish. The small man was so pale that he already looked dead.

Chris strode over to the bed and gently pushed the frantic woman aside. He could handle brute force and right now, he needed to be doing something like this. So he flattened the heels of his hands against the Ezra's ribcage and focused on the still figure. "Damn you, Standish, don't you dare give up on us! Fight, man, fight!" He gritted out the words while his thoughts darkened to match his hands, now deep red with the small man's blood. Jesus, how much blood could a man lose and still live? He could see, up close, how much had soaked into the dark trousers and even trace the flow down the near leg to mid-calf where it seemed to disappear. Into his boot, he thought with growing despair.

Buck shook himself and started to back up toward the door. Ezra was dying and it was his fault. He knew it. JD knew it. Even Gloria Potter knew it. Chris would figure it out soon if he hadn't already. Yet-none of that mattered. Not who knew, not who blamed him, only the horrible truth that Ezra was dying in front of him. He felt himself slipping into an empty place, dark and full of nameless terror. Ezra was dying. He couldn't seem to get his mind to wrap around this thought and move past it. Everything was slowing down, the world was stopping, dulling into a daguerreotype of sepia tones, movement didn't exist anymore, sounds ceased. He could hear his heart beating. Beating in time to the pumping out of Ezra's red, red blood. Life would leave both their bodies at the same moment. He knew it. He knew it so deeply, so surely, that he welcomed it, welcomed death because he'd still be with Ezra then. And, he knew in the dark place that was his soul, that that was all that mattered.

In the silence of the room, Chris' grunts and soft demands of his man on the cot seemed louder than they really were. No one interrupted. There was nothing else anyone there could do. Except wait and watch. Gloria clung to JD's good hand now, both their white knuckled hands trembling with tension and imminent grief. The tall man in black had one knee on the cot, his dark duster like a shroud over him and over the unmoving gambler.

Into the silence came the thunder of heavy feet on the outside stairs. Then running on the porch. Nathan, followed by Josiah, burst into the small room and the silence, like an artificial bubble, burst as well.

"NATHAN! I need you here!" Chris' cry was half plea, half demand. Relief was foremost in the ringing cry.

Both the healer and the preacher came. Shoving past the cowering Buck and worried woman and boy-sheriff. Nathan was crouching down to better see without removing Chris' hands from their life-saving positions. Josiah, who'd come around the back of the cot, was mouthing soundless prayers as he gently tugged Standish's body into the center of the cot, without letting Chris' pressure diminish. In horror, the older man looked down at his bloody hands, realizing the gambler's clothing was heavy and full with the stuff. Moving to crouch at the foot of the cot, Josiah carefully removed Ezra's boots, mute with further horror as the one boot tipped down and a small fall of still liquid blood spilled to the floor and puddled there. "Oh, good Lord, no."

Nathan didn't say anything at first, just studied the problem. No point in askin' how it had gotten this bad. Knowing the gambler, he probably had been saying he was fine until it was damn near too late. By god, he wasn't about to let that arrogant son of a southern belle bitch get away with it, no, by god, he wasn't. "You're not gonna die on me, Ezra! You hear that! You ain't gonna die today!" With that, Jackson stood back up and rushed to his cabinets and shelves, already planning what he needed. All questions would be for later, after he fixed this mess.

Chris grinned tightly, sparing a quick look at the earnest healer, before returning his attention to the man beneath his hands. He had a lot of faith in Jackson, especially when the man was aggravated like he clearly was now. Good, that made at least two of them. And anger could be a hell of a lot more productive than fear or grief. He'd learned that long ago. He flicked a look up at the gambler's face. Damn if he wasn't coming around, green eyes slowly opening and meeting his own. He stared into those empty emerald depths and hid his fear, letting his anger show instead. "You stay with me now, Ez, dammit. I'll kick your ass to Eagle Bend and back if you don't start behavin'!"

Expression lightening slightly, a small smile ghosted on the pale man's face. A tiny glimmer of amusement flamed in those shining eyes. Ezra was back! Chris grinned openly now. And waited. If the con man had only one breath left in his body, he'd still find a way to deliver a comeback and Chris knew that the man's spirit was still feisty as the whispery words drifted up to him. "Ah don't believe Ah know how to behave, Mr. Larabee, Ah doan think it's in me."

"Well, you sure must be full of something, Ez, 'cause it ain't blood at the moment. Maybe just piss and vinegar, huh?"

A dimple was his only answer before the eyes closed again and the body beneath his hands relaxed, sinking further still into the thin mattress. Chris panicked. "Christ! Nathan!"

Jackson was back at his side instantly, hand to the gambler's throat. "Still got a pulse, Chris. That much blood loss, his body's makin' him sleep. He's got to make a lot of new blood to replace all that."

The reassuring tones of the healer caused everyone still in the room to sag back into themselves in relief. JD was the first to notice that Buck was gone. He didn't say anything. Right now was for getting Ezra back to the land of the living.

Buck slumped outside the clinic. He'd slipped out when it was clear that Nathan thought that he could save Ezra. Now Wilmington, pulled from his spiraling fugue, was left restless and anxious. Energy was tripping through his system, he figured he was reacting to all that had just happened, but it was just all too much. Scared, as never before in his life, stirred to the black depths of his soul, he had no idea what to do.

With a calm that seemed to leaden his feet, Buck sank onto the top step of the clinic stairs and held on to the edge of the step, chest pressed down on his thighs, head resting on his knees. His face settled into lines of bleakness. He felt the morning sun heating his back and stayed still, willing life to return to some order that he could deal with. Something that made sense and kept him from going crazy. He heard, then felt another presence beside him. Then a hand came to rest on his back, rubbing up his spine, and stopping at his neck. Strong fingers kneaded at the tense muscles there. Chris. Only man he'd ever let get that close to him. Ever. A sick feeling of self-disgust drove out any pride or courage. Ezra. He'd never let Ezra get this close, not yet anyway. Wanted him, even needed him. But close? No, not the closeness of a friend like his old saddle pard, Chris. "My fault."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, what you gonna do about it?" The hand never stopped its soothing action on his neck.

"I don't know." Buck straightened up but didn't look over at his friend. Staring ahead, Buck took in a deep breath and held it. "Chris, I ain't never felt this way before, all torn up inside."

Larabee waited. For Buck, he would wait. This had something to do with Ezra. Maybe with JD, too. He'd seen the look JD gave him before he followed Buck outside. Kid wants to tell me something but he's not gonna push now. So, Chris waited. He had time to do that now. Hell, they all did now. Thank god for Nathan Jackson, he thought fervently.

*******

Vin Tanner moved so closely with the shifting sliding muscles of Peso's gait that the two looked like a single being in motion. His slouch hat and slumped posture in the buffalo hide jacket helped blur their combined profile, lending further credence to the myth of centaurs as a living race. He'd left Fort Laramie ahead of the bank shipment and its contingent of soldiers, having no desire to ride with any more of the bluecoats. He'd helped 'em out, as promised, tracking and trapping a small herd of mustangs that were getting green-broke even as he'd ridden out of the compound. The commandant had paid him and offered a bonus if he'd ride with the bullion, but he'd refused. He needed some time alone after being so close to so many strangers, time to pull himself together again before returning to Four Corners and his friends, fellow lawmen.

Reaching the crest of a hill, he looked down at a campsite in turmoil. A rough looking crew of men were standing around, one of them gesturing angrily. He could see a sweaty mount with drooping head near another of the men, musta just rode in. Since Tanner had not been on any regular path, he pulled Peso back and faded into the shade of a clump of trees nearby. These men were just off one of the major trails into Four Corners. It would pay to keep an eye on them for a bit before riding on. He dropped from his horse and leaned against a tree trunk, eyeglass up as he watched the activity below play out.

*******

Frank Fontaine was furious. He hadn't really trusted Hayes and Stinson after last night's trouble in Four Corners. A simple job and they had tripped over their own mouths. Damn fools. So, he'd sent Charlie Karke in to shadow his two men. Karke had arrived back at their campsite only minutes ago, horse lathered and the man himself shaking. He'd reported seeing Hayes and Stinson start shooting at some kid in the street and some red-coated gambler as well. Before he could lend a hand or stop it, a gunslinger riding into town had jumped into the firefight and winged the already wounded Hayes. Stinson was dead, shot outright by the gambler. The kid had likely gut shot Hayes from what he'd been able to see, hiding in a side alley across from the saloon. Now Hayes was in cell and the kid and the gambler were in some darky's clinic, the gunslinger had been the one to drag off Hayes to jail.

Karke had stayed long enough to learn that the town had seven hired gunmen who acted as the law there. The kid, gambler, and gunslinger were all part of the Seven. Seemed Hayes and Stinson couldn't do anything right. Fontaine had cursed and stomped around the campsite, his remaining men edging away from the angry outlaw leader.

As far as he was concerned, Hayes could rot in that damn jail, but the money was still gonna come through the town's bank in a few days and since two of the seven were now wounded, the odds were better than ever. Finally calming down, he called his men to him. Sitting on a saddle by the central campfire, he waited until the ten men still with him were seated.

"Charlie's going back into town this afternoon and I want Johns and Carritoff to go with him." The three men nodded. "Hang out at the saloon, keep yore eyes open and come back here by midnight. If it looks or sounds like Hayes has been talkin' - take care of him."

Fontaine turned to a scruffy looking hunter. "Sarp, you and Treggor are gonna hit some ranches. I want them fellers hollering for help. Take a few head, run'em off a cliff or drop'em in a canyon, just make sure the ranchers know that they've lost head, a lotta head."

The two rough plainsmen grinned and nodded, one asking, "Alright iffn we butcher a couple? Some steaks'd be mighty nice."

"Yeah, sure, so long as you get back here and no one can track you."

Fontaine then turned to his remaining men. "We'll leave Luke here to keep the camp and the rest of us are gonna go scout out the trail the soldiers will use to bring the bullion and cash in from Fort Laramie. If we find a likely spot, we might not need to hit the town at all."

Plans made, the outlaws all saddled up, leaving Luke Morgan in the now deserted camp.

He'd watched the rest of the gang split and ride off in three directions. Draining his coffee mug, he leaned over the fire to test the pot, see if there was any brew left. A soft Texas drawl behind him stopped his reach in mid-move.

"Got any extra for a traveler?"

Turning slowly and cautiously Luke Morgan, a steady hand but not a fast one, looked up at the mounted man at the edge of the camp. What he saw was reassuring. A saddle tramp, maybe a hunter from the looks of the Sharps in the rifle sheath and the buffalo coat. Morgan didn't have to force a smile. "Howdy. Sounds like home, listenin' to you, mister. You a Texas boy?"

"Reckon so," Tanner answered, allowing his soft accent to strengthen, hands crossing at rest on his saddle's pommel.

"Well, hell, Texas, come on in. If there ain't enough coffee, figger I kin make some more."

Vin nodded, slipping from the saddle with a smile. "Name's Tanner, Vin Tanner."

"Morgan, Luke Morgan." The other man hunkered back down by the fire to produce another tin mug and pour some black coffee into it for the new rider. He paused in thought, a frown forming. "Tanner? I heard o' you, I think. Tascosa?" He looked up into the twin barrels of a sawed off shotgun that had been strapped to the man's leg.

Vin snarled. "Reckon you might jest have to forgit you seen me-er remembered me, huh pard?" He cocked the gun with a double click.

Morgan had dropped to the ground on his rump in fear and surprise at the man's reaction to his casual comment. With a flash of memory, he realized that what he'd vaguely remembered was only part of the tale he'd heard. Tanner - Tanner was a wanted man.

"Easy, easy man! You're with friends. This here is the campsite of the Fontaine gang. You heered of us? Frank Fontaine? Outta Amarillo? We're on the other side of the law, just like you."

Vin assumed a doubtful glare. Have to thank Chris for 'that look' he thought to himself. "How do I know that?"

"Well, I ain't going no where, so if you want to camp here today, you kin meet the boss and the others when they get back, they all should be here by late this afternoon." Morgan pasted a tentative smile back on his face. "'til then, I'll jest drop my guns over here," he said, carefully removing and dropping his weapons to the side.

Vin cocked his head and studied his victim. He had heard of the Fontaine gang, Frank Fontaine was a killer and the men that rode with him were no better. If the gang had left Texas and was here, then trouble would be coming to Four Corners. If he could stay with them, get them to believe he was like them, maybe he could stop it, or at least help when the time came. He lowered his own weapon, releasing the twin triggers.

**********

Buck made his way slowly back into the small clinic and stood in the doorway without speaking. Chris had left him to go question their prisoner, asking Buck to send Nathan when he could. Nathan had JD lying on the bed now, looked like the boy was sleeping. Musta given him one of those sleeping teas. With a sigh, Buck glanced with fear and hesitation to his right, to where he knew Ezra would be resting. An invisible hand squeezed his heart as he studied the bleached out face of the gambler. Even though the cot he rested on was small, he looked smaller still, a slight figure barely raising the blanket's shape that covered him.

Nathan was standing at the stove, stirring some ungodly mixture, looking thoughtful. He looked up and met Buck's eyes. "They'll be alright," he commented quietly. "Just need time to heal now." His dark brown eyes were serious as he watched the lanky ladies man. "Buck, is there something I should know? 'Bout why Ezra bled so much?"

Wilmington hung his head, dropping his eyes from the healer's. "I was the one that brought him up, Nate. I thought he was pressing down on that hole, I really did. Went to help Miz Potter with JD. I didn't mean to leave him in trouble, thought he was alright."

Nathan nodded and his eyes went to the still form of their con man. "He lost more blood than he should've. He'll be alright, though. Just needs to rest and drink lots of liquids." Jackson wiped his hands on his pant legs, then rolled his shoulders with fatigue. He'd just ridden in with Josiah, just back from the Seminole village. They'd worked hard, helping some young ones who'd caught a fever, hadn't slept much at all. Then, to ride in only to have Mary Travis run up to their stirrups and say that JD and Ezra were hurt and up in the clinic with Mrs. Potter. He remembered his surge of energy, worry. He remembered dashing up the stairs with Josiah on his heels. The need to help overwhelming with the added burden of trying to save his friends once more. This time it would be alright, but there always seemed to be a next time. This time, though, there was more going on than just bullet holes, but he was too tired to figure it out, just knew things weren't right. Especially with Buck. And Ezra.

Jackson wiped his face with both hands. He shifted one of the cast iron stove top covers over part of the flame, reducing the heat under the tea he'd concocted. "Buck? You want to stay here and watch'em? I'll go over to the jail and help Chris, then I need to get some sleep."

Buck's eyes flashed back up to meet Nathan's. Jackson could swear he read fear and guilt in the deep blue eyes. Buck seemed to gather himself and nodded. "Sure, ok, Nate. I can do that." Quietly, the man walked further into the room and arranged a chair between the two beds where he could sit and see both his friends. "You go ahead. I'll be here."

Nathan nodded and left.

JD opened his eyes and yawned. He grimaced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. Casting his eyes about he saw Buck next him, sitting staring over at the other cot, at Ezra who seemed to be sleeping there. "Buck?" Instantly his friend was leaning over, smiling warmly.

"Hey, JD. How ya feelin'?" Buck laid a large hand on his young friend's forehead. No fever, cool and dry. Buck smiled more widely still. Relief colored his eyes brightly.

JD wasn't ready to be quite so happy, though. He looked past Buck at the quiet form of the gambler. "Buck, is Ez gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, you heard Nate before you went to sleep. He'll be fine, just needs to sleep. Get himself healthy again."

JD shifted slightly so that his injured shoulder wasn't pressing so hard on the pillow behind him. Restlessly, he plucked at the coverlet with his fingers. "What happened, Buck?" he asked quietly.

"Happened?" Buck flushed and tried to look away. "I should be asking you and Ezra that. I was still inside the saloon when all the shooting started."

"Buck," JD's voice was dry with irritation, "You know what I mean. Why did you leave Ezra over on the cot and let him bleed like that?"

Buck sighed and met JD's eyes. "I thought he was keeping the pressure on by himself. Seemed fine. I wanted to help Gloria, you."

JD stared hard. His brown eyes seemed to cut into Buck. "You left him." JD shook his head. "I may have been playin' some this morning, but Buck, I got eyes. I seen the way you and him been eyein' each other. You got it bad for him. So, why'd you go do that?"

Buck shook his head now. "JD, it's not like that. You don't understand."

"So explain it to me." JD's voice was hard.

With a ragged breath, Buck nodded. "It was just-when I saw you'd been hit, I felt so bad. I hadn't even gone to check on you. What kinda o'friend does that make me? I was so smitten with Ez that I couldn't seem to remember anything else. Anyone else."

The young sheriff sat up with difficulty, reaching out to grab hold of his friend's arm. "Buck, no shit now. Ezra damn near bled himself out. I got a bad feeling about that. I think maybe he decided to let that happen, to leave us, you." The perceptive young man turned his head away and then back, staring hotly at Buck. "You deserted him after makin' him think he was special to ya." JD closed his eyes but didn't release his grasp on his friend. "You got a lot of work to do now, make him see you still care. That is, if you do?"

Buck's misery was clear. He pulled down on his mustache with one hand, pursing his lips and touching JD's leg with the other hand. "Yeah, I do. I care. But, JD, I care about you, too."

"The same way?" JD asked skeptically.

Buck blushed. "Naw. You know you're like a little brother to me."

JD nodded. "Yeah, 'big brother,' and that's not the same as what you and Ez could have. Now, Buck, you got to decide. No foolin' with Ez. If you're really serious, if you really want him like I think you do, then you got to reach out and take hold and hold on real tight. Don't matter so much what you say, matters what you do."

The tall lawman had listened with careful attention to his young friend. "You know, JD, you're one hellava smart feller." Buck twisted to look over at the gambler. "JD, I think I'm falling in love with Ezra." It came out as a whisper.

"Good. He deserves someone real and honest and special, like you."

"Good? JD, where'd you get to be so wise? You ain't no kid, you're an old man in a kid-suit." Buck smiled and leaned in to place a brotherly kiss on his friend's forehead. "Thanks, kid. Now all I gotta do is convince Ez."

Ezra kept very still. Ah shall need a lot of convincin,' Mr. Wilmington, he thought raggedly. Yoah actions, sirah, speak loudah than words. Ezra was miserable. He lived. He'd wanted to die. Now? Finding Chris Larabee hanging over him, dragging him back to the land of the living, had been a distraction, but it hadn't lasted. When Nathan had finished tending to him and Chris had departed, Ezra's spirit sunk again into despair. His exit from life denied, his troubled thoughts had tumbled about, then frozen as Buck's voice and JD's had cut through his private torments. Listening, he'd felt himself slide further into his well of melancholy. Love? What a strange word to use in conjunction with him. He did not believe in it. No, not for him.

Josiah walked across to the jail with Chris. He'd already escorted Gloria Potter back to her store, easing her worries while hiding his own. On his return, he'd heard Buck's confession to Chris. But this only confused him since inside the clinic JD had told him and Nathan that it was two vengeful trail hands who had shot the boy and the gambler. The big preacher was still upset about the way he'd found Ezra, nearly bled dry in the clinic, but there seemed to be a lot more to the story than anyone was telling him so far. He'd bide his time and listen. When he wanted to exert it, Josiah had a saint's own patience. Meanwhile, he would help Chris to check the wounds on the jailed shooter and, perhaps 'convince' the errant soul to confess - his sins and anything else that might be useful to his brethren, the lawmen of Four Courners.

Chris flicked a glance at the older man at his side. Good thing Josiah didn't lose it in the clinic, he thought, man has a tendency to act first and ask later when it came to the gambler getting hurt. This time though, he had been too busy helping first and later? Well, Chris had seen him standing at the foot of the stairs, when he'd stood up from his brief talk with Buck. Buck blamed himself for it all, but it had to be something more than Chris was seein' 'cause Buck hadn't been anywhere near during the shooting. Shaking his head at his men's self-inflicted burdens of guilt, Larabee led Josiah into the shady interior of the jail. Time to talk with the jailbait.

*******

Bear Treggor grinned at his partner as the two men hauled their horses to a skidding stop at the verge of the cliff. Below, the hapless cattle had piled in a mangle mass, dead as they struck the rocky ravine below. Sarp's gap toothed smile in return was full of self-satisfaction. They'd run off about thirty head from one of the big ranches. Left a telling trail to the cliff. Now the two former mountain men and trackers would vanish, their trail dead-ending with the cattle. Oh, the ranchers were gonna be sending up a howl alright. The two had made sure it was clear that this had been done by man, not nature. But they would not be tracked from here, both knew how to guarantee that.

"Let's get back to the young'un we left tied up, I fancy some tender beef steaks tonight," Keenon Sarp chuckled. Treggor ducked his head in agreement and the two started back.

*******

Fontaine looked at Johnny Ben, his best tracker. Ben had signaled that they should all dismount to do the approach to this high overlook of the Fort Laramie trail. It did look promising, he had to admit. Still, being a city man himself, he held out hope that Karke and the others would see a way for them to get the money at the bank rather than out here on the trail. He growled at himself for letting his mind drift and bellied down beside Johnny.

Harrison crawled up beside them, shaking his head. "No good, boss." At Johnny Ben's raised eyebrows he continued. "I rode on up trail and spotted the sojers. They's smarter than we thought. Got two outridin' scouts, taking the high trails to watch fer ambushers."

Hastily and with anger, Fontaine led Ben and Harrison back away from their prominence. "Let's ride for the camp, can't do anything more out here then," he admitted with gruff frustration.

*******

Chris glanced over his shoulder as Nathan entered the jail. He looks tired, Chris thought, remembering what Josiah had told him of the men's time in the Seminole village the last few days. He nodded silently in greeting and Jackson blinked in response, his own eyes sliding over to the first cell where Josiah was checking over Chris' simple first aid on their prisoner.

"Want me to help out?" Jackson leaned against the desk where Larabee rested his crossed ankles, stretched back out in the office chair.

Chris cocked an eyebrow at their resident preacher. "Josiah?"

"No, Brother Nathan, this poor sinner has only simple wounds of the flesh. Not worth your time. Go get some rest. I'm nearly done." Sanchez was tying off a wide swath of white cloth around the wounded prisoner's middle as he spoke. A pained grunt from the other man made it clear that there was no tenderness in the touch.

Nathan ignored the sounds from the cell and nodded once to Chris, calling back to Sanchez, "You decide you need me, you wake me, Josiah, hear?"

"Yes, sir, Nathan, not to worry." There was humor in the deep voice but it faded as the giant turned back to face his quarry. "Now, son, you're all fixed up good and proper. Won't likely bleed to death or anything. Unless, of course, I were to do this-" At which point, the older man's heavy hand squeezed firmly on the sore upper arm where the second bullet had passed through. A tiny spot of red appeared on the spotless bandage there.

"Ah, no! Please!" Hayes was scared. First that damn gunslinger, looking like some undertaker all in black, now this weird preacher-man who made him feel like he was in a revival meeting from hell. The black man hadn't lingered. He musta been the healer that Stinson and he had heard of, now he was going and leaving Hayes to the mercies of these two angry men. Oh, gawd, he had ta get outta here. Hopelessly he stared wide-eyed up at the huge man towering over him.

Josiah grinned toothily, but there was not mirth in it. "Brother, you need to confess your sins and cleanse your soul. Tell me why you shot at our young sheriff and what brought you and your departed friend to our fair hamlet."

Jeez, Josiah, Chris thought with amusement, you're beginning to sound like Ezra. That brought back his thoughts to his old friend Buck and the gambler. What was going on? Why was Buck blaming himself for what happened? And, what exactly was Buck blaming himself for anyway? Chris shook his head. They needed to talk once Buck was settled a bit more, which meant, from what he could tell, when Ezra was doing a sight better. That might take a spell. The conman had not looked good when he left him with Nathan earlier, even though Nate said he'd be alright with sleep and time. Dropping his spurred boots to the wooden floor with a sharp jangle, Larabee stood and stalked over to the door of the jail cell.

Hayes, already scared, trembled as Larabee joined Sanchez inside the cell. The two grim men looked like death to Hayes and he wasn't ready for that. Tell them, tell them anything or die. The thought burrowed into his conscious thoughts with lightning speed. He cowered and cringed on the narrow bunk, clutching at his wounds. "Don't-don't hurt me no more, please. I'll tell ya about the bank robbery."

Both tall men in front of him stilled and seemed to look even more intensely down at their rat prisoner. They said nothing, just waited, though Larabee's hand wandered to the handle of his pistol, fingering the trigger.

Tensely Rusty Hayes began to talk. About Texas, about the Territories, about the Fontaine Gang, and about the bullion due in from Fort Laramie.

*******

Johns, Carritoff and Karke all sat around a table in the saloon, drinking beers slowly and watching the slow afternoon crowd begin to grow with the approach of evening. The bar keep had kept them supplied with beer and they had started a simple poker game hoping to attract some locals who they could milk for information. So far, everyone was too busy sharing gossip at the bar and other tables, which was fine since they were all excited and talking loudly. Seems the local kid sheriff and the lawman-gambler had been shot in a shoot out on the main street that morning. Luckily, seems the others of the seven lawmen had returned so it weren't only the ex-Texas Ranger anymore keeping the peace. There appeared to be a gunslinger, a healer, and a preacher as well. Some one asked about their 'tracker' but didn't name him. Someone answered that the tracker was up at Fort Laramie still, hunting mustangs for the cavalry.

About mid-evening, the black-clad gunslinger entered. The room's noise softened but didn't stop. A wide pathway opened for the man, leading directly to a table adjacent to the Fontaine gang member's spot. The man seemed oblivious to the townsmen's courtesy, simply walked stolidly to the empty table, followed closely by an older, even bigger man. Without saying anything, Karke and the others knew they were seeing Larabee and Sanchez. The barkeep quickly set beers down in front of the two men, conferred low-voiced with them, then went away to return with a beer pitcher and more mugs which he left at the table.

Silently the three outlaws waited and watched.

A stir in the crowd and then a tall, rangy cowpoke strolled in. He went directly to the Seven's table and dropped into a chair, rather like an old bag of feed grain. With a nod to the others, he filled a mug with beer and leaned back to survey the room. His mustache drooped and his shoulders slumped. So, Wilmington had arrived.

It was a change in the posture of the three lawmen that had the outlaws looking carefully toward the batwing doors again. Standing just inside the doors was a young, dark-haired man, his arm in a white sling, with a tall, broad shouldered Negro beside him. The two newcomers walked over to the Seven's table and sat. Wilmington looked ready to say something, but at a look of withering disdain from the youth, he subsided, burying his nose in his beer. That made it Dunne and Jackson. Just left Standish and 'the tracker' unaccounted for.

Karke figured Standish must have been hurt worse than the kid sheriff and he already knew that the tracker was out of town still. They didn't really look all that tough.

Except maybe for Larabee who looked like walking death, danger came off him in waves.

And, maybe Sanchez who was so big and raw lookin', with an angry look in his eyes, kinda wild even, as he tossed back his beer and poured another.

And, then that there Wilmington sure looked morose, sour-pussed even. But with those big hands of his tense on the beer mug and the way his shoulders kept tensin' up every time someone came in, he'd be alert to anything happening-and he had been a Texas Ranger. And the Fontaine gang knew all about the Rangers - was why they'd left Texas to start with.

Now, the black feller, he was supposed to be a healer. Well, now, healers don't hurt folks, only, he had the damnedest set of knives harnessed to his back that Karke had ever seen. They hadn't been visible until he'd passed the outlaws table, and now, sitting to the side, they were out of sight again. But they hadn't been no doctor's healin' tools. No, sir, those looked like Bowie knives or throwin' knives. Damn.

That just left the kid sheriff. How'd anyone that young get to be sheriff anyway? He had a face on him as tough as the others, mouth turned down. Had twin Colts, too, like some Billy the Kid copycat. Damn, if those others let him sit with them and work with them, he was probably just as fast as old Billy had been.

They watched as a man came in with a telegraph. He seemed to hesitate, then marched over to Larabee. The gunslinger read it aloud to the other men at the table.

So, the bullion would arrive tomorrow. Karke shook his head. Time to leave. He had plenty to tell Fontaine. He nodded to Johns, nudged the drowsing Carritoff with displeasure. Together the three left quietly.

*******

Tanner sat still as a statue, cold coffee in one hand, other hand resting lightly on his sawed off shotgun. He reflected on the evening. First to arrive had been two rough looking mountain men, kindred spirits - almost. Only, they had a meanness to them that set them apart from the ex-Texan. They were cheerful, dragging in the hind leg and part of a set of ribs from some calf. Must a butchered it just now. That meant unhappy ranchers somewhere close by no doubt. As he nodded in greeting and listened to the others, Morgan looking more relaxed as his gang began to filter in, Vin settled for looking dangerous and silent. Not a hard fit.

With the meat sizzling and crackling over a couple of spits on the fire, the men settled in to wait for the rest. Fontaine, Bill Harrison, and Johnny Ben came in next. Ben looking suspiciously at Tanner's outfit. Clearly, he recognized a kindred tracker. Nothing was said though. And Frank Fontaine, like Luke Morgan, had heard of Tanner - not only his wanted poster for Tascosa, but also some of his bounty hunter career. When it was clear that Vin wasn't trying to collect bounty, everyone relaxed. After all, what bounty hunter would set up camp inside a circle of outlaws and let himself get outnumbered if he was going to try to bring them in?

When Karke and the rest arrived from Four Corners, Tanner was already an accepted fixture at the campfire. Charlie Karke sat down with a thump next to his boss and began to fill him in, low-voiced. But Fontaine was sitting next to Tanner so it was no stretch for the ex-bounty hunter to overhear the man's report.

Now, he sat grimly, waiting for the others to bed down. He could outwait them, of that he had no doubts. Not even the mountain men, Sarpe and Treggor, or the other tracker, Johnny Ben, had his Indian training or endurance. He watched, seemingly lax, actually tense and worried. He let his mind gnaw at the information he'd over heard. Chris was back in town. That was good news. Ezra and JD had been shot, not good news. JD was up already and drinking with the others at the saloon. So that weren't too bad. And Nathan had joined them, while all the rest were there - except for Ez. Seemed like Ez must be gonna be alright or some o' them woulda been up at the clinic, Nate leastways. So, Standish was hurt, but not that bad.

No way he could leave and warn them. Only thing to do was ride in with the gang and hope to disrupt things. Try to ride drag, so he didn't have to watch his back. Vin shrugged mentally. They'd faced worse odds. Likely his friends already were on the lookout for something even if they didn't know what. Being as how two of the gang had been in a shootout with 'em already. He sighted on some stars in the freckled canopy of night overhead. Be awhile still afore dawn. He took another sip of the cold coffee, cold comfort, and waited.

*******

All five of the lawmen breathed out a sigh of relief when the three outlaws at the neighboring table stood and left. Larabee leaned forward and let loose a tight grin as he cupped his beer mug with two hands. "Well, reckon they got an eyeful and an earful. That was a nice touch, Nate, wearin' your knife rig tonight."

Jackson grinned. "Yup, figgered it wouldn't hurt none to let'em know they was in for some trouble."

Sanchez sat tall and stretched his arms mightily. His own grin was fierce. "And the Lord saith-" he paused, cocking his head to one side. "Damn. Can't think a what he'd a said about this'un, but likely be inspirin'." He burped. Ok, so he'd had a bit too much to drink, he'd stop now, be ready by morning, maybe with a little edge left on his anger. That would not be a bad thing.

JD shrugged out of his sling. "I think I can use this arm, Nate, honest."

Jackson shook his head. "JD, put that back on. You kin shoot two-fisted most of the time, so tomorrow, you just use one, that's all. You'll still be in on it."

Wilmington, who dragged another long swallow as the others relaxed in triumph over their little charade, grunted softly. "JD, you be careful tomorrow." Before the kid could answer, Buck turned to his oldest friend. "Chris, think I'll spend the night up with Ez." He looked over at Jackson. "You get some more rest, sounded like you and Josiah been a mite busy lately. I'll watch Standish."

Jackson stared at the rangy lawman and studied the worn looking face. "Sure, Buck, you do that. I appreciate it. Know he'll be fine, just needs to rest some more, build up his strength again."

"Buck." JD didn't look up from his mug of beer. Voice flat and serious, he continued, "You take it easy on him."

Wilmington, already standing, nodded, then answered when he saw that JD wasn't looking up at him, "I will. Thanks, JD."

The exchange was so different from what usually went on between the two that the other men were riveted. In silence, they watched Buck stroll out, the picture of relaxed nonchalance. All eyes, as one, swiveled back to JD Dunne. It was Chris who spoke. "Alright, JD, out with it. What's going on between Buck and Ezra?"

*******

Ezra tried to roll onto his side and instantly regretted it as agonizing pain seared up from the newly stitched gunshot wound. Try as he might, he could not convince himself that it was merely an inconvenience, not yet at any rate. He desperately wanted out of the clinic and away from the chance of seeing Buck again. He swallowed, grimacing at the dryness of his mouth. There was a glass of water beside his bed but it might as well have been in the next county. To reach it, he had to stretch, to stretch meant pain. Not something he could deal with quite yet. So, he was thirsty-and awake-and alone. The last was puzzling. He knew that the others, well most of them anyway, were back in town. He wasn't too sure about Vin. Hadn't seen him or heard anyone talk about him. He sighed and rolled his head to face the rough wood planks of the wall beside his temporary bed.

Buck quietly opened the clinic door. It had been left slightly ajar to make entry soundless. With careful steps he moved to the side of Ezra's bed and sank into the chair placed there. Then nearly jumped to his feet in surprise as Ezra turned his head from the wall to look up at him. Buck leaned over the pale man.

"Hey, pard. Glad to see you awake." The quiet green eyes slipped away and looked toward the bedside table. Buck followed their aim and saw the water glass. "Thirsty?" He lifted the Southerner's head gently, lovingly and brought the glass to those tempting lips.

When Standish had drunk all the water, Buck eased him back onto the pillows. Shifting from chair to the side of the bed and settling there, Buck looked deeply into his friend's eyes. "Ezra?"

Ezra didn't want to do this. Not now. Not ever. He closed his eyes. Maybe he'll go away if he thinks I'm sleeping.

"Ezra?" Buck's voice was coaxing, soft. "Please, pard, I know you're in there. Talk to me, Ez?"

Standish opened his eyes warily. Still there. Damn.

"Ez," Wilmington picked up the nearer small hand and held it between his two larger ones, feeling the thin, fine bones and slender fingers. He was careful not to tighten his grip enough to hurt, but held on when Standish tried to pull free. "I gotta talk to you, Ez." He waited and when the green eyes continued to hide behind a veil of blandness, he continued, "JD thinks you did it on purpose."

That got his attention, Buck thought with sad satisfaction.

"Did what?" the hoarse scratchy tone wasn't much like his love's usually musical voice. Yes, his love. Buck's eyes began to dampen.

"JD thinks you let go of that wound, let yourself bleed out on purpose. Ez, he thinks you tried to commit suicide." There it was out.

Ezra swallowed harshly, wanting to deny it, wanting to rush out of the room, wanted to punch Buck Wilmington in the face. Want to-oh, what the hell? Dropping his eyes, he replied guardedly, "And if I did?"

His hand was released and his shoulders gripped with iron strength, hands jerking him upright in bed, ignoring his inadvertent cry of pain. "Damn you, Ezra Standish!"

Then he was pulled tightly against Buck's chest, face buried in the lawman's shirt as two long arms wrapped around him and held on tightly, as if trying to pull him into the other's body. He couldn't struggle, it was too much. He simply lay against Buck and let his tears come. Silently they fell, slowly dampening the shirt that blotted them up into a widening circle of moisture.

If his shoulders shook, he didn't know. If hands gentled and began to stroke his back, he didn't feel it. If someone began to murmur in his ear, some soft lullaby, he didn't hear it. If another began to cry as well, he didn't see it. He cried, in pain and in fear, in despair and in hope. Ezra cried silently, he learned how to do that at the early age of three, to save himself from beatings. Now it was the only way he knew to cry, though he'd not cried in years. He cried.

The world spun crazily and his eyes saw only sparkles of color bursting against the blackness of his wet, closed eyelids. His hands, his fingers, dug into the material beneath them, clenched in anguish for love he couldn't understand, hadn't asked for, wasn't at all sure he wanted, was afraid would tear his world apart.

Buck felt his heart break. He'd often heard women say theirs had, but he'd never really known what that meant before. Now, ask him, he knew. Somehow, he'd hurt this precious man in his arms, hurt him beyond comprehension. Driven him to want to take his own life. Oh, dear God, how could he fix this? He wasn't wise like Josiah, he didn't have instincts like Vin, or healing powers like Nate. He couldn't cut to the quick of things like Chris, or peel away layers of sophistication like JD's naivety could. He was just plain old Buck. He could be loyal, he could shoot straight and ride hard. He could bed a dozen women in a dozen nights, but he couldn't find a way to show this man that he loved him. Couldn't convince him that it was right. Damn, hadn't really even had a chance to try.

Buck cried because Ezra cried. He cried because he'd hurt this man that he only recently found he loved. He cried because his heart hurt in the breaking. He cried because he was so wound up with feelings so strange and terrifying that if he didn't cry, he'd likely go and do something really stupid. Like try to kill himself? Suddenly the tears dried up and a light seemed to break through inside of him. Yeah.

"Ezra, you old mule, I love you." He said this clearly and firmly into the closest pearl ear. Then he kissed that ear, licked it and kissed it some more. Then he spoke again. "I love you, Ezra." He kissed down the slender neck and onto one bare shoulder, feeling himself go hard like a bolt of lightning'd hit him. He ignored his swollen, throbbing flesh. "Ezra, I love you so much." He ducked down under the smaller man's tucked in chin and forced the reddened, wet face off his chest so that he could lick and kiss the tender throat, run his tongue slickly over the protruding Adam's apple, let his wet muscle squirm down the smooth chest to tickle one quick-hardening nipple. He suckled momentarily, enjoying the new feel of this flat surface so unlike a woman's. "Ezra," he whispered against the nub that caught gently at his teeth, "I love you."

Ezra's silent tears continued to fall, but he was beginning to panic at this unlooked for attack on his flesh. His body reacted unkindly, hiccups catching at his swelling throat, the nervous fluttering of his larynx encouraging this embarrassing reaction. Hiccupping with a vicious pain now, tears like streams running down his face, he tried, feebly to be sure, he tried to push back Buck's advances.

Buck ignored his attempts at separating them further, but did pay attention to the panic attack that was setting in. Tenderly he gathered his friend back against his chest, bending down to capture the trembling lips and suck the gasps of pain from them. The hiccups stuttered to a halt and the tears began to slow. Buck tilted his head to get a better connection and deepened the kiss. He pulled back and licked the now swollen lips. "I love you, Ezra P. Standish. My heart is breaking, I love you so much. Don't leave me, please, Ezra, don't ever leave me."

Finally vibrant green eyes, awash in salty tears, blinked open. Eye lashes lay in thick wet clumps below and stuck up in ragged lines above the emerald lights. Red, flush skin surrounded the whole. Never had he seen such a lovely sight, Buck sighed, damn, I am in love. He smiled tentatively at his watching silent captive. "I do love you. I need you so bad, Ez, I love you so much. It hurts, how much I love you." He shrugged. "Don't ask me what happened, I just don't know. Only know, after Wickes' Town, I just couldn't ever look at you the same. It was like I really looked at you, true and honest, for the first time. And, Ez, I loved what I saw and I knew, right then and there, that this was it fer me. This was my life forever. If you'll have me?"

The Southerner was sitting up, shaking his head and blinking back a new rush of tears. "B-b-b-buck." He gulped and tried again, "Buck, I don't know how-" He choked on the tears that fell. A gentle hand, long fingers barely touching, wiped away the latest tears and lingered on one cheek, stroking it encouragingly. Ezra tried again, terrified and brave at the same time in the face of Buck's love. This was no trick, no prank, this was real. His conman's soul tasted truth and sang in triumph, celebrated with a joyful cry of freedom from chicanery, from larceny and from stealth. His eyes caught Buck's dark blue ones, searing his own truth as he spoke again. "Buck, I don't know how but I love you, too."

"Oh, god, Ezra!" Buck dragged his love close again, holding on for dear life. A pained squeak finally brought him back to the reality of the moment. "Oh, shit, Ezra!" He pushed the wounded man from him and eased him ever so carefully down onto the bed. "Are you alright?"

Ezra lay there, looking up at the anxious face of his future and smiled. The tattered remnants of his brooding dreams seemed to dissolve in the heat of this man's true love. And I thought this only happened in fairy tales, he mused with a new contented self-confidence. Languidly, he raised one hand to trace the man's jaw line, then tickle his way up the unshaven chin to a wide, generous mouth that sucked it in. "Yes, I'm alright, Buck. What's a bullet hole between good friends?" He hesitated, then added shyly, "Or lovers?"

Buck nearly choked on the finger he'd pulled into his mouth a moment before. With tender touch, he pulled the hand away, seeing quick doubt grow in those liquid green eyes. Before it could take up residence, he leaned in to kiss his treasure deeply. The doubt fled and he watched a glow of happiness grow in its place. He ended the kiss with a playful nip and then cupped the dear face below him in his two hands. "Ez, soon's this is over, we're gonna go on a long trail ride and set us up right as permanent pardners. When we come back here, we'll tell the others." He grinned at the astonished face of his gambler, "JD, he already knows. Maybe Chris and Nathan, too."

Ezra snuggled his shoulders down into the pillows below him and smiled. "Good, it will save time and energy." He reached up and pulled Buck down by his mustache. The 'ouch!' this caused was ignored as they jointly devoured each other's mouths again. Breaking away to breathe, Ezra spoke again huskily, "I want to spend all my time and energy loving you."

"Oh, my god, Ezra, you are the sweetest thing in my life!" Buck slid down onto the bed and curled around his smaller friend, enveloping him in a gentle bear hug from behind. He sniffed the man's skin, lavender scented. It would be forever linked for him with Ezra. Spooned together, they lay there, letting their surging emotions settle into new patterns. "Ezra, promise me, you won't ever even think on that agin." Both knew what Buck meant.

"Buck, I can't-"

"Ez, no, never again. You are my life now."

"Buck, if I ever lost you," Ezra stopped. Buck was clutching at him. "No, Buck, no, I know you won't leave me, I know it here." He took one of Buck's larger hands and placed it against his own heart because, amazingly, he did know this. "What I mean is, if you should die first-"

"Never. I'll never leave you!"

Ezra nodded and said no more. No one could make such promises and keep them, but he was loved like he'd never been loved before and he loved in return. It was so incredible that who knew? Maybe their love was a miracle that could make other miracles. All he knew, all he needed to know, was the man with him now wanted to stay with him forever. That was enough. More than enough.

Ezra smiled sweetly as he tilted his head back to let Buck have better access. He felt the tickle of Buck's mustache as the man kissed his throat again, evidently already a favorite spot - for both of them. Ezra's smile seemed destined to stay pasted on his face forever.

*******

Tanner reluctantly mounted Peso and sat waiting as the gang of men at the campsite straggled to their own horses and pulled into their saddles. Fontaine grinned around at his men, including Tanner in that circle of hunger. Unknowingly echoing another's man's call of only weeks before, he cried out, "Let's ride!" Vin frowned at the echo and held Peso back. The Indian pony danced in place, eager to run.

Vin held firm. When the last of the other men moved out, he fell in behind with a discontented Peso twitching his tail menacingly, producing small half-bucks of rebellion until Vin's knees locked down, sending a message that the horse knew better than to ignore.

Stubborn horse was gettin' as particular as old Chaucer, Ezra's cranky mount. Vin smiled. He was looking forward to getting home, to his friends - his own family of six brothers.

*******

"-soon as this is over-" Ezra was suddenly wide-awake. Stiff in Buck's arms, his memory replayed those words again. As soon as what was over? Something was going on and none of the others had told him. Suspicious now of JD's absence, which he thought was simply to give them privacy, Ezra now thought again. His mind was racing with possibilities. No one else had been up since Buck had come back. Giving them time alone? Or busy doing something? The only things his confreres did was keep the law. So, what had happened? Or, what was going to happen? He purposefully relaxed, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he narrowed them. Buck might have been fully honest about his love. No, not might, he had been, that Ezra knew with rock certainty. So, what had Buck not been honest about? Or, more like some amateur con, what had he left out? The unspoken truths. Convinced now that the others were in trouble, he pondered his next move. Either the trouble wasn't too bad, or hadn't gotten here yet. Else-wise, Buck would be with them, helping. Unless he was here to protect Standish? No, already Ezra knew that Buck would never be successful keeping any important secrets from him. This had been an omission, but he suspected that unless he asked, he'd not be told.

The light outside the window was brightening with dawn. Buck stirred behind him. Held him warmly, hugged him gently, kissed him tenderly, then began to rise, apparently thinking he could slip from the bed while Ezra, always the late riser, slept on. Not this morning, my love, Ezra thought grimly, not even noticing the new way he thought of his friend. "Buck."

"Ah, mornin', Ez." Hesitant. Yes, something was indubitably up.

"Buck, tell me."

"Tell you?"

"What is happening? Where are the others?"

Buck Wilmington was torn. He needed to get out, take up his agreed upon position, but Ezra was demanding answers. They had decided not to tell him anything. He was still weak with blood loss. Could endanger himself, others. Buck bit his lip, eyeing his friend. "Well, pard, it's like this-"

"Buck, spin me no tale."

Dark blue eyes met vivid green ones as Buck swung around the bed to face his new life partner. Promises crossed the distance between them silently, on wings of love, they'd have a chance to consummate it soon, each promised the other. But a threat crossed that distance, too. "Buck." The warning tone set off alarms in the tall man.

"Well, Ez," he shifted uncomfortably and sank back into the bedside chair. "The men who came in yesterday morning, shot you and JD, they were scouts for a big gang o' outlaws that want a bullion shipment that the Army's bringing in."

"When?"

"Chris got word by telegraph last night, it's due in today."

"But the scouts are dead?"

"Well, one you shot is. T'other one's still kicking, despite two pieces of lead, from JD and from Chris." Buck smiled wolfishly. "Josiah managed to convince him to tell us all he knew. So we recognized some others that drifted in last night. We gave them a little show, made sure they heard about the telegraph just afore they left. So, we figger they's gonna come in this morning, try to take the town and ambush the horse soldiers when they ride in."

"You're going out to join the others now." It wasn't a question.

Buck nodded. And waited, trust this man to figure it all out. He didn't have to wait for long.

"Give me my guns."

"Now Ez, you ain't gonna go out there."

"Buck. This is not about us, this is about being part of the law here."

"Ez, yore wounded and blood-weak."

"I don't have to run and jump, just shoot straight, and, Buck, my dear love, I can do that better than anybody except - maybe - Vin Tanner. And I'm faster than him."

Buck shook his head, Ezra was right of course, but he never bragged, never. 'Course he wasn't really braggin' now, just stating the truth. A smile stole over the tall man's face, his eyes smiling down as well as he took up one tense hand of his love's.

"Ez, we all know you're the best, but you need ta sit this one out. We'll be okay." With that, Wilmington leaned down and kissed the damp forehead, frowning slightly at the low fever he felt at the touch. He brushed back the disarray of chestnut curls and kissed the forehead again, with finality. "I'll be back. I love you, Ezra."

Frustrated, Ezra thumped at the mattress with both fists as Wilmington strode toward the door, but he spoke out clearly. "Buck," then waited until the man turned at the door. "I love you, Buck Wilmington. Be safe. Come back to me."

Buck nodded, face already settling into firm lines of determination. "I will."

He walked out into the morning sunshine. Oh, god, not out of my life, please, Ezra thought. As soon as the sound of the lawman's boots on the stairs ended, Ezra was sitting up. He sagged, feeling light-headed. Disregarding this, he forced his legs over the side of the bed and bent nearly double with faintness. Grimly, he inhaled deeply and brought his world back to order. Then he climbed gingerly to his feet. He could see his clothing, folded on top of one of Nathan's chests. His guns nearby. Clearly no one thought he could make it out of bed to reach them. Even after all this time, they really don't know me, what I am capable of doing when I want to. His tiny smile grew as he made it across the room and sank to the chest beside his clothing.

*******

Fontaine had already instructed his men on the plan of attack. Nothing fancy, just ride in and shoot anyone moving. Only, the town was disturbingly empty. Not even a horse, a dog in sight. For a moment, he thought they had made a mistake, ridden into one of the countless ghost towns that littered the plains. But no, Karke, beside him, seemed to read his mind because he commented across the clatter of hooves, "This is Four Corners, Frank. Don't know what's going on, was lively enough last night."

Vin hid his smirk as he rode up behind the gang. Could see that the town had been warned. Made his job easier. He and Peso slipped out of the formation and off behind the livery, where Peso snorted a greeting to a widely grinning Josiah who stood up from behind a rain barrel in the alley beside the stables. "Welcome to the party, Vin."

"Thanks, Josiah, everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"How's JD and Ez? Heard they took some lead."

"JD's up and with us, Brother Ezra will be soon."

Vin nodded, grounding Peso's reins near the corral fence. "I best be making for high ground, then." He gave Josiah a short, two-fingered salute and began to climb up the livery barn's ladder.

Chris watched from within the darkened saloon. He'd give them time to get all the way into the center of town. He knew that JD was restless over at the jail, but it was a safe bunker for the kid, and he could still take shots from there. He pictured Nathan hunkered down in the bank's lobby and Buck, behind the watering trough by Potter's Store. Yeah, they were ready. He pulled his six-shooter and edged closer to the swinging doors, his black clothing a dark shadow within the shadows. Invisible.

*******

Gunshots rang out. It was impossible to say who shot first, each followed so closely on the other. Chris smiled around his cheroot as Vin's Sharps bit the air from high up in the livery. Good to have him back, Larabee thought with satisfaction, not questioning his sudden arrival. Tanner was like that. Just there when you needed him.

It was the bark of Ezra's Remington that had the gunslinger pulling up short and cursing. The crazy man was still supposed to be in a sick bed, and there he was taking shots from the clinic balcony! Damn that stubborn Southern fool. One of the gang fell dead near his feet right after the Remington spoke. Damn fool, damn good shot. It was good to have him up and working with them, he was a good man to have on your side.

JD's Colt and Sanchez's rifle were firing almost in unison, setting up a deadly crossfire that Buck and Chris were punctuating with peppering shots, everyone trying for accuracy. It was the sharpshooter and the gambler that were racking up the count highest. Within five short minutes, the gang had been decimated. Lifeless, the Fontaine Gang lay in dark heaps strewn across the rutted main street, some of their horses run off, others standing over the dead, like four-footed sentinels.

In the distance, in the new silence, the seven lawmen could hear the sound of a cavalry trumpet sounding a call. Vin swiveled to bring his eyeglass up and studied the horizon. Yep, here they come, some o' Fort Laramie's finest with the bullion wagon. He waved an all clear to Chris who was standing now in the street, looking up at him. Chris gave a single nod and turned to finish checking the dead along with Josiah and Nathan. JD stood on the boardwalk by the jail, guns in hands, his sling discarded, watching their backs as they checked the fallen outlaws.

Buck had surged to his feet as the last man fell, intent on getting to Ezra who leaned casually over the clinic's balcony railing, for all the world a sightseer enjoying the view. "Ezra!" His angered tone had the other men carefully hiding smiles, pretending not to notice as the lanky former-ladies-man stormed across the street heedless of them.

Standish straightened and dimpled at Buck, casually beginning to holster his Remington. Then in the blink of an eye, he had it out, arm straight, and was aiming directly at his friend. "BUCK!" His cry was a warning even as he fired.

Wilmington had slowed in surprise at the hostile move and jumped at the shot. He felt the heat of the bullet's close passage and staggered to the side, stunned. Behind him, Bear Treggor subsided, now certainly dead from a single bullet to the brain, entering through one golden eye. The large caliber revolver lay in the dirt by his claw-like hand, loosed only after the bullet's path was complete. Buck swallowed as Chris stormed over and kicked the dead man angrily. Both looked up at the now weakly smiling con man. "I feared for your life." Ezra said quietly as his legs folded beneath him and he disappeared from view.

"Ezra!" Buck's cry was nearly lost in the sound of his running feet. The others, now having secured the field, followed anxiously. They found the big lawman sitting on the porch floor, their gambler cradled in his arms, pulled across his lap. He looked up and called out. "Nathan! Please-"

Jackson pushed through the other and squatted at the side of the two men. He felt for a pulse. Nodded assurance, then checked for injuries. Shook his head. "Looks like he just overdone it, Buck, he'll be fine." Nathan looked back over his shoulder, "Chris, Josiah, you two think you kin get Ezra back into bed?"

Chris and Josiah stepped forward and lifted the Southerner free of Buck's lap, then carried him back into the clinic. Nathan offered Buck his hand and helped him to his feet. Vin and JD, trailing up behind the others followed them into the clinic. Buck sat down directly on the bed and drew Ezra into his arms. The smaller man was already rousing from his blackout. Pushing at the containing arms indignantly, Ezra scolded, "Buck!"

"Don't you 'Buck' me, young man," the rangy mustached man answered firmly, "You just lie still. This is where you were supposed to stay, remember?"

"Ezra?" JD knelt down on one knee beside the bed to be at eye level with his friend. "You alright?"

Standish blushed and met Dunne's eyes. "Yes, JD. I'm fine." He wriggled experimentally causing Buck to groan softly and tighten his hold from behind. Grinning at JD, then up at the others, his dimples and gold tooth showing, he added, "I've never been better."

Chris stood back and smiled. "Good." He raised his eyes to meet his old friend's, "Buck, you take real good care of him now. He's one of us, you know."

Vin Tanner came to stand at Larabee's side and nodded. "Ez, you and old Buck?"

Ezra's smile got bigger, if that were possible and he leaned back to rest his head on Buck's shoulder, without speaking. Vin's eyes went wide and then warmed. His nod was almost imperceptible but powerful in its blessing.

Sanchez and Jackson stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the bed. "Brother Nathan, I think we are witnessing a blessed event."

Jackson's sly smile cracked from one corner then the other, his mouth curving upward. "Josiah, you said a mouthful." He turned his smile on the bedded men. "'bout time."

Indignant again, Ezra's shoulders started to stiffen but Buck felt the change and was already soothing him, kissing his temple and humming. Sagging back in languorous confusion, Ezra simply nodded to all.

Below, the clattering sounds of the arriving troop and bullion wagon, the sharp sound of orders as they discovered all the bodies in the street, broke the spell in the small clinic room. "Buck, you stay with Ezra," Chris ordered, knowing full well that any other order would be ignored, "The rest of you come with me, we still got the army to deal with."

The lawmen walked out with many a backwards glance, all full of smiles for their brothers. Ezra snuck a look up at Buck's face. "Buck, you will follow Chris' orders, won't you?"

"Hm? You mean - to stay with you?" At the gambler's nod, Wilmington's face grew serious. "Ezra, I mean to stay with you through this lifetime and any others that come along. Yep, Ez, I'm staying with you."

The Southerner reached up to lay a hand along side Buck's face where it hovered above and behind him. "Me too."

"Ez? Where's all yore big words?"

For an answer, Ezra twisted around in Buck's arms and pressed his lips against the other man's. The scent of lavender filled Buck's senses, like a balm of loving peace. Clinched in a kiss of commitment and love, they stayed that way for quite some time. When Ezra sank down slightly, breathlessly, Buck smirked down at him. "Oh."

---fini---