Vin Tanner was a patient man.

It was the first requirement for the hunt, and he was nothing if not a hunter. It was all he knew, it was his very nature. From buffalo to bounties, he'd tracked and hunted nearly everything a man could imagine, and he'd done it with the intense single-mindedness of one who'd been born and bred for it. Blessed with sight as clear as any hawk's and hearing as keen as any owl's, he had the tenacity of a wolf and, when the moment was right, was as quick to strike as a rattler. He'd spent his whole life honing his skills and sharpening his instincts, had mastered every lesson and shaped himself into a predator rivaled only in nature.

And now he was on the hunt again.

Raptor-sharp eyes were focused tightly on his prey, and a subtle tension radiated from every line of the lean body slouched with deceptive indolence into the chair in front of the saloon. As was his way, once he'd marked his prey he'd taken his time to stalk and study it, to learn its habits and nature until he knew them as well as he did his own. He did not relax his vigilance now, though he had already committed every aspect of this target to his memory. Now and then, as the wind changed direction, he'd lift his head slightly and sniff the air, one corner of his mouth lifting as he caught his quarry's scent. And, now and then, as he studied the movements of his prey, he'd lick his lips hungrily.

It was almost time.

This was something he never rushed, this deliberate watching and waiting, but he knew he had to be more careful now than ever. So much depended on this -- hell, his whole life was at stake -- that he knew he couldn't afford to make the tiniest misstep. His prey was every bit as canny as he was, had survived for years on instincts as sharp as his own. If he struck too soon or waited too long, he'd lose it all. His timing had to be just right.

And it was almost time.

He smiled again to himself and stretched his long legs out before him, never looking away from the man and woman at the end of the boardwalk. Chris Larabee and Mary Travis. Both surely two of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen in his life, both he was privileged to call friend when, by all rights, he should never have been permitted to enter their worlds. Both of whom had taken pains he would never have expected to lift him out of his isolation and ignorance. Both of whom he cherished.

But only one of whom he loved.

Again the wind shifted, again he sniffed, again he licked his lips. Tobacco. Just a hint of the sharp, acrid tang reached him, but it was enough. The familiar hunger awakened within him, and the familiar desire ignited. His glittering gaze traveled slowly, longingly over hair the color of sun-ripened wheat, over beautiful features he already knew by heart, over the slim, perfectly-proportioned body that fired his imagination as well as his blood.

There were countless things he wanted to do to that body, and he was determined to do them all, or die in the trying.

He watched Mary reach out to Chris, lay a small, shapely hand upon his arm and curve her fingers almost possessively about him, and he shook his head slowly, smiling slightly as like recognized like. She was on the hunt, too, he knew that, saw the hunger and the predatory gleam in her eyes. And, ordinarily, he might wish her well.

But not this time.

He liked Mary, considered her a true friend. And he'd be forever grateful for all she'd done for him. She'd treated him decently back when other "Christian" folks were still crossing the street to avoid coming near him, had shown him kindness when he'd almost forgotten what such was. She'd been among the first to look beneath his rough exterior and see the poet's soul inside, and she'd been the one to give him the gift of letters. He liked her.

But he loved Chris.

Almost from the first moment they'd met, he'd known he loved Larabee and, since then, had merely been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make that love known. He'd been patient, watching silently as Chris and Mary danced around each other and tried to figure out exactly what they felt for each other, tried to fan a spark of interest into the fire of love. And he'd been watching Larabee watch him, saying nothing while the gunman tried to get a handle on what exactly it was he felt for the scruffy tracker who'd planted himself without a word at his side. In his life.

And who intended to plant himself even deeper.

So he watched now, and saw Chris smile at Mary, a smile that sent his own heart soaring, then turn and walk away. He vaguely heard the man mention "my cabin," and every hunter's instinct in him awakened. He straightened in his chair -- well, as much as he ever straightened -- and tracked Larabee's slender, blade-straight figure to the livery with clear, sharply-focused eyes. The predator's sense of recognition stirred in him then, and a slow, wolfish smile spread slowly across his face.

It was time to strike.

---

Chris untacked Pony and rubbed him down, then put the black in the corral and started slowly toward the small, rough cabin, his handsome face twisting into a mask of deep thought. And deep confusion.

He couldn't understand it. He'd tried and he'd tried, and it didn't make any more sense now than it ever had. He liked Mary. He did. He respected her, admired her, considered her a good friend. She spoke her mind, stood up for what she believed and had the courage to back her convictions. Those were qualities he respected in anyone, man or woman. He liked Mary.

But...

He went into the cabin, deposited his saddlebags on the table and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and a cup from the cupboard. Still frowning, he went back out onto the porch and folded his long frame into the caneback chair he'd put out here so he could watch the sunset. He poured himself a drink, took out and lit a cheroot, hung his hat over the back of the chair, then slouched down comfortably, stretched out his legs before him, and told himself to stop thinking.

But...

He blew out a sharp stream of smoke, impatient with himself. There it was again. That damn "but" had been nagging at him for days, intruding on his every thought. He knew it was high time he decided what to do about Mary, decided what to do about them...

Hell, decided if there even was a them.

Everyone else thought there was, that was plain. Even Mary seemed to think so, the way she smiled at him, went out of her way to be with him, made little gestures like today, when she'd laid her hand on his arm with a strangely proprietary ease. As if she were naturally laying claim to what belonged to her.

Except that he didn't belong to her, and wasn't at all certain he wanted to.

He took a sip of whiskey and narrowed his eyes, staring out at the horizon. Any man would be lucky to find such a woman, he knew that. Women with her mind, her heart, her spirit didn't come along every day, and any man she set her sights on should consider himself fortunate. And she'd clearly set her sights on him.

So why didn't he feel more fortunate, and less like an animal caught in a trap?

He wasn't blind or naive; he knew what being with her would mean. She had an instinctive need to tame wildness, to bring civilization to savagery, and that need would extend to him. She wanted him not as he was, but as she would make him. She wanted to smooth his rough edges, to tame him, gentle him.

She wanted to make the bad element respectable.

He drew deeply on his cheroot and exhaled slowly, his eyes still fixed on the distance. Well, hell, he'd been respectable once before, hadn't he? With Sarah? And it hadn't been so bad. In fact, it had been damned good.

Except that Mary wasn't Sarah, and there was nothing in the lovely widow that made him feel about her the way he had about his wife.

Sarah Connolly had swept him away from the first, had stripped away every layer of reserve he'd built around himself and laid bare his soul. She'd known every part of him at once, had seen him in his entirety, good and bad, light and dark, and taken him as he was, for who he was. And in never once demanding that it happen, she'd gradually changed him for the good, making him a far better man simply for having loved and been loved by her.

Did a man have any right to expect to find that twice in his life? Shouldn't he just be happy with whatever he could find and build a life out of whatever he was granted?

Of course, the hitch in that particular line of thought was that he had found it again. Just not with Mary. Hell, not even with a woman.

He dropped his head onto the back of the chair with a groan, not liking at all the direction his thoughts were taking, but unable to control their wandering. Damn Vin Tanner, anyway. Every time he tried to figure out his future with Mary, the long-haired Texan sauntered across his mind like he belonged there, fixing his direct, amused and faintly mocking stare on him and giving that slight, crooked grin that could bring Larabee's temper to boiling faster than almost anything else.

Or steal the heat from it and bring him to his senses faster than anything else...

No. It was Mary he'd come out here to think about, not Vin. Didn't matter that Tanner saw clear through him with those goddamn blue eyes, that the tracker knew him better than he knew himself, knew every strength, every flaw, and accepted them all without question. Didn't matter that he didn't have to make any excuses or apologies for who or what he was to Vin, that he didn't have to pretend to be anything other than he was, or that pretense wouldn't have done a damn bit of good anyway. Didn't matter that he felt more at peace, more whole with Vin than he had with anyone since Sarah. What mattered was what he felt for Mary. And he did feel something for her.

Didn't he?

He lifted his head from his chair, exhaled another stream of smoke, then took a drink of whiskey and stared again into the distance. Yeah, he felt something. But he wasn't at all sure it was enough. No matter how hard Mary tried, and no matter how hard he tried to let her, there was a place in him she couldn't reach. A place no one but Sarah had ever reached. A place he'd thought no one would ever reach again, until...

No. He shook his head to clear it, and took another drink. It wasn't the same thing, couldn't be the same thing. His friendship with Vin had no bearing whatsoever on what he felt -- or didn't feel -- for Mary. The two were completely different. They had to be. If he felt a little easier in Vin's presence than he did in anyone else's, if he looked forward to times of quiet companionship with the tracker more than he did to time spent with anyone else, if he looked to Vin for anything he needed before he did to anyone else, was that so strange? After all, the man was his friend.

And being Tanner's friend was about the easiest thing he'd ever done. Hell, he'd never really had to do anything at all; it had just happened. From the first moment they'd locked gazes across the street, that friendship had come as naturally as breathing. He didn't know why, couldn't explain or understand it, and didn't bother to try. Might as well try to explain how the earth knew to keep turning. What he did know was that something in the eyes that had met his had poured over and through him like cool water over a desert, bringing new life to the dry and withered husk of his soul.

But that had nothing to do with Mary.

He finished his whiskey, then poured himself another cup and drank deeply, telling himself to forget about the tracker and concentrate on the widow. He'd come out here to get his thoughts, his feelings, about her straight, after all. He had no business thinking about Vin. Hell, he knew how he felt about him.

Didn't he?

Oh, no. No, no. He shook his head forcefully, and took another drink. That didn't bear thinking on at all. He was just trying to confuse himself, trying to keep from making a decision about Mary. Vin Tanner was his friend. And Tanner would be the first to tell him to stop wool-gathering and get on with the business at hand.

Which was what?

Shit.

He drained the remainder of the whiskey from his cup, then finished his cheroot and rose from his chair, still staring into the distance. He told himself he didn't know what he was looking for, that he wasn't looking for anything at all, and told himself he believed that. And once he told himself he believed that he believed that, he turned and went into the cabin, satisfied that he had it all straight.

He still needed to think about Mary.

And he definitely needed to stop thinking about Vin.

---

Tanner smiled as he studied Larabee through his spyglass, as he noted the man's uneasy posture and watched every expression that flickered across his unguarded face. Chris was puzzlin' on somethin' almighty hard, and he figured he knew what it was.

Mary's snare hadn't closed completely about Larabee yet, and, as much as he liked the woman, he was about to swoop down and snatch the gunman from her.

He waited for Chris to go inside, waited a few minutes more just to be sure, then snapped shut his glass and rose to his feet from the ground where he had lain. As he walked back to where he'd tethered Peso, he realized he'd have to warn Chris about the slight, brush-covered rise that gave a man such a good, and well hidden, view of the cabin. It needed to be cleared, and soon.

'Cause a man just never knew when somebody might be after him.

---

Chris wandered idly about the small cabin, straightening its sparse furnishings half-heartedly, trying to decide if he had appetite enough to fix a meal. Not that he had much -- beans, a loaf of bread and the bacon he'd picked up on the way out of town -- but, then again, he wasn't hungry for much. Cooking would be more a way of distracting himself than actually satisfying any bodily need.

Though there were some bodily needs no amount of food could satisfy...

No, goddamn it, no. He would not let his thoughts wander there. He'd learned to control his needs, and now mastered his body with the same iron will he exercised over his emotions. Now and then, when need coincided with opportunity, he might relax that will and indulge his desires, but those occasions were few and far between. He had yet to find anyone who could make him feel even a measure of what Sarah had, and, while such couplings might satisfy his body, there was nothing in them that came near touching his soul. And it hardly seemed worth the effort when he left some woman's bed feeling emptier than he had when he'd gone into it.

So he'd learned to go without, and had grown accustomed to the feel of his own hand when the ache became unbearable. As it was doing now.

Well, hell, that's what he got for thinking about Mary...

He frowned sharply and froze in the act of lighting the stove. He narrowed his eyes, conjured a mental picture of the lovely newspaper editor...

And felt nothing. No stab of heat to his deprived flesh, no sharpening of his hunger, no deepening of his craving. Nothing. He tried to imagine how it might feel to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her, to take her to him and show her how he felt about her...

Except that he felt nothing. Frowning now in confusion, he looked down at his crotch, his blond brows drawing low over his eyes as he watched the swelling there subsiding. What the hell?

He stared at himself, thought hard about Mary. And his thoughts were all that got hard. He tried to remember the smell of her perfume -- she wore perfume, didn't she? -- and the color of her eyes. Light... light what? Blue? Gray. No, wait, blue. Maybe. Yes, goddamn it, they were blue.

Though certainly not a memorable shade. Not a blue as deep and as dark as the twilight sky, a blue that drew your eyes to it and snared your soul in it, that shimmered and shone with light and life, a blue that was clear and sharp and bright and that put every other shade of blue to shame. No, Mary's eyes weren't blue like that. Hell, nobody's eyes were blue like that.

Except...

"Shit!" He jumped up with a curse as the lucifer he'd forgotten he held burned all the way down to his fingers and seared his flesh. Another curse tore from him and he shoved his thumb, forefinger and middle finger into his mouth, licking their burned tips, then stomped furiously on the match he'd dropped before the floor caught fire.

Shit sonuvabitch goddamn it, what the hell was he doing thinking about Tanner's eyes?! So they were blue, so what? Lots of folks had blue eyes; hell, Buck and Josiah had 'em! Oh, maybe they weren't as blue as Vin's, weren't as wide as Vin's, or as deep, and maybe their eyes didn't show a soul as old as the mountains one minute, then breathtakingly childlike the next, a soul that was as wise as it was wounded...

Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshitshit...

He scooped a cup of water from the pot in which he'd intended to cook the beans, then made his way on shaky legs to the table and dropped into a chair, thrusting his burned fingers into the water and staring unblinkingly at the tabletop. No. No, no, goddamn it, no! Jesus, was he so desperate not to think about Mary that he'd conjure up these thoughts of Vin instead? Tanner was one of the hardest, toughest, most capable, most dangerous, deadliest men he'd had ever known; hell, besides that, he was his friend! And one friend didn't think about another friend that way!

Not and expect to live long, anyway.

Jesus, Larabee, could you possibly be any more pathetic?

He dropped his head onto the table with a groan. He needed a woman. That's all it was. Maybe he'd take off for Purgatorio, spend a couple of days with Maria. Let her take his mind off... well, off things.

But Maria didn't have blue eyes, either...

About the time he considered pulling his gun and putting himself out of his misery, he heard a rider approaching the cabin, and prayed it was someone with a grudge against him. Maybe a whole gang of men with a whole gang of grudges, and lots and lots of guns...

No. Only one rider. And someone familiar. He heard Pony's call of greeting, heard the other horse answer, and felt his stomach drop to his feet. Jesus, he even knew the sound of the man's horse.

He forced himself to his feet and went in search of another cup. He poured two rather generous portions of whiskey, drank half of his and refilled it, then, telling himself Tanner need never know how far across the line his thoughts had strayed, he went outside to greet his guest. His friend.

Hell, his best friend.

Vin watched the door open, and smiled slightly as Chris came out carrying two coffee cups and looking as skittish as a rabbit caught in a hawk's shadow. He kneed Peso over to the corral, then swung down from the saddle and went about untacking the big blaze-faced gelding with easy, unhurried movements. He had no intention of rushing things, of spooking Chris. If he did this right, they'd have all the time in the world from now on.

Chris forced himself to relax as he watched his friend tend his horse. Tanner had the instincts of a wild animal, and would pick up on any sign of unease. And Larabee valued his friendship with the younger man far too much to let his own errant thoughts destroy it.

Vin finished with Peso, then slipped the gelding a piece of molasses candy and turned him into the corral with Pony. When he was certain his horse would behave himself -- or as certain as anyone could ever be with Peso -- he picked up his saddlebags and rifle and headed for the porch, allowing himself a slight, satisfied smile. He'd come to the end of the trail. The man he'd marked so long ago and tracked so carefully was within reach.

Chris watched him approaching and shifted unconsciously on his feet. Despite his spurs, the Texan walked with a near silent tread, and he moved with the fluid, flowing grace of a cat on the prowl. Or a hawk on the hunt. His gut tightened with unease at the images stirring within him, at his sudden and disquieting feeling of kinship with a rabbit pinned by a raptor's gaze. And when those eyes -- God, so blue! -- snared him, he had the strangest thought that if he so much as twitched, Tanner would strike.

Vin saw the wariness in Larabee's eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he simply set his saddlebags and rifle on the porch, then hooked a thumb into his gunbelt and hitched a shoulder against the support post. His gaze fell on the second cup Larabee held, and, when he arched an inquisitive brow upward, Chris handed it to him. He took it with a smile and a nod of thanks, raised it in a faintly mocking salute, then carried it to his mouth and sipped from it. His eyes never left Larabee.

Chris held that gaze for a few moments, then, increasingly unnerved by it, had to look away, his own eyes flicking nervously about the landscape. All the while, he could feel that stare boring into him, never wavering, as piercing as any blade, cutting through his thin pretense of calm and laying bare his deep unease. He could swear Vin could see the very thoughts flitting through his brain, and wished the man would look anywhere but at him.

Goddamn it, hadn't anybody ever told Tanner it was rude to stare?

In silence, his lean body as relaxed as Larabee's was tight, Vin sipped from his whiskey and studied the other man. He watched the nervous clenching of that strong jaw, the narrowing and constant shifting of his eyes, the anxious fidgeting of a man who was rarely nervous and certainly never showed it when he was, and permitted himself a small smile. He knew Chris had come out here to think about Mary, but he could plainly see from the man's uncharacteristic agitation that his thoughts hadn't gone the way he'd intended at all. Larabee was a man with a definite problem.

Good thing Vin Tanner was a man with a definite solution.

And he saw no reason to delay that solution any longer. Never one to waste time on small talk, he lifted his chin a fraction, tilted his head slightly, and, blunt as ever, asked, "Got it figgered out yet?"

The strange question took Chris by surprise, and he dragged his gaze back to Vin, frowning at him in bewilderment. "Got what figured out?"

Tanner sighed and shook his head, grimacing at Larabee's thickness. Just how many things had the man come out here to ponder, anyhow? "Why ya don't want Mary."

Chris choked on the drink he'd just taken and spewed out a mouthful of whiskey, then erupted into a violent spasm of coughs as the liquor burned his throat and nose.

Vin arched a brow at the older man's reaction. "Reckon that'd be a no,'" he said laconically.

Larabee ran a trembling hand over his mouth and nose and glared at the tracker through watering eyes. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" he demanded harshly.

Vin finished his whiskey, then tossed the cup carelessly aside, his placid gaze never leaving Chris. "I'm talkin' about you pretendin' ta ever'body, includin' yerself, that yer a whole lot more inter'sted in her than y' are. You been dancin' around her fer some time now, makin' it look real good, but ever' time she tries ta get a-hold of ya, you manage ta skitter outta her reach." He tilted his head to one side and arched a brow, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles. "'N it dawned on me that you ain't nearly as inter'sted as you let on."

Chris's breath left him in a hard gust, and he stared at his friend in stunned disbelief. Tanner couldn't possibly have known that! Hell, he hadn't figured it out himself until this afternoon!

All at once, a cold, sick dread began creeping through him. If the tracker, who could read sign that was damn near invisible to anyone else, had gathered that much, then what else had those hawk-sharp eyes seen?

Vin could see every thought tumbling through those wide and stricken eyes, could almost feel the breeze kicked up by the whirring of Larabee's brain. He'd disarmed his prey; now it was time to go in for the kill.

"When I done figgered that out," he continued, his voice soft, his wide, twilight eyes still fixed on Larabee's face, "I started thinkin' on why. Why'd a man like you not want a woman like her? Yer both smart, 'n Lord knows yer both easy on the eyes... Jist didn't make no sense. Unless," his smile widened knowingly, "you wanted somebody else, instead."

Alarm slammed through Chris and he jerked from its impact, feeling as if he'd been shot. He began shaking his head slowly, refusing even to consider what he knew Vin was implying. No. No. It just wasn't possible.

But Tanner saw what Larabee would deny, knew he'd read all the signs right. Now, he just had to open Chris's eyes to those same signs.

"Yer thinkin' it's wrong," he said softly, pushing away from the post and starting slowly, slowly toward his friend. He made no sudden moves, didn't want to startle the man before him into fleeing. He knew that if Chris started running now, he'd never stop, and he just didn't feel like chasing him all over God's back yard. "Mebbe even thinkin' it's sinful, unnatural. Men jist don't want other men. Ain't that it? Not an' still be men."

Chris swallowed hard and shuddered, staring helplessly at Vin. He knew he should run, but didn't; knew he should speak, but couldn't. He was helpless, paralyzed by those brilliant blue eyes. He'd read that some snakes hypnotized their prey before striking, and now his own serpent was slithering toward him, and there wasn't a single damn thing he could do to escape.

Vin crossed the short distance to Chris in just a few flowing steps, his whole being intent on the man before him. Then, before Larabee could protest or get away, he was in front of the gunman, so close he could breathe in his scent, could feel his warmth. With an ease born of his certainty that this was right, he reached up to brush a lock of sun-kissed hair off the man's high forehead, then slid his fingers lightly down that chiseled face.

"But I'm a man, ain't I?" he breathed, running callused fingertips along Larabee's jaw and gazing raptly into the deep green eyes that had become permanent fixtures in his dreams. "'N there ain't nothin' more natural ta me than wantin' you."

Chris swallowed again and shuddered, knowing he shouldn't let Vin touch him the way he was, knowing he should run as fast and as far from the tracker as he could. He knew this; his mind was screaming at him to go. Only problem was, his body refused to obey.

"Vin," he whispered, closing his eyes helplessly and trembling uncontrollably, "you shouldn't... We can't... It's wrong..."

"Ssh," the tracker breathed, still stroking Larabee's face, tracing his level brows, the straight slant of his nose, the full curve of his mouth. He caressed a whisker-roughened cheek, swept his thumb along the strong jaw, dragged it down the slightly cleft chin. "Cain't be nothin' wrong with this," he said softly, tilting his head to one side as he studied every bold line of the beautiful face before him. "Not when it feels so fine. Cain't be nothin' wrong with havin' all my empty places filled up, all my dark places made light, all my hurts healed. 'N you done that, Chris. Ain't nothin' wrong with me wantin' you. Lord God, there's never been nothin' more right!"

"Jesus!" Chris groaned harshly, finally tearing himself away from Vin and retreating to the far end of the porch. His heart hammered in his chest, his blood pounded through his veins, and his breath tore from him in great, heaving gasps. He was shaking all over and his knees felt like water, but he knew he had to get away.

Even as everything in him screamed to go back.

God, what was happening here? Vin Tanner, his best friend, was declaring that he wanted him! It was... It was...

What? What he'd known Vin would say? What he'd hoped he would? No, that couldn't be right! Men didn't say these things to other men! It wasn't right, it wasn't natural...

Then why the hell wasn't he running away? And why the hell had that hand moving over his face felt so... right?

Vin gave Chris a few moments, watching him intently, studying his expression, his posture, his every movement. And everything he saw gave him hope. The older man hadn't accepted his overtures, but he hadn't shot him for them, either. And he hadn't told him to stop, or to leave. More importantly, he hadn't left.

And Vin knew he wouldn't.

He went slowly forward, his steps almost noiseless, approaching Chris as he would a wild and skittish horse. Yet, as he would never do with anyone except this man, he let down every defense he had, left himself completely open, tore down every wall he'd ever built within himself and allowed everything he felt to show plainly on his face, in his eyes, to pour from him in waves.

If Larabee rejected him, he'd at least know exactly what he was throwing away.

Stopping close by Chris' side, so close their bodies were nearly touching, he said in his low and gravelly voice, "Mary ain't the one fer you. She's a fine woman, but she ain't what you want. She cain't give ya what ya need."

Chris clenched his jaw; hell, his whole body clenched! Never looking at the tracker, not trusting his own reaction, he rasped, "And you can?"

Vin smiled slightly. "Yeah. I c'n give ya what ya need, what ya want." He reached out and ran a hand slowly down Larabee's arm, feeling the tension of the muscles beneath the dark red shirt, but feeling also the tremor than ran through the long, lean body so near his own. "What ya been wantin' fer some time."

Chris closed his eyes tightly and tried not to react to that hand, but couldn't help it. As the long, slender fingers slid slowly downward, he felt a treacherous warmth spreading through his flesh, felt his pulse quickening, and prayed Vin would stop before he lost what little control he had.

But Vin had no intention of stopping. Instead, he moved closer still, his body brushing against Larabee's, and lifted his hand to run his fingers once more through the gunman's blond hair. "Cain't tell ya how many times I've dreamed of doin' this," he breathed, delighting in the feel of the silken strands against his skin. "Dreamed of doin' other things, too." He slid his hand from Larabee's hair and pressed it once more to that proud, strong face, lightly stroking one whiskered cheek with his thumb. "Mostly, though," he whispered, stepping closer still, "I've dreamed of doin' this."

Before Larabee could react, he slipped his hand around to the back of his neck and pulled down the golden head, covering the gunman's lips with his own in a slow and searching kiss. It was a kiss of intimate tenderness and infinite hunger, one in which his love and longing were laid bare. He shivered uncontrollably as the taste and scent and feel of the older man ran through his blood like wildfire, as his whole soul rose sharply in joy at the unbearable ecstasy of this moment.

Chris groaned and shuddered as the tracker's mouth moved gently against his, never forcing but never faltering, feather-light yet wondrously sure, softer and sweeter than a man's mouth had any right to be. Then Tanner's tongue was sweeping lightly over his lips, stroking, lapping, dancing, sending shards of pleasure and pain through his whole body. He trembled uncontrollably, then opened his mouth beneath Vin's gentle insistence--

"No!" he groaned harshly, thrusting the younger man violently away from him. Spinning on his heel, he all but ran to the other end of the porch and collapsed heavily against the cabin wall, needing its solidness as his own legs threatened to buckle beneath him. His reaction shocked him, appalled him, and he bowed his head with another wrenching groan, his mind in chaos, his body in turmoil. Yet, against his will, he licked his lips, unable to forget the taste and feel of Vin's mouth against his.

Oh, Jesus, Jesus, this couldn't be happening to him!

Vin staggered back and nearly fell, but righted himself at the last moment. Any other man, he knew, would quit now, while he could still walk away, but he wasn't any other man. He'd come for more than just one kiss, and, this time at least, Vin Tanner was going to get what he wanted.

With the patience and persistence that ran so deep in his nature, he walked slowly across the porch toward Larabee, never taking his gaze from him. He'd felt the man's response to his kiss -- God, how he'd felt it! -- and knew he hadn't been imagining any of it. The pleasure of finally taking and tasting those full, firm lips had been beyond anything he could ever imagine.

And he could imagine a lot.

"Cain't run from this, Chris," he said softly. "You're a marked man. I've had you in my sights from that very first day, an' you know I don't hardly ever miss what I aim at."

Larabee raised his head slowly and opened his eyes, staring at the tracker. His face was deathly pale, yet his eyes burned like green fires. Confusion shone in their depths, but so did more. Much more.

"Why're you doin' this?" he whispered brokenly.

Vin stopped just before him and met that burning gaze easily, as calm as Chris was torn. He reached out and laid a hand against Chris's chest, and kept it there even when the older man flinched and tried to pull away. "Because dreamin' about you ain't enough no more, 'n ain't been enough fer a long time now," he rasped. "Because I don't wanta die wonderin' what mighta been if'n we'd jist let ourselves try. 'N because I don't wanta see you settle fer somebody you don't really want 'n don't really love jist 'cause she's a woman. You deserve better. Hell, we both deserve better."

Chris bowed his head again and closed his eyes, trying not to feel the hand at his chest, and failing. He was acutely aware of it, could feel every finger and the flat palm searing through his shirt and into his flesh, could feel his own heart beating fiercely against it in response. He licked his lips, let his tongue linger where Vin's had, and groaned aloud in despair.

Jesus, this couldn't be right!

"Look at me, Chris," Vin ordered softly, yet with a force that could not be denied. "Open yer eyes 'n look at me. You tell me you don't want me, you look me in the eye 'n tell me that, an' I'll leave 'n won't never bother you again. But I ain't leavin' here 'til you look me in the eye an' say it."

Determined to end his torment, Chris raised his head and forced open his eyes. Words of refusal, of rejection, rose in his mind, and, determined to speak them, he dragged his gaze to Vin's...

And forgot every one as he fell again into those eyes. Blue, God, so blue! Deeper and more vast than the sky, childlike in their wideness, so naked and unguarded they were almost painful to behold. Those eyes looked at him with such trust, such longing, such love, and were filled by the fragile hope of a man who'd long ago forgotten how to hope. Vin's whole soul was in his eyes -- vulnerable, wounded, scarred, yet somehow stronger than Larabee figured it had any right to be. And, as it always did, his own soul rose in recognition of its partner.

No, of its mate.

"Oh, God," he whispered faintly, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life, yet seeing none of that fear in Tanner. "I don't know--"

Vin smiled slightly, softly, his hand still resting over Larabee's heart and feeling its hard, fierce beating. "Yeah, ya do," he said quietly. "You jist don't wanta admit it. Too scared to, I reckon," he breathed. "But you ain't gotta be scared no more, cowboy. You know this is right. More right than anything you could ever pretend ta feel fer Mary. All's ya gotta do is let go. There ain't no shame in this, no sin. 'N you know that, same as me."

"But... what is this?'" Chris whispered, knowing the answer and terrified of it.

But Vin smiled gently, and without any fear whatsoever. "`This' is this." He moved closer until his body was pressing against Chris's, then reached up to cradle the blond head in his hands and slowly pull it forward. "I love you, cowboy," he whispered as he sought Chris's mouth with his own. "'N I'm gonna show ya it's all right fer you ta love me, too."

Chris moaned and shuddered as those lips reclaimed his, as Vin's soft, light kiss swept through him like a summer storm. Lightning seared his every nerve, charged his blood and danced over his skin until he thought his every hair would stand on end. Another groan escaped him and he twined his arms around Tanner, pulling the tracker to him and seeking to drown himself in the man. He breathed the man's scent ever more deeply into himself, immersed himself in the essence of wind, sage, earth and leather, and wondered how he'd ever be able to breathe again without it.

Set free by Chris's response, Vin intensified the kiss, allowed all the passion that burned in his soul to rise and drive him. He knotted his fingers in Larabee's hair and nuzzled ever more hungrily at the lush lips that for so long had teased and tormented him. He laved their fullness with his tongue, nibbled at them with his teeth, bit sharply at the lower one and then drew it into his mouth, sucking slowly at it.

Chris gasped as a shudder and a spear of heat went through him. Unable to help himself, unable to resist, he opened his mouth and sent his tongue in search of Vin's, desperately needing to taste still more, always more, of this man.

Jesus, where had this need come from?

Vin shivered and moaned as Chris's tongue found his, as the two met and twined in a slow dance of intimate introduction, as they teased, tasted and explored. He groaned harshly and buried his mouth in Larabee's, sweeping his tongue through the gunman's mouth in a thorough, ravenous search of the warm, wet cavern, learning the feel of tongue, teeth and hard palate, committing every taste, every sensation to memory.

Meanwhile, his hands strayed from Chris's hair to his neck and over his broad, tight shoulders, his fingers kneading the hard muscles beneath the red shirt, his whole body aching for the feel of this man against him, beneath him. He raked his fingers down the long, strong back and thrust himself ever closer to him, knowing he dared not go too fast lest he frighten Larabee, yet only barely able to restrain the hunger, the raw and raging need, that this man inspired in him.

That need swept over Chris in a fierce, hot wave and unlocked his own, bringing his body to sharp and searing awareness of Vin's, igniting an inferno of hunger in his soul. He'd never imagined he could want a man at all, much less with this desperate ferocity, yet now, with everything that was in him, he wanted Vin, and knew he always had.

At long last the kiss ended, and, drained by it of all strength, he shuddered violently and dropped his head onto Vin's shoulder, holding tightly to the younger, slightly smaller man and trying desperately not to fall. He couldn't see, couldn't think, could barely breathe, felt as if his every nerve had been scoured by fire, as if his very flesh had been charred from his bones. Trembling uncontrollably, he clung with what strength he had to Vin, shaken to his soul by the force of the passion the tracker had unleashed in him.

"Cain't tell ya how long I've wanted this," Vin whispered roughly, closing his eyes and burying his face in Chris's hair, his love and longing for the man surging so strongly through him that he feared they'd tear him apart. "Ain't ever felt like this fer nobody before. Didn't even know I could feel it, 'til you came along."

Chris slowly raised his head from Vin's shoulder and gazed again into those blue eyes, seeing in them all the tracker felt for him, and wondering why he'd never seen it before.

Or had he?

He frowned slightly, thoughtfully, and lifted a trembling hand to Tanner's face, gently stroking it, learning the feel of it as he already knew the shape of it. And he did know it, though he felt now as if he were seeing it for the first time, seeing anew the strength of it, the beauty of it, the toughness and tenderness written in it, the age that had nothing to do with years and the astonishing youth...

Oh, God, he had seen, hadn't he? All the times Vin had shown him the trust he reserved for him alone; the times he'd shown that rare, boyish, unguarded smile; each time he not only tolerated but welcomed the touch of Chris's hand when he'd flinch from any other; the times, God, the countless times, he'd battled through Larabee's demons with him, refusing to let him go into that darkness, and the times when, trapped in his own darkness, he'd reached blindly for the one hand he knew would be waiting to pull him out...

It had been there. All those times, it had been right there, right before him, and he'd missed it. No, mistaken it. Taken it for friendship when it was so much more, so much deeper. Why? Why had he overlooked it in Vin, when he'd been so willing to overlook the absence of it in Mary? Because he was a man? And men didn't feel that way about other men?

But he was a man, and he did feel this way about another man. No, about Vin. Not just any man, but the man who'd become his other half. His other self.

The man who made him whole.

"Oh, God," he breathed, still stroking that beautifully square jaw, still staring into those incredibly blue eyes, "and I nearly missed it. Hell, I did miss it. Jesus, what a fool--"

"Hush," Vin soothed, laying his hand over Chris's mouth to silence him. "Y'ain't no fool, 'n ya didn't miss it. 'Cause it's right here, right now. All's ya gotta do is reach out 'n take it."

"How?" He tilted his head to one side and frowned more deeply still, his own eyes dark with needs and wants he couldn't begin to express. "I don't know... how..."

A slow, sweet smile curved about Vin's mouth and lit his eyes, bringing youth and joy to the face where they so rarely resided. "Don't worry," he said softly, his eyes shining brilliantly. "I c'n show ya all ya need ta know."

Larabee smiled slowly, his face softening and losing years. "Sure of yourself, aren'tcha, pard?"

"No," Vin breathed with his customary honesty. "Jist sure of you, 'n what I feel fer ya." He shrugged. "I reckon ever'thing else'll take care of itself."

Chris gazed at the young man before him, saw the complete trust, the absolute faith, in his eyes, and wondered what on earth he'd done to earn them. And made a silent vow never to disappoint them.

Without a word, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to Vin's in a slow and tender kiss, drinking deeply of the sweet wine of that mouth. "Think I got this part down," he whispered, his lips brushing over Vin's.

Tanner laughed softly, his breath fanning warmly over Larabee's lips. "Hell, cowboy," he breathed, closing his arms about the gunman and pulling him closer, "I always knew you were a smart sonuvabitch!"

---

Once inside the cabin, struck anew by the reality of what was happening, Chris felt all his former uncertainties hit him again in a rush. Vin had moved to the bed and was standing beside it, had stripped off his hide coat, boots, bright red bandanna and slouch hat, and was now unbuckling his gunbelt. Watching the man divest himself of all the items that seemed to make him so uniquely him, Larabee felt a sudden stab of fear.

This was it, then. They were shrugging off layers, breaking down walls, going beyond even that unfathomable bond they already shared to find a level of intimacy he had never imagined they would seek. And once they had reached it, he knew, there would be no going back.

What he and Vin did here, today, would either strengthen them or destroy them, and he wasn't sure he was ready to take that chance.

Vin, however, was. Sensing the change in Larabee's mood, he hung the belt that held his mare's leg from the bedpost, then turned to the older man. Seeing every doubt, every fear, written in that face, he crossed the distance between them in a few steps, his eyes seeking and snaring Chris's, his hands reaching at once for the older man's and holding tightly to them.

"It's all right," he assured him softly, smiling slightly. "We ain't gotta rush inta nothin'. I don't want you doin' nothin' you ain't sure about."

"What about you?" Chris asked, studying the younger man intently. "Are you sure about this?"

Vin's smile widened and he stepped closer his still, pressing himself against Larabee. "Oh, yeah," he breathed with absolute certainty, feeling his love for this man in every part of his body, feeling that love giving life and strength to his body. "Ain't ever been surer of nothin' in my life. You're it fer me, cowboy. Yer all I've ever wanted, 'n ever'thing I never thought I'd have."

"Show me," Chris whispered pleadingly. "Show me how sure you are."

Vin needed no more invitation than that. Still smiling, his deep blue gaze locked on Larabee's dark green one, he reached up and began unbuttoning the man's dark red shirt, his long, nimble fingers lingering over each button, tracing circles around it against Chris's chest before slipping it through the hole. As his hands progressed lower, he leaned closer and pressed his mouth to Larabee's jaw, just under his left ear, and worked along it, kissing, licking, biting, his lips, tongue and teeth moving with a tantalizing slowness, a delicious thoroughness. He loved the taste of this man, loved the scent of him, the feel of him, wanted nothing more than to take those into himself and feed his soul upon them.

Chris shivered and gasped as that mouth and those hands ignited a white heat beneath his flesh, as wave after wave of intense, almost unbearable pleasure swept through him. Tanner's teeth scraped over his chin, that warm tongue laved down its cleft, and then that glorious, talented mouth was sucking hungrily, sending fire shooting along his every nerve.

"Jesus, Vin!" he groaned harshly.

Tanner laughed softly, his breath puffing against Larabee's flesh and drawing another shudder from the man. "Like this, do ya?" he whispered.

Chris wanted to answer, but couldn't; he was rapidly losing the power of speech, the power of thought. Now Vin's mouth was moving down his throat, and he lifted his head to give it greater access, closing his eyes and clutching helplessly at the younger man to keep himself from falling.

Oh, God, God, where had this pleasure come from?

Vin licked and kissed his way down that long, inviting column, found the Adam's apple and seized hungrily upon it, sucking slowly, losing himself in Chris. He'd wanted this man for so long, could barely believe he now had him. And the reality of it was far better than any dream he'd ever had.

Before Chris knew it, he was being stripped of his shirt, and he let it go without a single twinge of unease. Then Vin was pulling off his undershirt, and he felt the kiss of cool air against his naked chest. But that kiss was immediately replaced by one from warm lips, by the exquisite movements of that hot, questing mouth against his flesh, by the slow slide of callused fingers down his sides, and he knew then what Tanner had in mind.

Goddamn tracker was trying to kill him.

A hand drifted down to his thigh, untied the thong that held his holster in place and easily untied it, rubbing slow circles through his pants in the process. Then Vin's hands came together at the buckle of his gunbelt and began unfastening it, their fingers igniting a hot, throbbing ache in his loins, a deep, driving need in his hardening flesh. Tanner stripped the gunbelt from him and dropped it to the floor, then returned his hands to Larabee's pants. He slid the backs of his fingers lightly down the fly, finding and rubbing the tight bulge at the gunman's crotch. As the blond gasped sharply and shuddered violently, Tanner abruptly closed his mouth hard about one brown nipple, biting and sucking ravenously. Larabee yelped and shuddered again as hot waves of pain and pleasure erupted through him.

But it was a helluva way to die!

Vin teased the taut brown nub with his teeth, biting down on it as he laved his tongue against it, fulfilling every dream he'd ever had about this man. Larabee's body was more beautiful than he'd dared imagine, and he intended to know and taste every inch of it before he was through.

He went back and forth from one nipple to the other, taking his time with each, licking, sucking and biting them to pebble hardness, delighting in the harsh, breathless moans he drew from the self-controlled man. He was determined to shatter that control, to leave it broken ruins at Larabee's feet, to have the man writhing and screaming in helpless pleasure and begging him for more.

And he'd give the man all he could take.

Chris groaned thickly as those hands moved slowly down his crotch, lingering over each button before pushing it through its hole, then howled as sharp teeth bit deeply into a pectoral. Pain seared through him, then a wet tongue lapped at the bite and warm breath blew across it, turning the hot pain to even hotter pleasure.

"Oh, God!" he whispered. "Vin..."

Another button slipped free, and again those teeth bit into him, tearing another cry from him. Then came the tongue, the breath, a tender kiss, and what little thought remained to him disappeared entirely. Only sensation remained, and the deep, desperate ache of rising, raging need.

Oh, God! GodGodGodshitGod...

Vin marked both sides of Larabee's chest with his teeth, making his claim on the man visible. Then, when the pants were undone -- and Larabee undone with them -- he gripped the waistband, snagging the underpants as well, and pushed them down, slithering slowly down Chris's body with them. Within moments, he had the gunman stripped of boots and pants, then, on his knees, he began licking, kissing, biting and stroking his way back up the long, strong legs, delighting in the contrast of hard bone and iron muscle beneath tender flesh. He blew soft puffs of air through the golden hair sprouting from that flesh, tongued the hollows of Chris's knees, bit and sucked at the sweet flesh of his inner thighs.

As he made his way up those beautiful legs, the warm, heady scent of the man's sex engulfed him, filled his mind, his soul, and brought his own flesh to rigid, aching fullness. He could feel himself straining urgently against his pants, desperately needing release, but he ignored, for now, his own pain, his own want, and concentrated solely on pleasuring Chris.

And never more than now had Larabee realized just how fierce, how focused, the tracker's concentration could be. The man seemed to know where every single nerve in his body was and hit them all, sending frissons of fire, of pain, of pleasure, along each one, until his whole damn body was a quivering mass of molten hunger. Breathless, wordless cries escaped him, hard shudders racked him, lightning danced before his eyes and thunder pounded in his ears.

Still the storm only intensified.

Vin slid his hands around to Chris's ass and claimed his firm, full cheeks, slowly kneading the taut mounds of flesh. At the same time, he licked his way up one crease between Larabee's thigh and groin and down the other, neglecting, for the moment, the thick, twitching staff of leaking flesh between them. From the gunman's groin, he licked his way to his balls, blowing against them, sliding his tongue over the crease between them, then drawing the lightly furred sacs into his mouth and sucking at them, humming deep in his throat.

Larabee bucked wildly and cried out sharply as bolts of fire jolted through him, as the tracker's sucking and humming sent shards of white-hot pain shooting from his balls into his cock. He cried out again and drove his hands into Tanner's hair, pulling that wondrously talented mouth still closer to him and thrusting his hips frantically, feverishly, consumed in fire of the younger man's making. Sweat poured from his flesh and his breath tore from him in ragged, heaving gasps, and still Tanner tortured him.

But Vin, recognizing Larabee's torment, knew it was time to end it. Releasing Chris's balls, he rose shakily to his feet and took the man's hand, leading him the few steps to the bed. Laying Chris down upon it, he settled himself between those beautiful legs and turned at last to the thick, leaking cock, his appetite whetted by the powerful musk wafting from it. Unable any longer to deny himself this, he pressed his tongue to the underside of the rigid staff at its base and licked slowly, slowly along its hard length, reached the wet, spongy head and traced circles against it, then licked his way along the top back down to the base. But with Chris's tantalizing taste now in his mouth, he could no longer resist the allure, and licked his way back to the head, then took the thick flesh into his mouth.

Chris bucked wildly and screamed as that hot mouth engulfed him, as Vin seemed to swallow him whole. He cried out again and arched off the bed, writhing in mindless agony as the firestorm of pain and pleasure pounded through him.

Vin clamped down hard on Larabee's hips to hold him still and sucked at him, feeding ravenously on the man. He'd wanted Chris for so long, had been determined from the first to make him his. Now that he had him, he was determined not to waste a moment with him, to waste a morsel of him, but would savor every taste and store each one away in his soul.

He'd known famine far too often not to appreciate a feast when he had one.

Chris clutched at Tanner's hands and thrust himself further into that glorious mouth, his whole body arching, the cords of his neck standing out as he drove his head into the mattress. The heat within him was rising, raging, churning, building into a violent boil. He felt it at the base of his spine, in his tightening balls, the hard-edged tingling that seemed to vibrate in every part of him. Another cry tore from him and he arched again, then screamed aloud as he erupted into a flaming tide.

"VIIINNNN!!"

Tanner caught the hot stream that jetted forth, swallowed hungrily the streaming, salty essence of the man he loved, took every drop into his mouth and milked Larabee for still more. He sucked furiously at his spurting cock, tore a hand from his hips to squeeze his balls, needing all of this man he could get. He drained Chris dry, worked him until he was empty, and only then did he let the slack and softened flesh slip from his mouth and slither up the naked, trembling body to claim the beautiful mouth with his own.

Chris groaned and closed rubbery arms about the slim body atop his, tasting himself upon the lips that possessed his. He still couldn't think, could do nothing save react to his own instinctive, incredible need for this man. That need pulsed in his blood, was seated in his flesh and his bone, misted in every breath he took. He had no idea when it had become a part of him, but knew with unshakable certainty he'd never again be without it.

Vin lifted his mouth from Chris's and slid himself to the gunman's side, smiling into his soft and sated eyes. "So," he rasped quietly, gently brushing the sweat-sodden hair off Larabee's high forehead, "got it figgered out yet?"

Chris laughed softly at hearing again the question Vin had asked earlier. "Yeah."

Tanner arched a brow. "And?"

Larabee's smile turned wry. "Seems I've wasted a whole lotta time." He raised a still-unsteady hand to stroke Vin's face and gazed deeply into the shimmering eyes that held such love for him. "Don't know why I didn't see it sooner. I'm sorry."

"'S all right." He leaned over and kissed Chris again. "Ya see it now, 'n that's what counts. You jist needed ta stop fightin' yerself, needed ta stop tryin' ta see what wasn't there 'n open yer eyes ta what was."

Chris chuckled and pulled the younger man closer. "I gotta say, pard, you got one helluva way of openin' a man's eyes."

Vin's quicksilver grin lit his whole face. "Some of us're jist natur'ly gifted, cowboy," he drawled.

Chris laughed again and pulled Vin to him, kissing him soundly. Then, abruptly, he pushed the tracker away and frowned up at him. "It occurs ta me," he said in a low, stern voice, "that I'm the only one lyin' here naked. Now, why the hell d'you suppose that is?"

Again, Tanner's brow rose and he shot the gunman a withering look. "I reckon 'cause somebody in this bed's a selfish bastard who never thinks'a nobody except hisself. While I was busy tendin' ta you, you coulda been strippin' me, but you jist sorta stood there. Now, I ain't complainin', mind, but seein's how you brought it up--"

"After what we just did," Chris scolded, "now you're gonna make me shoot ya?"

Vin leaned over and nuzzled at his ear. "Was kinda hopin' I'd git ta shoot somethin' m'self," he breathed.

Chris growled and abruptly flipped the Texan onto his back, climbing atop him and smiling wolfishly down into startled eyes. "What's the matter, boy?" he asked in a low, hard voice, his green eyes gleaming wickedly, "Ain't you ever had a bounty turn on ya before? That's what happens when you get cocky." At that word, he ground his ass into Tanner's crotch, tearing a strangled squeak from the younger man. "Like you said before, pard, it's a fine line 'tween hunter and hunted."

Vin swallowed hard, his eyes wide, his heart quickening in his breast. A warm, dark flush spread through his flesh, and an answering heat ignited at his crotch. He was acutely, painfully aware of the tightly leashed power of the lean body atop him, could feel that power coursing through muscles coiled to strike. He'd opened Larabee's eyes to the pleasure that being with another man could bring, had taught him what delights it held.

But he'd forgotten just how fast a learner the man could be.

"My ma always said," Chris murmured, bowing his head toward Tanner's, "that a gift requires a thank you.' So," he swept his lips lightly, lovingly over Vin's, "thank you."

Vin shivered and groaned as that mouth took his in a deep, demanding kiss, as Larabee cast aside gentleness for hunger, as he was engulfed in the older man's power and passion. Chris shifted off him and sat up, and he was borne up into the man's embrace, imprisoned in strong arms and crushed against that broad chest, caught fast in a snare he wouldn't have broken for anything in this world.

Chris buried his mouth in Vin's with a low growl, devouring him with a rapacious hunger. His tongue demanded entry, and Tanner gave it willingly, withholding nothing from the man. Their tongues touched, tasted, twined, joining in an intimate dance, while their lips crushed ever harder, as if they sought to meld by sheer force alone.

Tanner's taste went straight to Larabee's head, more intoxicating than the finest whiskey. But he needed more, much more, and, like a drunk needing to slake his thirst, or a starving man needing to feed his hunger, he began stripping the tracker of his clothes, unable any longer to endure any barrier at all between them.

Vin was no help at all, was much too intent on exploring the body imprisoning him to lend any aid to his own undressing. His hands kneaded Chris's broad shoulders, memorizing the play of hard muscle beneath soft flesh, and raked down the long back, clawing, scraping and stroking, learning the blessed feel of this man. He growled menacingly as Larabee reached back and gripped his wrists, as his hands were torn free and pushed to his own sides, and, instinctively, he fought back.

"Easy, pard, easy," Chris soothed, never lifting his mouth from Vin's. "Just lemme get your shirt off, then you can get back ta work."

Vin bit down on Chris's lower lip. "Best hurry, then," he snarled around that lip. "Got a lotta work ta do."

"Might wanta let go of that," Chris warned, touching his forehead to Vin's and glaring into fierce blue eyes. "I'm gonna need it later."

Still holding Larabee's lip between his teeth, Vin gave a feral grin. "Might jist take it fer a trophy," he murmured. "Y'know, some folks say I ain't no more'n a savage."

"I've heard that," Chris said, smiling as best he could with his lip held prisoner. "Fact is, Tanner, I'm countin' on it."

The frank desire in that low, warm voice went through Vin like a heated blade, searing straight to his cock. As he shuddered and gasped, Chris pulled his lip free and tore off the tracker's shirt, finding two undershirts beneath it.

"What the hell?" he asked sharply, poking a finger into Tanner's chest. "You are under there somewhere, right?"

"Fuck you," Vin retorted. "I git cold easy. 'Sides, a little work never hurt nobody."

"Yeah, but you ain't a little' work, Tanner," Chris groused, tugging both undershirts over the tracker's head and arms. "You're a lotta work, and you always have been."

"Reckon so," Vin whispered, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to the pulse at Larabee's throat, "but I'm worth it."

"Goddamn... uppity... Texan," Chris breathed unsteadily, closing his eyes and rolling his head to one side as Vin nuzzled at his throat. "Gonna shoot... your scrawny... ass..."

"Uh-uh," Vin grunted, nibbling his way to Larabee's collarbone. "Got other plans fer that. Jesus, you taste good!"

Chris groaned harshly as Vin sucked at the corner of his collarbone, as the younger man easily awakened the need he'd thought was sated. But his cock was surging once more to throbbing life, straining against the answering fullness at Tanner's crotch and reminding him of yet another barrier between them.

"Still got too damn many clothes on, pard," he said roughly. "I need ta finish unwrappin' my gift."

Vin raised his head, lifted glittering eyes gone almost black with desire to Larabee's darkening green ones, and nodded. Without a word, he slid off the older man's lap and rose to his feet, unbuttoning his pants with trembling hands and pushing them down from his hips. He was intensely aware of Chris's gaze on him, following his every move, and a sudden wave of shyness hit him. He knew it was ridiculous, knew it was far too late for any timidity or hesitation between them, but couldn't help himself. Chris was so damn beautiful, perfection itself in his eyes, and part of him feared that he wouldn't measure up, that he would somehow disappoint the man whom he wanted only to please.

Lord, what if Chris really did think he was scrawny?

He needn't have worried. As Larabee watched the tracker slowly undress, his breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered wildly in his breast. His eyes widened as he stared, and his mouth went dry.

Goddamn, he was beautiful!

His lean frame carried not an ounce of fat upon it, was as sleek and sinewy as a cat's, his taut muscles rippling with a lithe and tensile power beneath smooth skin. Strong shoulders topped a slender chest that tapered down to narrow hips and a flat, tight stomach. His legs were long and slim, and, between them, nestled in a thick thatch of brown curls, his cock stood full and erect, tearing another harsh gasp from Chris.

Jesus God, what had he done to deserve this?

At that gasp, Vin lifted his head and looked at Chris, and felt all his uncertainties melt away. The man was staring at him in unabashed wonder, heat flashing in his smoldering eyes, and he was suddenly embarrassed to be the object of such frank adoration.

"Ain't gotta stare," he said softly, bowing his head and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Ain't nothin' here worth the effort."

"You're wrong there, pard," Chris breathed, getting to his feet and standing before the younger man. Reaching out, he slipped a hand under that down-turned chin and lifted until Vin's eyes again met his. "You're about the finest damn sight I've ever seen, Tanner, and don't you ever think otherwise, you hear?"

Vin licked his lips and nodded slowly, mesmerized by those luminous green eyes. Chris's thumb was lightly stroking his chin, and he couldn't remember ever having felt a more loving touch in his life. Had never in his life felt more wanted than he did right now.

Chris watched all the age, all the toughness, all the hardness, fade from that face, from those twilight blue eyes, and felt his heart clench as he beheld the true youth and soul-deep beauty of the man before him. Drawn irresistibly into that beauty, he bowed his head and leaned forward, capturing Vin's mouth with his in a kiss as hungry as it was tender. He slipped his arms around Tanner and pulled him close, cradling the smaller man tightly to him and worshiping him with his mouth.

The force of that kiss swept through Vin like a mountain thunderstorm, all but tearing his soul from its moorings. His knees buckled and he clutched at Chris, then felt himself being lowered to the bed. Larabee's mouth never left him, and he never wanted it to.

Chris lay the tracker back against the mattress and took his place atop him, thrilling to the feel of Vin against him. As his mouth continued feasting on Tanner's, he swept a hand slowly down his body, tracing the hard curve of ribs, the supple steel of muscles, the surprising satin of his flesh. Every inch of the tracker was a revelation to him, and he cursed again his own foolishness at having denied himself this for so long.

But maybe he could make up for lost time, now that he'd come to his senses.

And in coming to his senses, he proceeded to strip Vin of his. He launched a shattering assault against the tracker's mind, body and soul until he had him writhing, gasping and moaning in near-delirious arousal. He licked, kissed, stroked, bit and fondled his way over every inch of Vin's body, starting at the tops of his feet and working his way up with agonizing slowness, learning the scents, tastes and textures of the man, memorizing every scar and mapping every freckle.

Freckles, his mind marveled. Who would've thought the tough-as-rawhide tracker would have soft skin and freckles?

He also discovered that the deadliest man he'd ever known had a number of places where he was hysterically ticklish, and he explored every one. The soles of Vin's feet, the bend of his left knee, on his sides just beneath the ribcage, the spot just below his navel -- he attacked them all, delighting in the peals of laughter that escaped his squirming lover.

His lover. The thought brought him up short, and he raised his face from Tanner's belly to gaze into his darkly flushed face, for the first time realizing the true extent, the true nature, of his feelings for the tracker. His lover. More than that, though, far more... the man he loved.

Vin stared into his eyes, saw their widening and the sudden comprehension flooding their depths, and smiled slightly. Knowing intuitively what had just struck the gunman, he reached down and ran unsteady fingers through the thick, sweat-damp blond hair.

"Sorta takes yer breath away, don't it?" he drawled.

Chris nodded and breathed, "Yeah. But then," a slow smile curved about his wide mouth and his green eyes gleamed hungrily, "so do you."

"Y'ain't so bad yerself, cowboy," Vin rasped. "Could look at you all day."

"You look, then." He winked. "Me, I got other plans." And he bowed his head once more, tonguing the shallow dip of Tanner's navel, then sliding his mouth slowly downward to the bed of brown curls and the thick flesh that rose so tantalizingly from it.

"JESUS!" Vin yelped and bucked as the tongue that was his torment and his delight lapped cat-like at the junction of his cock and groin, as the gunman brought all his formidable attention to bear on his aching, throbbing flesh. Slivers of pain drove into him as Larabee's teeth nipped at him, and fire shot through him as the man slid his tongue along the prominent vein. A fingernail pushed back his foreskin and scraped across the weeping slit, while callused hands fondled his balls. He cried out harshly and bucked again, then howled aloud and arched off the bed as that hot, wet mouth closed about him.

Chris grabbed the thrashing hips to hold them in place, then took Vin as deep as he could. The tracker's taste and pungent scent overwhelmed him, and he sucked hungrily at him, needing as much of the man as he could take into himself. He'd never been with another man before, had no experience from which to draw, but he knew what brought pleasure to him, and used that now with Vin. Still sucking, he freed one hand from Tanner's hip and slid it to his belly, rubbing slow circles there, then brought it down to his balls. Working with the same rhythm as his mouth, he kneaded and rolled them in their sac, intensifying his actions when he felt them tightening.

Vin arched his back and knotted his fingers in the bedding, thrusting into that all-consuming mouth and nearly sobbing as hot torrents of pain and pleasure pounded through him. Harder, higher the raging tide rose, sweeping him helplessly along on its current. Then Larabee began to hum, and he screamed as he exploded into shattering release.

Chris swallowed eagerly the hot juices spurting into his mouth, greedily drank his lover into himself. The salty fluid poured over his tongue and he gulped it down like a man dying of thirst. Only when he was certain there was no more did he relinquish the flaccid flesh and slide up to gather Vin into his arms, reclaiming his lips in a soft and gentle kiss, sharing with Tanner what he had shared with him.

Breathless, drained and shaking, Vin curled himself about Chris's body and laid his head on the older man's chest, closing his eyes and taking strength from the steady beating of Larabee's heart. That beat echoed in the throbbing of his own now, he knew; they'd been joined in so many ways they'd never be separate again.

Finally, they were as they had been meant to be.

Chris cradled Vin to him and ran a hand gently through the damp, tangled mass of his hair, smiling slightly in amazement at what had happened, and what was happening still. He was, he realized, perfectly content, for the first time since he'd laid Sarah in the ground. He lifted his head from the pillow and kissed Vin's hair.

"What was that for?" Tanner asked drowsily, his spent body drifting toward sleep.

"For everything," Chris breathed, tightening his arms about the smaller man.

Vin smiled lazily, his heavy eyelids closing. "Oh, that wasn't ever'thing, cowboy," he murmured. "Not by a long shot."

Chris arched an eyebrow in surprise. "There's more?"

Vin gave a low, throaty chuckle, then forced his eyes open and raised his head. Resting his chin on Larabee's chest, he smiled crookedly and drawled, "Hell, yeah. 'N I plan ta show it all to ya."

Chris felt a twinge of uneasiness at the unholy glint in those eyes. He'd always thought Tanner's shyness around women meant he was inexperienced, but, watching him lick his lips now like a wolf about to feed, he had to wonder.

"Why is it," he asked warily, "that when you look at me like that I start ta feel like I'm gonna be your dinner?"

The wolfish grin widened. "Well, y' are right tasty." Blue eyes gleamed brilliantly. "Reckon I c'd suck on yer bones all day."

Chris couldn't suppress the shiver that low, husky drawl sent through him, and wondered again if Vin were trying to kill him. "You need ta be kept away from civilized people, you know that, don'tcha?"

Vin tilted his head slightly to one side, his eyes impossibly wide and impossibly deep. "You gonna make that yer job?" he asked in a raspy whisper, running a forefinger over Larabee's chin. "I'm told I c'n be somethin' of a handful."

"I'll bet you can," Chris breathed helplessly. "But," he warned, "I better not ever catch you in anybody's hands but mine."

Vin's eyes went wider still, then he slid up slightly and bowed his head, nuzzling lightly at Larabee's cheek. "If ya did," he whispered against the whisker-roughened flesh, "would ya kill 'em?"

Chris shivered and groaned. "Yeah."

Vin nibbled at his chin. "Would ya kill me?"

"Hell," Chris gasped, "I oughtta kill you now. Save myself a lotta trouble in the future."

"Mm," Vin agreed, nipping at the gunman's throat, "prob'ly would. But you'd miss out on a lotta fun, too."

"You're an evil bastard, Tanner," Chris whispered hoarsely as that mouth worked its way down his throat. "My own personal demon sent from hell ta torment me."

"Yep." He tongued the notch in Larabee's collarbone. "But you love me, don'tcha?"

Chris arched a brow at that, then gripped Tanner's head and raised it from his chest. "Cocky bastard, ain'tcha?" he growled into that startled face. "What makes you think I love you?"

The startlement quickly faded. Pulling out of Chris's hands, Vin sat up, straddling the gunman's lean hips and regarding him with a smug smile. "I'm a tracker, remember?" he drawled. "I read sign fer a livin'."

Chris grunted. "I thought you took in men for a livin'."

Vin nodded. "Yep, that, too." He leaned forward and set his hands on Larabee's shoulders, "Got you, didn't I? Took me a while, I'll grant ya that, but I got ya. Once I mark a man, he don't ever get away."

Chris raised a hand to finger the tender bruises near one nipple. "You mark all your bounties this way?"

Vin shook his head slowly and leaned lower still. "Nope," he breathed, "jist you. Wanted ta make sure you knew you was mine. Could brand ya, but," he bowed his head and nipped at the corner of Chris's mouth with his teeth, "I figgered you'd like this way better."

"Evil," Chris gasped, closing his eyes and twining his arms about the body draped over his. "Pure evil."

"Reckon so."

"You're lucky I don't have my gun."

Vin scraped his teeth down Larabee's chin. "Could get it fer ya."

"Mm." Chris tightened his arms about Vin, swept his lips over the tracker's cheek. "Maybe later. But I am gonna kill ya."

"Yeah, I know." He kissed Larabee, then slid to his side and lay down, curling close to the gunman and slipping one leg between his two. "I live in constant fear."

Chris drew Vin's head onto his shoulder and wrapped his arms about him. "You're a smart-ass, you know that?"

"Mm hm."

Chris watched the blue eyes close, felt the slender body grow heavy with sleep, and saw perfect peace fall upon the face that so seldom knew its touch. "And you're right," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss to Tanner's forehead. "I do love you."

"Told ya so," Vin murmured. "Damn uppity cowboy." He snuggled closer and sighed contentedly. "I love you, too."

THE END